Being Elizabeth (35 page)

‘I doubt it. After examining the deceased at the scene of the accident, I was certain she had fallen down those stairs, very steep stairs by the way, and that she died because she broke her neck.'

‘So you do not think the gash on her head caused her death, or contributed to it?'

‘No, sir, I do not.'

‘Thank you, Mr Tarlaton.'

‘Mrs Alicia Forrest, please take the witness stand.'

Relieved to have been summoned at long last to give her evidence, Alicia virtually ran to the witness box, and was sworn in.

Dr Wentworth, who knew her by reputation only, said, ‘It is my understanding that you were a close friend of the deceased.'

‘Yes, I was, Dr Wentworth, and I concur with everything her doctor, Norman Allerton, has just said. Amy Dunley was a happy, warm and outgoing young woman who would no more commit suicide than the Queen of England would. Furthermore, there were no problems between her and her husband. They both wanted the divorce, and it was common knowledge that they
had remained very good friends. Neither were they at odds about money.'

‘Thank you, Mrs Forrest, you may leave the witness box,' Dr Wentworth announced, understanding who and what he was dealing with. An opinionated, educated woman of enormous confidence who might prove hard to control on the stand.

The Coroner now called Anthony Forrest, who repeated everything Robert, his wife, and Dr Allerton had said. It was the same story, told in a different way, but, nevertheless, it
was
the same story.

Inspector Lawson now replaced Anthony Forrest on the stand, when he was called to come up by the Coroner. ‘Please tell us what happened the afternoon you went to Thyme Lodge, in answer to a call from Mrs Connie Mellor, the deceased's housekeeper, Inspector Lawson.'

Lawson's testimony gelled exactly with the information given by the paramedic, Arthur Tarlaton.

‘As Mr Tarlaton informed you, Dr Wentworth, the deceased's body was twisted in the most peculiar way, and I agree that she might have reached over to grab the bannister, and in so doing propelled herself down the stairs with more force,' the inspector explained. ‘I was informed by Mr Tarlaton that her neck was broken and he also pointed out the wound on the back of her head. Later the medical examiner informed me that the deceased had died from the break in a vertebrae at the top of her spine. Toxicology reports showed that there were no drugs, barbiturates or alcohol in her blood.'

‘Thank you, Inspector Lawson. I see from your report that there were no signs of forced entry at Thyme Lodge, and that Mrs Mellor found nothing untoward anywhere in the interior of the house. Is that correct?'

‘Yes, it is, sir. I'm positive there was no unwanted intruder. I doubt there was foul play.'

‘Do you have anything to add, Inspector Lawson?'

‘No, I do not, Dr Wentworth. Other than that the deceased was wearing very high-heeled shoes. And it occurred to me much later, only two days ago actually, that perhaps they had contributed to the late Mrs Dunley's fall. Especially if she was in a hurry.'

Alicia Forrest sat bolt upright in her chair, and made such a fuss and commotion, waving her arm and trying to speak out, that the Coroner's Officer immediately came over to her. ‘What is it, Mrs Forrest? Is there a problem?' he asked worriedly, endeavouring to quieten her.

‘No, Mr Anderson, but I would like to be recalled to the witness stand. If that is permissible? I have something extremely important to add to my original testimony.'

‘Well, I'm not sure …'

‘Ah, Mr Anderson, is there a problem over there?' the Coroner asked, craning his neck to see what was going on.

‘Not really, sir,' Mr Anderson answered and then hurried over to the bench. ‘It's Mrs Forrest. She says she has something to add.'

‘Oh, dear, I was afraid of that. All right, have her come back to the witness stand then.'

A moment later, Inspector Lawson had stepped down and Alicia Forrest was on the witness stand in his place. Looking directly at the Coroner, she said quietly, in a much more subdued voice, ‘Dr Wentworth, I would just like to add something. It is in reference to Inspector Lawson's comment about the high-heeled shoes the deceased was wearing at the time of her fall. Mrs Dunley
always
wore
very
high heels, and she was forever running, rushing, moving rapidly wherever she went. And I frequently warned her about that, and about those steep stairs at Thyme Lodge. You see, I myself almost had an accident on them last year. I too was wearing very high-heeled shoes – and I was in a hurry and I practically went head first down the staircase. I broke my fall because I was near the bannister and
grabbed on to it. But I did sprain my ankle. It was the shoes that caused me to fall, those heels can be perilous, Dr Wentworth.'

‘I see. Well, thank you for this additional piece of information, Mrs Forrest. I do believe you have thrown a little more light on the situation, as did Inspector Lawson. You may return to your chair.'

Robert squeezed Alicia's hand when she came and sat down next to him, and Francis and Anthony both beamed at her.

And then they sat and waited as the Coroner examined his notes and looked at various reports. He then started his summing up, and by the end of twenty minutes he finally finished. He announced, ‘With the evidence that was brought to me earlier, and from what I have heard in this courtroom today, I am convinced that this death was accidental, caused by misadventure.'

Outside in the street, Robert's friends waited for him as he went off alone. After punching in a number on his mobile, he waited until he heard her voice. He said, ‘It's all right. Everything's all right, darling. The coroner just brought in a verdict of death by misadventure … in other words, it was an accident.'

‘Oh, Robin, thank God,' Elizabeth whispered through her tears.

‘Stay where you are. I'll see you soon.'

‘T
his would suit
you
, Miss Turner,' the sales assistant said. ‘If you don't mind me saying so, madam, I've always liked you in red.'

Elizabeth smiled at her. ‘Why thank you, Clarice, I must say I do, too. Is it a pashmina?' As she spoke she examined the long shawl on the hanger – vivid scarlet, each end beautifully embroidered with bugle beads and lace, a truly sumptuous item.

‘No, it's not, it's cashmere and silk, but it
was
made in India.' Clarice found the label and nodded, showed it to Elizabeth. ‘By a very good house. It's hand-embroidered.'

‘I probably will take this for myself, but I did actually come to do some Christmas shopping,' Elizabeth explained. ‘Let me look at some of the others, please. If you have a navy, a black and a lovely blue, those colours would work for three of my friends.'

‘They're over there, Miss Turner.' Clarice guided her to another area on the floor. Elizabeth liked shopping here at Fortnum and Mason. The merchandise was of high quality, they had unusual, rather stylish things, and the store was always relatively tranquil. She could shop quickly, be certain of fast personal service, and be back at the office in record time.

‘This is a rather special one,' Clarice said, bringing out a purple shawl, also beautifully embroidered with beads and ribbons, ‘and look at this green one. It's quite a unique green, wouldn't you say?'

‘They're spectacular!' Elizabeth exclaimed, thinking of Grace Rose as she touched the purple, and then of Anne Dunley, who she knew would look wonderful in the apple green. ‘I'll definitely take these two, and the red one. For myself, Clarice, at your suggestion. And if you could come up with a black and a navy, then I'll have had a great morning of Christmas shopping.'

‘I know I have those particular colours. Give me a moment, madam. And by the way, we have some very special gloves in from Paris, if you'd like to take a look. They're over there on display in the glass case.'

‘I will look at them, and thank you, Clarice. With a little luck I might be able to do all my shopping in your department.'

The sales assistant smiled and hurried away, explaining she would return as fast as she could. ‘Because I know you're always in a hurry, Miss Turner.'

‘I'm not so pressed today,' Elizabeth replied, and at the sound of her mobile ringing she rummaged around in her handbag, finally pulled it out. Walking towards a window, she said, ‘Hello?'

‘Elizabeth?'

‘Yes. Is that you, Francis?'

‘It is. I tried to reach you at the office. Merry said you were out. Where are you at this moment?'

‘I'm at Fortnum's.'

Francis Walsington began to laugh.

‘What's so funny?'

‘Nothing, it just so happens I need to talk to you about something, and guess what? I'm only a stone's throw away, at my tailor in Savile Row.'

‘Do you need to speak to me urgently?'

‘No, privately. Listen, Elizabeth, let's meet at the Ritz, we're both so close to it. Say in half an hour?'

‘What do you want to talk to me about, Francis?'

‘Not on the phone, Elizabeth, especially a mobile. Will you meet me at the Ritz for a drink?'

‘Yes, I'll be there, Francis.' Bye.' Clicking off the mobile, she dropped it in her handbag, intrigued. She couldn't help wondering what special titbit of information Francis had to offer this morning. But it must be important for him to track her down.

Walking back to the glove case, she stared at the selection, hoping to find a pair of purple ones to go with the shawl. The two together would make a perfect gift for Grace Rose.

When Clarice returned with the navy and black shawls which were from the same fashion house in India, she took both. After choosing several pairs of gloves, and matching them up to the shawls, she said, ‘I think that's it, Clarice. For today, anyway.'

‘Very good, Miss Turner. Shall I have everything gift-wrapped? I'll mark each package on the bottom, so you know the colours of the shawls, and the same with the gloves.'

‘Thanks, Clarice. You can charge them and have them sent to my flat, please, if you would. I'm afraid I have to rush now.'

‘No problem, Miss Turner, they'll be sent by messenger later today.'

Francis stood in the lobby of the Ritz Hotel, and hurried forward to meet Elizabeth as she walked in at exactly twelve noon. After kissing her on the cheek, he took her arm and escorted her into the promenande area, saying, ‘Let's have a drink here, shall we?'

‘It's fine. Actually, I like this promenade, or whatever it's called: it has a lovely Edwardian feel to it. Anyway, what do you have to tell me?'

‘Once we've planted ourselves down and ordered, I'll fill you in. All right?'

‘I'm very intrigued, Francis. It's not like you to be so secretive. You usually can't wait to give me bad news, which I assume this is.'

‘I didn't want to talk on the phone, that's all. Oh, look, there's a nice table near that potted palm, let's go and sit over there.'

Within seconds a waiter arrived to take their order. Francis chose a glass of champagne, and so did Elizabeth, surprising him.

The waiter departed, and now that they were alone she leaned forward, and looked him right in the eye. ‘Okay, shoot. I want to know what this is all about.'

Francis glanced at his watch, and said, ‘It's exactly five minutes past twelve. At approximately ten minutes to eleven this morning I got a phone call from Paris. François de Burgh died half an hour earlier.'

For a moment she gaped at him, startled by his announcement, and then exclaimed, ‘You certainly found out
très rapide
, didn't you? Do you have somebody embedded at Dauphin, for heaven's sake?'

‘You know very well I can't tell you anything like that, Elizabeth. The less you know … all that stuff. But I do have extremely well-placed contacts in Paris, and I can assure you his death will be announced on French television any minute now.'

‘Sad, really, he was so young.' Elizabeth took a breath, blew out air, and leaned back in the chair. ‘His death worries you, Francis, doesn't it? That's what this is all about.'

‘It does, because I've no doubt that the widow woman will be trekking over to this side of the English Channel …
ultimately
.'

‘When do you think she'll come to Scotland?'

‘Hard to say. There's no place for her with the de Burghs in Paris, not in the long run, anyway. I know Catherine, and, whilst
she's a woman with great ambitions for her sons, I don't believe she's heartless. There's a certain humanity to her. There'll be a mourning period for them all, and she'll treat her daughter-in-law kindly. But in the end, the kilt will have to leave. Very simply, Catherine won't want her around.'

‘Leave Dauphin, you mean? Not necessarily leave Paris? Or France?' Elizabeth gave Francis a questioning look.

‘I suppose she could stay on in France, but why would she? With not one ounce of power, and nowhere to hang her bonnet, so to speak, where else would she go but to Edinburgh? After all, she does own Scottish Heritage. No doubt she'll want to take it over from her half-brother James, who's been running it since her mother died.'

‘He's not going to like that, is he?' Elizabeth asserted.

‘I'm not certain. After all, he did work with her mother, and made the best of things.'

‘You believe Marie de Burgh is going to make trouble for me, don't you?' Elizabeth paused as the waiter arrived with two flutes of pink champagne, sat back in the chair.

A moment later Francis was lifting his glass to her. ‘Here's to you, Lady Boss.'

‘And to you, Francis. I don't know what I'd do without you.'

‘Quite frankly, neither do I. And yes, she'll be vocal about you, and Deravenels, and –' He cut his sentence off, and fell silent, and she stared at him intently. Never anything but articulate and eloquent, he suddenly seemed to have been rendered speechless, was at a loss.

‘She can't really do anything, Francis, can she? Everyone says she doesn't have a claim on Deravenels.'

He shook his head. ‘She does have a claim through her grandmother, and if you are no longer alive then she is the legitimate heir.'

‘But what about my Greyson cousins? Surely they have a strong claim, too.'

‘They do. And your brother Edward certainly believed they did, but actually Marie Stewart de Burgh takes precedence over them. Because her grandmother Margaret Turner Stewart was the elder sister of Harry, whilst Mary Turner Brandt was your father's younger sister, and her daughter Frances is the mother of those Greyson girls. So the kilt would win in the end …
if
you were dead.'

‘But there is my father's will!' Elizabeth pointed out. ‘He added a codicil debarring a foreigner from inheriting Deravenels, and she is
not
English.'

‘You know, Elizabeth, some people can be very wilful, stubborn and deaf to the truth, and she is certainly all of those things. She is avaricious, hungry for power, loaded with ego.' He sighed. ‘Since the beginning of time people have killed to possess wealth and privilege.'

‘Do you think she would have the gall to have me killed?' she asked him softly, knowing he would tell her what he believed to be the truth.

‘I don't know that, and I don't want to speculate. But many a murder has been made to look like an accident. I've told you that many times before. And you know it anyway, your family's been
dogged
by murder.'

‘This is about having a bodyguard, isn't it?'

‘You're damned right it is.'

Leaning forward, she reached out, put a hand on his arm. ‘Look, I believe everything you say, Francis, and I trust you implicitly, and I know how much you worry. But … well, she is my
cousin
–'

‘She's your enemy!' he exclaimed in a low but vehement voice, ‘and don't you ever forget that, Elizabeth Deravenel Turner. And you know full well that blood is
not
thicker than water, surely your own family's history must prove that to you. I want you to have a bodyguard, and I want you to have one who is the best. Not some driver who we hope can protect you if an incident occurs.
I want a bodyguard sitting
next
to the chauffeur, not driving the bloody car. I want a –' He broke off and looked at her intently. ‘Can I tell you one of my little show-business stories?'

She nodded. ‘Of course. But what does it have to do with a bodyguard?'

‘You'll understand in a minute. I have an old friend who works in Hollywood at one of the studios. And one day, a few years ago now, some of the top executives were asked to interview a young actor out of New York, an actor who a well-known agent thought had great potential, who he believed could be a big star. The agent was hoping the executives would see what he saw, and sign him for an upcoming film. A big film. But they didn't quite know how to typecast him … was he the leading-man type? Or the romantic comedy type? Or would he be better as a character actor? They didn't quite know what to do with him. Very simply, they couldn't put him into a slot. And neither could my friend. However, he trusted the judgement of an executive, a woman who headed the promotion and publicity department, and he set up a meeting between the actor and her. The idea was that perhaps she would be able to … cast the young actor, give them some ideas about how to use him. After half an hour with him she hurried out of her office, rushed to see my friend, her boss, and said, “I don't know what kind of role he is right for, or what movie he's right for. I don't know if he can even act. All I know is that he's one dangerous fucker. Sign him immediately.” And they did. And that's what I want for you as a bodyguard. A
dangerous fucker
. Someone who will stop at nothing to protect you any way he can. A man who's tough, organized, lethal, and
dangerous
, who scares people off, and who's not afraid to pull a gun if he has to.'

‘I don't like guns,' Elizabeth muttered.

Francis stared at her, and then he began to laugh. ‘You'll have to get used to a bodyguard carrying a gun. Will you do that for
me
? Please.'

‘Yes.'

‘You haven't asked me who the actor was.'

‘I'd prefer to know if he became a big star, as big as the agent thought he could be.'

‘He did indeed.'

‘So what's his name?'

‘Bruce Willis.'

‘In that case, I'll have a bodyguard,' she replied and grinned. But her voice was serious, when she said, ‘I know it's a dangerous world we live in today, and that I'm vulnerable because of who I am, and not just because of someone like Marie de Burgh, who wants to sit where I'm sitting and actually believes she's more entitled to the seat than me.' Elizabeth swallowed some of her champagne, and finished, ‘I'm not stupid, Francis, you should know that by now. I understand that I'm a target.'