by Jill Barry
“I’m sorry about that. My teenager’s social life is far more interesting than my own.” Again, too much information. “So, champagne? You haven’t even exchanged contracts, yet you’re celebrating?”
“It’s you as well as me, surely? You’ve worked hard. Put up with a lot of flak. You deserve a glass or two of bubbly.”
He led her to a table beside the window. Bethan didn’t intend dampening his enthusiasm with the usual warnings about potential delays and unforeseen blips and turned her attention to the river, its peaty brown waters tumbling and splashing over a weir. A heron perched motionless on a flat white stone, remaining so still one might be forgiven for accepting the long-legged bird as a stone garden sculpture.
Ray Kirby’s voice broke her reverie. “I don’t often get to drink champagne of a morning,” he said.
“Nor do I.” Her last taste of the bubbly stuff had been at a colleague’s wedding reception. She and Tim’s attendance at another couple’s nuptials hadn’t halted the advancing chill of their own marital breakdown.
“Actually, it’s no longer morning.”
“True,” she said. “It still feels like it though. You must have made an early start.”
“I’m used to getting up at sparrow-fart.” He raised his eyebrows. “You know, it would have been a downer, spending the rest of the day alone, having made such an important decision.”
Bethan recognised a chink in his armour. She burned to ask if he intended at least ringing his partner. Perhaps he thought Claudia might still be sleeping.
“Maybe you’re thinking of driving back today to check your partner’s all right?”
“Nope. I shall honour my room reservation. Get some plans on paper. Drink more champagne. . .”
He was watching her. She looked away. Looked around the lounge. Looked anywhere but at him. “They have a big screen TV. You could watch sport all afternoon. That golfing thing Eddie Deacon mentioned.”
“I could, couldn’t I?”
She heard the smile in his voice.
“Do you work every Saturday, Bethan?”
“No. Officially today is my day off.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I’m flattered.”
“I was determined nothing would interfere with – well, you know.”
Ray kept silent while their waiter popped the cork and poured fizz into two crystal flutes. He raised his glass to clink against hers. “We’re not out of the woods yet. I’m not that naïve.”
“The Deacons can move out without too much delay. Mr Deacon has a couple of possibilities lined up but said he was prepared to rent somewhere if necessary. You’re a cash buyer. That’s always a favourable situation.”
“You know what I meant.” He drank from his glass and put it back on the table. “If our suspicions about the witch of the west are accurate, as you and I know they are, she might yet pull all the stops out to try and prevent the sale going through.”
“Maybe Mr Deacon will drive his wife back to the daughter’s place to keep her out of the line of fire.”
“If Mrs D leaves the village, won’t Mr D be a full-on target for the scheming Ms Morgan?”
Bethan fought the temptation to reach for a strand of her hair to play with. “Do you think I should go and see him? Make it clear exactly what happened while he and his wife were away?” She tried to imagine herself describing Ruth Morgan’s Delyth persona; watching her client’s eyes widen in amazement.
“I’d say leave it for now. It mightn’t ever be necessary. Morgan the Fey might decide she’s done her worst.”
“Let’s hope so. She obviously doesn’t worry you. Many people in your position might have decided not to offer on the property.”
He shrugged. “I feel sorry for that woman, as it happens. She shouldn’t be living where she does. Some people thrive on isolation. Others self-implode. As for me, I plan on contacting a solicitor first thing Monday. I won’t allow anyone to interfere with my plans.”
Bethan looked at him and wondered if she’d glimpsed a flash of regret in the powerful man’s eyes. “I’m sure your partner will fall in love with The Sugar House when she eventually sees it.”
“If she sees it.” He emptied his glass. Motioned to hers. “Top up?”
Bethan stared at him. What was going on? “I’m fine, thanks.” She picked up her glass and sipped the chilled wine, unsure how to react to his comment. What difference should it make to her?
He picked up on her uncertainty. “Make no mistake, Bethan. I shall move into Three Roads, with or without Claudia. At the moment, it looks very much like without.”
Bethan hid her hands beneath the table so she could clench her fists. Feel her fingernails biting into each palm. “If she’s poorly it’s probably wise that she didn’t come with you. She’s probably feeling very sorry for herself and longing to have you back again.”
“There’s a lot going on I don’t know about, is all.”
Bethan picked up her bag. “I really must get back, Ray.”
“They know you’re with a client. Can I not persuade you to join me for a spot of lunch?”
The description sounded bizarre, coming from the big man.
Bethan shook her head. “Thanks, Ray, but duty calls. Enjoy the rest of your stay.”
“I’d enjoy it more if you’d agree to have dinner with me tonight. Or is a date with a prospective purchaser a no-no?”
Thrown, she clutched her handbag strap like a lifeline. “I’ve never thought about it. It’s the first time a client ever asked me out.”
“I find that difficult to believe. Why don’t you think about it? You can always give me a call later. I shall probably order a ploughman’s and go for a walk before I sketch out some plans. I need to stretch my legs after this morning’s driving.”
On her return home from the office, Bethan, still with reservations about the situation at Three Roads, sent a text message to Eddie Deacon’s phone, hoping for a swift response. While she waited, she changed into black leggings and yellow sports vest, with a lightweight sweatshirt tied around her waist. She did her usual stretches and bends, placed her Yale key inside her money belt and let herself out of her front door just as her phone rang.
It didn’t take long to outline her fears about Ruth Morgan, although Eddie, she sensed, didn’t seem too bothered. Who could blame him, having received an offer on his asking price? When Bethan jogged through the small residential estate only a mile from the hotel she’d visited that morning, the afternoon still drifted, golden, gentle, and far too delicious to waste on housework or batch cooking for the freezer.
Even one single glass of champagne slid too easily into her head. It had been a considered decision, not to accept a second. Ray Kirby’s invitation had caught her off balance. Tugged at her emotions, never mind other more physical portions of her anatomy. She’d wanted to accept. Wasn’t she home alone that evening? It would be so easy to call his mobile and say yes. But would that lead to a complicated few hours? What did they have in common save their joint suspicions regarding Ruth Morgan and determination that Ray should become the new owner of The Sugar House? She’d do her utmost to grease the wheels on the conveyance machine, having recommended a local solicitor with whom she’d gone to school and who prided upon his non-procrastination skills.
There’d also been that odd mention from Ray of a Julia something or other. He said he’d explain when next he saw her. Anything that might explain the actions of Ruth Morgan was important to Bethan. Maybe, having dinner with him would be helpful in that respect.
As for being attracted to the guy, he had a live-in lover and Bethan had a husband. Which part of that did she not understand? For the first time in years, her body was trying to override her scruples, rather than allow her brain to function, as she’d prefer.
Bethan left the quiet estate, upped her pace and began an easy loping run, moving confidently. Passing the small retail park enjoying a sunny Saturday afternoon business boost, and heading down the quiet resi
dential road leading out of town. She would turn down the first forestry track. The scenery couldn’t compete with that around The Devil’s Pool but the terrain was far gentler.
It had been a good morning, apart from that one big blip. She needed to unwind now. Needed to push herself in a different way from that in which she reacted to the challenges of her professional life.
She heard the distinctive call of a buzzard as she progressed. A quick upward glance showed a pair of birds. Not too many miles away was a Red Kite feeding station, where she and her husband had taken Poppy and her friends, or weekend visitors, on several occasions. The thought of her estranged husband brought Ray back into her thoughts. She and he did, after all, have in common their precarious love life situation: he unexpectedly ambivalent about his partner’s place in his future plans, and she undecided as to whether she wanted to remain married to Tim for Poppy’s sake, or for her own.
Being a single mum when your child’s father was supportive and generous wasn’t too bad was it? She enjoyed her job. Usually. Poppy was happy at school and now she was working towards a university place. The house would be quiet without her but she was often out a lot anyway, studying with one of her friends, and these days spending time with her boyfriend at weekends.
The leaves in front gardens were turning. Falling. Too damp to shift in the breeze, they lay, giant freckles plastering lawns and patios. In the distance the sun dappled conifers with gold. Bethan continued to run at a steady pace. She passed the town boundary sign.
She saw the big man walking from the forestry track back to the main road as she covered the final stretch of pavement. She could easily turn back the way she’d come. Maybe he hadn’t noticed her. Somehow her legs kept on propelling her in his direction.
Ray Kirby stopped walking as soon as he saw her. Why had she not chosen the other side of town, with its riverside footpath, for her afternoon exercise? She might have known a stranger to the area, in search of a walk in the fresh air, would leave the hotel and head away from the town. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her clothing chosen for comfort not fashion. She didn’t need to glance down to know dampness darkened the front of her T-shirt. She slowed down and faced him. She couldn’t stop staring at his mouth.
“Why don’t you come back for a swim? We can have tea at the health club bar. I’ll put you in a taxi afterwards and you can ask the cabbie to collect you at seven.”
Eddie poured himself a large gin and tonic over a couple of ice cubes. Suzanne stood at the worktop, whisking eggs. He watched the golden mixture thicken and bubble as she beat. Her favourite omelette pan, which he knew cost more than her last half-day session with the hairdresser, was heating on the hob.
“How about a drink, my darling?”
“Maybe in a bit.”
“I’m glad you seem better.” He perched on a nearby stool, admiring her neat way of working. She hadn’t lost any of her culinary flair.
“I’m fine, Eddie. I don’t know how I got so wound up. As soon as we heard about Mr Kirby’s offer, I felt much calmer. You know how much I hate not knowing what’s going to happen.”
“I think we both know the reason for your returning in such a state. I need to keep you away from Morgan le Fey.”
“From whom?”
“You know very well whom! Arthurian legend and all that.”
“You mean the enchantress?”
“Some said sorceress.”
“Do you find her enchanting, Eddie?”
“Morgan le Fey?”
“Ruth.”
He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Isn’t it time you told me what rubbish the woman’s been spouting?”
“I asked you a question.”
Eddie frowned. “She’s far from being enchanting, though I think it’s fair to say she’s in reasonable shape for her age. Apart from that arthritic knee she goes on about. But she’s not my type.” He tried to reiterate, seeing his wife’s lips tighten. “This is crazy! Why should I want to fool around when I’ve got you? You don’t honestly believe I’d be unfaithful at this stage of our lives, do you? Perhaps I should feel flattered, an old geezer like me.”
“I’ll have that glass of wine now, please.”
He went to the fridge and took out a bottle of Suzanne’s favourite Semillon. “I wish you’d tell me the real reason why you returned from Rock Cottage in such a state.”
“I wish you’d tell me how many people viewed our house while we were away. And what went on.” She poured the beaten eggs into the smoking pan. Tipped in fresh herbs and chopped mushrooms. Raked the mixture with a wooden spatula.
Eddie put a glass of wine on the counter top beside her. “You don’t want to be bothered with all that. We’ve received an offer. Fingers crossed the sale will go through smoothly.”
“We didn’t make the best of starts with the viewings. I still shudder when I think about Mr and Mrs Hunt’s experience.”
“Forget it, Suze. Water under the bridge.”
“I’m amazed Mr Kirby came back again after that business with the tractor.”
“Be thankful he did and go with the flow. Lunch smells good.”
“Part of the reason I get so nervous about things is that you conceal so much from me.”
He sighed. “I can’t see the point of going over it all. If you must know, Bethan Harley and Ruth didn’t exactly hit it off. Ruth appears to have become very territorial. Possessive even. Mrs Harley was pulling out all the stops to achieve a sale and found Ruth not as co-operative as she’d have wished or expected her to be. That’s about it.”
“Ruth has made some unpleasant insinuations about you.”
“Has she indeed! Is this about what I think it is?”
Suzanne switched the hob control to zero. “You tell me.” She waited several moments and flipped the omelette on to a plate. Picked up a knife and turned towards her husband.
He flinched as the light caught the sharp steel blade. “Over the years we’ve known her, there might’ve been times when I’ve—”
“Been tempted?”
“No! Please let me finish.” He stared at her. “All right. Maybe one occasion when we’d both had too much to drink and I kissed her. Or she kissed me. Whatever. We all know that sort of thing happens between consenting adults sometimes.”
Suzanne cut into the omelette so one helping was bigger than the other. “Define sometimes.” She placed the smaller portion on a second plate.
“Remember those late-night shindigs at the hotel? Smooching on the dance floor with someone else’s spouse?”
“Perlease! That was usually dancing cheek to cheek and always in full view of everyone else.”
“If you say so. Sometimes you can be a little naïve, my darling.”
They began their meal in silence, the atmosphere heavy between them. Eddie, struggling to find the right thing to say, said nothing at all.
“I don’t intend to make a big thing of this,” said Suzanne at last.
He reached his hand across to touch hers. “There is nothing going on. I swear on my mother’s memory.”
“Thank you. And I’m sorry for doubting you. I realise there have been times when I haven’t been as loving towards you as I should be.”
“Do you know what I think?”
“I will when you tell me.” She laid her fork down.
“Here we go then. My opinion is that Ruth wants to take us over. I’ve done a lot of thinking while we’ve been away. Some of the things you told me show how she’s trying to control you in particular. That business about us all living together one day – I reckon it’s all down to the loneliness she dreads if you and I leave Three Roads.”
“What? The woman with all the friends and local contacts?”
“Think about it, Suze.”
“I’m thinking more about the way you said ‘if you and I leave Three Roads.’”
Eddie swallowed hard. “When! I meant to say, when we leave.”
“I think you shoul
d tell me absolutely everything Bethan Harley has told you.”
He reached for a chunk of baguette and spread butter upon it. “All right. But it sounds like a run of bad luck to me. For starters, I’ve never heard a bizarre tale about a murderer being buried somewhere around here. Have you?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bethan couldn’t believe how good she felt. The gentle lunges and limb stretches before her leisurely run followed by the silky feel of the water stealing up her body as she descended the steps into the hotel pool. The smooth lengths achieved while Ray Kirby ploughed up and down in an impressive crawl from deep end to shallow end. Wrapped in a towelling gown over a borrowed swimsuit, she reclined in a wicker lounger beside him in the conservatory.
“Do women in their late thirties or forties still get crushes?”
She felt her heart skip a beat. “What kind of a question is that?”
Determination not to look at him didn’t stop her from sensing his amusement. She reached for her cup of Earl Grey and watched the lemon slice swirl as she stirred the tea.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll try not to dig myself into a deep hole here. I think Claudia has fallen for some guy and might be mistaking rampant lust for that old thing called lurve.”
“I don’t think age comes into it if people are attracted to one another. But seeing those images on the internet, Claudia doesn’t look anywhere near forty to me.” Hastily she gathered her thoughts. “I hope you don’t mind. I mentioned her to my daughter and Poppy found her website and clicked on the audio button. Claudia has a beautiful voice.”
“Why should I mind? That’s what it’s there for. But you, more than anyone, should know how to tart up a few photographs for a website.”
“I’ll ignore that remark on the grounds it might incriminate me.”
“Claudia may be drop dead gorgeous but she’s 39 years of age and well-used to guys coming on to her.”
“Has she ever been married?”
“Yeah. Married at 20. Divorced at 23.”
“Wow.”
“Wow indeed. And in case you’re wondering, I’ve been married too but my innings lasted a hell of a lot longer than Claudia’s.”