‘When did you first come to Edinburgh, madam?’
‘Well I was –’ She glances up from pouring tea. Now her eyes are quizzical – and she appears to adjust her reply. ‘Kevin and I both worked in London until – it would be seven years ago. Then Kevin got the chance of a job up here – we thought it would be a better environment for Ella – our daughter?’
Her mask breaks as she flashes a smile – it is quite transforming – suddenly she acquires a new level of attractiveness. She has glanced at a framed photograph of a young girl in school uniform. Then her mouth drops back into its inverted u-shape.
‘Your husband’s job – your ex-husband, I should say – that was with Mr Liddell’s organisation?’ (She nods, rather glumly now by comparison.) ‘So the children being at the same school – that was just a coincidence, was it?’
‘Well – I suppose it was a coincidence. There aren’t many options, however – even in Edinburgh – if you’re looking for a real commitment to single-sex education?’
Again there is the uptalk – it makes her sound rather uncertain – while it draws Skelgill into what is not in fact a question.
‘I can’t say I’m qualified to have an opinion on that.’
‘At this age, Inspector – Ella is thirteen – when you see them on social media – and they meet boys in town at the weekends – it is something of a blessing that at least for eight hours a day they can focus on their studies. And sport – of course – so many teenage girls drop out because they are embarrassed by comments from boys.’
‘Aye – happen there’s not enough sport being done – I’ll give you that, madam.’ Now he looks pointedly at the school photograph. ‘And is your lass in the hockey team, as well?’
Felicity Belvedere seems surprised, and the fleeting smile somewhat forced.
‘Yes – she is – though I wouldn’t say it’s her forte – but she’s a trier – and she enjoys the camaraderie.’
‘I was hearing that Mr Liddell’s daughter is a bit of a player.’
She nods generously – perhaps now comprehending his interest.
‘She’s very good – she was selected for the district under-14s last year, when she was just twelve.’
‘Happen she’s got something of her father’s talent.’
The woman looks keenly at Skelgill.
‘Well – Muriel Liddell might beg to differ – she played for Scotland.’
‘There you go – that’s jumping to conclusions for you.’
Skelgill affects a look of sheepishness. She responds sympathetically.
‘But I’m sure you’d be right in some respects – Will Liddell fought his way up from humble beginnings – he is a very determined man.’
Skelgill nods slow agreement.
‘Is it his custom to pay for his friends to do things – like the past weekend?’ He casts about in a mild way, as inoffensively as he can contrive. ‘I mean – if you don’t mind me saying, madam – you’re all doing quite well by ordinary folk’s standards.’
She looks unflustered by what might be interpreted as a criticism – an intrusive one at that – though behind the implacable mask Skelgill sees a change in her eyes – a flash of uncertainty – and she makes an uneasy movement, quickly drawing aside her hair – which is centre-parted and is beginning to encroach upon her eyes.
‘I suppose – when something is presented to you as a fait accompli – it can be difficult to refuse.’
Skelgill looks puzzled.
‘So, what – you’re told the trip’s been set up and there’s nothing to pay?’
She gives a kind of nod-cum-shrug of acknowledgement – that he has it about right.
‘And, then of course – if you knew Will – you’d know he’d be offended if you questioned it.’
Skelgill makes an ironic growl in his throat.
‘I need to find a few friends like yours, madam.’
She smiles briefly. But he can see she only humours him.
‘I shouldn’t say it’s an ideal situation – but –’ She seems to run out of words. ‘As the saying goes – it is what it is.’
Skelgill looks at her, his expression becoming graver.
‘That’s all changed now, madam.’
She nods pensively.
‘Scarlett’s death, yes.’
‘Were you close to her, at all?’
She has bowed her head. Now she looks up and again has to draw back her hair with her fingertips.
‘She wasn’t easy to get to know.’ Once more, the questioning intonation.
Skelgill responds in kind.
‘Aye?’
He waits for her reply.
‘She was rather self-absorbed – and what scope she had for empathy was focused upon Will.’ Felicity Belvedere takes a deep breath, a reflective expression. ‘Of course – I tended only to meet her in prescribed circumstances – everything is a little artificial – even at a dinner party – you arrive and exchange formal greetings with friends whose homes you’ve been popping round to for years – keep your uncomfortable shoes on – sit up straight at the table – there are barriers – you know?’
Skelgill is not entirely sure he does know – the dinner party not featuring in his social calendar – but he nods encouragingly – and her words do prompt an idea.
‘Are there any photographs that were taken on Saturday?’
That she glances instinctively at her mobile phone that is lying on the coffee table between them tells him there probably are.
‘I took a selfie – when we met for cocktails – I think I kept it.’
She regales him with a strained look – but he understands her to refer to the unfortunate timing.
‘Mind if I see it?’
‘Sure – I mean – not at all.’
She manipulates the device and turns it and holds it at eye level – he notices she keeps a firm grip. He leans forward, squinting – and now he affects a certain professional aloofness – but inwardly he wrestles with a more base reaction. The picture is a head-and-shoulders shot of the three women – Suzy Duff, Belinda Luker and Felicity Belvedere – in close embrace raising their martini glasses and pouting to the raised camera. Their make-up and hairdos reflect the spirit of the 1920s – Belinda Luker wears a diamante flapper headband, and Felicity Belvedere has a drastic side-parting swept across her forehead and pinned above one ear. But it is the outfits that particularly draw his eye – the contrast – for both the aforementioned females wear dresses with modesty-preserving opaque illusion necklines – whereas Suzy Duff – her eyes sparkling alluringly has on a plunging crimson showgirl outfit that leaves little to the imagination. Skelgill inadvertently swallows – and then makes a bowing motion with his head to indicate he has seen enough. She withdraws the handset – then she intones into the silence that he leaves.
‘I only took that one – it was obviously not long before – you know – Scarlett was found?’
‘What about during the day – do you have anything from earlier on?’
She shakes her head.
‘We were advised not to take mobiles on the adventure course – there was mud and puddles and lots of bashing about. And Will had been saying he didn’t want us with our heads buried in our phones – that it was a chance to get away from all that – escape to the 1920s. Besides, there was no mobile signal inside the castle – and pedestrian wireless in odd spots.’
Skelgill nods. ‘Aye – you’re describing Cumbria in general.’ He makes a scoffing sound. ‘Suits me down to a T, if I’m honest with you, madam.’
She seems surprised by his candid overture.
‘Is it not essential for your job?’
‘In my book it more hinders than helps. Being dragged in seven directions at once. But there’s folk more important than me says otherwise.’
She listens to him reflectively.
‘For me – I suppose – it is both boon and bane. Technology means I can work flexibly from home – especially as a single mot
her – but when you’re self-employed it’s easy to let your job fill up all your spare moments. That can be frustrating for Ella – like when she wants a lift home from her father’s – and he’s had a beer watching the football – and I tell her I have a technical drawing to finish.’
Again she plies him with the smile – her white teeth are small and even and contribute to a youthful countenance that belies her age. And though the warmth just as quickly fades, Skelgill does not sense his presence is resented in the same way as with Belinda Luker – but maybe she had somewhere to go. He pokes awkwardly at his teacup by way of moving on to his next point.
‘Madam – this is me just being a bit nosey – how come yourself and Mr Makepeace went along on this jaunt to Greenmire Castle – as a couple, I mean?’
Now she tilts her head to one side and looks at him rather quizzically through what must be her dominant left eye. Her hair spills across and she flicks at it ineffectually.
‘Inspector – believe it or not there are couples that separate and remain on perfectly amicable terms.’ (Skelgill looks like he might not believe it – but she continues.) ‘In any event we didn’t go as partners in the conventional sense – you obviously know the arrangement of the castle – Will had explained in advance that, in effect, everyone had their own room – he’d made sure of that – that we could lock ourselves in, if necessary.’ Now she breaks off, as if a momentary thought has distracted her. She gives a small shake of her head. ‘Besides – there’s nothing so undignified as a party arriving and people pretending they are not scrabbling to secure the best rooms.’
‘Happen there’s not a lot to choose between them – at Greenmire.’
She regards him with a slightly superior grin – to her trained architect’s eye there is perhaps a great deal between the various suites.
‘The boys got the sunrise, the girls the sunset.’
Skelgill wonders for a moment if there is some cryptic meaning – but he cannot fathom it – other than she shows an awareness of a phenomenon that would pass most people by – but then light and architecture must go together like bangers and mash.
‘You would have been mainly friendly with the first Mrs Liddell – and Mr Makepeace more with Mr Liddell – would I be right?’
Though she evidently ponders, there is little in her expression to suggest this question troubles her.
‘Well – yes – I see your point – I suppose you are thinking what happens if one of us gets a new partner – that Kevin would probably take precedence in the group?’
In fact the future dynamics of their social circle have not particularly occurred to him – though it does prompt the realisation that there is now a gaping hole. However, he responds in accordance with her suggestion.
‘Aye – I was just thinking – what with your ex-husband working for Mr Liddell – he’s more likely to be keeping in regular touch with him.’
‘Provided Will doesn’t decide that Kevin has served his purpose.’
Skelgill wonders if he sees a glint of irony in her eyes. It seems a curious remark.
‘Did your ex-husband come to work directly for Mr Liddell’s company – or was that another job?’
‘In London – he was already employed by a subsidiary. So it was closer to an internal transfer – albeit a different sector. Down south Kevin was in fragrances – now it’s spirits – Scotch whisky.’
Skelgill is nodding slowly.
‘So – Mr Makepeace – he would quite likely have come into contact with Scarlett Liddell – she worked here in Edinburgh for a year before she married Mr Liddell?’
For a moment she exhibits no visible response whatsoever; but when her reply comes her voice is relaxed.
‘Well – I don’t recall that Kevin ever mentioned her, as such – except to say there were rumours that Will was in a relationship with a member of staff – but it quite quickly became public knowledge – and Scarlett left the firm.’
‘What – a scandal, like?’
She shakes her head calmly.
‘No – I gather it was Will invoking his own long-standing company policy. Relationships between staff are forbidden – or at least frowned upon.’
Skelgill glowers.
‘That sounds illegal to me, madam.’
‘Well – I don’t suppose it is explicitly stated in contracts of employment.’ She lifts her head and gazes beyond Skelgill – at the brightness of the window – and her pupils noticeably constrict, causing the rich blue of her eyes to intensify. ‘But as Kevin put it – when you have a junior member of staff sleeping with the chief executive – it’s difficult to tell them what to do. And I imagine Scarlett was enough of a renegade, without acquiring extra powers.’
‘I thought she was employed on merit – she was good at French or something like that?’
Felicity Belvedere refocuses upon Skelgill. She nods faintly.
‘Yes – something like that.’
But if a troubling sentiment underlies her strained response Skelgill appears to miss it – for he too seems preoccupied with some thought. When he speaks it is to revert to the subject that led to this diversion in the first place.
‘Then again, madam – I suppose your daughters are in the same year at school – while they’re still friends you’ve always got something in common.’
‘That is true, of course.’
Skelgill glances again at the photograph.
‘How have they handled this tragedy – leastways, your young lass?’
‘Well – for one thing – in this age of uncensored news we decided – we, the adults, that is – to be frank and open about what has happened – to the extent that we can be?’
She regards him interrogatively – as if seeking his consent.
‘I was more thinking about the shock of it – of someone dying – on a celebration weekend.’
‘Well – I don’t know if you can shock this generation – sadly it is weekly fare on social media – a high-flying young woman commits suicide when it seems she has everything to live for.’
Skelgill looks doubtful.
‘I reckon you’d know more about that than me, madam.’
‘And at a personal level – apart from Will’s children – the others barely knew Scarlett – so I don’t believe they will suffer personal grief. The school held a special assembly on Monday morning – they have very good pastoral care. But you’d need to ask Muriel – about how the Liddell children have been affected?’
Again she poses this as a question – and Skelgill finds himself nodding – and now he senses she is watching him minutely. Could it be to glean from his reaction whether he will be seeing the first Mrs Liddell? Or perhaps her suggestion tells him that she already knows the answer.
11. ST SALVATOR’S/MURIEL LIDDELL
Tuesday, 4.00pm
‘Can ’ah I help you, sir?’
Skelgill realises he is being eyed with some suspicion. The official – boiler-suited and short and squat and shaven-headed and wearing a yellow reflective vest – has broken off from directing traffic to intercept him. Skelgill realises he must stand out as a stranger. He has followed signs into the school grounds, wading against a steady tide of small teenage girls in smart navy blue uniforms, laden with backpacks, and kitbags with lacrosse sticks poking out of them; some dwarfed by oversized musical instrument cases; and yet others clad in freshly laundered military fatigues and polished combat boots. He has been struck by their neat appearance; hair tied back, garments tucked in where they ought to be – and a collectively happy, unselfconscious demeanour. They indulge in restrained chatter and politely ogle news from each other’s expensive-looking mobile phones. It is not a school coming-out that he recognises; the headlong rush, a rag-tag exodus, yells and shrieks, boys speculatively punching, shirt tails flapping, shoes scuffed beyond redemption; girls chewing scornfully, skirts hitched provocatively.
Older, taller girls, however, wear short kilts and less formal tops, their hair swept casually
free; with their long slender necks they move like young swans among the more ubiquitous flock; serene, poised, soon to be young women – sixth formers, maybe? He notes several eye him with curiosity, and coyly exchange comments with their confidantes.
The narrow entry road is tree lined, with a single footway; it jerks left and right to pass into a well-maintained grassy quadrangle with neat beds and criss-crossing paths. At one side stands the main school building – an imposing sandstone edifice, four storeys, and the square tower pointed out from afar by David Balfour. Around is a collection of more modern constructions that look like they might be sports and art and technological facilities. From somewhere there drifts the smell of baking and coffee. He can see a car park across the far side, and beyond that but out of sight below a grassy ha-ha what must be the sports pitches – for a rank of zinc floodlight posts guards new-looking green mesh enclosures.
Detective Inspector Skelgill Boxset 4 Page 9