by A B Morgan
It occurred to Clare that if the mysterious Quentin had blabbed about Abigail’s hair loss, the gossip could so easily make its way to the ears of the press, which in itself would be disastrous for Abigail. Her self-confidence would be eradicated. Her hermit-like existence was bad enough but imagine if she could never step outside again for fear of being ridiculed for wearing a wig.
Perhaps the reason for Abigail using and continuing to use Pearls and Curls was a basic one. She couldn’t go to hairdressers on the High Street; she would never be assured such confidentiality if she did. If Clare’s guess was right, then Abigail had an embarrassing though common medical problem, and this place would be ideal for keeping it well-hidden; thin hair through hormonal imbalance, stress or simply because she lived with an undeniable eating disorder.
Clare thought about the type of establishment Pearls and Curls seemed to be. It’s clientele, the staff, the time warp experience it provided. Old fashioned service. Here, they guarded their customers’ secrets well and no one could be seen from the road. Abigail’s choice was beginning to make sense.
There was a brief discussion with Edwina about styles and because of wariness about making radical changes, she and Clare agreed upon a vintage style. ‘Something like they have in the war films. Sort of wavy and sleek,’ Clare suggested, hoping to make the most of her trip to the hairdressers. She had yet to decide if she was going to take up the invitation sent to her by the Nithercotts. Although she certainly wasn’t going to be accompanying Ella Fitzwilliam, not after the revelatory phone call the previous evening. No way.
For a start, there would be the most almighty conflict of interest if she turned up to an event being held by a client, with another client. If she was stupid enough to go with Ella it would raise ugly questions about confidentiality and her integrity as a professional. No. She would go alone, if at all. Niall had been right to reject her suggestion they go together; it would be too blatant an attempt at uncovering Abigail’s mental stability, or lack thereof.
The disappointment on Edwina’s face was striking. She pouted. ‘If that’s what you really want… to start with, darlin’. We’ll save the chat about colour and extensions for next time, eh?’
Clare sank inwardly, but soon recovered her composure, comforted by the fact that there wasn’t going to be a next time.
‘Payson? Can you do a wash for me? Caffeine shampoo and plenty of conditioner. Give her head a good hard rub. Thanks, darlin’.’ The chuckling started again.
Clare had wrongly thought Payson to be a girl when he’d swished past earlier and with one stencilled eyebrow had reminded Edwina to hold her tongue. However, as Clare took a closer look at the graceful beauty wearing tight black trousers and fitted tunic, hugging a set of slim hips, she realised her mistake. Payson was wiggling his taut little bottom in time to a pulsing musical beat as he raised the dome of a pedestal hairdryer, releasing the elderly lady beneath. Big blue curls dazzled as they caught in the light shining from the ceiling lights above.
‘Be right with you.’ Payson flashed a perfect smile. ‘I do so hope you can take a good hard rub.’ A wink. He bore such a striking resemblance to Prince that Clare fully expected him to burst into a rendition of “Little Red Corvette”, but instead, in Cuban heels, he fandangoed around his elderly customer, gently brushing and sculpting the curls into place.
The saucy banter seemed to be catching.
‘Wet, warm but definitely not the slippery variety…’ Derreck appeared with a fine bone china cup which rattled in the saucer. Holding it lightly in one hand, he made a hip-swerving diversion to answer an intercom on the wall. He pressed a button, which buzzed. Silently, he sidled up to where Clare was sitting just as another woman entered the salon through a rear door. He deposited the cup and saucer delicately.
‘Here she comes,’ Derreck said with a suggestive glance at Edwina.
The new arrival, a hefty redhead, sashayed her way to the nearest chair, flopped into it, and opened her mouth. All at once, Clare understood where her initial misgivings about Pearls and Curls had come from.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A shocking truth emerges
When Ella arrived at the cottage late Friday morning, she detected an emotional undercurrent between Lorna and Konrad. They definitely seemed closer and more warm towards each other than of late.
‘Guessing from your happy expressions I’d say the radio thing went well,’ she said.
Lorna and Konrad stood side by side; his arm slipped across his wife’s shoulders. He gave a squeeze before letting Ella through their front door.
‘You missed it then?’ Lorna asked, glancing at her husband who broke free from their casual embrace to lead the way inside.
‘Yes. Sorry. I heard the odd snippet. Been busy.’ Ella bowed her head towards the armful of papers and folders she was carrying to Lorna’s office. It had been a struggle fitting them all into the basket on the front of her bicycle.
‘I ventured out of my room to make breakfast and I did see Netty wiping away a tear or two when Freddie Mercury was belting out his classic. Every radio in the place was on full volume. Good job I’m in the attic otherwise I never would’ve finished this lot in time. Where do you want me?’
It was a tight squeeze for the three to sit huddled around the screen of Lorna’s desktop computer. Konrad, casually attired for a change, placed himself in the middle, further back, behind two sets of shoulders; one belonging to his wife and one to Ella.
Given the choice, Ella would have made certain her shoulders were cold. She was still smouldering with irritation that she’d allowed Konrad to bully her into contacting Clare Gray. She was cross with herself for not thinking it through. Never in a million years was Clare going to accompany her to the farm where Espionage Escapades was being set up. Why would she?
When it came to his spontaneous plan to approach Clare Gray directly, it turned out that Konrad had been quite deliberate in his request.
‘I hope she takes the hint and stays well away,’ he said. ‘She’s going to get in the damned way and complicate matters, especially if she triggers a mental health assessment and carts Abigail off to the funny farm again. We can only assume Abigail invited her for a reason, but with a psyche as messed up as hers, who knows.’
Ella shrank a little. She felt embarrassed. She’d assumed Konrad was attempting to pressurise Clare, to involve her, but it soon became apparent this was not the case. His intentions were quite the opposite.
Clare had been polite but firm in her refusal. ‘It’s kind of you to consider me, and in other circumstances I would very much appreciate the company, but I think it’s best we attend separately as if we were both unaware the other had been invited. Otherwise it could appear we were in cahoots, as it were.’
It was such a sensible response, Ella had to agree. Clare went on to suggest that she may be declining the invitation altogether. ‘Not good for client-therapist relations, and I really think it better if I send her a “thanks but no thanks” email by way of an RSVP. Perhaps you should do the same.’
❖
Ella’s dogged search for information on the Nithercotts included the pile of research carried out over a number of years by Konrad’s team. They had been thorough and wide-reaching in their attempts to uncover what Konrad dubbed “The Big Secret”. His unrelenting hunt for this secret led to a clash of lawyers, which the Nithercotts’ legal team won hands down. Consequently, Konrad was legally shackled by a tight injunction. It was the meeting with Ella at St Cuthbert’s and the unexpected sighting of Abigail Nithercott that reignited his passionate drive to expose the truth. His determination was admirable, if a trifle bloody-minded.
‘We should rethink,’ Konrad said. He tapped Ella on the shoulder. ‘You’re not going in there either,’ he said, catching her completely off guard. She turned to him.
‘Why not? Why aren’t I going to Espionage Escapades? I thought that was the whole idea. We’re so close…’
Lorna swivelled
her chair in his direction too and the three of them braced their knees together.
Konrad took hold of Lorna’s hand. ‘Isn’t it too obvious? Come on, we all know it. This is a put-up job. The leaflets advertising the opening of Espionage Escapades seem genuine enough, I grant you. I even asked Rob to make a few enquiries of other pubs and restaurants in the area, and it seems they were sent a small stock from the local tourist board. The website is passable if a little tacky…’ He placed his hands on his knees.
‘However, this has to be the most insignificant business innovation Guy Nithercott has ever come up with. It’s like Harrods investing in a pop-up shop for Stevenage. The more I think about it, the less likely it is to be a valid enterprise – not even as a franchise option.’ Konrad seemed to be validating his hypothesis aloud, not requiring any input from Lorna or Ella.
‘The whole damn thing is a set-up to force me to breach the terms of the injunction, for me to commit career suicide and to permanently stop me from getting to the secret they guard so fiercely – it has to be.’ Konrad released a guttural groan. ‘The big Nithercott family secret may have nearly escaped somehow and to warrant this much attention I must’ve been extremely close to identifying it.’
Lorna gave a sagacious bow of her head and spirals of hair bobbed across her cheekbones. ‘What a devious pair… The Nithercotts knew you would be making a visit to St Cuthbert’s to apologise to Ella because the media made such a fuss about it.’ Lorna pulled a grave face and put on a deep voice. ‘Konrad Neale cocks up, Konrad Neale accused mental patient of a murder she didn’t commit. Konrad Neale forced to apologise after monumental misjudgement.’
‘Alright, love. Let’s not overdo the melodramatics. I was wrong and I’ve said sorry.’
Lorna carried on. ‘What’s more, they had Sandra Yellnow in their pockets, doing whatever she was asked.’ She threw her head back. ‘Christ, she even paved the way for Ella’s early review and discharge, before we blew her as a complete fraud.’
Konrad fiddled with the top of one ear. ‘I’ve been done up like a kipper.’
‘But what about the stalking thing?’ Ella asked. ‘Logan Peplow has really been spooked by Abigail, and so has Clare Gray. She thinks Abigail is definitely dangerous. It isn’t the first time Abigail has been under psychiatric care, and I can tell you she’s far from stable. She’s got stalker written all over her.’
‘No,’ Konrad said sternly. ‘That’s the biggest bait of all. I couldn’t fail to be interested in such a glorious gem, now could I? It’s right up my street. Logan is being used just as much as Clare Gray is. Abigail puts on one hell of a show, I’ll give you that, but it’s too contrived to be true. My mind is made up. We are not going to enter Top Field Farm. We are not going to walk into Espionage Escapades. Their neat little masquerade will be a waste of time.’
Ella looked on as he allowed himself a wry smile. ‘We will watch from a distance and see what happens next,’ he said. ‘Assuming he keeps to his normal routine, Guy will be in Le Mans to give him his alibi, and Abigail will be expecting one of us to go spying on them at the farm, but what will she do when we don’t turn up on the doorstep I wonder?’
With relief flooding through to her bladder, Ella stood and excused herself. She needed a moment of composure, to reassess and reset. Konrad was right and she found herself wanting to forgive him for his fixation with the Nithercotts. For the more she found out, the more she too was becoming hooked by their need to hide a dreadful secret. And having stayed awake, working far later than she thought wise, she was about to reveal to Konrad exactly what the secret may be.
On her return to Lorna’s neat if somewhat pokey office she found Konrad wedged on the corner of his own desk against the opposite wall.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Ella said looking at Konrad while he stretched, arching his back.
‘I hope you remembered to wash your hands while you were at it,’
‘Kon!’ Lorna rebuked, ‘Don’t be so personal.’
Ella grinned at the tame remark. ‘Yes. And I was thinking while I was weeing and while I was washing and drying my hands, if you must know. It’s called multi-tasking.’ She gave him a theatrical look which made Lorna chuckle. ‘Anyway, as I was about to say, Katrina Chandler has an invitation to Espionage Escapades. Are we going to warn her to stay away too?’ Ella asked.
Konrad shook his head from side to side, weighing her words. ‘I think it’s all part of the subterfuge; a load of nonsense designed to reel me in. The stalking. The glaring clues to it being Abigail. The knitting. How cheap, clichéd and pathetic. Well, we are cleverer than that.’
He stood and indicated for Ella to take a seat in front of the computer again. ‘What we do instead depends on what you show me,’ Konrad said standing behind her and placing a hand on her left shoulder. ‘Is that a Social Services record on the screen? Where did you get hold of it?’
‘Ask no questions,’ Lorna said, touching the side of her nose before becoming infinitely more solemn. ‘Ella thought she’d made a mistake at first.’
‘At first?’ Konrad enquired. ‘What are we referring to here?’ He moved his chair into its previous position behind the two women and sat with elbows rested on the chair backs, hands clasped together.
Ella tapped a blue folder on the desk. ‘I made a family tree based on what you and Lorna had already produced. I confirmed that Guy was the son of Dominic and Beulah Nithercott and that he’d married Abigail Renfrew seventeen years ago, months after the untimely death of both his parents.’ Ella removed a sheaf of paper from the folder and laid each page neatly one on top of the other.
‘You already know most of this but it’s worth repeating,’ Ella said, referring to a chronological list. She then produced a photocopy of an article that had appeared eighteen years previously in The Lensham and District Chronicle, a local newspaper. ‘I know you searched every which way and back again for evidence that Guy’s parents were deliberately killed; murdered by him, or more specifically arranged by him. But there was never enough evidence to support this, despite the investigation, and the rumours in the press, and the coroner’s verdict.’ Ella had spent hours creating a timeline of events, sifting through reports and reading from library archives.
‘I did find it interesting that Abigail’s father Oliver Renfrew was absent from the engagement party on the Saturday afternoon before the murders, but police confirmed his explanation; he appeared in the matinee performance of a pantomime in Northampton and hundreds of people saw him.’
‘Or did they?’ Lorna asked incisively. ‘Didn’t he play one of the ugly sisters? How would anyone know it was him when what they saw was a bloke in a lurid coloured costume and flamboyant wig.’
Ella thought about this and conceded that Lorna had made a very fair point. ‘His fellow actors insisted he was there for the evening performance and stayed over for the end of run party where he got completely plastered. That was why he didn’t make it home until the Sunday morning when he found his wife Betty at the bottom of the stairs, bound and battered half to death. It sounded like a watertight alibi to me.’
Solving such mysteries was never straightforward and there was nothing predictable about the case of the Nithercott murders. The local newspaper reporter, Dan Copperwheat, wrote a number of articles over the proceeding five years, all of them exploring various hypotheses on the subject of the Nithercotts. The last one declared that the name Nithercott was cursed. It could be found on a list of endangered surnames and, with due hyperbole, Daniel Copperwheat proposed that Abigail’s three consecutive miscarriages were yet more evidence of this. Guy and Abigail were destined never to provide an heir to the Nithercott empire.
Ella struggled on, not allowing any interruptions which could derail her train of thought.
‘When I read the articles in The Chronicle, I was curiously taken by what happened at Guy and Abigail’s engagement shindig at the hall. Police statements gave the impression that relationships were strained between Bet
ty Renfrew and Beulah Nithercott. A couple of guests noticed more than a strong undercurrent of disapproval surrounding the engagement of Guy to Abigail. One report describes overhearing a humdinger of an argument between the two women.’
‘Hardy surprising, in the circumstances,’ Lorna interjected. ‘Abigail finished her degree and planned to stay on to do a Master’s in business management while Guy, at the same university of course, had barely finished his second year. The whole family must’ve been furious.’
Konrad gave a loud huff. ‘I’m still convinced it wasn’t a burglary gone wrong. I know Betty was assaulted at the lodge and ended up in a wheelchair, but they needed to make it look good didn’t they. I mean surely any self-respecting villain after a wad of cash would’ve opted to kidnap the Nithercotts, not kill the buggers … Unless they were given specific instructions… or they were related to them … No way was that a real break in.’ Briefly he bit at his bottom lip. ‘You do know what happened to Dan Copperwheat, don’t you?’
Ella shook her head.
‘He was taken to court by the Nithercotts for slander. He went a teeny-weeny bit too far with his insinuations that Guy had good reason to kill his own parents. It cost Dan everything – his marriage, his money and his career. Last I heard he was working in a warehouse up north somewhere. Shame. He was remarkably tenacious. Good journalist.’ Rolling back in his chair, Konrad asked, ‘What have you got for me that we don’t know about?’
‘Patience, husband.’ Lorna reached for his hand. ‘Good things come to he who waits.’
‘I might’ve known you were in on this. You’ve been remarkably self-satisfied for the last twenty-four hours,’ Konrad grumbled.
Ella was beginning to enjoy herself, especially since her unexpected reprieve from entering Abigail’s lair without a decent wingman, or wing-woman for that matter. Call it a sixth sense, but Ella knew being in Abigail’s company for any length of time was a risky place to be. Online research was so much safer.