by Allen, Anne
‘What therapies are on offer?’
‘Massage, physio, hypnotherapy, counselling, reflexology, Reiki, aromatherapy and some others a little more exotic. We also provide group sessions of yoga, meditation, nutritional guidance and Pilates. Oh, and a beauty therapist is on call if needed.’
‘Sounds wonderful! I’d book in like a shot if I had the money,’ she teased.
Malcolm frowned. ‘Well, I guess we could offer a discount. Under the circumstances…’
Louisa was miffed, until he smiled broadly, saying, ‘Only kidding. You’d be welcome to stay any time you wish, my dear. Just say when.’
‘Mm, might well take you up on that. In the meantime, can I see some of the rooms?’
As he showed her around, Malcolm pointed out the areas that had needed most improvement. ‘It was all rather dark and cold and I wanted a bright, but homely country house feel…’
They were coming down the stairs when a man about her own age and dressed in the white staff uniform, appeared in the hall.
‘Oh, Paul. Just the guy I wanted. I’d like to introduce you to my daughter, Louisa.’
‘Hi, Louisa, pleased to meet you. What do you think of our little retreat?’ he said, reaching out to shake her hand.
‘I’m very impressed. Um, are you a therapist as well as the manager?’ She found herself gazing at him shyly. A young Peter O’Toole, she thought, taking in his fair hair and deep blue eyes set above high cheekbones. Tall with an athletic body, he was the epitome of brimming health. What an advert for the centre!
He smiled, displaying white even teeth. ‘I teach yoga and nutrition as well as practising Reiki. So I’m kept pretty busy, aren’t I, Malc?’
Louisa was surprised at the diminutive. It implied a close friendship and yet Malcolm came across as a loner.
Her father smiled. ‘I certainly hope so! It was your idea, after all.’
He must have seen Louisa’s look of surprise and told her how they had met in India, leading to the decision to open a natural health centre.
‘I see. Sounds like one of those life-changing moments that happen when you least expect it. How weird, that you two meeting in India should lead to you coming back here, of all places. The family history…’ She spread out her arms, looking around.
‘Yes, you’re right. But sometimes Fate plays a part in our lives that we can’t explain. I’m just happy that we’re here now. And with you, my dear.’ Malcolm squeezed her hand and she smiled in return.
‘Malc tells me you’re a trained physio. Are you working at the moment?’
‘No, I’ve taken some time off since…’
Paul looked stricken. ‘Oh, God, how crass of me! I’m so sorry about your mother. I should have offered you my condolences immediately but–’
‘No problem,’ Louisa said, not wanting him to feel bad about it. ‘I’ve worked as a hospital physio since qualifying but, to be honest, was glad to take a break. Cutbacks were putting us all under pressure and we couldn’t think outside the box. Frustrating.’
Paul nodded in sympathy. ‘I heard that a lot when I worked in the UK. I’ve been lucky to be involved with natural health centres for a few years now, and enjoy being able to put the patient – or client – first. Speaking of which, I must shoot as I’ve someone waiting for me.’ He shook her hand saying, ‘Nice to have met you. I guess I’ll see you around.’
‘And you.’
Paul nodded at Malcolm before heading off down the hall. Louisa was left thinking what a very attractive man he was. Very attractive indeed.
chapter 11
‘Inspector Ferguson? Oh, of course. Thought you’d be allowed to keep the title…It’s Malcolm Roget. Fine thanks, and yourself? Good. Look, Ferguson, I’m in need of your help. Something else has happened and…’
Malcolm finished the call and glanced at his watch. Ferguson had promised to meet him in his apartment in half an hour and it was now eleven. Briefly he wondered if he should have asked Louisa to join him, but decided that perhaps it was better if he talked to the detective first. Feeling restless, he strode around the living area before venturing out onto the terrace. He felt caged in, like an animal in a zoo, but genetically wired to roam free. He knew it was stupid, nothing and no-one had entrapped him, but the feeling persisted. Leaning on the balustrade, he began to calm down as he focused on the view below. Watching boats, large and small, gin palaces and hardy dinghies, upping anchor and heading out to sea was soothing, signalling the idea of freedom. Of being able to travel at a moment’s notice. Which, until recently, he was free to do himself. But now…he frowned. Coming to Guernsey and opening the centre had given him a much needed raison d’être after the sale of the hotels. But at a price. The shock of seeing his father’s remains, hastily dumped in that hole in the ground, brought back all his repressed feelings of inferiority; of not being as good as anyone else. A bastard. And all thanks to a greedy, good for nothing who was himself illegitimate.
Gazing with unseeing eyes towards Herm, Malcolm was brought up short by the knowledge that he’d also fathered an illegitimate child. Talk about history repeating itself! He slowly breathed out his anger towards Archie. The image of his child, Louisa, stood bright in front of his vision, blocking out the real view. It was wonderful, truly wonderful to find himself a father at his age; but the news was bittersweet, tempered by the awful death of Susan. He wouldn’t be free to up anchor until the man responsible for her death – and that of his father – were found. Dead or alive.
The clear sound of the intercom cut through his thoughts and he walked inside to answer the call. Hearing Ferguson’s voice, he pressed the buzzer.
‘Inspector! Sorry, Ferguson. Please come in.’ He ushered the man into the living area, asking him if he’d like a coffee. Ferguson thanked him and Malcolm went into the kitchen to press a few buttons on the espresso machine.
‘So, how’s retirement? It’s been a couple of months hasn’t it?’ he asked, handing the coffee mug to his visitor.
‘Thanks. Yes, I left the beginning of January. It’s okay, this retirement lark, but it’s boring. Hence my decision to offer my services in a private capacity. Not that there’s much call for a private investigator in Guernsey, apart from divorce cases.’ He sighed, ‘Staking out unfaithful spouses is not my idea of detective work, I can tell you.’
Malcolm nodded in sympathy. ‘I’m sure. You would be too good for that sort of work, Insp…Ferguson. Look, I’m not keen on using surnames. What’s your first name?’
‘John.’
‘Right, John. Please call me Malcolm.’ He settled himself on the sofa, drubbing his fingers on the arm. ‘You know how I still want to find the man who killed my father?’ John nodded. ‘Well, there’s been another death, a few months ago in London. And there’s a connection…’ Malcolm told him about Susan, their daughter and the burglar.
John sipped his coffee, looking thoughtful as he mulled over the few facts Malcolm had told him.
‘Let’s see if I’ve got this right; the necklace Susan was wearing in that magazine photo was the one taken by Archie, among other things, after he killed your father and scarpered to England. And it appears that either he, or someone else who knew about it, then saw a recent photo of her in an article about her travel business. And tracked her down and tried to get her to tell him where either the jewels or you were now. With a fatal result.’ He looked across to Malcolm. ‘And now the daughter’s turned up, probably wondering if it’s your fault her mother’s dead.’
Malcolm winced. ‘I hope not, but I take your point. I do feel responsible for Susan’s death. If it wasn’t for that blasted necklace she’d still be alive. That’s why I want you to help me find that slime ball and get him banged up,’ he said, clenching his fist.
‘Right. I’m happy to come on board. Am I right in assuming the necklace is very valuable?’
‘It is. I had it valued in 1972 and it was worth a couple of million then, so God kn
ows how much it’s worth now.’
John whistled. ‘Weren’t you tempted to sell it?’
Malcolm stood up and paced around, mug in hand. ‘Never gave it much thought. It was a family heirloom, given by the eldest son to their bride. Perhaps I thought that one day…’ He shrugged. ‘My mother only ever wore it once: at a ball for the leading businessmen in the city. I was her escort but it was her name on the invite; it was her business, not mine.’ He turned to face John. ‘You know what she said afterwards? That all the women had blanked her once they saw the size of the rubies she wore. Jealousy. Pure jealousy.’ He sat down. ‘Ma called the necklace unlucky, refusing to wear it again. I thought she was being over-sensitive but now…I’m not so sure.’
‘Where is it now?’
‘Here, in my safe. Do you want to see it?’
‘Please. I’ll take a photo. Might come in useful.’
Malcolm returned moments later with the velvet bags, noticing that the detective had been writing in a little notebook. He emptied the contents onto the table.
The detective’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Those rubies are huge. No wonder those women were jealous. And what’s this?’ he asked, pointing to the turban decoration.
Malcolm filled him in with a potted history of the items and how they came to be in his family’s possession. John fished out his smartphone and took a number of close-up photos.
‘From what you’ve said, Archie must have told someone else about these jewels, and my guess would be a close family member. You wouldn’t trust anyone else with that kind of knowledge. Possibly a son as he was young enough to marry and have kids after the war. Trouble is, we have no idea where Archie lived and that’s what’s hampered our investigation so far.’ He scratched his head and Malcolm could almost hear the cogs in his brain whirring. The inspector had a formidable reputation, or so he’d been told.
‘Any other likely family members?
‘No, my father was the last of the line.’
John looked thoughtful. ‘Which paper carried the latest article on Susan?’
‘The London Evening Standard.’
‘Hmm, covers quite an area, but might help. We’re now looking for two men, possibly father and son, with at least one living in the London area. A son could be any age from about sixty-three down, but most likely not less than, say, forty-five–’
Malcolm cut in, ‘I’ve just remembered something Louisa said. She thought the man she saw wasn’t young, he moved like an older man.’
‘Okay. Well, I’ll need to talk to your daughter, see if I can jog her memory some more. You all right with that?’
‘Sure, I was expecting you to suggest it. Tell me a good time for you and I’ll arrange it.’
A few minutes later, as he showed him out, Malcolm realised that the earlier restlessness had left him, replaced by a surge of adrenalin. He now had a purpose, a mission to accomplish, in honour of both his father and his own lost love, Susan.
‘Louisa? Hi, my dear. Can I ask you something, please?’
*
That afternoon Louisa made her way to Malcolm’s apartment, only too happy to do anything to help catch her mother’s killer. Because that’s what he was, in her mind at least. She was buoyed by the idea of using a private investigator; he’d be more willing to keep going with the investigation. She was pretty sure that the police had surreptitiously closed the file, even though the coroner pronounced an open verdict on her mother’s death. Terms like aggravated burglary and manslaughter were mentioned, but nothing happened.
‘Hi, Malcolm, it’s me,’ she said into the intercom.
‘Good, come on up.’
Once inside the apartment, her father ushered her into the living area where a stocky, middle-aged man stood looking out of the window. He turned round and came towards her, hand outstretched.
‘Hello, Louisa. John Ferguson. Please accept my condolences for your loss.’ She nodded and they sat down on the sofa while Malcolm disappeared to make coffee.
John continued, ‘I know you’ve already told the police what happened that day, but I’d appreciate it if you could tell me, as I won’t have access to your statement. Okay?’
‘Sure.’ She went on to describe the events of that horrible day, finding it hard to hold back the tears. Every time she had to recount the story it felt as if the wound was being ripped open again, never getting the chance to heal.
The detective wrote it all down and then chewed his pen a moment before looking over at her. ‘I know you only had a quick glimpse of this man, but can you try really hard to think of anything, anything at all, that you may have noticed and haven’t mentioned.’
Louisa concentrated, but try as she might, other than the impression he was an older man, nothing came into her mind. She said as much to John.
He smiled reassuringly. ‘No problem. There might be something we can try. When I was with the London Met, we occasionally used hypnosis to help witnesses remember people or events, and with great results. Would you be willing to give it a try?’
‘I…I suppose so. I’ve never used hypnosis. But if it’ll help…’ She didn’t want to appear a wimp, but visions of swinging watches and staring eyes flashed through her mind.
‘Great. Now all we need is a hypnotherapist. Mm, there was a lady who helped in a case a few years ago. Didn’t hear her name but–’
‘Could it have been Molly Ogier? She’s semi-retired but works a few hours a week at the centre. I believe she’s good,’ Malcolm chimed in, returning with a tray of mugs.
‘Might be. I can ring the girl she helped and confirm the name. Excellent!’ He rubbed his hands together, adding, ‘Even a small piece of information might help us to track this man down and hypnosis can yield things you didn’t realise you saw.’
Malcolm handed round the mugs and John asked if he had a phone book. He fetched a copy from his study and passed it over. The detective flicked through the pages and then punched in a number on his phone, moving away to the window to make the call.
‘Jeanne? It’s John Ferguson. Yes, that’s right. How are you? And the family? Good, good, pleased to hear it. Listen, I need to know the name of the lady who helped you with the hypnosis…Right, thanks. Will do, take care. Goodbye, Jeanne.’
He returned to the others smiling. ‘Molly Ogier’s the right woman. Will you get in touch, Malcolm, and see if she’ll help Louisa? Shouldn’t take more than a session or two.’
‘Will be glad to. What do you plan to do once Louisa’s been hypnotised?’
‘I’ll need to go over to London and chat up some old pals from the Met, do some digging. I’ll also focus on finding any trace of Archie Blake in or around London and any male born with that surname since 1946. It’s likely to be a slow process, I’m afraid. Could be weeks…’
Malcolm shook his head. ‘I don’t care how long it takes or how much it costs. Those men must be found!’
Louisa felt relieved. Even though she didn’t expect to remember any more about the burglar, she had every confidence that with both Malcolm and John involved, the chances of success were greatly increased.
A little later John left and when Malcolm came back from seeing him out, Louisa stood up, ready to leave. He motioned her to sit down again.
‘Don’t rush off. I’d like to make a suggestion,’ he said. Louisa, wondering what was coming, sat down.
‘Your booking in the hotel must be running out soon, right?’
She nodded and replied, ‘Yes, in a couple of days. But I can keep the room–’
‘There’s no need. It’s pointless you paying for a room when I’ve got one available at La Folie. We’re not full at the moment so it wouldn’t be a problem for you to move in. That’s assuming you were planning to stay here a bit longer?’ For the first time since they had met he looked unsure of himself.
Louisa hadn’t thought beyond each day since her arrival in Guernsey. But she now needed to stay at least until after se
eing the hypnotherapist. And if she was honest with herself, returning to London and her empty house didn’t hold much appeal. Staying here would give her a chance to get to know her father better and she’d have the company of the staff and guests at the centre. A no-brainer.
‘I’d love to stay there, thanks. It’s very generous of you.’
‘Nonsense! You’re my daughter and so far all I’ve contributed to your well-being is a posh meal. I have a lot of making up to do, young lady.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll inform Paul that you can have as many therapies as you like; enjoy some pampering. I can rely on him to take good care of you.’
Mm, now that was a thought!
chapter 12
It was agreed that Louisa would move into the centre on Friday. In the meantime, she decided to explore the island. She had always considered herself to be a true city girl, but the few days she had spent in Guernsey started a shift in her thinking. The ability to walk along unspoilt golden beaches and a seemingly endless variety of cliff paths was definitely preferable to pounding along London’s pavements. And although Guernsey was lacking the cultural advantages of London, it wasn’t the backwater she had expected. The local paper listed the new releases showing at the multiplex cinema as well as concerts and shows available in the leisure centre’s theatre. But she did wonder how Malcolm fared after the buzz of Toronto, although he seemed happy enough on his adopted island. It would have been in his blood, perhaps, she mused; hidden for years until his recent arrival and re-connection with the place of his conception.
The beaches were fairly deserted at this time of year, only the occasional dog walker or jogger keeping her company while she strode along the sand along L’Ancresse Bay in the north. Everyone exchanged a quick greeting or a smile and Louisa felt heartened by the friendliness. But there were still moments when she would be assailed by grief and needed to be alone, taking refuge in the car and weeping until exhaustion kicked in. Just seeing a woman who bore even a slight resemblance to Susan could set her off. And although finding her father had been a bonus, he could in no way compensate for the loss of her mother. She admitted he was doing his best as a born-again father. Or, to be more accurate, a late starter. A very late starter. He hadn’t tried to smother her, but offered help as needed. Louisa looked forward to moving into La Folie and the promised pampering. But she was still unsure about the hypnosis and the memories it might stir, memories she had tried hard to suppress in the far reaches of her mind. It would be another picking at the scab of the unhealed wound and the unsettling thought followed her back to the car.