The Secret

by Debbie Howells

  As a rule, Andrew avoids touching me. But today, in a gesture that’s proprietary rather than affectionate, I feel his hand lightly against my lower back as he nods towards the path. He clearly doesn’t want to hang around. ‘Shall we go, Elise?’ It isn’t a question, but I’ve no more desire than he has to stay here any longer than necessary.

  As we walk home, I casually tell him what the police told me. ‘They know about you and Stephanie.’ Beside me, I feel him tense.

  When he speaks, his voice is measured. ‘I’m assuming it wasn’t you who told them.’

  Taking a leaf out of Andrew’s book, I avoid answering. ‘Do you think I enjoy being made to look stupid?’

  He ignores me. ‘It rather makes one wonder who did.’ I know it’s for my benefit that instead of annoyance, there’s amusement in his voice.

  As I keep walking, pulling my coat tighter around me, nausea rises in my throat. I’m sick of him, of everything he does. ‘Have you a new one lined up? A lover, I mean?’ My tone is intentionally, inappropriately light, spelling it out that he can do what he likes but I won’t let him get to me.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he snarls.

  ‘Me? Ridiculous?’ But my emotions are too stretched. In spite of my best intentions, I lose it. ‘You’re the one who’s fucking ridiculous, Andrew. Look at you. Your entire life is a façade. Us, your affairs, your holier than thou act with the villagers. But do you know what? No-one’s fooled. And even if they were, they’ll soon see through you. It’ll catch up with you, Andrew. Don’t think it won’t.’

  I feel his fingers around my arm, knowing that if my coat wasn’t thick, there’d be red bruising where he’s pinching me. But recklessness seizes me. ‘What are you going to do?’ I’m deliberately goading him, unable to stop myself. ‘This act? The mighty doctor with the wife who’s so important to him? Everyone knows it’s fake.’

  In the split second before he reacts, I know I’ve pushed him too far. His hands close around my neck as he slams me against a tree. ‘Bitch,’ he hisses, closer to losing control than I’ve ever seen him. ‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you? You’ll never win, Elise. I know too much about you.’ His eyes glint with hatred. ‘Do you know how easy it would be for me to kill you?’

  Despair overwhelms me in that moment, as I know he’s capable of anything. A sob escapes me as I imagine Niamh left motherless and – far worse than that – being left alone with him. However much I want to be free of him, however wrong this is, it’s this side of him, his physical violence, which means I’m trapped.

  Relaxing his grasp, he arranges his face in the facsimile of a smile. ‘But that would be too easy.’ Pretending to dust off my coat, he tucks my hand under his arm. When he speaks, it’s clear he’s enjoying himself. ‘It’s so much more fun watching you suffer.’

  *

  At home, I lock myself in my bathroom, carefully taking off my clothes and examining the red marks on my neck before applying concealer over them and pulling on a high-necked sweater. Andrew’s behaviour is growing more extreme. What will he do next time?

  But my question is followed by another. Could Andrew have killed Hollie? Had she goaded him, forced him into a corner, pushed him too far? All those evenings and weekends, when Andrew’s been out, I’ve had no idea where he’s been. I’ve assumed he’s been meeting his lover. How convenient then, that the one person who could have verified his whereabouts is now dead.

  Or did Hollie find out something about the porn business that James was involved in? Out of everyone in this village, there are two people I can imagine being capable of murder.

  Having seen him lose his temper, the first is James Hampton.

  The second is my husband.

  I think of the way Andrew spoke about Phil Mason. The few times I’ve seen him, Mason’s presence has disturbed me. There’s a cold watchfulness about him. He gives the impression of a hunter in a world where the rest of us are fair game. After seeing him with James, then Andrew, and watching his iron self-control at Hollie’s funeral, I know he’s a man I want nothing to do with.

  When I think back to how upset Hollie was the day I met her in the churchyard, I imagine her discovering the porn business James had invested in, what it would have done to her. It would explain why she was so agitated. Maybe she found out that Mason was blackmailing her father, then confronted him and so he killed her? I stop myself. All of this is wild speculation, but Hollie’s body was found in the grounds of Park House, just a stone’s throw from where Mason lives. It’s also not far from our house.

  Suddenly I’m claustrophobic, thinking of Andrew again, then this village, Hollie’s murder … All of it is too much. Getting up, I pull on a jacket and go out.

  I walk briskly, trying to shake off the feeling that hangs over me. The air is cold but I’m warm by the time I reach Ida Jones’s cottage. Thinking of what she said when I saw her last, I pause to knock on her door, instantly regretting it, wishing I’d called her first to check that she isn’t busy. But then I hear the latch lift; the door opens and Ida appears.

  ‘Elise! What a lovely surprise.’ A smile crosses her face, but then she falters, studying me. ‘Would you like to come in?’

  ‘Thank you. I hope I haven’t interrupted you? I should have called you but I wasn’t working, so thought I’d just pop by – if you’re not busy?’

  ‘Oh no, dear. Not at all. I was going through some old photos.’ When I follow her through to her sitting room, I see her small dining table is covered in them. ‘Young folk these days don’t appreciate them, do they? Everything’s on their phones. All very well till they lose them.’ She sounds wistful. ‘Now, come into the kitchen and I’ll put the kettle on. Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘Thank you.’ I’m ridiculously grateful for the warmth, not just of her cottage, but how her presence feels, making me suddenly aware of the absence of warmth in my own life.

  Looking around I see that her kitchen is dated and the pine units are in need of a coat of paint, but her curtains are fresh and there are pots of herbs on her windowsill. It’s homely in a way I’m suddenly nostalgic for. Hugging my arms around myself, I watch her warm the teapot. I can’t remember the last time I saw anyone do that. Then she gets two mugs.

  She turns briefly. ‘How’s young Niamh?’

  ‘She’s quiet. Losing Hollie has rocked her. It’s impossible for her to understand why anyone would have wanted to kill her.’

  ‘It’s difficult for any of us to understand.’ Offering me a mug, Ida picks up the other and starts towards the sitting room. ‘Let’s go through there.’

  I sink into the sofa, feeling the tension leave my body, then exhaustion taking over, suddenly aware of the strain I’m under but conscious of Ida watching me.

  ‘These are sad times,’ Ida says quietly. ‘Those two poor people, and so close together. From the same family, too … I don’t know how that man is coping.’ She goes on. ‘Have you seen him at all?’

  I nod. ‘At the funeral earlier.’

  ‘I didn’t make it.’ Ida looks sorry. ‘I had a hospital appointment this morning. I do hope enough people were there.’

  ‘Not really.’ There’s a lump in my throat.

  Ida hesitates. ‘There’s no accounting for some folk. You’d think they’d show a little more kindness.’ I wonder if word has got around about Stephanie’s crash possibly being intentional, or if Ida knows about Andrew and Stephanie … But she changes the subject. ‘So, what about you, dear? How are you?’

  Her question takes me by surprise. It’s so long since anyone has asked anything like that. As tears fill my eyes, I try to wipe them away without her noticing. Her frown deepens. ‘Elise, dear. What’s wrong? Whatever it is, you do know you can talk to me.’

  I look at her, touched by her kindness, but where do I start? There’s so much she doesn’t know – about Andrew, Niamh, Hollie …

  ‘Oh, I’m fine.’ I pin on a ghost of the mask I wear. ‘It’s been a difficult time, has
n’t it?’ I can’t burden her with everything that’s wrong in my life – because even if I did tell her, nothing would change.

  Niamh

  I try to remember Hollie alive – free, happy, the way she was when she was with Dylan. If he hadn’t gone, none of this would have happened. Dylan abandoning her changed Hollie’s life.

  But there were consequences for all of us …

  I avoid the churchyard for a while, until in the end it pulls me back. Hollie’s grave doesn’t yet have a headstone, but Hollie wouldn’t care about that. Her voice is in the air, the wind blowing her words into my mind: ‘Remember me as I was, Niamh … Don’t let anyone forget …’

  As I stand beside her grave, the sun warming my back, I try to imagine the night she died, Hollie’s last minutes. Her body in shock as cold, dark water engulfed her, her fear as it closed over her, the fight to reach the surface and then the realisation that there was nothing she could do; she was dying. I wonder how long it took before she stopped thinking, before oxygen stopped reaching her brain, before her body went limp; how much more time passed before Hollie’s spirit left it.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jo

  The day after Stephanie Hampton’s funeral, we finally track down the delivery driver, then question him about the man he met to discuss the porn business when we discover that the man fits Mason’s description, confirmed later when we show him a photo of Mason.

  As a result, the search for Mason is stepped up, but apart from his passport being traced to a flight he boarded to Paris a week ago, he’s become invisible.

  Andrew Buckley continues to prey on my mind. I know the power that people like him have to maintain control, force silence, hide the truth about themselves. I arrange to visit him at his home. In the light of what James Hampton has told us and what I know about Doctor Buckley’s personal life, I’m curious to hear what he has to say.

  As I drive towards the village, the countryside bears long-awaited signs that winter is ending. Grass verges show new signs of growth and tree branches bear the faintest tinge of green. After the wettest few months I can remember, they’re signs of hope that the worst is over, that spring isn’t far away.

  In the Buckleys’ garden, the shelter afforded by the tall stone walls that surround it mean that the seasons have already moved on. Trees bear pale pink blossoms and clumps of primroses and bluebells are interspersed with verdant shoots of what’s to follow. I linger, taking it in, unaware of Andrew Buckley watching me until I glance towards the house and see his face at a window. When I reach the door, he opens it before I knock.

  ‘Come in, Detective Sergeant. I’m afraid my wife’s at work. I hope that isn’t going to inconvenience you?’ His manner is smooth, with an authority he obviously doesn’t expect to be questioned.

  I can’t help but wonder if it’s by accident or design that he’s arranged to meet me when he’s alone here. ‘Not at all. I just have a few questions for you. It shouldn’t take long.’

  His face is impassive. ‘Absolutely. Would you like to come through?’

  Instead of the kitchen, where I’ve spoken to Elise and Niamh, he shows me through to a large sitting room, extravagantly furnished with tall sash windows looking out onto the garden.

  He gestures towards one of the large sofas. ‘Do have a seat.’

  Getting an impression of how it is to be one of his patients, I sit down, glancing around the room. It’s deliberately imposing rather than comfortable, with a couple of large modern prints on one of the walls and an enormous elaborate mirror resting on the mantelpiece.

  He waits a few seconds before sitting opposite me. ‘So, how can I help?’

  His deliberate affability isn’t lost on me. Starting up my notebook, I take a deep breath. ‘You’re aware we’re holding James Hampton?’

  He nods, his face sober. ‘I had heard. May I ask why?’

  ‘Do you know a Philip Mason, Doctor Buckley?’ Ignoring his question, I study his face for a tell-tale giveaway sign as I mention Mason’s name, but there’s nothing.

  ‘I have a drink with him now and then. He lives in the village but he’s away a lot on business.’

  ‘I understand from James Hampton that you know him quite well. You spoke to him at Hollie’s funeral, didn’t you?’

  ‘Did I?’ As he frowns, I can’t work out whether his look of blankness is contrived before it clears. ‘Of course. I remember talking to him about how terrible it was that Hollie had died.’

  He’s saying all the right things, but my instincts are on high alert. I change tack. ‘I understand you and Stephanie Hampton had an involvement.’

  His eyes narrow. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘There were messages on Mrs Hampton’s phone that make it very clear what was going on between you.’ As I speak, the tightening of his jaw gives him away.

  Slowly arranging his hands in his lap, he considers his response. ‘Stephanie and I were intimate.’ He looks at me. ‘Plenty of people have affairs, Detective Sergeant.’ There’s the faintest hint of warning in his voice as he goes on. ‘Can I ask you what relevance this has to Hollie’s murder?’

  I hold his gaze. ‘Doctor Buckley, I’m sure you’re able to understand that after a murder followed by another death – potentially a suicide – we need as much information as possible about the deceased.’ When he doesn’t say anything, I continue. ‘Mr Hampton suggested that I ask you about someone called Dylan. He said that Hollie was in love with him, but he left her. He said it destroyed Hollie. Initially, he told me to talk to your wife, but then he backtracked and said the person I needed to talk to, was you.’

  ‘Really.’ There’s a look of disdain on his face. ‘Well, I’m afraid Hampton’s got his facts wrong. But I’ll tell you what I know, for what it’s worth. Dylan and Hollie were boyfriend and girlfriend – a teenage thing,’ he adds dismissively. ‘But it wasn’t Dylan who left Hollie, Detective Sergeant.’ Andrew Buckley shakes his head, taking his time. ‘There are issues of doctor–patient confidentiality, obviously …’ As I go to interrupt him, he raises a hand. ‘It’s well known that Hollie Hampton had problems, but they were worse than most people realised. I was going to refer her to a psychiatrist as I was increasingly convinced she was suffering from a personality disorder. But it’s not straightforward when you’re dealing with a teenager as unstable as she was.’

  I’ve heard various accounts of Hollie’s free-spirited nature and her bunking off school, but no-one’s even suggested anything like this. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘It’s difficult to pinpoint – to the layman.’ He looks at me briefly. ‘But since you ask, there wasn’t just one thing. As she and Niamh were friends, she spent quite a bit of time with us. Being a doctor, I’m obviously able to see traits that other people don’t notice. She was unpredictable, exceptionally flighty, highly emotional and given to recklessness …’

  ‘I assume this is documented in her medical notes?’

  He shakes his head. ‘It was a tricky situation.’ He pauses. ‘There was an incident at the surgery.’ He goes on to tell me the same story I heard from Elise.

  ‘I’m aware of the details.’

  He frowns slightly. ‘So you’ll be aware Hollie claimed I assaulted her?’

  ‘And you hadn’t?’

  ‘God, no.’ Andrew Buckley looks horrified. ‘Hollie wrote a letter of complaint and the practice manager got involved. I explained that Hollie had a crush, one that clearly I didn’t reciprocate. That kind of thing is rare, but not unheard of. It’s usually girls or young women seeking the attention of a father figure.’

  I’m puzzled, because it doesn’t add up. ‘But that would hardly apply to Hollie. From what we know, she had a good relationship with her father.’ I watch him more closely.

  ‘I said usually. It isn’t always the case.’ But Andrew Buckley looks uncomfortable.

  Alarm bells are ringing. If, as Andrew Buckley insists, nothing happened, Hollie must have had a reason for what s
he did. Staring at him, I trust my hunch. ‘Doctor Buckley, could there have been any other reason why Hollie might have lodged a complaint against you?’

  He shifts on the sofa. ‘I’d rather this was kept quiet …’ He pauses. ‘If you must know, she’d found out about me and Stephanie.’ He adjusts the lime-coloured cushions behind him.

  ‘So you thought you could explain away Hollie’s accusations as a teenage crush?’ I stare at him, flabbergasted that he could do that.

  ‘She made one hell of a fuss about what I’d allegedly done. I thought that she was young enough that explaining it away as a crush and referring her for psychiatric help was the most practical resolution.’ He has the grace at least to look discomfited. ‘I had the rest of my career to think about. I’m not proud of my actions, Detective Sergeant. But I did what I had to.’

  His arrogance leaves me horrified. To think that he could lie about Hollie, just to save his own skin …

  ‘Did you touch Hollie inappropriately, Doctor Buckley?’

  He looks outraged. ‘Whatever else I might have done, I could never have done that.’ Buckley goes on. ‘Detective Sergeant, none of this is ideal. I’m perfectly aware my marriage isn’t what it should be, in spite of my best efforts. But none of us are saints.’

  Brushing his infidelity under the carpet. Charming.

  I wonder what Stephanie got out of their affair. From what I’ve seen, I’d challenge any woman to have a loving relationship with Andrew Buckley as my impressions are of a man who’s cold, domineering, and unsympathetic.

  He’s also manoeuvred the conversation away from my initial question – deliberately, I wouldn’t mind betting – and so I steer it back. ‘Doctor Buckley, we were talking about Dylan. Where does he come into this?’

  Andrew Buckley looks at me sharply. ‘As I’ve explained, Hollie had a number of problems. I’m not sure he does come into it.’

  Something flashes in his eyes. Too used to calling the shots, he doesn’t like it when it’s the other way around. ‘That’s not what James Hampton said.’ Determined to keep him focused, I watch him closely. When he doesn’t respond, I add, ‘Don’t worry. If there’s nothing more you can tell me, I can talk to your wife.’