The Ties That Bind
Page 7
DS Stuart smiled reassuringly. ‘Still worried, Ms Tempest? Don’t be. We always keep some things back and what you’ve told us, valuable though it might well be, is unlikely to be made public.’
‘Thank you.’ He was being so considerate that Jess briefly wished she’d given him the true facts, though as Rachel said she’d pointed the police in the right direction and the rest was up to them.
‘So now will you read through your statement which DC Masters has taken down, and if everything is correct, please sign it.’
Jess had a moment of panic. Would she be committing a crime by confirming she’d met Marriott outside the building? Too late to think of that now, and at least she’d reported seeing him. Biting her lip and mentally crossing her fingers, she signed the statement.
Stuart pushed back his chair and came to his feet. ‘Thank you. We’re very grateful to you for coming forward; this could well be the lead we’ve been looking for.’
Out in the foyer he shook her hand, asked her to get in touch if she remembered anything else, and handed her his card so she could reach him directly.
As the heavy doors swung to behind her Jess felt a huge sense of relief. She’d done what was required of her – or almost – and a weight had been lifted. Whether logically or not, she felt a great deal safer – and she still had time to grab a sandwich before going back to the office.
An hour earlier, Patrick had set off for a meeting in Exeter, Jess’s postcard in his pocket as a reminder to contact her.
His appointment wasn’t until two thirty, and although he knew there was little chance of Natasha being free at such short notice, he’d allowed extra time on the off-chance they might manage lunch together. However a quick call had established that she was in France. Elusive as smoke! he thought frustratedly. No reason, though, why he shouldn’t have a decent meal himself. Lately sandwiches at his desk had been the norm.
Having parked his car he started to walk towards the cathedral, glancing at displayed menus as he passed without finding anything that appealed. He’d decided to settle on the next restaurant he came to when he remembered his father mentioning a few weeks ago that he’d had a good meal at somewhere called L’Aperitif, and resolved to give it a try. It could go on expenses, too, he thought with satisfaction. A quick check on his mobile established it was only a couple of minutes’ walk away and he quickened his steps, already anticipating an enjoyable lunch.
It was obvious as soon as he entered the restaurant that it was busy – a good sign, but he hoped service would be quick or he’d be pressed for time. Obeying the notice Please wait to be seated, he glanced idly round the room and his eyes skidded to a sudden halt. At a corner table his father was in earnest conversation with a woman, his hand resting lightly on hers. Patrick hesitated, wondering whether to beat a hasty retreat; but he’d been looking forward to this meal and didn’t see why he should forfeit it.
Before he could change his mind he went over to their table, registering the shock on Justin’s face as he caught sight of him.
‘Patrick!’ he exclaimed, his face reddening. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I have a meeting with John Simpson at two thirty,’ Patrick answered steadily, ‘and decided to give your recommendation a try.’ Now, as he turned to the woman awaiting an introduction, he realized he’d seen her before, though he couldn’t remember where.
Justin moistened his lips. ‘I believe you’ve met Mrs Grant? We did some probate work for her earlier this year.’
‘Of course.’ Patrick nodded at her. She too had flushed and was looking decidedly uncomfortable.
‘Shall I bring another chair, sir?’
Patrick turned to the waiter who’d followed him across. ‘No, that won’t be necessary, thank you,’ he said quickly. ‘There are some notes I must look over while I have my meal.’
‘Very well, sir. A table for one, then? I believe one’s just become available, if you’d care to follow me?’
Patrick nodded to the couple motionless in front of him, turned on his heel and followed the waiter. My God! he was thinking; what have I stumbled on? Was it possible Dad and this Grant woman were having an affair? Did this account for his changing moods during the last month or two, his banishment from the marital bedroom?
His thoughts continued to collide as he studied the menu and placed an order. If there was some truth in all this, Mrs Grant was an unlikely mistress. Not only was she a fairly recent widow, but in Patrick’s view she’d little to recommend her. Aged about fifty, she was pale and ordinary-looking – not a patch on Mum, he thought with fierce loyalty. What the hell was Dad thinking?
His steak arrived with exemplary swiftness, cooked exactly as requested, but he gave it little attention. From Mrs Grant his thoughts had turned to his father, regarding him in the totally unaccustomed light of a lover. The idea was ludicrous, yet on reflection he was a good-looking man, tall and straight, his horn-rimmed spectacles giving an air of dependability. Huh! Patrick thought viciously. Thank God he didn’t have to go back to the office this afternoon. How Dad would react next time they did meet, he couldn’t begin to imagine. Well, that was his problem. Patrick certainly wouldn’t make the first move.
He’d deliberately seated himself with his back to the couple and when, twenty minutes later, he left the restaurant he didn’t so much as glance in their direction. Whether or not the table was still occupied he neither knew nor cared.
The closer she came to meeting the others the more Jess’s feeling of safety dissipated. Mouth dry, throat closed – suppose she was unable to eat? They’d wonder what was wrong with her. How many would be there this evening, she wondered fearfully, and, whether they were implicated or not, how many knew what had happened? Would she be the only one supposed to be in ignorance?
She had reached the restaurant and, drawing a deep breath, pushed her way inside, meeting a blast of ice-cold air conditioning. She saw them at once; Connor, who had been watching the door, stood up and waved to her and she threaded her way between the tables to join them.
‘Welcome back!’ he said, pulling out the chair next to him. ‘Had a good time?’
‘Very, thanks.’ Had the police been to the flat yet?
‘Great tan!’ Sarah commented, glancing up from the menu. ‘I’m counting the days till I go away.’
Maggie said, ‘She brought me back some of the local dried pasta and a packet of seasoning – a mix of spices, including chilli flakes. Can’t wait to try it!’
‘Save it for when we’re round for supper!’ Laurence put in.
They all seemed so normal, Jess thought, as she tried each voice in turn against the whispers she’d heard from the wardrobe; but she’d been unable to tell even at the time whether they were male or female.
It was halfway through the main course that Di remarked casually, ‘Did anyone see that thing in the paper today, about the body that was washed up?’
‘What “thing”, exactly?’ asked Dominic.
‘Well, apparently the guy was murdered!’
Sarah raised an eyebrow. ‘How did they come up with that?’
‘A knife wound. The police have only just released that fact.’
‘Gruesome!’ Sarah commented, and returned to her curry.
Jess kept her eyes firmly on her plate, terrified she might intercept an exchanged glance she wasn’t meant to see. Keep eating! she instructed herself, though each mouthful was sticking in her throat.
‘Probably a bar-room brawl,’ Dominic suggested. ‘Remember that case a few years ago? Two seamen got into a fight, one pulled a knife. It’s surprising it doesn’t happen more often, now knife crime’s on the increase.’
Maggie hadn’t made any comment, Jess noted. Nor had Laurence or Connor. Was that significant, or were they just not interested? But as she and Rachel had deduced, Maggie, as owner of the flat, must surely be involved. She repressed a shiver, thankfully conscious that the conversation had moved on.
‘You OK, Jess?’
‘Fine, thanks.’
‘You’re making heavy weather of that curry!’ His voice was teasing, but there was an underlying note of concern. Please don’t let it be Connor!
‘Hangover from the holiday!’ she said. ‘First day back at work, and all that. Sorry if I’m being a drag; I should probably have opted out and gone home to bed!’
‘I’m glad you didn’t,’ he said quietly. ‘But I’ll run you back now, if you’re wilting. My car’s just down the road.’
‘Thanks, but so is mine. I’m OK, really.’
Di leaned across the table. ‘You said you’d been to the Uffizi, Jess. What was it like?’
And to Jess’s infinite relief the conversation moved from the personal and remained innocuous till the end of the evening.
There was a full moon, and in the light seeping through the curtains shadows chased themselves across the bedroom ceiling. His right arm had gone to sleep, but Owen was loath to move it. It had taken Fleur a long time to drift off, tears drying on her cheeks, and he didn’t want to risk waking her.
Why the hell hadn’t she told him weeks ago? he thought helplessly, worry gnawing at him. A lump, for God’s sake! She was a sensible woman; she knew the risks of delay. What would he do if he lost her? The thought flashed into his head before he could stop it and he clamped down on it before it took hold. Think of something else! he commanded himself.
But a lesser worry lay waiting to surface – the spate of bullying at school, young Jamie Coulson’s tear-stained face, and his mother-in-law’s acid voice: I’m surprised you allow it, Owen.
He gritted his teeth in the darkness. If that woman didn’t ease up on her criticisms, so help him he’d throttle her! He imagined her surprise if he suddenly seized her round the throat, and a reluctant smile came to his face. A pretty pass when the only thing to calm him was imagining violence towards his mother-in-law! Yet, oddly, it had the desired effect and after a while he too sank into sleep.
SIX
‘God, Patrick, are you sure?’
‘Well, it’s a bit of a no-brainer, isn’t it, all things considered? Holding hands in an expensive restaurant, where you wouldn’t expect to see anyone you knew?’
Amy said in a small voice, ‘Do you think Mum knows?’
‘She must have some idea, if she banished him to the guest room.’
‘It’s worse than we thought, then.’
‘Yep.’
‘Look, you’re on hand; it’s much easier for you to see them than for me to get time off.’
‘We didn’t get very far last time I went round.’
‘But it’s different now; Dad knows you know, or at least suspect. He’ll probably try to find out how he stands.’ She paused. ‘Perhaps he was only trying to comfort her over the death of her husband.’
‘One way of putting it.’
She sighed. ‘No, you’re right. Besides, if you handled probate earlier in the year, he’ll have died some time ago. They’ve obviously kept in touch.’
Patrick glanced at his watch. ‘Anyway, I just wanted to put you in the picture. I’ll keep you posted, but I’ll wait for Dad to make the first move. Must go, sis, duty calls.’
‘Me too. Thanks for letting me know. I think.’
Patrick started his car. The other phone call he wanted to make was to Jess, but he wasn’t sure of the best time to call her. Around lunchtime, perhaps. With his mind still full of family problems, he drove to work.
‘There’s more on that Australian guy,’ Owen remarked at breakfast, laying down his newspaper. ‘It seems he was a successful businessman until a few years ago, when there was some kind of scandal and his company slumped.’
‘Not had much luck, has he?’ Fleur commented. ‘Did you tell the police you’d spoken to him?’
‘Yes, but I gather they’ve been deluged with people phoning in. I doubt if they’ll get back to me.’ He folded his napkin. ‘Must go, love. Let me know if you get an appointment.’
Ten minutes later Fleur was still at the kitchen table, the phone in her hand. There’d been a cancellation at the surgery and she’d been allocated an appointment with Dr Price later that day. So much for her hope of avoiding him! What would she know by supper time?
The answer, of course, was very little. Unless Dr Price was able to give her instant and categorical assurance that the lump was non-malignant – a most unlikely hypothesis – the most she could hope for was that she’d have the result of a biopsy within a few days. Somehow, she’d have to live through those days.
As promised she sent a quick text to Owen, then made a cup of coffee and carried it upstairs to her studio – a grandiose name for what was basically one of the attics. Nonetheless, a studio it had become – a pleasant, comfortable room with clear northern light, a large table at which she worked, a computer and bookshelves filled with books she’d illustrated. The deadline for the one she was working on was fast approaching and she needed to get back to it.
Resolutely pushing worries aside, she re-read the emailed text and began to make preliminary sketches.
Justin Linscott had seriously considered not going in to the office today. However, delay was unlikely to help matters and he was anxious that their work colleagues should be unaware of any atmosphere between himself and Patrick. Accordingly, after glancing briefly at his mail, he went down the corridor to his son’s room, tapped on the door and went in, closing it behind him.
Patrick looked up from his computer and across the room the two men eyed each other in silence. Then, steeling himself, Justin said, ‘She’s a client, for God’s sake!’
‘Was,’ Patrick corrected. ‘Months ago.’
‘I was in Exeter on business and we happened to bump into each other. What would be more natural than asking her to join me for lunch?’
Patrick leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, his eyes never leaving his father’s. ‘Sorry, Dad, not good enough.’
Justin ran his hand through his hair, came further into the room and sat down, leaning forward with his hands between his knees. ‘Look, I don’t know what you think you stumbled on but we really were just having lunch.’
‘Holding hands?’
To his annoyance Justin felt his face redden. ‘We were not “holding hands”, as you so quaintly put it. When you came over, I was patting her hand to reassure her on a point I’d just made.’
‘Why are you sleeping in the guest room?’ Patrick asked abruptly.
His father stared at him, thrown by the change of direction. ‘None of your damn business!’ he snapped.
‘Just putting two and two together.’
Justin’s temper started to rise and with an effort he held it down. ‘All right, as you’re determined to be intrusive, I have met Hilary Grant a couple of times over the last month or two. She’s been having a bad time one way or another since her husband died and wanted my advice. And yes, since you’ve brought it up, your mother and I have been going through a difficult patch. It happens in the best of marriages and will blow over.’
‘Not if you meet other women for lunch,’ Patrick said. ‘Did you tell her your wife doesn’t understand you?’
Justin stood up angrily. ‘There’s no point in continuing this if you insist on being offensive. I’ve tried to explain the position and it’s up to you whether or not you choose to believe it.’
And with that, he left the room. Patrick leaned forward slowly and put his head in his hands. He could have handled that better, as Amy was sure to tell him. So what, if anything, would happen now?
Jess stared down at the text she’d just received. Meet me for lunch, 1 p.m. at Giraffe? (Maggie says that’s your lunch hour!) Please come! Connor.
Oh God, what should she do? She liked him, but was it wise to develop any kind of relationship until she knew whether or not he was involved in the murder? The obvio
us answer was very definitely no; the trouble was that she really wanted to.
She read the text again. Well, one lunch was innocuous enough, and she’d have the legitimate safeguard of a time limit. Also, it would be the first occasion they’d be together without the rest of the crowd, so a chance to get to know each other better. And if she didn’t like what she learned, she needn’t pursue it and there’d be no harm done.
OK, thanks, she typed rapidly, and sent it before she could change her mind.
Jess’s mobile rang as she was leaving the office, identifying the caller as her cousin.
‘Hi, Patrick; I’m just on my way to lunch.’
‘Which I was hoping would be a good time for a chat.’
‘Afraid not, actually; I’m meeting someone and running a bit late.’
‘Anyone interesting?’
She smiled. ‘That’s what I aim to find out!’
‘Ah! Well, far be it from me to stand in the way of young love!’
‘It’s hardly that!’ she protested, hurrying along the pavement. ‘Can I call you back this evening? Sixish?’
‘OK, do that. And make sure he gives you a good lunch!’
She was still smiling as she turned into Cabot Circus and made her way up to the café. Connor stood to greet her as she went in. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said.
He held her chair while she seated herself. ‘Let’s order straight away,’ he suggested, passing her the menu. ‘Then we can settle down to talk without interruption.’
Everyone seemed to want to talk to her, Jess thought. After a brief discussion they made their choices – Pulled BBQ Beef for Connor, Katsu Chicken for Jess – and, as the waiter moved away, they sat back and smiled at each other tentatively. There was a momentary pause.
‘Long time no see!’ she said facetiously, to break it.
‘Actually, it’s because of last night that I contacted you. Despite your assurances, you didn’t seem yourself and I wondered if I could help in any way?’
‘I told you, it was post-holiday fatigue.’
‘And nothing more?’