The Missing Bridegroom: A Charlotte Chase Mystery (The Charlotte Chase Mysteries Book 1)

by Georgia London

  “You should have been more careful. You know how much they moult.”

  “And what about the embarrassment of you being on television, like the boy in that film. ‘I see dead people,’ was what he said, wasn’t it?”

  Charlotte shook her head, feeling relieved now to be going. She used to love this man; now she hoped never to see him again.

  She opened the front door and left the house, the dogs following, then slid open the side door and they both leapt inside, while she shut them securely in and climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “Charlotte,” Peter called after her. “I haven’t finished. We need to talk.”

  “Goodbye, Peter,” she answered as she put the gear lever into drive, released the brake and drove away.

  She had her two beautiful baby bears, Fritz and Freya, her enormous, hairy canines who meant more to her than anything or anybody. They would settle into their new home and they would go for daily walks along the beach, they would play together in the massive waves and they would settle down to a future without him. Peter would have no part in her inheritance nor in her new life; serves him right.

  ***

  Samantha was beginning to be familiar with this passing scenery. This was the third time the limousine had driven passed the medieval church where hundreds of guests waited to see her walk down the aisle on the arm of her father.

  She had argued with him constantly since the day she accepted Simon’s proposal and he would be so very pleased to know it had all gone wrong.

  Simon was a mechanic, very skilled and on his way up in his profession, even had his own little workshop, but Samantha would inherit her father’s millions when he died. He had made those millions in trade, which left him still not quite in favour with the upper classes who looked down on such a thing.

  It was strange that even after centuries of class distinction, earning an honest living was still not quite the thing. That fact still smarted with Samantha’s father, who was in better financial condition than most of the nobility.

  Since his daughter was born he had cherished a hope that she would marry into the English aristocracy, but the days of the million dollar princesses were long gone. They were the daughters of American millionaires who were bartered to earls and dukes and their heirs in order to restore their fortunes. Those girls were without exception American; the nobility couldn’t possibly have an English commoner rescue them from penury.

  Why was her mind wandering to such trivialities when she had far more important things to worry about? Like why her bridegroom had not yet arrived and what the hell had delayed him? A sudden sinking of her heart assured her that this was something to do with her father. He had been trying to break them up since they first met, had even tried to buy Simon off but he wouldn’t take the money. Simon loved her; she was sure he loved her.

  There had been a pre-nuptial agreement, what the Americans called a pre-nup. The old man had insisted on it or he would have given his fortune away to charity. That was all right, not something Samantha worried about.

  The agreement was that should there be a divorce, or even if he outlived her, Simon would not get a penny. She had no intention of ever parting with Simon anyway.

  Fourth circuit. Samantha looked anxiously at the clock on the dashboard of the silver Rolls Royce which her father had bought specially to take her to the church. He couldn’t hire a car like everybody else, could he? He had to show off by buying one. Her mind wandered again and for the first time she wondered what he would do with it after today. Keep it for show probably.

  She fished her phone out from the side pocket of the door and dialled Simon’s number, again. It went straight to voicemail, again.

  Damn! Where was Simon?

  ***

  It was growing dark before Samantha agreed to give up and have the chauffeur take her home. She’d cried herself to sleep that night and now she sat twisting her diamond engagement ring and staring out at the beautifully landscaped acres her father was so proud of. Behind her on the table were the wedding gifts, still wrapped, reminding her of the day her world fell apart.

  There were also a pile of unopened greetings cards, about three hundred of them, that no one had felt like opening.

  She’d insisted on being driven passed that church for another hour or more before she’d been persuaded to give up and be driven home, sobbing, her make up blurred and mascara blackening her cheeks as it blended with her tears.

  She was inconsolable that day and the next. She’d rung Simon more times than she could count, until at last his voicemail told her it was full and could accept no more messages. That meant he hadn’t opened the ones she’d already left and that meant he either didn’t want to hear them or for some reason didn’t have his phone with him.

  She had phoned all the hospitals in the area and the police, but there was still no sign of Simon.

  She tried to drive to his workshop, above which was the small studio flat where he lived. She wanted to see if he was there, perhaps ill or hurt and no one to know about it. But her father had taken the car keys and insisted on driving her there himself.

  “You can’t drive in this state,” he had told her and for once she conceded he was right.

  But Simon was not there, the flat was empty and his phone was lying on the small table beside his bed, the battery almost dead.

  The visit had resulted in more tears and she wished her father would stop assuring her she was better off without him.

  “Why should he leave me like that?” She demanded. “If he wanted the money, like you believe, why should he give up the chance of getting it?”

  He hesitated for a moment before answering, then he put his arm around her soothingly.

  “It was after the pre-nuptial agreement, when he realised he wouldn’t get a penny. That’s when I found his price, Samantha,” he said.

  “What?”

  “A quarter of a million, in cash. I took it round there the day before the wedding, left it on the doorstep. I knew that if he was genuine he’d bring it straight back, but he didn’t.”

  She pulled away, stared at him with horror in her eyes.

  “So you knew he wouldn’t turn up at the church, but still you let me go ahead with it?”

  “I didn’t know, Samantha. I hoped he might do the right thing.”

  “You are a bloody liar!” She screamed at him.

  That was yesterday and now she sat miserably wondering how she could get in touch with Simon, find out what he really felt. Despite the missing money and her father’s insistence that he had taken it, she still didn’t believe it.

  Her mind wandered back to the happy times they had shared, to the love she had felt from Simon. She still didn’t believe he would take the money and run.

  She went to the police station that morning, reported him as missing, but she could see by the poorly concealed smirks they didn’t believe her. And she wasn’t a relative, Simon was an adult. They’d put him on the missing persons list but that was all they could do.

  She’d begged her father to report it as well, knowing his name carried a lot of influence in the area and he said he had done so, but she didn’t really believe him. She was just wondering if she should hire a private investigator herself to find Simon; that seemed to be the only thing she could do now.

  She heard the door open but made no move to get up or even turn her head. It would be her mother again, come to ask her once again what she was planning to do with the unopened gifts. Since they had come from her father’s friends, she had no doubt they were expensive. They would all have tried their best to compete with each other, try to be the one whose gift cost the most. That was what you got when you were a multi-millionaire – sycophants.

  The gifts should be returned, but Samantha still clung to the hope that Simon would get in touch and the wedding would go ahead. There had to be a good reason he had simply not turned up at the church, without a word. He would turn up, with a motive for his absence and the missing mo
ney which she would never have considered.

  She’d phoned all the hospitals again, local as well as farther afield, and she had driven every road within a fifty mile radius, looking for his car. She had stopped on every coast road and looked down the cliffs, hoping to see his car there while hoping not to see it at the same time. But what else would have caused him to leave her like that, without a word? Nothing but an accident and perhaps he had lost his memory? But all the hospitals had said the same thing, that they had not had an accident that day or the day before. She was clutching at straws now and she knew it.

  “Samantha, dear,” her mother said. “We must decide what to do with the gifts. People will start to wonder if you don’t return them soon.”

  “If they want them back they should say so.”

  “Of course they won’t do that. It would be the height of ill manners.”

  “I thought my not returning the gifts was the height of ill manners.”

  “Don’t be awkward, darling. You know what I mean.”

  She turned as the door opened again, this time admitting her father. Samantha could not help but notice that while her mother looked distressed, knowing as she did how people would be gossiping, her father had a little satisfied gleam in his eye.

  “Right, this afternoon I shall arrange to have all these presents returned to the people who so generously gave them. It has to be done. We need to draw a line under this business and move on, find you a decent man to marry.”

  “You mean a rich one,” Samantha replied. “Or preferably one with a title. Why have you done nothing about finding Simon?”

  She had asked him yesterday to hire private investigators to look for Simon. He had the money to employ the very best and she saw no reason why he hadn’t done so.

  “What is there to do?” he answered. “He realised he was doing a bad thing, took the money and ran.”

  Samantha felt her cheeks beginning to burn with anger. Ever since she had become engaged to Simon, her father had been upping the bribes he offered him to go away.

  Even the pre-nuptial agreement hadn’t frightened him off and her father couldn’t stand to be wrong.

  Samantha shook her head, feeling thoroughly disgusted with him.

  “Why do you think every man is only after your money?” She demanded. “Could it not be possible that he actually loved me?”

  “Of course, darling, but we needed to be sure, didn’t we?”

  “When I hear it from his own lips, I will believe it. Until then the wedding presents stay where they are and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

  She grabbed her handbag and strode from the room, outside and to her Porsche. She needed to get away, needed to see friends who knew Simon, who knew he wouldn’t desert her for any amount of money.

  At this time of day she would find them in the Oceanside Café.

  ***

  Charlotte had unpacked, fed the dogs and found the television set. From the French windows in the sitting room she could see the garden with its now bare flower beds and beyond that, the castle ruins and the sea.

  She had always loved this view. It reminded her of one of those old smuggler stories which were always set in Cornwall, and she was often surprised to see everyone in modern day clothing. There were some parts which never changed, where she expected to see women walking about in bonnets and long skirts.

  She could hear the waves crashing against the rocks as the tide came in, a comforting sound which she loved. But she missed Aunt Florrie; it didn’t seem right to be in this house without her, but there was no sign of her ghost anywhere. She had moved on, been content that Charlotte would have her property and she had no reason to stay.

  Charlotte crossed the hall to get to the kitchen, to pour another mug of tea from the pot before it got cold. She’d found Aunt Florrie’s teapot, but hadn’t been able to find her tea cosy.

  The hall was about the size of the lounge in her old house in London and it was one of the smallest rooms in the house. The bare oak staircase was set in the centre, with heavily carved posts either side connecting to the bannister rails.

  She didn’t want to look up, but she knew she would have to. She sighed. She supposed she ought to deal with her unexpected and uninvited visitor who had followed her about ever since she first saw her standing on the half landing, with that familiar, appealing look in her eyes.

  She got her tea and returned to the living room, only to see her standing beside the huge, stone fireplace, the dogs staring at her expectantly.

  “Ok,” she said. “Who are you and what do you want?”

  The phantom opened her mouth but nothing came out. That usually meant they had only recently passed and hadn’t yet got the hang of making their voice heard.

  “You’ll have to speak up,” Charlotte said. “I don’t do lip reading.”

  “Miranda,” came a hoarse whisper.

  The image was more solid now than when Charlotte had first seen it and she could see the gashes and bruises on the woman’s face. Then the hand reached up and pulled the collar of her white blouse away from her neck, revealing angry bruises.

  “You were strangled?” Charlotte asked. “And badly beaten by the looks of things.”

  The phantom nodded, reached out a hand to Charlotte which moved through her and made her shiver. She wished they wouldn’t do that; it was a very disconcerting feeling.

  “You poor thing. That is a shame,” Charlotte said. “But I don’t suppose you remember where it was? Or who it was?”

  She had seen this before. They came to her, wanting to move on but too agitated to go and they never knew precisely what it was that had happened to them or what they wanted from Charlotte. She hoped this one didn’t just want her to inform her family as that was where the trouble always started. People very often didn’t believe that Charlotte had seen their dead relatives and started to accuse her of wanting to extort money from them, even though she never asked for anything.

  “Miranda, you say,” she said. “Well, you work on your memory and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Samantha sat in her car trying to summon the courage to go inside the shore front café, where several of her friends were gathered at the window table. It was a big, circular building, mostly made of glass, and she could clearly see her two bridesmaids there.

  Their talk seemed to be animated and Samantha could easily guess the topic of the conversation – her and her runaway bridegroom. Could there ever have been a better piece of gossip to hit this little seaside town? When was the last time a bride had been left standing at the altar, especially a bride as wealthy as her?

  Well, she couldn’t hide forever; she had to face her friends and neighbours, find out their views and put forward her own. It had been a couple of days but if there was one thing she knew about Simon, it was that he would not have just gone, just left her there like an idiot with everyone feeling sorry for her and never even bothering to phone.

  Even if he had decided to take her father’s money, which she didn’t believe for one minute, he would at least have left a note. No, something had happened to him, she was certain of that and she was just as certain that nobody would believe it. They would all think she was kidding herself, trying to save face. And in the meantime, no one was searching for Simon.

  At last she summoned the courage to get out of the car and go to the café, join her friends and find out what the latest consensus was. They looked up as she opened the door, two of them, both bridesmaids at the wedding and both witnesses to her humiliation.

  They stood, arms out to hold her as she reached the table.

  “You poor, poor thing,” Kim said.

  “Have you heard anything from Simon?” This from Sophie.

  “Come and sit down, tell us how you are.”

  Samantha sat, raised a hand to order a latte. It was her usual order so she needn’t be explicit. The waiter knew what she always drank.

  “How do you thi
nk I am,” she answered angrily. “Simon has gone missing. Something must have happened to him and my father refuses to do anything to find him.”

  Her two friends exchanged glances.

  “He’ll turn up,” Kim said. “Though what you’ll say to him when he does I can’t imagine. Leaving you like that with all those people watching. I hope you don’t even think about taking him back after that.”

  Samantha collapsed back in her chair in an angry gesture.

  “I might have known you wouldn’t believe me either,” she said. “I suppose you both think the same as my father, that he was only after my money. Well, I won’t believe that until I hear him say it.”

  She wasn’t going to tell them about the bribe her father had given him. That would give them more fuel for their conviction that he was a gold digger.

  The waiter brought her drink and as he set it down on the table, she looked up to see a little, sympathetic smile on his lips that was easy to interpret. Even he felt pity for her.

  Kim sat up straight in her chair, wanting to change the subject and longing to tell her friends her own small piece of news. Samantha’s tragedy had to come first, but she would burst if she didn’t tell them soon.

  “All right,” she said. “Guess what I heard?”

  Samantha kept her eyes firmly on her phone, where she was texting Simon once again, even knowing he’d left his phone behind. Sophie forced some interest into her expression as she looked at her friend. She really wanted to ponder the missing bridegroom some more, but it seemed callous to harp on it.

  “What?” She asked.

  “Guess who’s moved into Castle House?”

  “That old place by the beach where Florrie Mason lived?”

  Kim nodded vigorously but made no reply, wanting to prolong the suspense for as long as possible.

  “Well?” Sophie urged. “I thought the National Trust were going to buy it.”

  “First I heard of it,” Kim answered.