Bold Counsel (The Trials of Sarah Newby) (30 page)

‘Maybe she just liked to keep up appearances,’ Jane suggested.

‘Alone out here with her cat? Seems unlikely. Anyway, there’s something else you’ve missed, sergeant.’ He nodded towards the bath. There was a selection of soaps and conditioners, and an open packet of luxury foam bubble bath salts.

‘You think she had a bath before she died? That would explain why she was naked.’

‘Maybe. But look at the shower head.’

The shower head was mounted on a sliding chrome rail on the wall above the bath taps. Jane stared at it without understanding. ‘What about it, sir?’

‘How tall would you say that woman was?’

Light dawned. ‘Five foot two, five three? Not very tall.’

‘Not as tall as you. If you got in that bath - don’t do it, the SOCOs haven’t been here yet - would you have the shower head that high?’

‘I doubt it, sir.’ The shower head was at the top of the chromium rail. ‘I might be able to reach it but I’d probably pull it down, if it slides freely. And she’s shorter than me.’

‘Exactly. So what does that suggest?’

‘Maybe she just liked to have the shower that high. Not everyone likes it close above their head.’ Jane shrugged, meeting Terry’s eye. ‘Unless someone taller used the shower. A man perhaps.’

‘So was he the last one to use the shower, this man? Last night, when she died?’

They walked downstairs, to the hall where the body had been found. There were chalk marks on the floor, and a SOCO officer in overalls showed them carefully where to step. ‘A single woman living alone out here with a cat,’ Jane said, frowning at the front door. ‘She should have had a burglar alarm fitted. A simple thing like that could have saved her life.’

‘Not if it was suicide,’ Terry said. ‘Anyway, it wouldn’t work. That damned cat would set it off all the time.’

‘Then a dog instead. That would have given her protection.’

‘True.’ Terry shrugged. ‘But the real point is, did she die alone?’

‘Or was there an intruder? And if so, how did he get in?’

Terry nodded, stepping outside. ‘The front door was locked, wasn’t it? No sign of a break in anywhere else. So if there was an intruder, he climbed in through that loo window like the uniforms did. The SOCOs are checking for prints there, first of all. And outside. For footprints and bike tracks.’

Terry walked to the SOCO van and peeled off his overalls. When he was dressed normally he stood on the lawn, deep in thought. In the field next to the house a team of tractors were harvesting carrots, one stripping the straw that protected them from the frost, while a second pulled a machine that dug them out of the ground and sent them up a conveyor belt into a large trailer pulled by a third. ‘So we have at least two possibilities, it seems to me. Or possibly three.’

‘What’s that, sir?’

‘Well, firstly, this is suicide, just as it appears to be. Second, more scarey, she was murdered by this young pervert who we still can’t find. And thirdly, well ...’ He hesitated a moment. ‘... it’s too early to say, but if she
was
murdered, it could be the normal thing. Like nine murder victims out of ten.’ He looked up and met Jane’s eyes. ‘Not killed by a stranger, but by someone who knew her well. A husband, if she had one. Or failing that, a boyfriend or lover.’

33. Seduction

S
ITTING IN the theatre, watching
A Midsummer Night’s Dream,
Sarah felt strangely moved. Emily was playing Titania, the fairy queen. Sarah had seen Emily on stage - as the Virgin Mary in infant school, clutching the hand of a six year old Joseph with a cotton wool beard, and then later playing the flute in secondary school concerts - but had never felt like this. Indeed, she’d had often been faintly bored, affecting polite attention while silently running over some book or legal problem in her mind. Bob had accused her, more than once, of being present in body but not in mind.

‘This
is
your daughter, Sarah,’ he’d snapped. ‘She’s doing her best. You could at least pay attention.’

Now for the first time she understood what he’d meant. On Friday she’d met Emily’s new friends - the witty Adrian, his boyfriend Brian, and two sweet girls called Rachel and Helena - and seen Emily in a way she’d never experienced before. She was happy, vibrant, full of laughter - she made several good jokes of her own - and was clearly valued and appreciated by the others. They’d all been very nice to Sarah, taking her out to their favourite restaurant for lunch, asking about her work, including her in the conversation, explaining the hilarious incidents that had happened that term. It was a light-hearted lunch; she felt privileged to be welcomed to their company. And yet at the same time she was oddly aware of being old, a little lumbering, out of date. A parent to be cared for. A visitor from a real world that moved more slowly, seriously, with none of the effervescence that fizzed in these students’ minds - a jacuzzi of new ideas and opportunities.

It was a life she had never known for herself. She was delighted to see her daughter take to it so easily. And yet she envied her, for what she had missed. At their age, she thought, watching the young people wonderingly, I had two babies, I’d been divorced and remarried, I was doing A levels with toddlers underfoot. I always worked, I never laughed. Not like this.

She watched the play, and realised for the first time that it was
funny.
She’d studied it for exams, of course, but somehow it had never seemed funny on the printed page - merely bizarre. Now she laughed, with the rest of the audience, both at the predictable slapstick and the up-to-date topical references that the students sneaked in. She loved Emily’s costumes, and was genuinely, absurdly proud of the way she not only remembered her lines but delivered them with real sensitivity and timing. That’s
my daughter
up there, she wanted to tell everyone round her. Clap louder, she deserves a bouquet.

After the play she went out with the cast for a meal and a raucous party that was still going on when she called a taxi at one in the morning. On Saturday, she met Emily at eleven and took her out for a snack lunch. They were eating baked potatoes on a bench when her mobile rang. She balanced the food in her lap and fumbled the phone from her bag.

‘Hi. It’s Michael. How’re you doing?’

‘Oh, fine. I’m having lunch with my daughter.’

‘Snap. I’m about to do the same. Spent all morning buying presents.’

‘Good.’ Sarah forked a mouthful of potato into her mouth, wondering what was coming next.

‘What’re you doing this afternoon?’

‘Going to the theatre. My daughter’s in a play.’ To Emily’s surprise and amusement, Sarah had insisted on seeing the play again. It was the last day, and the evening performance was sold out, but she’d managed to get a seat for the matinee.

‘Oh.’ Michael sounded disappointed. ‘What about this evening? I was hoping we could meet.’

Sarah thought for a moment. Emily would be on stage again, and after that there would be another party, probably even wilder than the night before. She wasn’t sure she had the stamina for that. ‘What did you have in mind?’

‘I thought we might meet for a meal somewhere. Maybe at your hotel?’

‘That sounds nice. What time?’

‘Seven? Say seven thirty. I’ll meet you in the foyer.’

‘Okay.’ She clicked the phone off and glanced, somewhat shyly, at Emily.

‘Who was that?’

‘A friend. This ... man I told you about.’

‘Oh really?’ Emily grinned. ‘He called you then, did he?’

‘Yes. I said I’d meet him tonight at the hotel. While you’re on stage for your final performance. If you don’t mind, that is.’

‘Mum, why should I mind? Go for it, why not? It’s your life, after all!’

The matinee was just as good as Friday night - better, in some ways, because the cast seemed more relaxed. Perhaps it was because they were near the end of a successful run, or perhaps it was just Sarah’s perception of it. She remembered the play from the night before, and noticed subtle differences - places where the young actors forgot their lines and covered up, or deliberately ad-libbed for the hell of it. All the way through she could see they were having fun, and rejoiced that Emily was part of it.

Afterwards she went backstage to give Emily a hug. ‘That was terrific, darling. I enjoyed every minute.’

‘Really?’ Emily laughed. ‘But you saw it last night.’

‘Yes, but you see little things that are different.’

‘Like when Adrian nearly tipped me out of that hammock, the sod? I’ve told him if he does, I’ll put chili in his codpiece. I’ve a good mind to do it anyway, just to see what happens.’

‘Tell me if you do. I’ve a good mind to cancel this meal tonight, and sneak in at the back.’

‘Nonsense, Mum,’ Emily said firmly. ‘You go, give this guy a chance. Then you can tell me all about it tomorrow.’

‘You’ll be bored,’ Sarah warned. ‘There’ll be nothing to tell. I can promise you that.’

Back at the hotel she showered, changed and spent some time sitting quietly in front the mirror thinking as she did her make-up. Or rather, not thinking exactly, but feeling. This past twenty four hours with Emily, she realised, had been one of the best days she’d had for months. Her anxiety about Bob - her long drawn out dread that something was wrong, followed by the terrible discovery that she was right - had faded. She was going to be divorced, and was coming to accept it. Her greatest fear had been the effect the divorce might have on Emily. It could so easily destroy the girl’s confidence, wreck her university career. But none of this seemed to be happening. Far from it. At university, Emily had shed the awkward, sullen chrysalis of her teenage years, and was spreading her wings for the first time.

It’s worth a celebration, Sarah thought. The relief and pleasure in this discovery had brought her as close to happiness as she could remember. It would have been nice, of course, to share it with Bob, but that was not to be. At least I’ll have someone to talk to tonight, she thought. Michael’s been divorced, so he should understand.

She spent little of her time actually thinking about Michael until she came downstairs and saw him in the foyer. But he looked as gratifyingly tall and handsome as she had remembered. He wore a dark blue woollen blazer, open-necked shirt and jeans. Sarah wore slim pointed heels, a black trouser suit with a short jacket which flattered her hips, a cream silk blouse, and a gold necklace and earrings which her son Simon had given her last birthday. She’d wondered if the look was too formal, but when his face creased with a welcoming, appreciative smile, she felt glad she’d made the effort. He’d booked a table in the restaurant, and while they ordered, she told him about Emily and her play. He listened appreciatively.

‘I’d love to see Sandra in something like that one day,’ he said. ‘She’s just entering the teenage tunnel of horrors, though. She sees Dad as a bit of an embarrassment. Nice to have his money, pity about his company. And you tell me it gets worse?’

‘It can do, yes. Did you have a hard day?’

‘Let’s just say ... I wasn’t completely sorry to get back here. I needed a swim and a sauna to put me in a better frame of mind.’

‘Back here?’ Sarah said, surprised. ‘I thought you stayed in your old college in Cambridge - St John’s, wasn’t it?’

‘I did, last time, but to be honest, it’s a bit primitive. And when I heard you were here wallowing in the lap of luxury I got jealous and thought well, if they’re even taking lawyers these days, maybe they’ll have a broom cupboard somewhere for a poor property developer. So I rang, and yes, they did. Not the largest room in the world, but still.’

Sarah raised an eyebrow. ‘You share it with a cleaning lady, do you?’

‘No, I threw her out. She flew off on a broomstick, screaming and waving a dustpan.’

Sarah laughed, conscious of a faint tingle of excitement at the base of her spine. So he had a room in this hotel too. What would Emily say to that? Thoughtfully, she sipped her wine, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread through her veins. ‘So what happened exactly with Sandra?’

‘How long have you got?’

For the next hour or so she listened to the complications of his daughter’s emotional roller-coaster, and tried to offer advice from her own experiences with Emily. All the time she was measuring, wondering how good a father he was, trying to work out what his stories revealed about his character. She asked how Michael and his former wife had managed things since their divorce.

‘Oh, fairly amicably,’ he said. ‘We both more or less agree about things like schooling and access and so on - now, at any rate. It was bit sticky at first, but then Kate met the man of her dreams and to be honest, I think I provided a welcome childcare service while she got on with her romance. And now that she’s pregnant - well the same thing applies.’

‘Pregnant? Isn’t she a bit old for that?’

‘Well, she’s a couple of years younger than me, but yes - last chance I suppose. She looked blooming when I saw her today. Better than I’ve ever seen her.’

‘You still meet and talk then?’

‘Oh yes. We don’t hate each other. Not any more.’ He twirled his wineglass thoughtfully. ‘We did once, though. Or at least she hated me. So she said.’

‘Why was that?’

He grimaced, trying to deflect the question with humour. ‘Because I’m a monster. I used to tie her to the bedpost and whip her every night. And then refuse to take the rubbish out in the morning.’

Sarah said nothing. She wondered if Bob might divert questions in with a similarly flippant response. Maybe this Kate had every right to be angry, she thought. And yet this man seemed ... so charming, so ironically aware of his own failings. She wondered how much further she could probe. Michael met her eyes, seeming to realise what she was thinking. He sighed.

‘She fell in love with someone else. She’s married him now.’

‘And you didn’t?’

‘Not then, Sarah, no.’ He smiled at her across the table.

‘I mean - you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to - but did you leave her, or did she leave you?’

‘Well, that’s not so easy to say.’ He put his wineglass down and ran a finger thoughtfully around the rim. ‘I think we both left each other, really. Just drifted apart. I mean, you start out madly in love, all wedding and lace, and then somehow you wind up with this great yawning gap between you in bed, and no words spoken that aren’t cruel. The truth is, I suppose, we were both spending a lot of time at work, and none with each other. She thought I was having an affair when I wasn’t, and then bang! One day I come home and find a stranger in my bed. And it’s all
my
fault, she says. By that time I was past caring. I didn’t even want to punch the guy. I just turned on my heel and left.’