'How did you pay for lunch, Mrs Shore?' Llewellyn asked. 'Was it by cheque or cash?'
'Cash. Just as well I had the money, otherwise I'm sure I'd have been in there even longer.'
'And just how long were you in there?'
'Goodness, I don't know. Does it matter?' She gave another throaty laugh and crossed her legs, before adding, 'If I'd known two policemen were going to be so fascinated by my shopping trip, I'd have taken notes.'
In spite of her light remark, Rafferty felt sure she was trying to conceal something.
Her careless manner had put Llewellyn's back up, as Rafferty had known it would. Fortunately, anger took him in a different way to Rafferty, and the Welshman's voice was icily polite as he told her, 'We are investigating a murder, Mrs Shore. I'm sure I don't have to remind you that—'
She jumped up. 'Oh, for goodness' sake. It's not as if I killed her.' She ran her hands down her body and demanded, 'Do I look like a potential rapist?'
'Mrs Longman wasn't raped,' Llewellyn quietly reminded her.
Her hand waved this away as irrelevant. 'Obviously he was disturbed. Mentally and physically, I mean. You'll find it was some poor, inadequate creature, who attacked her, I'm sure. Probably one of those psychiatric patients that the government have thrown out of hospitals into the community.' She gave them a brittle smile. 'I don't want you to think I'm speaking ill of the dead, but no adequate man would choose to attack poor Barbara.' She smoothed her chic, and undoubtedly expensive, sleeveless silk dress with a satisfied expression.
'She was really terribly dowdy and had no interest at all in fashion. I tried to advise her, but,' she shrugged. 'She preferred to spend her time in jeans and tee-shirts. Said they were more practical. Practical!' The last word had a weight of contempt in its three syllables. 'Of course, even though she made no attempt to dress attractively, it was still foolhardy of her to traipse about the countryside on her own. I warned her that it was dangerous several times, but Barbara ignored me. She could be very headstrong.' She turned to Rafferty. 'If I were you, Inspector, I'd concentrate on the down and outs in the district. That's where you'll find your murderer, I'm sure.'
Rafferty didn't share her interest in fashion, or particularly want her advice. What he wanted were answers as to how she had spent the rest of that day, but he suspected that, unless he got tough, her remaining memories of last Thursday afternoon would be as vague as her sister-in-law's. Having got his temper back under control, he resumed the questioning. 'And after lunch, what did you do?'
She gave him a bright smile. 'More window shopping, I'm afraid.'
Rafferty sighed and wondered if spending money was the only thing that put an expression approaching animation on her face. If so, it was hardly surprising that, with the heady first months of marriage long since passed, Charles Shore should treat her with something not far short of contempt.
'I saw this divine little suit in Harrods,' she enlarged. 'Black, of course, and so simple, I thought it would—'
Rafferty cut her short. 'You used a charge card?'
She pulled a face. 'You must think me dreadfully extravagant, Inspector. I didn't buy it. Charles has been such a bore lately about the amount I spend on clothes, and as I'd already purchased heavily at Harvey Nichols, I knew I'd risk a lecture if I bought anything else.' She sighed and, apparently oblivious of how callous she sounded, told them, 'It's such a shame, as it would have been perfect for poor Barbara's funeral.'
The pity Rafferty had previously felt for her had long since evaporated. Not only was he beginning to dislike her intensely, but he was also becoming increasingly annoyed at her evasive answers. He doubted that husbandly lectures would have bothered her, nor did he think it likely that she would have passed the greater part of an afternoon amongst the temptations of Knightsbridge without buying more clothes. If there was a woman alive capable of such self-restraint, and Rafferty doubted it, that woman certainly wasn't Hilary Shore. So, if she hadn't been pillaging the garment rails of the London stores, where had she been?
He decided to approach from another direction. Imbuing his voice with a compassion that was probably totally wasted on her, he remarked, 'It's been a dreadful business, hasn't it, this murder?' After one startled glance, she hastened to agree with him. 'Mrs Longman seems to have been a woman of many admirable qualities.' He watched her closely as he added, 'Your husband certainly seems to have thought highly of her.'
Her whole face seemed to tighten, as if she was struggling against the desire to blurt out some spiteful remark. Slowly, her expression relaxed again, and she allowed herself to comment. 'Charles can be a bit of a chauvinist, Inspector. He expected his needs to be put first and Barbara...well, she was one of those willing creatures who put her own needs way down the list; nothing was too much trouble. I think most men would have found such self-sacrifice admirable. She was an old-fashioned woman in many ways.'
'What about Mr Longman? Didn't he object to his wife turning herself into a servant for Mr Shore's benefit? Most husbands would expect to come first with their wives.'
She gave him a pitying look. 'You've met Henry, Inspector. Do you really expect him to have had the nerve to interfere? He's in awe of Charles, as most people are. Poor Harry, I used to tease him that he and I both had to play second fiddle. He to Barbara's self-sacrifice and good works, and me to Charles's business empire and his—' She stopped abruptly, an annoyed expression on her face, as if she had been about to say something she would regret.
'You were saying,' he prompted. 'And his—?' Although Rafferty guessed what she had been going to say, he wanted to hear her say it. However, this desire was to be denied him, as Henry Longman chose that moment to blunder into the room. As expected, when he saw them grouped around the fireplace, he immediately began to back out, uttering awkward apologies as he went.
Whether Henry's abject manner irritated her, or whether she wanted to use his presence as an excuse to escape further questioning, Hilary, after giving Rafferty an arch look, called out to him, 'For God's sake, Henry, come in. You do live here after all.' She consulted her watch again. 'And I did tell the Inspector I had an appointment...' She again glanced at Rafferty, as if daring him to refuse her. 'So if you've finished with me...?'
Rafferty objected to being manipulated. He particularly objected to being manipulated by this woman, and it made him stubborn. If she could make use of Henry, so could he, and, he reflected, a double whammy was always more satisfying than the singular variety. Perhaps it was time he frightened the pair of them? They had already colluded once to lie to him. It was possible there was something else they had agreed to keep quiet.
'You wanted to know why I'm asking so many questions, Mrs Shore,' he remarked slowly. 'I've decided to satisfy your curiosity. We believe that whoever murdered Mrs Longman knew her well—very well. They knew her habits, her interests, even the family's unlisted telephone number. I believe that whoever that person was deliberately tried to move the suspicion onto that serial killer in Suffolk. I asked myself why they should do that? And do you know, it didn't take me long to come up with an answer. It convinced me that her killer was closer to home. Much closer. Maybe even in her home.'
He paused to let that sink in, before he continued. 'So, perhaps now you can see why I'm interested in the members of this family who have been particularly evasive about where they were last Thursday afternoon.' A swift glance passed between Hilary and Henry. Rafferty, having planted the seed of fear, got up and made for the door. 'I'll say good-day to you both.'
'Wait.' She stood up, fiddling anxiously with her belt buckle as she came towards him. 'If I tell you where I was that afternoon, will you promise not to tell my husband? He—wouldn't understand.'
Rafferty wondered what else he and Charles Shore were being kept in the dark about? First Henry had lied to him, now Hilary. How many other members of the family, before confiding their secrets, would demand that he didn't reveal them to Charles?
'I'm afraid I can't make
any promises, Mrs Shore,' he told her, as he came back and sat down. 'But, of course, if I feel what you say is irrelevant to my inquiry, I shouldn't think there would be any need to mention it.'
She nodded. Resuming her seat, she said, 'I admit, I was doing a little more than window shopping that day.' Rafferty waited. 'I...' She stopped fiddling with her belt and now started on one of her earrings. 'I went to see a private detective.' She intercepted his surprised glance towards Henry and told him, 'Oh, Henry knows. Naturally, I told him all about it.'
Why naturally, Rafferty wondered? Again he waited for the rest to come out. It was turning into something of an around the houses business.
'I've believed for some time that my husband has been having an affair. You don't know what a strain I've been under, suspecting, but not knowing for certain. I decided to do something about it. I had to. I couldn't go on as I was. I needed to know, one way or the other, even if I decided to do nothing.' She leaned towards him in a mute appeal for sympathy. With any other woman, Rafferty would have taken it as a natural gesture and done his best to accommodate her, but with Hilary Shore, he sensed the move was calculated. It made him more questioning of her motives, both in going to the detective agency in the first place, and then in confiding the agency's discoveries to Henry. The indecisive Henry was the last person to sort out another's troubles; he couldn't sort out his own. Presumably, Barbara Longman had something to do with this mysterious business. Given her character, he would be interested to discover what it was. He gestured for Hilary to continue.
She squeezed a few tears out before she went on. Rafferty managed not to be too affected by them. 'As I said, I've suspected for some time that my husband was seeing another woman.' She raised damp eyes to his face. 'You can't imagine how upsetting such a suspicion is, Inspector. I had no-one to turn to, only Henry. He's been such a comfort.' She spared Henry a grateful smile and laid a fleeting hand on his leg. Rafferty didn't miss the way Henry flinched from her touch, though Hilary seemed unaware of it. 'And then, of course, as Henry was already aware of my suspicions, when I found out the worst, I couldn't keep it from him. I felt awful having to tell him, after he'd been so kind.'
'Are you saying that this agency discovered the name of the woman your husband had been seeing?'
She nodded. 'That's where I went on the afternoon that I was up in town.' She paused and gave him a brave smile from her limited repertoire.
'It was Barbara he was seeing. And, although I already had my suspicions, you can imagine what a shock it was to have them confirmed. I knew Henry planned to skip work that afternoon, and I didn't want to call him at the house in case someone else listened on one of the extensions, so I called his car phone. After ringing the car number several times, I finally reached him about 2.30 that afternoon.'
That must have been the telephone conversation that Mrs Watson had mentioned. With the news Hilary Shore had to impart, it was no wonder he'd looked so unwell.
'Thinking about it now, I know I should never have broken the news to him like that. But it was the shock, you see. I hardly knew what I was doing, but I had to confide in someone, and Henry was as concerned as I was. When I got him, it all just came pouring out. Poor Henry.' She touched his leg again. 'It must have hit him like a sledgehammer.'
Rafferty found it difficult to hide his dislike. 'I'd like the name and address of this detective agency, please, Mrs Shore.'
'Of course. I feel it's engraved on my heart.' Radiating heartache and malice in about equal measure, she gave them the details. Now that her confession was out of the way, she looked rather pleased with herself. It wasn't difficult to understand why. If her story checked out, she was in the clear, but her revelations gave Henry a very strong motive for wanting to murder his wife.
Rafferty turned to Henry and breathed in sharply. Henry's hands gripped one of the gaily coloured cushions so hard that his knuckles had whitened, and although Rafferty spoke his name, Henry didn't seem to hear. He just sat, gripping the cushion tighter and tighter, his gaze fixed on the wedding photograph of himself and Barbara that sat on the mantelpiece. It was as if he was in some other world, some other time.
It was only by standing in front of the photograph and breaking Henry's concentration that Rafferty could gain his attention. 'Mr Longman? Can you confirm what Mrs Shore has just told us? That she broke the news to you about your wife's affair about 2.30 on the day she died?'
Henry nodded. He seemed to feel a need to justify himself, as he added, 'I didn't want to lie to you, but, once we discovered the next day that Barbara had been murdered, Hilary convinced me it would be foolish to do otherwise. At least I told you the truth when I said I felt unwell. You can imagine how much worse I felt when Hilary broke the news about my wife. I was in such a state, I didn't want to face anyone, so I went to my studio, where I knew I could be alone.' He put his head in his hands, and his voice, muffled now, continued. 'I practically collapsed when I got there. I couldn't think straight. I didn't know what to do.'
'You didn't consider tackling your wife? Asking her if it was true?'
Henry raised his head, his face was flushed and he glanced at Hilary as if for moral support.
She told them, 'I persuaded him it wouldn't be a good idea. I was scared Barbara would run straight to Charles. You don't know how vindictive he can be; he hates to be caught in the wrong.' She gave a brittle laugh. 'He's used to getting away with things, you see. He prides himself on it. He's capable of being completely ruthless, and I was worried Henry might lose his home and his job as well as his wife.'
Rafferty found her concern for Henry less than convincing. What she had been worried about was her own position. If Henry had challenged either his wife or Charles, it would have come out that Hilary had employed a private detective to spy on her husband. It wasn't difficult to imagine Charles Shore's likely reaction to that.
'I was fairly sure I would be able to get Henry fixed up with a job with my brother, so he would be in a position to take Barbara away from here, but it needed time to arrange. He's got his own business and is doing very well, so I've got one thing to thank Charles for. He set my brother up when we were first married.' Her voice was brittle as she added, 'Before he began to find other men's wives more to his taste.'
The sleek make-up on her face seemed to dissolve, the lines on her skin became more prominent, and Rafferty had a glimpse of what she would look like when she was old and spite, discontent and self-obsession were permanently marked on her face. As though aware that Rafferty had witnessed what only her morning mirror was allowed to see, she turned away.
Henry broke in. 'Perhaps if I'd been more like Charles, Barbara would never have strayed.' With a sigh, he turned to Rafferty and the words began to spill out, slowly at first, and then more quickly, as if he had been bottling them up for too long. 'But I'm not anything like Charles. What Hilary told you is true. I didn't tackle Barbara. I didn't have the guts. I couldn't face her, not when I was such a wreck. I'd never understood what she saw in me, you see, and it was like a miracle when she agreed to marry me, especially when my first marriage had been so unhappy. I was scared if I pleaded with her not to leave me, she might begin to despise me. Everyone else seems to. I was terrified I might lose her altogether if I challenged her. And, of course, I'd promised Hilary I wouldn't do anything rash. The whole business affected her future every bit as much as it did mine.'
Rafferty said nothing, but, given Henry's character, it sounded plausible. His do-nothing mentality would be scared to do anything at all in case it made everything far worse. As Hilary had said, he might easily lose everything. There again, after finding out that his wife was having an affair, he might not care. The latest revelations certainly provided Henry with the motive that they had previously lacked.
'I thought I knew Barbara. I trusted her.' Henry looked bemused, hurt, angry, as he turned to Rafferty. 'Even now, if it wasn't for what Hilary told me the detective agency had discovered, I'd have been willing to swear sh
e was totally faithful to me.'
Hilary turned on him, as though his loyalty to his dead wife infuriated her. 'Don't you think it's time you faced facts? Barbara played up to Charles for all she was worth once she sensed he wanted her, I don't know how you never noticed.'
Her words seemed to make Henry more bemused than ever. He simply sat, shaking his head as he had when Rafferty had told him his wife was dead, as if the physical denial of his wife's faithlessness would somehow make it true.
With an exasperated expression, Hilary turned away from him. 'You're a fool. There's not a woman alive—or dead,' she added spitefully, 'who wouldn't have got their claws into Charles given the chance. Barbara and Charles were having an affair, right under your nose, take my word for it. And your wife might be dead, but my husband is very much alive, and I intend to hang onto him. All I ask is that you keep your mouth shut about their affair.'
Thoroughly browbeaten, Henry just nodded.
'What's going on here?'
They all turned, shocked to see Charles Shore framed in the doorway. 'What mischief are you up to now?' he demanded of his wife.
Chapter Fourteen
RAFFERTY WONDERED HOW long Shore had been listening outside the door. Not that it really mattered, because, judging from the furious look he directed at his wife, he'd certainly heard enough. Hilary's shocked expression told him that she realised it, too. Her face had drained of colour. She stared at her husband, as if mesmerised, like a rabbit caught in a car's headlights, incapable of doing anything except shake her head in useless denial.
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