The Perfect Life

by Valerie Keogh

  ‘Hire a solicitor! What the hell is going on?’ Jack repeated, as the two men passed him by.

  Molly walked with them to the front door and shut it after they’d left, resting against it briefly before turning to Jack. He was looking at her as if he’d never seen her before, and he didn’t even know what it was about yet.

  ‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ she said, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible.

  He took the same seat the inspector had, and she sat opposite. Crossing her arms, she told Jack, in much the same way she had told the police, keeping her eyes down, unwilling to see the expression on his face change from anxiousness to disbelief. When she stopped, she waited a moment for his reaction and when he said nothing, she risked looking up.

  She couldn’t read his expression, he seemed stunned into immobility.

  ‘You tried to seduce a total stranger,’ he managed at last, each word spat out.

  ‘I misread the signals, I thought he was attracted to me. He was young, gorgeous and I was flattered. I wanted to kiss him. That was all.’ And what did it matter that it was a total stranger – would Jack have found it easier to take had she tried to seduce someone he knew? She felt a quiver run through her as she thought back to those brief minutes over two mornings that would change her life. Forever. The man had been murdered.

  Jack continued to look at her in silence, as if she were some strange bug he’d never seen before.

  ‘It didn’t mean anything.’ She wanted to shriek that nothing had happened, she hadn’t dragged the man into the long grass of the field beside the towpath to fornicate like wild animals. Because he didn’t want you, a little voice sneered. How much worse to be vilified for her pathetic failed seduction.

  ‘It must have meant something to him,’ Jack said, unconvinced, ‘after all, he turned up on our doorstep. You must have given him our address. Maybe you were hoping to continue your little dalliance in London?’

  ‘No,’ she cried. ‘I didn’t give him our address. I’ve no idea how he found out where I lived. I promise you. There wasn’t a dalliance.’ She rubbed both hands roughly over her face before admitting, ‘He didn’t want me, Jack. He was appalled when I tried to kiss him.’

  Jack stood and walked to the window. Keeping his back to her, he twisted his wrist to look at his watch and grunted in disbelief. ‘I need to leave for work. I can’t be late, there’s too much going on. Tell me quickly, why are the police interested in your sordid behaviour?’

  Molly had hoped he’d stay with her, but she saw his rigid expression and knew that wasn’t going to happen. He was consumed by whatever problems were going on in his life, her sordid behaviour didn’t count.

  She didn’t answer until he turned around. When he did, she stood. ‘The man has been murdered, Jack. I think they suspect I might be involved.’

  15

  Jack dismissed outright Molly’s notion that she was a suspect in the murder. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ His eyes raked her from head to toe. ‘You might be an unfaithful cow, but you’re a placid one, guilty of playing around with him, yes, but not murdering him.’ With a final look of disgust, Jack stormed off, slamming the front door so hard the empty coffee mugs on the desks rattled.

  Molly collapsed back on the chair, her hand over her eyes. There was no point in arguing that she hadn’t been unfaithful, that she hadn’t had the opportunity. Eventually, she’d make him understand. Jack was right about one thing; she wasn’t a violent woman, but the police wouldn’t know that. And that inspector had, after all, advised her to hire a solicitor. How did you go about doing such a thing? The internet, she supposed, like everything else these days.

  Her head was throbbing. She struggled to her feet and went to the kitchen in search of paracetamol, finding a packet in one of the drawers and popping two tablets, swallowing them dry.

  Murder.

  Her eyes drifted to the clock on the wall. It was almost eight, she’d watch the news, see if it was mentioned. She sat on the sofa, switched on the TV and waited, her eyes glued to the screen, widening when she realised that indeed the murder of Oliver Vine had made the news. She watched as the reporter, her voice suitably solemn, told of the murder of a young man in Green Park. There were few details, but a witness described the man staggering onto the pathway clutching his belly, the handle of a knife clearly visible.

  ‘Stabbed,’ Molly muttered, then closed her eyes. Green Park! So that was why the inspector’s expression had changed when she’d told them where the shop was. She had been within a few minutes’ walk of where Oliver Vine was murdered.

  It was a coincidence. Only a coincidence. But she guessed it explained their advice. They may or may not believe she was involved in the murder, but either way she was sure to be dragged through a lot of mud before the real murderer was found.

  Desperate for coffee to try to sort the scrambled thoughts in her head, she made a pot, but the first two cups brought no clarity. How had the man found out where she lived?

  Perhaps, after all, he had followed her. She hadn’t seen him when she’d looked back, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there lurking behind the hedgerow. He might have seen her cross the bridge. You could see the canal from the garden of the hotel, so the reverse also had to be true. Maybe, he’d seen her go across the garden. Her pink Lycra T-shirt would have made her very visible.

  She frowned. It was possible. Semington House Hotel was also the only hotel within a few miles; he might have assumed she came from there. If he’d called around, would staff have told him who she was, and more importantly where she lived? If he’d spun a good enough tale, it was possible. She rubbed her forehead, smoothing the creases away. Anything was bloody possible.

  Restless, her head spinning as she tried to figure it out, she paced the floor, stopping to stare out the window. She couldn’t sit around doing nothing; finding out how Oliver got her address would be a start.

  The invoice from the hotel was in her handbag. So were scraps of paper and receipts from what seemed like hundreds of things. In frustration, she upended the bag on the table to search among the detritus, finding the invoice and smoothing it out to read the phone number.

  She picked up the house phone and rang, tapping the table nervously as she waited. ‘Hello,’ she said, ‘My name is Molly Chatwell, I’d like to speak to a manager, please.’ Go straight to the top, it often worked.

  She was holding on for a few minutes before a softly spoken voice said, ‘This is Sylvia Reekie. I’m the duty manager, how may I help?’

  A blend of truth and lies was the best approach. ‘I was staying in your hotel over the weekend and I met someone… someone new… just briefly. There was no exchange of names or addresses and yet this person subsequently turned up on my doorstep here in London. I was wondering if there was any possibility he might have obtained my address from one of your staff.’

  The softly spoken voice held an air of righteousness when it replied. ‘We would never give that information out, Ms Chatwell, it is against our policy. We take an extremely serious approach to customer safety and that includes personal details.’

  ‘But if he’d asked one of the junior staff, a waiter or gardener, say?’

  There was the sound of an indrawn breath before the manager replied. This time there was steel behind the softness. ‘Every one of our staff receives the same training regarding client privacy. Is this a legal matter, Ms Chatwell? Something we here at Semington House should be concerned about?’

  How far were the police going to follow up what Molly had told them? ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I’m afraid I don’t really know the answer to that. Not yet anyway.’ She hung up without another word and sat staring at the phone. She needed someone to talk to. Rebecca would have been her first choice, the way she often had been over the years. Molly had spoken to her a couple of times since she’d left but it wasn’t quite the same. She still felt like a traitor for letting her go.

  She checked the time. Almost nin
e. Petra would be on her way to work. Work! Molly dialled her office, put on a throaty voice and said she wouldn’t be in, hanging up on the words of sympathy.

  Amelia was her next choice for someone to talk to and Molly was in luck, her friend answered at the first ring. To forestall recriminations for having left the hotel without warning, she jumped straight in. ‘Amelia, I’m in trouble. Something happened at the weekend. I need to talk to you.’

  A long sigh came down the line accompanied by the sound of well-manicured nails impatiently tapping. ‘You didn’t mention anything while you were there.’

  Molly gripped the phone, preparing for disappointment, relieved instead to hear a quiet okay.

  ‘Do you want to come here?’ Amelia asked.

  ‘Yes, I’ll be there in an hour.’

  Having something to focus on made her mind more settled, clearer. Looking down at her jeans and shirt, she decided it was a perfect uniform for the day. She ran upstairs and slipped on some loafers, grabbed a jacket, then went back to the study. Freya and Remi were always mislaying their mobiles and had acquired a few pay-as-you go phones over the years. A quick search found one, its charger wound around it. Plugging it in, she checked that it worked and was pleased to see there was ten pounds credit on it. She quickly sent Jack a text telling him she’d be using it for a while without saying why. There was no point in adding a sorry, she guessed she’d be saying that a lot over the next few days and weeks.

  Unplugging it again, she put the charger and phone into her pocket and headed off.

  16

  Molly caught the Circle Line to Notting Hill Gate and walked the five minutes from there to Pembridge Square Gardens. She loved her home but always suffered a little envy when she visited Amelia’s beautiful apartment. No expense had been spared on renovations and interior design, the rooms were spacious and high-ceilinged, and the outlook over Pembroke Square was perfect.

  Amelia opened the door in cream silk pyjamas, waving Molly in with a less-than-welcoming expression. ‘This isn’t really convenient, you know, darling.’

  ‘The police called this morning,’ Molly said without preliminaries. ‘They think I might be involved in a murder.’

  Amelia laughed uncertainly, then stopped and reached two hands to grab Molly’s shoulders to hold her still. ‘You are joking, aren’t you?’

  ‘Unfortunately not,’ Molly said. ‘I’d better tell you the whole story.’

  Dropping her hands, Amelia shook her head. ‘Wait, I need coffee first. Something tells me I’m going to need caffeine for this conversation.’

  Once they were sitting with mugs in front of them, Molly told her story again. It wasn’t getting any easier to tell and she stuttered over the words.

  When she’d finished Amelia looked at her in silence, a puzzled frown trying vainly to furrow her botoxed forehead. ‘You think this guy, this Oliver Vine, arrived on your doorstep with the intention of blackmailing you? Isn’t that a bit of a stretch? After all, as you say, nothing really happened apart from you being a tit.’

  Molly smiled. ‘A tit? Thanks. It beats what I’ve been calling myself and you, at least, believe me. I’m afraid both the police and Jack think something more must have happened for him to turn up like that.’ She played with the handle of the mug. ‘I’ve no idea how he found out where I lived.’

  ‘Maybe he found out at the hotel. It’s the only one around, he may have guessed you were staying there.’

  ‘It’s what I thought too, but I rang them, they said it was absolutely against their policy to reveal information about guests to anyone.’ She shrugged. ‘Have to admit, I couldn’t imagine him walking in and asking staff who the woman running on the canal is, could you?’ Picking up the mug, she drained it, shaking her head when Amelia lifted the pot to offer more.

  Molly stood restlessly, then sat again, pushing her hair behind her ears. ‘I had thought it was so romantic,’ she said, her voice calmer. ‘That this divinely sexy man found me attractive. From the first morning, I couldn’t get him out of my head. Remember I told you about him, and you said he was wasted on me, that I should have dragged him into the field. And later, you said I should try something new. I had been feeling old, you know, worn out and past it. Then suddenly there he was again, and I had a chance to prove I wasn’t, to feel that magic and excitement, to roll around in the grass in total abandon and feel like a teenager again.’

  Amelia grinned, then she giggled. Molly looked at her blankly for a moment. Nothing about this story was the slightest bit funny. She remembered the young man’s shocked expression when she’d leaned in for a kiss. Okay, maybe it was a little funny. She chuckled and soon they were both laughing like a pair of hyenas.

  ‘Oh God,’ Molly said, wiping her eyes, ‘I suppose it does sound so ridiculous now.’ Her worried expression returning, she stood and paced the room again. ‘Not so ridiculous though when you think the poor guy was murdered. And, I’d still like to know how a stranger managed to get my address.’

  ‘It’s odd all right.’

  Molly’s eyes narrowed. ‘I wondered if he could have followed me?’

  ‘You’d have noticed, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I looked back once and didn’t see any sign of him. But I was thinking, you can see the canal from the hotel where they’ve cleared a bit of the shrubbery, maybe it worked the other way too, and he saw me crossing the garden to the hotel. I was wearing a bright pink T-shirt; it would have stood out.’

  Amelia screwed up her nose. ‘He’d have to have been staring at that gap when you passed by. Anyway, you haven’t thought it through, if he knew the gap was there, then he already knew where you were staying, didn’t he?’

  Molly shut her eyes. Of course, how stupid. Amelia was right. Molly’s shoulders slumped. It was a puzzle she wasn’t going to be able to solve. ‘It’s a mess,’ she said finally. ‘I don’t know how he found out my address, or why he was on my doorstep unless it was to blackmail me, and I certainly have no idea why he was murdered.’

  Amelia looked at her, her expression troubled. ‘You aren’t serious about being a suspect, are you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said wearily. ‘Jack says it’s nonsense to think so, but the man was murdered in Green Park and I happened to be nearby at the same time.’

  ‘You were always a little bit of an idiot, Molly, but you haven’t a cruel bone in your body. Anyway, you were hardly going to murder the poor fool for rejecting your advances, were you?’

  She’d been called a tit and a cow this morning, ignoring the bit of an idiot tag was easy. ‘I told you, the police think we did more than kiss. Stupidly, I didn’t help my case, I told them that he must have come to blackmail me because why else would he have come? And, yes, I probably would have paid him to go away if he’d threatened to tell Jack what happened.’ She pushed a hand through her hair. ‘Jack and I are shaky at the moment, Amelia, I wouldn’t have wanted him to know that I’d made a play for someone else.’

  Amelia reached across, took her hand and squeezed it. ‘The police will look into it all but you’re only a little bit of an idiot, Molly, you’d have known they’d find his phone and trace the text from you. If you’d murdered him, you’d have taken it with you, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I’ve watched enough crime series, I guess I wouldn’t have been that stupid.’

  ‘The police will come to the same conclusion when they’ve done some investigating. And hopefully, when they dig around in this poor man’s life, they’ll find someone else with a much stronger motive.’ Amelia filled her mug and picked it up. ‘Did he really have turquoise eyes?’

  A slight smile appeared on Molly’s lips and her eyes softened. ‘I know you said people don’t really have turquoise eyes, but I swear he did, plus high cheekbones, perfectly sculpted lips and an amazing chiselled jaw. He wore a leather jacket over a white T-shirt and jeans – very young Marlon Brando. In short,’ Molly said, ‘he was sex on legs. And his voice was hypnotic. The second time we met, he
was going on and on about the workings of the canal, leaning down to look into that gloomy lock chamber. But he could have been talking about anything, it didn’t matter. I would have listened to him forever.’

  Her smile dimmed. ‘He was young, only a couple of years older than Remi and now he’s dead and somewhere, some mother and father, maybe siblings, are mourning.’ She felt a deep sense of sadness for the loss of this man she’d admired and lusted after but never known.

  Amelia squeezed her hand again. ‘He was probably involved with some shady characters, wait, you’ll see; just because he looked good, doesn’t mean he was.’

  Molly was about to agree when her phone rang, her heart beating faster when she saw who it was. ‘It’s Jack,’ she said, reaching to answer it.

  ‘Where the fuck are you?’ Jack said, before she’d a chance to say hello.

  ‘I’m with Amelia.’

  There was a moment’s silence. ‘Are you completely out of your mind? The police called around to the house. When they didn’t find you there, they went to your office and when you weren’t there, they came here. Here! I suppose I should be grateful they weren’t in uniform and driving a damn squad car!’

  Molly didn’t have a chance to speak, she let him rant on until his ire ran out. ‘I needed to speak to Amelia about what happened,’ she said into the first moment of silence.

  ‘Seems pretty clear to me.’ His voice arctic cold, each word filled with anger.

  Molly gulped back the tears. ‘I was trying to find out how he knew where to find me.’

  ‘And did you, detective?’

  Ignoring his sarcasm, she fought to keep her voice calm. ‘No, I didn’t, I’ve still no idea.’

  ‘Well, you’d better get your ass back home. They want to ask you more questions.’ And without waiting for a reply, he hung up.

  Hurt, Molly dropped the phone on the table. ‘Jack’s pissed.’