‘And it makes you angry?’ Richard said, fishing.
Hugh sighed. ‘No. Not any more. I mean, don’t get me wrong. It used to. Do either of you have children?’
‘No,’ Richard said, and Camille shook her head.
‘Well, each year your child’s alive, your love for them just seems to grow. It’s overwhelming. Just how precious they become to you. You know you’d sacrifice anything for them in a heartbeat. Anything. And what I’ve never understood is, how did Freddie never feel any of this for his children? So yes, it used to make me angry. The way he just abandoned them. But as the years passed, I realised I was just grateful to have Lucy, Tom and Matthew in my life. I was the lucky one.’
Hugh’s words briefly reminded Richard of how Nanny Rosie had said that while Hugh was a good parent, Sylvie didn’t – as she put it – have ‘a maternal bone in her body’.
‘And does Sylvie feel the same way as you?’ Richard asked.
‘Of course. We were never fortunate enough to have children of our own. Our kids have been a blessing to us. A blessing.’
‘So how does this explain why you lied to us?’ Richard asked.
‘I suppose all I’m saying is, I’ve got quite a complicated relationship with my brother. So when I saw his body in the shower room like that… shot dead… I didn’t know what to do.’
‘So you’re now admitting that you recognised him?’ Richard, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.
Hugh licked his lips, and Richard got a sense that he was weighing up a decision. And, as the silence grew, Richard had a sudden premonition: Hugh was about to tell another lie.
‘I wasn’t entirely sure I recognised him,’ Hugh said. ‘Remember, I hadn’t seen Freddie in the last twenty years. And although I admit that I spoke to him on the phone a few weeks ago, I still didn’t know for sure that he’d used the flights I’d sent to him.’
‘You didn’t?’
‘I didn’t. I haven’t had any contact with Freddie since I phoned him.’
Richard found himself wondering: was this the lie – that Hugh hadn’t seen Freddie since the phone call? Or was he lying about something else? What wasn’t in doubt – to Richard’s mind at least – was that Hugh still wasn’t telling them the whole truth.
‘And anyway,’ Hugh said, finding confidence as he continued his story, ‘he didn’t look anything like he did twenty years ago. The man I saw on the tiles of the shower room was sallow, ill, a tramp. That’s who I thought it was initially. Just some old guy who’d wandered up onto the plantation and shot himself.’
‘Until you looked closer.’
‘Yes,’ Hugh finally admitted. ‘Until I looked closer, and then I knew.’
‘So why didn’t you tell us there and then that you knew it was your brother?’
‘I’m sorry. I should have done, but I was so shocked. I was reeling.’
‘You hid it well.’
‘That’s the public school training. You can hide any emotion,’ Hugh said with a rueful smile. ‘But I realised that I was perhaps the only person in the whole family who’d recognise that the bearded tramp who’d just died in the shower room was actually Freddie. And I have to admit that I’m a proud man. I didn’t want the family name dragged through the mud. So I thought that all I had to do was say nothing, and there was every chance that no-one would even discover his real identity. The children would be spared from discovering that they’d just seen their biological father shot dead.’
‘So you’re saying that you kept quiet because you wanted to protect the family name?’
‘And the children. Although it wasn’t that well thought through. It was a snap decision I made there and then. But once I’d told you that I didn’t recognise him, I felt I couldn’t change my story.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘What?’
‘Because I can perhaps imagine you keeping quiet in the heat of the moment. But after we then returned to the house – days later – and revealed that the victim was your own brother? Why did you continue to lie to us that you hadn’t worked this out for yourself? What are you hiding?’
Hugh was surprised by the question, and Richard’s instincts were telling him that Hugh was still lying to them.
‘I’ve already said. I was worried about the scandal. I didn’t want the children upset. And once you worked out that the dead person was indeed Freddie, I didn’t see the point of coming forward and revealing that I’d known all along.’
‘Because we’d see how suspicious your actions had been?’ Richard asked.
‘Look,’ Hugh said, trying to move the conversation on. ‘I admit it. Matthew showed me the letter that Freddie had written to him. Saying he had cancer. And I told Matthew to drop it, and that it was just another one of Freddie’s tricks to get money out of us. And you’re right, I got pretty angry with Matthew and told him not to contact Freddie again. But after Matthew left, I found myself wondering, what if Freddie was “The Boy Who Cried Wolf’!”, and this was the one time he was telling the truth? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I still didn’t think that he had terminal cancer, but what started to gnaw at me was the thought, what if I was wrong? Because if I was, then I’d just banned Matthew from seeing his biological father before he died.
‘After a few more days, I realised that I should do what Matthew wanted me to do. So I went into Honoré and phoned the number I had for Freddie’s almshouse from a public payphone. I didn’t dare ring him from the house. I couldn’t risk being overheard.’
‘Who did you tell that you were ringing Freddie?’
‘No-one.’
‘Not even your wife?’
‘No. Not even Sylvie. This was between me and Freddie. I didn’t want anyone else hurt or confused. Especially seeing as I didn’t know what Freddie would say to me. But anyway, I rang Freddie’s almshouse from Honoré and found myself talking to someone who went and got him, and then there he was. After two decades, I was talking to my brother on the phone.’
‘And what was it like?’ Camille asked.
‘The first thing he said to me was, “What do you want?”, so he hardly made it easy for me. But I told him that I’d read his letter to Matthew, and I asked him if he was really dying. He told me that he was.’
‘Did you believe him?’
‘No. Not if I’m brutally honest, but I’d already decided that I had to do the honourable thing. So I said that maybe we should all see him. He just laughed and told me that it was all a bit late for that. I tried to ignore his attitude, which was pretty bitter and needling. Remember, he was still my older brother and he wanted me to know it. But I just pushed on and asked him if he’d get on a plane and come out here to visit us. He said I’d have to organise the flight. So I told him I’d do that. He then said it would have to be flexible dates, he didn’t know when he’d be able to come out. I agreed to that as well. But I was getting angry now. I mean, I was the person who’d raised his children for the last twenty years. In the end, he still hadn’t even asked me about them once by the time he hung up on me.
‘It was a frustrating experience to say the least. But I said I’d sort out a ticket for him, so that’s what I did. I went to the airport that morning, paid for a flight in his name, and then, realising I might as well be hung for a goose as for a gander, I changed some money into sterling, put it into an envelope along with the flight tickets, and posted it all to Freddie in the UK. And then… nothing. Can you believe it? I heard nothing. No indication that he’d received the money, no indication he’d even used the flight or arrived on the island.
‘And I began to suspect that Freddie had done it again. He’d tricked me. Just like when he was seventeen and got our father to send him money to buy flights to come back to Saint-Marie. And like every time since then that he’d got money out of us under the pretext of coming out to the Caribbean. So he wasn’t dying this time. He didn’t have cancer. He’d just taken my cash again and no doubt spent it on booze. As he’d always
done. But this was also why I was so shocked to see him dead on the floor of the shower room. I genuinely didn’t know he was on the island. I thought he’d stayed in London to drink away the cash I’d sent him.’
‘Hugh Beaumont, did you kill your brother?’
‘What? No! Look, I didn’t like Freddie, I’ll admit that to anyone. I’ll even admit that there have been times over the years when I’ve thought I’d rather he was dead, but the first time I saw him in twenty years was when he was already dead and on the shower room floor.’
Richard looked at the sincerity shining from Hugh, but his gut was still telling him that Hugh was ‘playing’ the Police somehow. But what was it that Hugh wasn’t being entirely truthful about? Richard wanted time to let his thoughts percolate, so he thanked Hugh for his time, and he and Camille left the plantation owner to his painting.
While walking back to the Police jeep, Camille could see that her boss was deep in thought.
‘What did you make of Hugh?’ she asked, as they approached the main house.
‘I don’t know. But I’ve got a feeling he’s still holding out on us.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Camille said, and then she stopped dead in her tracks. ‘You do?’ she asked.
‘I do. Although it’s just an instinct, really. A gut instinct that says he’s still lying to us – or not being entirely truthful – about something.’
Richard realised that Camille was looking at him in wonder.
‘What?’ he asked, unsettled.
‘Are you saying that you’ve got a gut instinct that he’s lying?’
‘Yes,’ Richard said. ‘Why’s that so interesting?’
‘So you’ve formed an opinion about a suspect that’s not based on cold logic? Or an actual piece of physical evidence?’
Richard sniffed.
‘So? What of it?’
‘Well, that’s a first,’ she said in delight, before noticing Rosie Lefèvre sweeping the house’s veranda with a broom, and heading off towards her.
‘What are you talking about?’ Richard asked, neither understanding the point his partner was making, nor why she’d changed direction and was now heading towards Rosie.
Camille stopped briefly, turned, and fixed her boss with a devilish grin.
‘I just think that’s a big deal.’
‘Why? Stop being so cryptic.’
‘Because, sir, that suggests to me that, for the first time since I’ve known you, you’re going on your instinct about a suspect. A hunch.’
Richard was thunderstruck. Was it true? Had he really just formed his opinion of Hugh based on something as unprofessional as a hunch?
‘But that’s impossible,’ he said. ‘I’m sure there was physical evidence that informed my opinion, even if it was just the shifty look in his eyes.’
‘Fair enough, sir, but I still call that a hunch,’ Camille said, heading off towards Rosie again.
‘Well, you’d be wrong to,’ Richard huffed as he caught up with his partner and fell into step. ‘Anyway, where are you going?’
‘There’s a couple of questions I want to ask Rosie. If that’s alright with you, sir?’
‘Okay,’ Richard said, if only to close the conversation down – because, as he and Camille approached the veranda, he found his mind racing. Was Camille right? Had he really just formed his opinion of a suspect based on a hunch, rather than using objective facts or physical evidence? Was he…? The idea sent a chill through him, but Richard made himself finish the thought: was he… loosening up? It wasn’t possible, Richard told himself. He didn’t ‘do’ change, that was one of the immutable truths of his life. But as he and Camille stepped up onto the veranda, he found it hard to shake the uneasy feeling that something inside himself had maybe just shifted. Like a continental shelf. Or an iceberg calving.
‘Good afternoon!’ Rosie called out as she saw the Police approach.
‘Good afternoon, Rosie,’ Camille said, looking at the broom in the frail old woman’s hand.
‘Oh don’t worry about me,’ Rosie said, smiling. ‘It’s the work that keeps me fit.’
‘So you still enjoy working?’ Camille asked, impressed.
‘Of course. I’ve always loved my job.’
‘Really?’ Richard asked, finally emerging from his introspective jag. After all, as far as he was concerned, no-one ever truly enjoyed their job.
Rosie laughed.
‘You know,’ she said, ‘centuries ago, my family worked as coffee pickers on this plantation. They weren’t allowed into the house. Can you imagine that? They weren’t even allowed to address the owner by name. They had no rights. But that was then. And look at me now. I get to run the whole house and call the Beaumont family my friends. That’s how much times have changed.’
‘Sorry,’ Camille said, feeling that she had to apologise for her boss’s evergreen lack of sensitivity. ‘But I just wanted to know a bit more about your trip to London when you met Lady Helen.’
Rosie was surprised.
‘You do? It was such a long time ago.’
‘I know, but you told us that Lady Helen walked out on her family on the same day that you arrived. Is that right?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And she said that she was going to visit her family?’
‘Those were her exact words. I arrived. She checked that I was a professional nanny who’d been sent by her father-in-law William from Saint-Marie, and once she knew that the children would be safe, she walked out.’
‘But she must have said something else to you.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘When she left. You see, I think something happened to her. I don’t know what, but I’ve spoken to her parents, and they say Lady Helen didn’t stay with them either before or after Matthew was born. And when I spoke to Lady Helen’s siblings and cousins – and Aunts and Uncles – they all said the same thing. None of them had seen her for months before Matthew was born, and not one of them ever saw her afterwards, either. So what I’m trying to work out is, what did Helen mean when she said she was going to visit her family when she never went to see any of her family?’
‘Oh,’ Rosie said, finally understanding. ‘I see.’
‘So what else do you remember when she walked out?’
‘I’m sorry, I’m not sure I remember anything that can help. Not after all this time. I just remember that she was sitting on an old sofa surrounded by the most terrible mess. And she was smoking a cigarette, that’s right. She was smoking, and I could see that her hand was trembling. Then she stubbed her cigarette out and asked for twenty pounds.’
‘She did?’ Camille asked, pouncing on this new fact.
‘She did. She asked for twenty pounds. It was such an odd request that I just gave it to her.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘Well, she got up, told me to look after her children, said she was going to visit her family, and then she walked out of the house. That’s all I can remember.’
‘Did you notice if she had any luggage with her?’ Richard asked, now just as intrigued as Camille.
Rosie thought hard before answering.
‘No. She didn’t.’
‘Then did she have a handbag?’ Camille asked.
‘No.’
‘Or any kind of bag on her at all?’
Rosie shook her head again. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Oh yes. I’m pretty sure. I’ve got a good memory.’
‘Then can you maybe remember what she was wearing?’
‘It was summer. Let me think. Yes, she was wearing a summer dress. It was bright red actually. With little white dots on. You know, like a dress from the 1950s. It was very pretty. And white shoes. That was it. A red dress with white dots on, and white shoes.’
‘And she had no other luggage or bags with her when she walked out of the door?’
‘You’re right,’ Rosie said, as she realised how odd this was. ‘She jus
t had the clothes she stood up in, and no luggage or bags with her at all.’
Camille looked at her boss and knew that he was thinking the same thing.
If Lady Helen had no luggage with her, then where was she really going that day?
Camille was now a woman on a mission. As she explained to Richard on the drive back to the Police station, Helen’s statement that she was going to visit her family just didn’t ring true: no woman leaves home forever without a handbag or money. Rosie had just given her twenty pounds, but that was hardly enough to begin a new life.
‘And you’re sure she didn’t go to visit her family?’ Richard asked as they entered the Police station together.
‘One hundred per cent,’ Camille said, going to her desk and turning her computer on. ‘Every member of Helen’s family I’ve been able to talk to says that she hasn’t been seen from that day to this. So where did she go?’
‘Well,’ Richard said, turning to look at the whiteboard of names, ‘what if she had an accomplice?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Only, you’re right. You can’t leave for a new life wearing only the clothes on your back. You need documents. Other clothes. Money. So, what if Helen had already given her luggage, money and passport and so on to a third party she could trust, and the twenty pounds was all she needed to get to that person?’
‘Yes, that’s a possibility, isn’t it?’
‘Because if someone else was involved in her escape, she could have ended up anywhere in the world. And seeing as you’ve not been able to find her anywhere within the UK, maybe we have to conclude that she left it?’
‘You think she might have skipped the country?’
‘It’s a possibility.’
‘Good idea,’ Camille said, getting up Matthew’s original statement on the computer screen. ‘Rosie went over to get the children just after Matthew was born. And Matthew was born on 15th June 1999, so how about I contact UK Border Control and see if they have a record of a Helen Beaumont leaving the country at any time after the 15th June 1999?’
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