‘Yes. How long after the wedding?’
‘They were married for three years.’
‘Blimey!’
‘Exactly. And, you know what? I always felt that for Vincent Robinson that was about three years too many.’
Later that day, Lottie knelt to remove the dead flowers and replace them with some she’d just picked. There was always a sense of guilt surrounding the visits to her mum’s memorial plaque. She didn’t like going without flowers, but she couldn’t afford to buy any. So, she was faced with the dilemma of coming empty handed, which seemed rude, or picking flowers in the park, which she knew her mum would consider to be stealing.
She stared at the words on the plaque. Catherine Robinson. Wife and Mother. How had she been so stupid? Both she and Hannah were pretty sure that Robinson wasn’t even that slime-ball’s real name. But the truth was, the plaque should say ‘Thorogood’. That was her mum’s proper name. All this other nonsense was bollocks. I’m so sorry, Mum. I should’ve insisted. I hate that this is so horribly wrong. Catherine’s cremation had been a small affair, entirely organised by her husband. Lottie had been allowed to attend, with Jennifer for support, but not one word had been spoken between herself and Vincent throughout the entire day.
After a while spent in quiet contemplation with the only thing she had left of her mum, Lottie collected up the other bunch of flowers she’d picked and made her way over to the opposite side of the crematorium, to Douglas’s plaque. It broke her heart that they weren’t next to each other. But knowing full well that Douglas was over in the south chapel garden, Vincent had insisted on the north for Catherine’s plaque, and being her next of kin and paying the fee, he had had the last word.
At times like this, Lottie wished she had a sibling. Perhaps a brother or a sister would’ve been more outspoken. If there had been two or more of them, they might’ve been able to present a stronger case for using their own surname, and placing the plaque nearer to Douglas’s. With a sibling or two, she would’ve been standing with an army. But, sadly, she had been standing alone. Her mum had had to wait so long just to conceive one baby. By the time Lottie had been born she’d almost given up hope. Lottie had been her ‘little miracle’ and she had spoilt her accordingly.
Arriving at her dad’s plaque, Lottie replaced his flowers too. I’m sorry. I don’t even understand how you ended up at the crematorium. Mum seemed to be leaning towards a burial. But I do know one thing. As soon as I have enough money, I’ll see about getting you both a joint plaque, with the right surnames on it, and no mention of Mum being that vile man’s wife. I’ll put you back together, I promise.
Walking to the bus stop to make her way back to her ugly flat, she couldn’t stop thinking about that photo of Vincent on his wedding day. She’d only kept it to remind her of her mum; the intention had always been to cut him out of it. She couldn’t shake the image of his face that day – so smug, she’d wanted to punch him. The guests seemed happy enough, if a bit embarrassed at the speed with which the bride had recovered from her previous loss. Catherine herself had been radiant, and so excited. It had made Lottie squirm to think what might go on between husband and wife later that day. Vincent had stood up at the front and declared that his name was Robinson. He had even produced ID beforehand to confirm it. But the more she thought about it and the more she talked to Hannah, the more Lottie figured that Robinson simply couldn’t be his real name.
33
Hannah – 2019
Lottie answered Hannah’s call. ‘Hi, how’re you doing?’
‘I am doing just fine. You are not going to believe my news,’ Hannah replied.
‘Try me?’
‘Vinnie has a case.’
‘Vinnie?’
‘Me. My website. I have a proper case. I met the client earlier.’
‘Oh wow, that’s brilliant. What’s the case?’
‘Well now, that’s the bit you’re not going to believe. Can I pop round to yours?’
‘Erm … not here.’ Lottie answered quickly. ‘My flat is horrible.’
‘Oh. Okay.’ Hannah was taken aback for a second. It wasn’t the response she’d been expecting. ‘Fancy meeting for lunch somewhere, then?’
‘No. Sorry.’ Lottie sounded hopeless. ‘I just can’t afford to eat out today; there’s still a week until payday. Besides, I owe the gas company. Can’t you just tell me on the phone?’
‘This is far too juicy. I need to see your face. Can you come round to mine?’
That was clearly the best solution for Lottie. ‘Yeah, sure. What time?’ she asked eagerly.
‘I’ll just rustle something up for us. Maybe a chicken salad or a quiche. Come now and I’ll have lunch ready.’ Hannah gave her friend the address.
As they sat down to salmon quiche with a tomato and rocket side-salad in Hannah’s parents’ clean and tidy kitchen, Lottie thanked her friend for the delicious lunch.
‘No problem. You eat, and I’ll tell you all about the meeting with my client,’ Hannah said.
‘Go ahead. I’m intrigued.’ Lottie grinned, and tucked in.
34
Vincent – 2015
The wedding took place in the chapel where they had so recently bid farewell to Douglas, and was followed by a reception in a marquee in the beautiful wild-flower meadow. Throughout the day, Lottie chose not to speak a single word to her new stepdad. That was fine by him. There was nothing left to say. He’d done it! He’d given up the lease on his horrible little flat, and this place, this amazing house with all its outbuildings and land, was now his home.
He didn’t have high hopes for the wedding night; it was going to be something of a chore. But he’d get through it; he’d make her feel special. From what he could gather, that side of things in her first marriage had not been great. You’d think having the same sex for thirty years would at least mean that her stupid husband would’ve got it right eventually, but apparently not. Tonight would be wonderful for his dear old wife – he’d make sure of that. Obviously, it wasn’t going to be anything to rave about for him, but perhaps he would use the image of Lottie to hurry things along. Yes, that would do nicely. He would imagine how she had felt that day by the fire circle, not far from where he stood right now. Her breasts, so pert they needed no support. He could also conjure up how she looked when he wound her up. There was always a flash behind her eyes, an anger, a stubbornness, which Vincent found incredibly sexy.
As he posed for the photographs, he wished his family could’ve been there. How proud would they be to see him as Lord of the Manor? But, no, they had not been invited. He’d known better than to ask. Simply telling Catherine that they didn’t like to fly. For quite a few years following his departure, he’d tried writing to his mum and the rest of the family. There had never been a response. They obviously couldn’t forgive him. Women! Sometimes there was no figuring them out.
35
Lottie – 2015
Try as she might, Lottie couldn’t seem to get her mother to see the other side of her manipulating arse of a husband. Within two weeks of the wedding, Catherine had placed a photograph of her and Vincent’s special day in the lounge. It hung on the wall in a heavy silver frame, directly opposite a similar photograph of her and Douglas’s wedding. Over thirty years separated the two events. In the first wedding photograph, Catherine had been an innocent young girl, in a floor-length white dress decorated with pearls. In the second, she was a mature bride, so much more experienced than before, wearing a tastefully understated cream suit.
Her two husbands faced each other across the room. Lottie always felt that her father was looking disapprovingly over at Vincent. But, in reality, he had simply been a nervous young man on his wedding day, gazing at a photographer, unaware of what was to come.
Exhausted by her efforts to get Catherine to see sense, Lottie decided to handle Vincent’s presence in the house in the only way she knew how: she simply chose to be home as little as possible. Any opportunity to stay at a friend’s
house or spend the night with a guy, and she was up for it. Anything, rather than be met by his supercilious face at the breakfast table.
Catherine and Vincent had fallen into a rhythm that seemed to suit them. Whenever Lottie asked her mum if she was happy, the answer was always an emphatic yes. Not long after the wedding, Vincent stopped making any pretence that he was going to work, and Lottie assumed that her mum must be giving him an allowance. He was certainly never lacking in the things he wanted: superior whisky, the best coffee, expensive steaks for dinner. His wardrobe was bursting with Italian suits, fine silk ties and soft leather shoes. Any attempt she made to discuss money with her mum would lead to upset. All Catherine would ever commit herself to was the phrase, ‘It’s between me and Vincent, darling; we’re married.’
And so, with nothing to be gained by keeping on, Lottie gave up. She no longer enquired about the ins and outs of their marriage, financial or otherwise. She could only hope her mum was being sensible.
36
Lottie – 2018
Lottie let herself in the front door, calling, ‘Hello. Are you home?’
Her call was met with silence. Vincent’s little blue MG sports car (a recent third anniversary present from Catherine) had not been there when she’d parked up, so she assumed they were out together for a drive.
However, as soon as she entered the kitchen, Lottie spotted her mum’s handbag on the side. It wasn’t feasible that Catherine would’ve gone anywhere without it. Not once had Lottie known her mum to leave her bag behind. She must be home.
‘Mum? Where are you?’ She made her way through the hall and into the lounge. ‘Have you gone deaf, like Dixie?’ Back in the hall, she climbed the stairs, still calling. It was the oddest thing. Her mum could be anywhere in the house. She might even be in the garden. She could be in the bathroom and unable to hear due to the taps running; she could be listening to one of her programmes on Radio 4 somewhere; she could be, she could be, she could be … There were a million and one innocent explanations for the evidence that suggested Catherine was in the house and yet there was no answer from her. But Lottie felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but somehow the house was just too quiet.
Vincent must be out alone, driving around country lanes with the top down, having a mid-life crisis as he tried to impress everyone. The first sign of summer brought everyone with a convertible out of hiding. But where was her mum?
Lottie knocked on Catherine’s bedroom door. She didn’t like to go in this room; although Vincent had his own bedroom, she knew that he occasionally ‘visited’ Catherine, and the thought of what might go on in here made her nauseous. But now, as she could find nothing to suggest that her mum was anywhere else in the house, the bedroom seemed the obvious place to look.
‘Can I come in?’
The lack of response should’ve told her that Catherine wasn’t in the room. But instinct had taken over. For some reason, Lottie was sure that she was.
‘Mum?’ She turned the handle and gently pushed the door. ‘Sorry to disturb you, I just …’
Catherine was on the bed, fully dressed in one of her usual ‘staying home’ outfits. She was lying on top of the covers, on her back, motionless, her arms by her sides.
‘Are you okay?’ Lottie ran over to the bed. Looking down, she felt a chill rush through her. ‘Mum! Wake up!’ She shook her. Lottie knew, by the way Catherine’s head juddered, that she was dead. There was nothing natural about the way her shaken body moved. Her face had taken on a hollowness, as if all the fat had been drained from it. She had a skeletal look about her. Lottie touched her mum’s cheek. It was cool. ‘What have you …?’ She scanned the room, searching out the reason for this untimely death. What was she expecting to see? A solution of some kind? Mrs Robinson, in the bedroom, with the candlestick. There must be an explanation.
And then she spotted a folded piece of paper on the nightstand, lying next to a packet that proclaimed to contain sleeping pills. The ones the doctor had prescribed when Douglas had died. Soon after receiving them, Catherine had decided she didn’t agree with them and would not use them, putting them to the back of the medicine cabinet. And yet, here they were. She might not have approved of them then, but she had chosen to take them all today. The packet was empty; each tablet had been removed from its foil wrapping. Lottie picked up the piece of paper; her hand shook as she unfolded it. What could it say? What reason could there be for this?
“I’m sorry. I just can’t live with the guilt. I love you Vincent XXX.”
Lottie dropped the note and cried out, ‘What guilt?’ Falling to her knees, she sobbed as she buried her head into her mum’s now stiff, cold body. ‘Why him, Mummy? Why didn’t you say you loved me?’
37
Hannah – 2019
‘I’m so glad you chose our firm.’ Hannah somehow managed to sound business-like and hid her excitement, even though to all intent and purposes she was in her very first meeting with an actual bona fide client.
‘Will Vinnie be joining us?’
‘No. He’s … on holiday at the moment. I’m his partner. Why don’t you tell me what you need?’ Hannah surveyed the woman opposite, sizing her up in an instant – middle aged, with no wedding ring, Italian, hard-working, probably once beautiful.
‘As I wrote in my email, my name is Cristina Rocchino, and I need you to find my brother.’
Hannah tried not to show how exciting this was for her. A real missing person case! ‘Can you describe him for me please, Cristina?’ She prepared to make notes on her phone.
‘Yes. Well … he’s Italian, of course. He’s about 165cm tall. I think that’s something like five foot four or maybe five foot five in the UK, shorter than the average man, whichever measurement you use. He has brown eyes, and a warm smile … He …’ She seemed to be struggling with her emotions.
‘I’m sorry. I realise it must be upsetting for you to have to talk about him. Has he been missing long?’
‘I haven’t seen my brother for over twenty years.’
‘Gosh. You must miss him?’ Hannah tried her hardest to appear sympathetic and yet still business-like.
‘Not at all.’
‘Pardon?’ Hannah thought she must’ve misheard.
‘I don’t miss him at all. I detest him.’
‘Right. But …?’
‘When I think back to our childhood, I’m able to remember him as he was. I loved him dearly. We all did. He was a special boy. It’s not a lie to say he had a warm smile.’
‘And yet, you detest him.’
‘My brother was my best friend. He meant everything to me.’ A small smile played around Cristina’s lips, but it swiftly disappeared as she continued, ‘Then, my grandmother died. It was tough on all of us, especially Vincent. Nonna was an amazing woman. We all knew she couldn’t last forever. But losing her was still a wrench. She left her house to my brother. Her little Vinnie, she used to call him. In fact, it was your colleague’s name on your website that clinched the decision to contact you. I’d picked you at random and it felt like a sign.’
‘I see.’ Hannah thought it best to continue to keep quiet about her non-existent partner. ‘You say your brother inherited the house?’
‘Yes. He was the only male. My nonna was an old-fashioned woman. In her will, she stated that she thought he would be the most sensible person to handle her property and her money.’
Hannah gave a small laugh. ‘In my experience, men are the least sensible of the sexes!’
‘I agree with you.’ Cristina smiled.
‘So, he not only got the house, but he got all the money?’
‘Yes. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Nonna wasn’t a rich woman. Her house was not grand. But I know for a fact, it was her intention that the house should remain in the family, and that Vincent and his future wife would live in it. Perhaps she even intended for myself or one of my sisters or cousins to live there too. She knew what a squeeze it was in my mo
ther and aunts’ houses.’
‘But … he didn’t keep it in the family?’
‘No. My brother sold it at the first opportunity.’
Hannah thought he sounded like a right git. Fancy selling a house that had been intended for the whole family to use. ‘That must’ve been devastating for you all.’
‘I can’t tell you. It was a bitter betrayal.’
‘What did he do with the money?’
‘He moved to England. He took all the money from the sale of the house and cleaned out Nonna’s bank account. He wanted a new start over here.’
‘That explains why you’re employing a British investigator. I did wonder. I’m so sorry he did that to you all.’
‘Thank you.’ Cristina took a sip of coffee. She had been so focused on telling her story that it was almost cold.
‘He didn’t send you a forwarding address? Once he settled here?’
‘He wrote a few times, years ago, but my mother refused to open the letters as soon as she saw his handwriting. I know how hard it was for her to cut him off like that. He was her dream come true. But what he did … well, she couldn’t forget it. I didn’t blame her at all. We just put the letters straight in the bin. All I know is he told one of his friends that he was going to live a life of luxury in England. He was going to go sailing and dine out, all that nonsense. I couldn’t be sure if he would’ve chosen the north or the south. He knew so little of England before coming here, he could’ve finished up anywhere. But Google tells me there’s lots of sailing down this way, so I thought I’d make a start here.’
Swindled (The Sandlin PI Series Book 1) Page 11