The Flower Girls (17 page)

Whatever way she’d found out what he did and who he was had been the catalyst. If she’d not gained that knowledge he doubted she would have hit on him. He didn’t have that vanity to believe he was God’s gift to women. But at that moment he didn’t give it a thought. Lured by her beauty and intrigued by her way of talking, he allowed himself to be manipulated.

Angry at himself for indulging in the past, he left his bed, pulled on some clothes, went down the stairs and swung out through the French doors and into the garden.

It was turned one now and the night-scented stock was pouring out scent. Erotic, reminding him of someone he needed to forget, at least for the time being. Poppy Lord, the antithesis of her sister. Kind, honest, pretty without having that overpowering beauty that Jasmine had in spades, she was the kind of girl he wanted and needed in his life. But it was over, the spectre of Jasmine and her terrible demise had come between them, she would always be there ruining any chance of happiness he had. Fate had dealt him a blow that was way below the belt.

Mrs. Carrington called him next morning—breakfast was ready. Tired from being up half the night, he traipsed down stairs and told her he’d eat in the morning room. He couldn’t face the kitchen, the noise and clatter. He needed to be alone to brood on the one mistake he had made. The mistake that brought ruin to his life.

* * * *

Caroline hadn’t waited to be announced, she’d brushed past Mrs. Carrington and burst into the library. He hadn’t been working. He’d been staring at a blank screen and wondering if he’d ever write again.

“So, now see what you’ve done.” Her voice screeched across at him. “You and that prissy sister of that slut of a wife.”

“Prissy? Slut? Well you’re not far out but given the circumstances you’re being a little cruel, Aunt Caroline.”

“Don’t bandy words with me,” Caroline, her cheeks scarlet, roared up to him.

If she were an engine,
he thought,
she’d be puffing out smoke.

“Have you any idea what she’s done?”

“The prissy or the slut?”

“Damn you, Seth, I will not tolerate your attitude.”

“Good, that means you’ll leave.”

“It means nothing of the sort. I’ve had the police around. They came to talk with Robert. As if he would have anything to do with that wife of yours.”

“My wife’s dead, Aunt Caroline, and I think you are very mistaken there.”

“What do you mean?”

“That you need to talk to Robert.”

“I don’t need to—”

“Yes you do.”

It was as if all the energy went from her. Caroline sank wearily onto the couch. Her voice was now a whisper. “I don’t need to talk to him, I know all about it. I thought it was Edward, silly me, as if Edward would want her when he had a beautiful fiancé.”

“Edward will always want another woman,” Seth said, not wanting to be mean but feeling he had no opportunity but to tell the truth. “He’s a natural womanizer.”

“How dare you!”

“I dare, Aunt Caroline, because I’m sick of evasions and lies. I’m sick of pretending everything’s all right when it isn’t.”

“You brought her here!”

“Yes I did but I’m honest enough to admit it was the biggest mistake I ever made in my life.”

“Like your mother,” she snapped. Her eyes narrowed and he could see the dislike emanating from her.

“My mother didn’t make a mistake by running away from my father, or from having a relationship with Philippe. It was the best thing she ever did. My father was a cold and unloving man. She deserved her happiness.”

“How can you say that when she left you behind?”

“She didn’t leave me behind. I was away at school and she came and told me before she went. I was glad for her. Anyway, whatever my mother did has nothing to do with this.”

“It has all to do with it. You both brought scandal into the family.”

“Oh God, how can you be so self deceiving? Your husband had an affair with my wife. That was hardly my fault, or yours come to that. They were both grownups and knew what they were doing might have repercussions one day. I just never imagined it would involve Jasmine being murdered.”

Silence hung between them. He thought she would get up and leave but she sat perfectly still for what seemed like hours. She wouldn’t cry, Caroline wasn’t the crying type. There was hardness inside her but Seth realized she must still be hurt by her husband’s betrayal.

“Fortunately he had an alibi—Robert I mean—but I don’t know what we’re going to do about our marriage.”

“If you love him stay with him. I think Robert’s probably learned the hard way not to play away from home. I doubt he ever did it before.”

“You think not?” His aunt sighed. “There were times—exotic posting—I wanted to keep my marriage. I liked my position in life.”

“I’m sorry.” And he was. He’d never really had much time for his aunt yet he couldn’t help the scintilla of sympathy rising inside him. After all he’d quickly realized he didn’t love Jasmine but it still was painful when she started disappearing. He wanted a clean break but somehow they’d never got around to doing anything about it. It wasn’t quite the same for his aunt, he realized that. She had her son to consider and, as she said, her position in society. She’d liked being the wife of the Embassy chief.

“Nothing should come out. I’d hate Edward’s in-laws to find out what’s been going on. They do know what happened to your wife but that’s not our family, at least that’s how they look at it.”

“I don’t know why you care so much what they think. Susanna’s married to Edward now. That’s all that matters.”

“I suppose so.” She put her hands together, rubbed the palms vigorously as if they were cold. “I really wanted that marriage. It’s so perfect for Edward.”

Seth wanted to say that it shouldn’t be the marriage that was perfect for Edward but the girl, but he knew his aunt would dismiss that as romantic nonsense. It was the alliance, the opening into the top draw of the establishment that she cared for. That was all his aunt had ever really wanted to achieve. Nothing was going to stop her ambition. How different from his mother her sister was, but then again that difference was reflected in the personalities of Poppy and his wife. Poppy’s hair was more gold than blonde, her eyes more gray than blue, but that was not all. The personalities were different. They might not have been sisters at all. He’d guessed, from what she’d said, that Poppy was more like her father. That was how it was with Caroline and his mother. They had nothing in common but blood ties.

“I must go,” Caroline said, as if it were he who’d been keeping her there.

She went briskly, no fuss, no lingering goodbyes. He sat a long time after her departure, staring at the empty fireplace and trying desperately not to wonder what Poppy was doing.

* * * *

By the end of the month his book was finished. He sent it off to his agent and realized it had been a month since he had seen Robert and Caroline.

In spite of what Robert had done he did feel a little sorry that the man had been exposed to the police. Robert might be a lot of things but a brutal killer he wasn’t. He’d known that all along. It wasn’t Poppy’s fault either. Grieving for her sister had made it impossible for her to keep silent. He couldn’t blame her for that.

He took the path through the wood. The bluebells had gone; he remembered the walk with Poppy and he felt sad that she would never be at his side again. Now there were just the leaves without the flowers. The trees were heavy with leaf; it was that heavy, heady last days before September crept in. The countryside, after a week of rain, was green and lush. The ground was a little soggy in part but he didn’t care. He was wearing wellington boots and he would wash them in the stream before he crossed the bridge that led to the village.

He rang the bell, listening to it echo in the hallway. They might have lunched in the garden and be resting. It was that kind of warm day. He went around the back of the house, climbed over the gate and took the path that led to the garden. There was no one there. The garden was in full bloom but the grass was quite long. Surprising because Caroline loved it to be trimmed like a bowling green.

The back door was locked. He peered in the window. There was no one there. Scampering around and down to the garage, he saw one car had gone too. The silver car was still there. He sighed. About to leave, he heard the front door click closed. Running around to the front of the house, he rang the bell. It was opened quickly, as if the person who had gone through had been lingering in the hall.

It was a woman from the village whom he vaguely recognized. She had a bundle of mail in her hand.

“Mr. Sanderson,” she said, showing surprise.

“I was looking for my aunt and uncle.”

The woman frowned, looked down at the mail and then over his shoulder as if afraid to meet his eye.

In the end she said, “Did you not know? Did they not tell you?”

“I’m sorry, tell me what?”

“They’ve left.”

“Left? For a holiday, do you mean?”

“No, left the area. I’m here to let an estate agent in. I thought you were he. They’re selling. They’ve moved away, nearer to London. Chilterns, is that it? They wanted to be close to Edward.”

Chapter 22

Poppy was mortified. When Foreshaw phoned her and told her they were going to do a reconstruction for the television she was pleased. That kind of publicity could perhaps bring something to light but when he’d asked her to take part she had balked at the idea. Now she felt cowardly and mean. She knew some cases had been successfully brought to a conclusion by use of this method but she doubted her ability to persuade anyone to contact the police if they had information. It wasn’t who she was. She shunned the limelight. He called her back a couple of days later to tell her that Seth Sanderson had agreed to do it.

That surprised her even more. Seth didn’t like the spotlight shone on him either. At the same time as being rather upsetting it also warmed her to him. Unlike her, he was prepared to cast aside his reticence to appear in public in such a way. To push himself center stage when he shunned such things. He used a pseudonym for his books for goodness sake! That was enough on its own to let her know he didn’t want to become part of a media circus.

Now watching the program she saw how his appearance brought an advantage to the case. Had it been just the police then there might not have been so much attention, but a sympathetic husband who just happened to be good-looking added much to the program. The girl who played Jasmine was good-looking but she hadn’t the beauty that had been Jasmine’s. However a photo of the real Jasmine left no one in any doubt as to how lovely she had been.

After the excerpt she went and had a quick shower. Her single room was small but warm and comfortable. Living in the hotel wasn’t ideal, it was too handy for her to be on call if someone wanted to leave their shift early, or the Manager needed someone to perform some other task. They weren’t afraid to ask. Most of the rest of the staff were workers from overseas; they accepted that as part of their lot. It did irritate Poppy in part but then again, she frequently asked herself, what else would she be doing if she were not working?

Back in the room, wrapped in a towel she saw the program was having a brief run through of any telephone calls that had come in response to the program. She didn’t wait to listen but turned it off. It seemed unlikely that anyone would telephone in about Jasmine’s murder. It had made the newspapers; someone would have been in touch with the police before now.

Poppy was on early shift. She was up and had breakfasted by seven-thirty. She relieved the night porter and printed out any bills for overnight guests. The morning sped by very quickly; she was busy with people leaving. One of the girls from the kitchen brought her a pot of coffee and left it in the inner office. Poppy managed to slip inside and pour a cup, and as she did the telephone rang. Sighing, she went back out and answered the desk phone.

“Poppy, it’s Foreshaw.”

“Oh hi,” she breathed.

“Any chance of a chat today?”

“I’m off duty at three for a couple of hours. I haven’t a car though; it would be difficult to get into town in the time I have.”

“I’ll come there if you like.”

She looked around nervously. “Actually there’s a pub in the village. The Black Bear, could we meet there, it’s a little awkward here at the hotel.”

“Sure. Three fifteen all right?”

“Great.”

Before leaving she quickly slipped out of her uniform, laying it on the bed and pulling on jeans and a blouse. If anyone had asked her why she felt the need for such secrecy she couldn’t tell them. As far as she knew no one at the hotel was aware of who she was and she wanted to keep it that way. She couldn’t bear sympathetic glances or whispering about the tragedy that marred her life. The less people knew the better she liked it.

Foreshaw was waiting for her. He was drinking a latte; she ordered the same and then went and sat opposite him. It was very quiet in the pub, just a couple of tourists.

The Inspector looked as distinguished and well dressed as ever. She saw the barmaid give him a quick look and she probably recognized him as a policeman. He had that way about him, Poppy found it difficult to pinpoint what the giveaway was, but somehow he seemed stamped with law enforcement.

“The program was good,” she said. “I’m sorry that I didn’t want to do it. Cowardice I guess. I just like to be anonymous.”

“Were you always in Jasmine’s shadow?” he asked. It was a brutal but accurate surmise even wrapped up in a question.

“Yes but I liked it there. I never wanted to be the center of attention…I really didn’t,” she added in case he didn’t believe her.

“You didn’t resent her?”

“Jasmine? No, never. She was my little sister. I loved her very much but at the same time I knew she was trouble.” She tried to smile.

“In what way was she trouble?”

What is this?
she thought, aware that it was rather like being given the third degree.
Has he found something out about
me? And if he
has, has it made him suspicious?