A sleepy, annoyed voice responded after several rings on the doorbell of the second apartment she tried. ‘Who the hell is that?’
Edel breathed a sigh of relief. ‘It’s Edel Johnson,’ she said. She didn’t have to say anything more. The front door buzzed seconds later; she pushed through into the foyer and headed up the stairs to the top floor.
Fiona Wilson, a thin robe covering her obviously naked form, stood in the doorway of the apartment waiting for her. Her eyes swept over Edel dismissively. With a shrug, she stood back and gestured for her to come in.
Passing her without a glance, Edel strode across the open-plan room and headed to the small dining area. She pulled out a chair and sat, her handbag on the table in front of her.
Fiona took a chair on the other side of the table, her eyes sharp and assessing. ‘It’s a long way from Clare Island,’ she said, as if there had been nothing between them since that meeting.
Both women knew better.
Edel looked at the petite, attractive woman opposite and shook her head. ‘Why?’ she asked.
Fiona laughed and ran a hand through her hair, tucking it behind her ears. ‘Shouldn’t that be my question?’
Edel’s smile was forced. ‘I think we both know why I’m here.’
‘Perhaps you’ll enlighten me?’
‘I’ve heard about predatory females like you,’ Edel said, her eyes sweeping over Fiona as if at an unattractive specimen in a laboratory. ‘Women who are only interested in men who belong to other women–’
‘Belong?’ Fiona interrupted with a sneer.
‘For want of a better word,’ Edel continued. ‘Your kind aren’t interested in a relationship; the thrill is in the conquest. The more difficult it is, the greater the buzz you get.’
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,’ Fiona said, standing and walking to the kitchen where she busied herself putting on the kettle. ‘Tea?’ she asked, as though this were a perfectly normal social meeting.
Edel shook her head. She waited until Fiona came back with a mug of tea in her hand and resumed her seat, before placing the photograph she’d brought with her on the table.
It was a photograph of West in the act of taking off his shirt, his torso lean and smooth, the angle flattering.
‘Women like you,’ Edel said in a steely voice, ‘don’t understand the nature of honest, decent relationships. You probably thought he wouldn’t mention being encouraged to take off his wet shirt, but he told me all about it. He’s too decent a man to have been suspicious, but women like you have motives for everything you do, nothing is inspired by philanthropy.’
‘Women like me,’ Fiona sneered. ‘What about women like you?’ She smiled at Edel’s look of surprise. ‘Oh yes, I know all about you, Miss Poor Little Victim. He deserves a more worthy, equal match than a spineless woman like you.’
Edel laughed. It was a laugh so unexpectedly full of humour that Fiona, who obviously expected to see her reduced to tears, was taken aback. ‘Miss Poor Little Victim,’ Edel repeated. ‘Yes, for a while I was exactly that, but d’y’know something, Fiona? I’m not that woman anymore. Now,’ she said, picking up the photograph and standing, ‘I want letters of explanation written to my editor, Hugh Todd, and to Elliot Mannion, the managing director of Books Ireland Inc., to inform them that it was you who made and sent those photographs, and that I was entirely innocent of any wrongdoing. If I’ve not had confirmation that the letters have been received within two days, I will take further action, and expose you for the nasty piece of work that you are.’
Fiona laughed, but for the first time she looked slightly less self-assured. ‘Who’d believe such a ridiculous story?’
Edel shrugged and picked up her bag. ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last few days, Fiona, it’s that it doesn’t matter whether there’s truth in the story or not, it just matters how forcibly it’s told.’ Her eyes hardened. ‘With Mike on my side, we can make sure it’s told very forcibly indeed.’
She left the apartment with her bag swinging from her hand, feeling lighter than she’d felt in a long, long time. Outside, she stood a moment taking deep breaths. And then, from the corner of her eye, she saw West getting out of his car.
He ran towards her, stopped inches away and looked at her. Whatever he saw in her face must have satisfied him because he nodded and smiled. ‘I was going to take you for a celebratory lunch,’ he said, ‘so I went home early. The photographs were on the table.’
‘She won’t be bothering us again, Mike,’ she said.
‘You’re damn right she won’t,’ he said, fire in his eyes at the thought of what Fiona had done. ‘I’ll have her charged. This will be the end of her career.’
‘No,’ Edel said, reaching for his hand. ‘She’s going to write letters of explanation to Todd and Mannion, it won’t remove the damage, but it will lessen it. She’ll leave us alone now, that’s all I want.’
Seeing his hesitation, she squeezed his arm. ‘Please, this is the best way. Not dragging it all through the courts and reliving it again.’
‘Okay,’ he said, bending to place a kiss on her lips. ‘We’ll do it your way.’
Edel reached a hand up to caress his cheek. ‘Thank you. Now,’ she said, linking her arm in his and walking toward her car, ‘you mentioned celebrating. Does that mean you’ve solved the case?’
‘It does. Let’s go somewhere and I’ll tell you all about it.’
‘And we can talk about that hotel in Aughrim you want to take me to. Let’s go soon before something else happens.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, with a reassuring smile. ‘Foxrock will be quiet for a while.’
* * *
And with that promise, he saw Edel to her car before returning to his. He stood for a moment before getting in and looked back to the apartment block where Fiona lived. He hoped he was doing the right thing in not bringing charges. After all, if he’d brought charges against Denise Blundell, Ken would still be alive.
But Edel was right. It would be a messy case, the photographs purporting to be Edel would have to be submitted in evidence and Fiona would probably get off with a suspended sentence.
He climbed into the car, switched on his engine and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. She’d mentioned being recently promoted. He wondered if that entailed a new contract. And a probationary period? His eyes narrowed, and he pulled out his mobile. Her boss, Stephen Doyle, was a decent sort; he’d have a quiet word. If she were on probation, he would make sure it wasn’t extended.
Fiona Wilson would be advised to look abroad. He’d make sure of it.
He’d get it done and he’d take Edel to Aughrim.
And Foxrock would be quiet for a while.
Acknowledgements
Grateful thanks to the wonderful team at Bloodhound Books, especially, Betsy Reavley, Tara Lyons, Heather Fitt, Ashley Capaldi and Ian Skewis.
A huge thank you to all the readers, reviewers and bloggers who read, review and share – it makes it all worthwhile.
Ongoing thanks to my brother-in-law, retired Detective Garda Gerry Doyle, for answering my questions so patiently – as ever, errors are mine alone.
Thanks to my writing buddies who help keep me sane – especially Jenny O’Brien and Leslie Bratspis.
And, of course, thanks as always to my wonderful family and friends.
I love to hear from readers – you can contact me here:
https://www.facebook.com/valeriekeoghnovels/
Twitter: @ValerieKeogh1
Instagram: valeriekeogh2
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