“From Botox to knee fillers and everything in between.”
“I guess it pays well?”
His smile was so quick Le Claire almost missed it. “In this Peter Pan island, few want to grow old, and there are a lot who have the money to do something about it. That’s where I come in.”
“And the private GP work? What does that entail?”
“I have a few select patients, and carry out annual medicals and more frequent general assessments.”
“You said Drew Portland’s last medical results were good and clear of any issues. Yet now he is dead. I hate to be indelicate, but Louise Portland is now a widow, which leaves the coast clear for you.”
“I find your insinuation distasteful.”
“Which is how I react to murder. Did you get rid of Drew Portland to free his wife?”
There was no anger on Mathison’s face, just a smirk of amusement. “You’re clutching at straws. I have nothing else to say unless you have something to back up your accusations.”
Le Claire made his way out followed by Dewar. Something bothered him about the doctor, and he would get to the bottom of it.
#
Tom Mathison waited a beat until his office door had closed behind the police. He took a deep breath, slowly exhaled and, grabbing his mobile, dialled the number he had memorised weeks ago.
The call was answered by a breezy American voice. “Melanie speaking, how may I help you?”
“Hi, it’s Tom Mathison.”
“Hello again. What can I do for you today?”
“I’d like to progress matters. Can you organise the flights and the room bookings please? It will be in the names of Louise Portland and myself. I’ll send you the passport details.”
“That is great, sir. What dates, please?”
“Make it two weeks from this coming Sunday. I don’t have a return date yet, so please book the flights one way.”
He wasn’t taking Louise’s prevarications any longer. It was time, and with Drew gone, there was no longer anything to stop them.
#
Sophie checked out of one hotel and into another—almost. She packed her suitcase into her hire car and drove west. Ginelli’s was on the outskirts of town and occupied a prime position across from the beach with uninterrupted views. Little had changed about the property in the last ten years, but not so the surroundings. Sophie remembered that the hotel site had been flanked by a row of low-level shops and restaurants on one side and some large private houses on the other. Both had been replaced by tall apartment buildings, catering for the increased population and the finance industry. Ginelli’s itself had remained the same. The five-storey main building, with lower wings on either side, was painted a crisp white and offset by chrome-and-glass balconies. She saw with pleasure that the surrounding gardens were well maintained and that flower filled troughs surrounded the guest car-parking area.
When her father had first renovated the hotel, he had added a small flat that he had occupied with his young wife and baby. They had moved out to her mother’s dream home when Sophie was four, her father’s hotel and restaurant business being a bigger success than anyone could have imagined. In his will, he had said the flat was Sophie’s to occupy whilst it, and the hotel, remained in the family’s ownership. She’d never had a chance to live there before.
The hotel reception area had been repainted, and new artwork adorned the walls. The sofas and chairs looked the same, although they’d been re-upholstered in dark purple crushed velvet. It still looked classy and expensive, and Sophie felt at home for the first time in years. The pretty, smiling receptionist was new and didn’t know who she was, so Sophie asked for Justin.
“Who shall I say is asking for Mr Le Mahe?”
“Tell him it’s Sophie, Sophie Ginelli.”
The receptionist dialled a number and listened intently. Soon a frown appeared, and she hung up. “I’m sorry. There is no answer. May I take a message?”
At that, someone came through the revolving door, and a familiar voice called, “Sophie? Christ, it really is you.”
She turned, and the moment seemed to be suspended as the years rolled away. Justin didn’t look any different, simply a little older and, if possible, even more handsome. He stood in front of her, and she had to bend her head back to look at him. He was a couple of inches over six feet, and she could see he had filled out with the years. No longer a lanky twenty-three-year-old, he had apparently found the gym as his body, under a sharp grey suit, looked toned and taut. His dark wavy hair no longer fell untamed into his eyes and past his shoulders. Now it was trimmed and shaped into a short cut that flattered his square face. The dark, serious brown eyes hadn’t changed at all. They still looked as if they would devour her. She glanced away, moved back a little.
“Hi. Yes, it really is me.”
“You got back into the island quick. I’ve been to see Louise and heard what happened to Drew. What a bloody shocker. Seems they don’t know how he died yet.”
“I’ve been back a couple of days. It was me that found Drew’s body.” She shivered at the memory of the horror of the night before.
“Oh, Sophie, what a nightmare that must have been. Come on, I’ve got some wine in the office. Let’s go and have a drink.”
Sophie hesitated for a moment, but then dutifully followed Justin past the reception desk and into the corridor that led to what had once been her father’s office. She shivered a little as she walked through the door and looked at the once-familiar space. “You’ve barely changed it at all.”
“Louise didn’t want it touched at first, and I didn’t see the need. This office stood your dad in good stead while he built the business and kept it on such a successful path. I was hoping some of that luck would rub off on me. What happened? Why are you back, and why the hell were you anywhere near Drew Portland?”
Justin walked to a small drinks trolley that sat in the corner. Her father used to dispense whisky and vodka from the burnished wooden top. Now it was set with elegant-stemmed wineglasses, and she watched as Justin popped the cork on a bottle of red wine. He poured two glasses and handed one to her.
“Thanks. I decided it was time to come back. I’ve been gone too long. I wanted to make peace with Drew before I met with Louise. I was too late; he was dead when I arrived at the boat. He was just lying there. Christ.”
A tremor ran through her as she sipped at her wine. Justin took the glass from her and set it down, to hold both her hands in his. The contact startled her, and sadness swept through her as she realised she couldn’t remember the last time another person had touched her.
“I’m glad you’re back. Will you be staying in the flat?”
“Yes, that’s the plan.”
“Okay, I’ve got the keys here. We’ve always had the place cleaned on a monthly rota, so it shouldn’t need much doing to it. Finish your drink, and we’ll get you settled in.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Diane Hunt fluffed out her hair, the blonde curls carefully teased and styled. She knew her make-up was perfect—she’d spent long enough applying it—and her outfit would hit any male’s sweet spot.
She wore a body-skimming top that zipped at the front and barely contained her full breasts. She hadn’t closed it all the way; she’d left it open enough that the shadowed V of her cleavage was on display, as was the promise of what bounty would be unleashed if the zipper edged farther south. Her jeans were tight, and, not wanting to look a complete slapper, she had thrown on a colourful shirt that she left undone.
Her high-heeled sandals clicked on the tiled floor as she strode into the bar, her mobile phone held to her ear as she spoke. “But I’m already here, what do you mean you have to work late? You’re supposed to be meeting me.” She fell silent and waited to speak. “Fine, fine. I get it. Thanks for nothing.”
She shoved the phone into her handbag and looked around the lounge area, uncertain for a moment. She marched to the bar and ordered an ice-cold glass of rosé. The ma
n standing next to her turned at her voice and spoke.
“Hey Diane, I didn’t expect to see you here. Are you okay?”
Peter Frobisher was propping up the bar, beer in hand. “Oh, hi.” She clutched her hand to her chest, hoping it signified the right degree of surprise. “I didn’t see you there.” She paused, thought about her next words. “Are you all right? It was such a shock about Drew dying.”
“Yeah, I can’t get my head around it yet. I had lunch with him yesterday and he seemed fine. I can’t believe it.” There was a tremor in his voice, and his words trailed away as he ran a shaking hand through his hair. “How’s Louise? I called the house, but it went to answerphone.”
“As the saying goes, I guess she is as well as expected.”
He looked awkward for a moment. “Well, send Louise my best. I know she isn’t too enamoured of me, but I’m sorry for what she must be going through.”
“I’m afraid Aunt Louise had always thought you a bad influence, even before she met Drew.”
He smiled, a quick lift of the lips that acknowledged their shared history. “So what was all that about on the phone?”
She sipped her rosé, and the wine egged her on. “I was supposed to be meeting a friend. She called me as I walked in here to say she was stuck at work and couldn’t get away.”
“Bit late notice.”
“Yeah, to be fair, she said she hadn’t noticed the time, and one of her clients has a transaction that is closing. So I thought I’d have a quick drink before heading home.”
“Good plan.” He looked down at his bottle of beer as if it was the most fascinating thing on earth. He held it in one hand, the other resting on the bar. She reached out with an instinctive reaction, and gently placed her hand over his.
He jerked, yet didn’t move his hand away. “Diane . . .”
“Hush, I want to say how sorry I am. I know how close you were to Drew.
His look was direct, yet his eyes weren’t signalling any message she wanted to acknowledge. She willed his words to remain unspoken, but they came all the same.
“It was a mistake—the other night shouldn’t have happened.”
She slowly removed her hand from his as a tremor of shock, mingled with humiliation and disappointment, rippled through her. She took a steadying breath and smiled in what she hoped was a friendly manner. “Hey, don’t worry. It was one of those things. You’re going through a tough time, and I guess a little spark from the past reignited itself. We go back a long way, so we shouldn’t let one night ruin our friendship.”
He smiled. “I couldn’t agree more. Here. Let me buy you another drink before you head off.”
#
The sun was setting on what had turned out to be a day of questions and not many answers. Le Claire nursed a beer as he leant over the balcony and watched the sun dip ever closer to the horizon; to the left, Mont Orgueil Castle bathed in a rosy glow, the ramparts stark and majestic. He tried to remember how long it had been since he had moved in with Sasha. Was it two months or three? Their divorce was well and truly off the table, and he now found himself living in his wife’s home. And one that had been bought by her indulgent parents. His father-in-law didn’t seem too pleased that Le Claire was back on the scene, but right now all he cared about was that he and Sasha were on the right track, the past forgiven—if not exactly forgotten.
His gaze raked the beach, and he idly watched the couples and dog-walkers taking advantage of a pleasant evening to stroll along the shore. Perhaps they’d have time to go for a walk before dinner?
“Jack?”
He turned, suddenly anxious that his wife’s voice betrayed a shaking tremor. Her face was pale, which emphasised the dark brown of her eyes that held an unreadable, unfathomable expression. He couldn’t tell if she was shocked, horrified or happy.
“Sasha, what is it? What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, and her long dark hair bounced and waved. Her eyes were wide, and her hand stretched out, trembling. She was holding something. He couldn’t make out what it was at first, and then comprehension slammed through him. He looked closer, his eyes shot to Sasha.
“Are you kidding? Of course you’re not. Oh, I’m babbling. We’re pregnant?”
Sasha laughed, her voice a bubble of joy as she held out the pregnancy test, the word positive emblazoned in the results window with a bright blue cross next to it.
“Oh, Jack, we’ve been trying for years. I assumed I was late because I was ill or something. I thought I’d do a quick test before I went to the doctor. So that I could say I wasn’t pregnant and they’d need to find out what was wrong. This one is the third test I’ve done today, all positive.”
He slowly shook his head, knowing he had a stupid grin on his face. A whoosh of adrenalin rushed through him, and he pulled Sasha into his arms, drawing her tight against him. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, pulled her closer still. “I didn’t know how much I wanted this until this moment. I’m going to be a dad; you’ll be a mum. God, I don’t believe this.”
“I know, I know. I’m so excited but scared too.”
He knew what concerned her and didn’t have the ready words of reassurance. “I know we’d virtually given up hope. These things happen at their own pace, I guess. It’ll be fine. You need to take care of yourself, and I’ll help with that.”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soft lips. The usual burst of desire shot through him, but this time it was accompanied by something else—a sense of protectiveness even fiercer than the one he had first experienced on the day they married. He’d do whatever it took to make sure she—and their baby—would be fine. A new mantle of responsibility settled upon him, and he liked it.
#
Diane smothered a giggle as Pete unlocked the front door and ushered her into the house with a dramatic flourish of his hand. She was a little unsteady on her feet and stopped halfway along the hallway and leant against the wall. They’d polished off two bottles of wine, and all they’d had to eat were some peanuts and crisps. She’d gone to the bar with the sole intention of meeting him, and now here she was—exactly where she wanted to be.
He locked the door, threw his keys onto the low hall table and moved towards her. The air crackled with sexual tension. The memories of their last time together were crowding her mind and egging her on. He kept walking until they were almost, but not quite, touching. There was an incessant thrumming in her ears as her heart pounded, and her chest rose and fell and ached for his touch.
His hand grabbed the back of her neck and drew her closer as, head bent, he crushed her mouth with his. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed against him, chest to chest, hip to hip and groin to groin. He pulled back and whispered, “Will you stay for a while? Come upstairs?”
She smiled in what she hoped was a shy yet seductive way and kept her jubilation deep inside. Her voice was a husky whisper, “I thought you’d never ask.”
He grabbed her hand and turned to the stairs, pulling her with him. She bent her head to hide her self-satisfied smile.
#
A thick band of moonlight poured through the gap in the curtains and illuminated the bed. Diane was lazing in a post-coital glow, her head resting on Pete’s chest, their legs intertwined. His voice was a lazy rumble, “That was great,” and he bent down and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. Checking his watch, he said, “Whoa, it’s nearly one o’clock. I better call you a cab.”
The careless words were a resounding slap. Her skin chilled, and by the time she found her voice, Pete had ordered a taxi. “It’ll be here in five minutes, so we better get a move on and get you dressed.”
She kept quiet as she furiously pulled her clothes on, and he eventually got the message.
“Diane, are you all right? You’re not saying much.”
She debated holding her tongue and playing the game, but that had never been her style. Her shoulders were rigid and her face set as she spoke. “No, I’m not bloody
all right. You’ve shagged me, and now you’re chucking me out. I don’t know where I stand with you.”
He looked completely taken aback, and his words were a stabbing dagger, “Don’t overreact. We don’t have any standing with each other. We’ve hooked up a couple of times—that’s it. I’m sorry, you must know this is only a bit of fun.”
She didn’t know whether to be angry or embarrassed, before realising she was both. She grabbed her shirt from the floor, pulled it over her shoulders and held her handbag tightly in front of her.
“You utter dick. You screwed me over once before, and I should never have trusted you again. You fooled me twice, shame on me.” Her voice wobbled, and tears filled her eyes. To her embarrassment, he noticed, and she recoiled from his pity.
“I’m sorry. I can’t get into anything right now.”
“Fine, fine.”
And she ran downstairs to the waiting taxi, leaving small pieces of her heart in her wake.
CHAPTER FIVE
Le Claire had lain awake most of the night, and so had Sasha. They’d snuggled, intertwined as if they were one being, sharing the same skin. They’d been buzzing, adrenalin keeping their eyes wide open and their minds whirring. They’d seen every hour of the night; their excitement wouldn’t allow sleep to take this moment from them. They’d talked about the future—a future they had thought would never be theirs.
They must have eventually drifted off, for he awoke as the dawn broke. The wooden slatted blinds didn’t protect the room from the relentless onslaught of the rising sun, and he turned to the light like a storybook vampire. He grimaced as he checked the time. Turning, he saw a few strands of hair escaping from under the duvet—the only visible sign of his wife, who cocooned herself under the covers. The light wasn’t going to wake Sasha anytime soon.
He considered getting up and then, glancing down, decided to sink back under the covers and pull his sleeping wife into his arms. She grumbled in her sleep at being disturbed, but she soon settled in the crook of his arm and snuggled into his chest. Mere months ago they were on the brink of divorce, and now their marriage was back on track, and they had a baby on the way. A baby—now that was going to take some time to get used to. They still had issues to face, and the London situation would rear its ugly head again, but they had each other, and he knew they’d get through whatever life threw at them. They’d done it before.
Blood On The Rock: Treachery, desire, jealousy and murder (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 4