‘I’d like to call her Branna. And your surname, so Branna Swift. What do you think?’
His mother’s name. ‘Thank you. That’s a lovely thought, a lovely name.’
She nodded. ‘I think I’ve had enough now. Do you know what I’d really like to do?’
‘What?’
‘Go back and use the toasting fork to make toast at the fire. Do you have white bread? It has to be white.’
‘We can call at the corner shop. They always have sliced white. We can have it with Cedric’s gooseberry jam from last summer.’
‘It would be lovely to see him. Is he in?’
‘I told him you were coming. I’ll knock on his door.’
* * *
Ruth sat on a small tapestry covered stool in front of the fire and started on the toast while he switched on lamps, drew the curtains against the drenched world, put the kettle on and fetched Cedric.
‘Ah, the fire is just right,’ Cedric said, kissing Ruth. ‘Lily used to make toast like this every evening in the winter. Sometimes we had it with salmon paste or honey or best of all, golden syrup!’
They sat on either side of Ruth, mugs of tea poured, covering the warm, browned slices with their charred edges with butter and thick dollops of deep red jam. There was a glow on her face as she speared another piece of bread and held it to the grate, saying that since being pregnant, she craved the carbonised flavour and texture of crisp, burnt food. Hail rattled against the windows and wind moaned in the chimney. The lamps shed a soft circle of buttery light. Swift experienced a moment of pure childlike happiness, a brief illusion that he and Ruth had never parted, that darkness was held at bay and all was right with the world.
There was a noise from upstairs, the sound of someone moving around.
‘Is Oliver with you?’ Swift asked Cedric.
His friend looked shifty. ‘No. I met Yana. I let her have a bath and she fell asleep on my sofa. She was on the street, wet through and exhausted. I’ve dried her things out for her.’ He turned to Ruth. ‘Yana is a refugee, from Syria. She is seventeen and homeless.’
‘How sad,’ Ruth said. ‘Would she like some toast?’
‘Better not just now,’ Cedric said. ‘She’s very shy and it took all my persuasive powers to get her to come home with me to dry out. I’ll go up and check on her, make her a sandwich before she goes. Lovely to see you, Ruth, and of course the baby too.’
Ruth left in a taxi soon after, waving to him from the misted window. Swift cleared up and selected Joe Cocker from his playlist. He poured a glass of red wine and sat in front of the fading fire. Cocker started singing The Simple Things, one of his mother’s favourite songs. Whenever she heard it, she would dance and wax lyrical about the time she had seen him in concert. Swift lifted his drink in a silent toast to the departed, and the expected, Branna.
He picked over the reality of Ruth moving back to her husband. Not for the first time, he entertained uncomfortable thoughts about Williams and how long the man might live. He had looked up the prognosis for MS. It was not a fatal illness but Williams had a rare and progressive form of it. He was already in a wheelchair and experienced difficulties swallowing and with speech and had a tremor in his hands. Early death could happen through infection or pneumonia. Am I hoping for this man’s speedy demise, willing it almost? He asked himself the question and couldn’t deny that the idea had its attractions. Williams had wrought havoc in his life and brought him terrible grief, taking away two women dear to him. He felt an icy dislike of himself, for thinking such things. And then what? Ruth and their daughter would come and live with him and all would be well? Hardly. She loved him still and he loved her. It was the simplest thing in the world. It was the most complicated.
He put a last log on the dormant fire, poked it into life and lay on the rug in front of it, staring into the lambent golden flames until they flickered and fell into soft grey ash.
CHAPTER 5
Swift answered his phone as he walked along the busy towpath by the Regent’s canal. Spring had decided to shoulder its way in overnight and a sudden warm sun had left everyone looking happily stunned. The caller announced that he was Stewart Turner, manager of the Hays hotel in Barnet.
‘I was talking to Dora Madibe at one of our network meetings,’ he said. ‘She told me about your contact with her and your investigation. I thought I should ring you. I feel so sorry for the Merrell family.’
‘Okay. Did Dominic Merrell work at your hotel too?’
‘That’s right. That’s why I’m calling you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Look, this is a bit delicate. I wouldn’t want you repeating information. It’s just that — well, I liked the bloke and if he didn’t kill that woman and this might help you in any way . . .’
‘Okay. Whatever you tell me will be confidential.’
‘Not long before he . . . well, before he died, I had to speak to Merrell. There had been some petty thefts in the hotel, from staff, not guests. A tenner here, twenty there, that kind of thing. One of those situations where people couldn’t be absolutely sure they hadn’t lost the money but it was happening too frequently to be accidental. As you can imagine, we get a lot of this in the hotel business. I thought it was probably one of the employees so I was keeping an eye open before I reported it officially. I walked into the staff area and found Merrell looking in someone’s bag. I took him to my office and challenged him about it and he confirmed he was the thief. He broke down. It was quite disturbing.’
‘How much are we talking in total?’
‘About fifty pounds or so at our hotel.’
‘What did he say about it?’
‘That he’d had a lot of turmoil in his personal life, was in financial trouble and had debts. He was so apologetic and upset . . . it was the toughest conversation I’ve ever had with a member of staff. He begged me to let him pay it back and not to report him to the police. I knew he had worked for the company for a long time and was well regarded. I said I’d have to consult my management.’
Swift knew that the first time someone was caught stealing was rarely the first time they’d done it. ‘You’re about to tell me he was taking money elsewhere.’
‘Correct. I contacted the other managers and one of them reported similar problems. There were none at the Southwark branch, so Dora wasn’t involved.’
‘Any idea how much money he had taken overall?’
‘It was just over three hundred. I spoke to our regional director and she took advice. She came back and said that given Dominic’s long service with the company and the small amount stolen, she wouldn’t contact the police but we would have to let him go. She was about to contact him when he hanged himself and we decided not to take any further action after he died. His family had enough to worry about. We recompensed the staff for their losses and left it at that.’
‘That was a decent move. Thanks a lot for letting me know. I won’t pass on the information to anyone.’
He stood for a moment, watching a green-and-red canal boat move slowly along the water. A girl was doing yoga in the cabin, the warrior pose. He was glad that Merrell’s family didn’t have to add him being a thief to their list of woes. A man would hardly hang himself over petty theft, unless it was just the last burden in a mounting series of troubles. Perhaps Merrell had borrowed and stolen money from a number of sources and had massive debts. There was the five thousand he had borrowed from Finbar Power and would want to repay. He must have expected his employer to take the theft seriously. He might have anticipated dismissal from his job and the possibility of police involvement. The future would have looked bleak. No more holidays in Capri, and he would have to face his family. Feelings of shame and embarrassment could explain suicide but did not suggest a motive for stabbing Lisa. A tipping point maybe. He might have discovered she was seeing another man. Perhaps she had the abortion because the child was someone else’s. He might have told her that he was in financial trouble and likely to lose his job and her response had been disp
araging. Swift knew of murderers who had claimed that the act was the accumulation of years of arguments and bad feeling. He recalled a man who said he had beaten his wife to death because she nagged him constantly, and he finally flipped when she criticised the way he had made the bed. Yet nobody so far had mentioned that Merrell and Lisa had ever been at odds. On the contrary, he had seemed devoted to her.
He walked on past a terraced area where people were sitting, faces raised to the sun and stopped to browse at a floating bookshop where he bought a couple of novels and a slim paperback with photos of the Thames. A little further on was a boat selling artisan breads and herbs. The herbs festooned the deck in pots: marjoram, parsley, several types of mint, oregano, basil, rosemary, borage, chervil, chives, dill and lemon balm. The air smelled heady with their fragrance. He selected pots of lemon balm and spearmint for Cedric, who loved to use fresh herbs in his cooking and a loaf of caraway seed bread for himself. He carried on past a houseboat selling multi-coloured scarves, tie-dyed dresses and crocheted capes and came to Body Balm, which was on a boat called Aurora Dawn, painted yellow and cream. Pansies and geraniums made a colourful display in painted metal containers along the sides. The front deck area had a dark green awning and several striped canvas chairs. Music was playing quietly, the sound of tinkling bells. He stepped on board and saw a sign on the cabin door: back in 5 mins, promise! He decided not to attempt sitting in one of the flimsy-looking chairs, so took a Body Balm leaflet from a wicker table and stood reading.
We offer massage, pedicures, manicures, aromatherapy, detoxifying treatments, cupping and ear candling in our relaxing and soothing environment.
We are fully qualified masseurs so you are completely safe in our hands.
A half hour deep tissue massage was fifty pounds, he noted. There was a strong scent of lavender from a diffuser on the table, which set him sneezing and searching for a tissue.
A woman hurried on board, carrying a hessian bag full of brochures. She tripped as she stepped down and the brochures scattered over the floor. She was petite and blonde, her hair a confusion of fluffy waves. Spun sugar came to mind and he had a fleeting memory of the sickly taste of candyfloss.
‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ she said as she dropped the bag, more brochures tipping out. Swift bent to help her pick them up. Their heads collided briefly.
‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. Are you Mr Swift?’
‘That’s right. I assume you are Isabella Alfaro. It’s okay. Here you are.’
He put the brochures on the table, rescued the bag and handed it to her.
‘Thanks so much. Sorry I kept you waiting but I had a call to say that these were ready. So . . .’ she held out a hand in greeting.
She had a playful expression, an eager smile, neat pink lips and a button nose. She reminded him of a frisky kitten. He shook hands with her.
‘Come inside,’ she said. ‘There are no clients for now so we can sit in.’
He followed her through a lace-curtained door into a warm, light room containing a massage table, a seated massage chair and a small hand basin with a shelf of oils, lotions and bottles of nail varnish above it. In one corner was a water feature, with a shallow greenish stone bowl set above a larger covered container. The lavender scent permeated the space and the tinkling music tinkled on. There were two white plastic chairs and she pulled one forward for him. She was wearing a rainbow-coloured crystal pendant at her neck. It refracted the light as she moved, glowing greens, oranges and yellows.
‘Would you like a drink? Herbal tea or water?’
‘No thanks, I’m fine. I want to ask you about Lisa and Dominic. I’m sorry about your friend, her death was shocking.’
‘I was in pieces when I heard, I couldn’t believe it. I was walking around as if I’d been bashed over the head. Her funeral was beautiful, very healing for everyone. She would have liked that. We placed a tiny piece of Azurite in her hands. It’s known as “the stone of the heavens,” you see. It soothes the soul. Native Americans used it to communicate with their spirit guides.’
Merrell with his wedding ring, Lisa with her heavenly nugget of copper. Isabella was playing with her pendant, twirling it between her fingers. She wore a long cream tunic over black leggings and she had kicked her pumps off outside the door. She drew her legs up on to the chair, her arms around her knees and gazed at him. Her finger and toenails were a distracting bright scarlet with sparkles.
‘Do you think Dominic killed her?’
She put her chin on her knees. ‘I know he didn’t.’
‘Pardon?’
She nodded. ‘I just know.’ She tapped over her heart. ‘I know in here. Lisa used to say he was her bright spirit. Dom was an old soul, a good man. I did a back massage for him once and I could sense that he was full of positivity and love.’
Swift looked at her earnest expression. ‘I’ve been told that he adored Lisa.’
‘Oh yes. He was the nicest man she’d been with.’
‘How long had you known her?’
‘About five years. We met at a jewellery-making class. She was married to JoJo then. She was modelling but the work wasn’t regular. We got chatting and had the idea for this business.’
‘Did Lisa actually work here?’
‘Oh no, she wasn’t a therapist. She put up money to get us launched.’
‘So did you know her husband?’
She ran a hand through her waves, fluffing them out. ‘JoJo, yes, I knew him. He was okay but to be honest he was a bit flaky — gorgeous but she never knew what he was up to. She said he would do anything for money. He had big ambitions as a model but he never quite made the grade. There are loads of handsome men out there and you have to have something special to get beyond middle-of-the-road work.’
‘Why did they split up?’
‘Lisa had a thing with another guy. Richard Molina — she always called him Ricardo. He’s in a band she sang with sometimes. JoJo threw a strop when he found out. He had quite a temper if he was crossed. They had a huge falling out. You know how it goes.’ She focused on one of her toenails, rubbing the varnish. ‘I don’t know how this got smudged, it’s so annoying.’
‘Did Lisa cheat on Dominic?’
She looked at him as if she were trying to work out what answer he wanted. He was reminded of classmates who liked to please the teacher.
‘Maybe. She never said, as such.’
‘But it wouldn’t surprise you?’
She tucked one leg under the other. The boat was moving gently on the water and she swayed with it. The lavender was blocking his nose.
‘You see, Lisa was a free, generous spirit. I don’t think she was made for monogamy. Some people aren’t, they can’t stand the confinement, can’t breathe if they are locked down. And she was a terrible flirt. She said that about herself. She liked attention. Men were attracted to her and she liked being in love. She sort of couldn’t stop herself.’
‘And was she a free spirit with Perry who works here?’
‘At one time, a couple of years ago, before Dom. He’s married and he ended it.’
‘Did she ever mention that she and Dominic argued?’
‘Never, and I doubt they did. Dom was such an accepting kind of guy, the opposite of JoJo. He came here a few times to do some maintenance stuff. He was magic with electrics and plumbing and he was just so easy-going.’
‘Were you at the party the night Lisa died?’
‘Mm, it was full on, loads of people, booze flowing. She certainly knew how to throw a good one. She did love her parties, she must have had one every couple of weeks. I went along now and again.’
‘Did you stay all night?’
‘No, I got there around ten and left about one. It was still going strong then. Lisa was dancing for hours. She had amazing energy.’
The scented air, the warmth of the cabin, the gentle rocking of the boat, the trickling water and the hypnotic music were making him light-headed. It was hard to think straight. He pinched the bri
dge of his nose.
‘Did you know other people there?’
‘Not many. Richard and some of the band members were there and a couple of women from the salon where she had been a beautician — well, she just did facials really, nothing complicated. Perry turned up for a while. Lisa knew loads of people, you see, she kind of gathered them up as she went along, like the pied piper.’
‘You didn’t see her arguing with anyone?’
‘No. Everyone was having a good time. Mind you, it was so jam-packed I don’t suppose I’d have noticed if she was having a row.’
‘What did Dominic make of the parties?’
She rolled her neck and straightened up. ‘He never said. I mean, it was her flat and the parties were happening when he moved in. He was at some of them, but quite often he was at work. When he was there, he would creep away to bed at some point. I remember him saying he had ear plugs.’
She raised her head, pulling an imaginary string above it. ‘This is the Alexander technique, good for aligning the spine. Have you ever tried it?’
‘I have. It’s helpful, as is any stretching. Did you know that Lisa had had an abortion?’
‘God, no! Really? She must have been really fed up at having to do that. I’m sure she didn’t want any more kids, she said pregnancy didn’t do her figure any good.’
‘How did she get on with Dominic’s children?’
‘She liked them, as far as I know. She said the oldest one was a bit moody sometimes. She didn’t talk about them really, she left them to him. She wasn’t a maternal type, I suppose.’
‘Is that why her daughter went to live in Canterbury?’
‘It was difficult, you know . . . things started to go wrong with JoJo soon after Tamsin was born. His mum seemed a good person to have the kid. I mean, a child is a massive responsibility and JoJo wasn’t around much, travelling for work. Lisa said he went all old fashioned on her once she had given birth, seemed to expect her to stay at home, wear a pinny and be mumsy, bake biscuits. Shows how little he understood her. That was never going to happen.’
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