The House on the Cliff (23 page)

“Of course.” She paused. “We’ve also been in touch with the victim’s mother, Solveig Lindberg. It seems you met with her in Stockholm?”

The question hung in the air. There was an awkward silence as I searched for an answer.

“Why did you do that?” She looked up at me quizzically.

“Well . . .” I wasn’t sure what to say. “I know it sounds odd. But I’d planned a trip around a conference there, and it seemed an opportunity to tie up some ends regarding my client. So just curiosity, I guess.”

There was a brief moment of silence and then she said, “Goes with the territory, I suppose.” She smiled. “I’m just the same.”

I smiled back, relieved.

“Well, I think that’s about it for today.” She began to gather her things. The notebook and pencil went back into her bag, and she adjusted her top, smoothing down her skirt. “Thank you so much for your time.”

She put out her hand.

“Not at all.” I shook it, looking her briefly in the eye. I somehow got the impression she trusted me, but I don’t know why that was. “What will happen next?”

“Well, we’ll be collecting evidence for the hearing, which will decide whether the case goes to trial.”

“When will that be?”

“A couple of months, I’d say. We’ve got our work cut out. I’ll be in touch again to get a formal statement if we need one.”

“D’you think I’ll be called in?”

She paused. “Yes, I think it’s quite likely that you will be.”

“I see.” I couldn’t help feeling a little alarmed, but I tried not to show it. “OK, then. Fine. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

I walked her over to the door, opened it and saw her out. I waited as she walked down the corridor. When she got to the top of the stairs she turned, smiled, and gave me a little wave.

I smiled and waved back. Then I went back into my office to wait for my next client.

The following Friday evening, what with the drama with Nella, not to mention my fiasco with Gwydion and the visit from Detective Sergeant Lauren Bonetti, I felt I deserved a break. So after I’d cooked supper for Bob and the girls, I changed into a black silk tea dress, added a string of pink glass beads, a battered leather jacket, suede ankle boots, and my Stockholm beret, and went out.

When I got to the arts center I found Mari and the usual suspects, Sharon, Polly, and Catrin, gathered round a table in the bar. There were a couple of other women there, too, who I didn’t know so well. I bought a round of drinks, sat down next to Mari, and joined in the conversation. I’d missed the beginning of it, so Mari filled me in.

“You’ve heard the news?” she said, turning to me.

“No. What news?”

“Our friend Evan Morgan.”

The others stopped talking and looked at me.

“He’s not my friend—” I began, but Mari cut in.

“They’ve fixed the date for the hearing. It was on the six o’clock news this evening. Didn’t you see it?”

I shook my head. “No. I had an evening session.”

There was a silence.

“How come Bob’s defending him?” Mari’s tone was suspicious.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him.”

Mari looked sideways at me. “You know, that business you were asking me about, with the Swedish au pair?” She paused dramatically. “Apparently Evan took the poor girl out on his boat, tried to rape her and, when she wouldn’t have it, chucked her overboard. Left her to drown.”

“Is that what they’re saying?”

“More or less. Reading between the lines.”

I knew it was no good getting an accurate picture of exactly what had been reported from Mari. She was incapable of telling a story without exaggerating. So I tried to change the subject.

“Did you get that part in the Bassey film then, Mari?”

She ignored my question, narrowing her eyes, a mischievous smile on her face.

“You know something we don’t know about all this, don’t you?”

“No, not really.”

She didn’t believe me. Neither did the others, who were still looking at me expectantly. I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t want to appear snooty, but neither did I want to involve myself in gossiping about the Morgan family.

“Look, if you must know . . .” I shot Mari an accusing glance. “As I’ve already told Mari, there’s a connection between this case and one of my clients. Ex-clients, I should say. I can’t really discuss it at the moment. Professional ethics, sort of thing.”

The assembled company nodded gravely. I was pleased to have come up with a credible explanation for my silence on the matter, for the moment at least. But the speculation continued.

“I knew Evan was no angel,” Mari went on, “but I can’t believe this. I mean, rape, murder. I’m lucky to have escaped with my life.”

More grave nodding ensued.

“You know what he’s doing now?” Mari’s voice assumed a conspiratorial tone, though she was talking at the top of her voice, as she always does. “He’s having it off with that little secretary of his.”

“ ‘PA’ they’re called these days,” said Sharon, apropos of nothing. “Not ‘secretary.’ ”

“PA, whatever. Her name’s Rhiannon.”

“Not Rhiannon Jenkins? Bright girl, very pretty. Blonde?” Sharon looked a little anxious as she spoke, I thought.

Mari nodded. “I don’t know her surname, but yes, that’s got to be her.”

“I taught her in college a couple of years ago.” Sharon looked mildly shocked. “She can’t be more than about twenty-five or so.”

“Well, there you are. That’s Evan for you.” Mari frowned. “But the weird thing is, so I’ve heard, that he’s serious about this one.” She adopted the conspiratorial tone again. “Apparently, she’s pregnant.”

“Really?” I couldn’t hide my curiosity. This was a piece in the jigsaw I hadn’t come across before.

“Yup.” Mari looked triumphant as she delivered this choice piece of gossip.

“How do you know?”

“Heard it through the grapevine. It’s a small world, the theater.”

“And . . .” I tried to sound casual. “Is she keeping the baby?”

“So it seems. Wants to marry him. Age gap and all.” Mari paused. “Though this murder charge will put paid to that, I suppose.” She picked up her empty glass. “Now, who wants another drink? My round, I think.”

I left the arts center late that night. I wasn’t in any hurry to get home. Things were still very tense between me and Bob. We were continuing to avoid contact with each other as much as possible. He’d announced that he was going to visit his mother in the valleys, so he’d taken the girls with him for the weekend. For once, Nella hadn’t complained. I’d told them I couldn’t come, that I needed to catch up on my paperwork. I was looking forward to having the house to myself for the weekend. Perhaps, I thought, a little solitude would be good for me. The conflict between the two of us seemed to have escalated rather than decreased after Nella’s escapade in London, and I needed some time to take stock.

I didn’t notice anything was wrong with the car until I got home. I parked under the street lamp outside the house, in the usual way, got out, locked the door, and then I saw it. Spray-painted over the bonnet, in red letters:
BITCH
.

It was hurriedly done, but the word was unmistakable. As I looked at it, I felt a current of fear run through me. Emyr, I thought. He must have got the sack, and this was his revenge. Or could it be Evan Morgan, perhaps? To scare me off becoming a witness at the hearing? But he couldn’t have known about my visit from DS Lauren Bonetti. And his connection with Bob would surely have prevented him from acting in such a way. It had to be Emyr, I was sure of it.

At that stage I could have panicked, but I didn’t. Instead I left the car where it was and walked quickly into the house. Once inside, I bolted the front door, double-locked it, and slotted in the chain. I called the police and they said they’d try to send someone round in the morning, but it might have to wait until Monday. I didn’t call Bob, or Mari. I didn’t see the point of worrying him while he was away. I made myself a cup of chamomile tea, to help me sleep, and before I went to bed inspected the house, checking and double-checking all the doors and windows to make sure they were secure. Then I climbed the stairs.

Someone out there was trying to frighten me, I knew. It could be Emyr. Or Evan. Or someone else. But I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.

I lay in bed for a while with the light on, listening for any sound in the house, in the garden or in the street outside. But all was silent. I listened for the crunch of footsteps on the gravel path outside, the thud of a crowbar forcing a window, the click of a key in a lock, or the squeak of a doorknob turning, but none came. So I switched off the light, turned over, and slept till morning.

The weekend passed uneventfully, but I found it hard to relax. In the morning I waited for a policeman to arrive, but no one came, so at midday I took the car into the garage and was told it had to be resprayed, at vast expense. I left it there and took a taxi home. I spent the rest of the time tidying up the garden, catching up on the laundry, and going over my accounts. During the day, while I was occupied and busy, I felt fine, but it was at night that I began to be afraid. That evening I dutifully toured the house, checking that all the doors and windows were locked, and when I was in bed I froze at the slightest sound in the house or outside. The next morning I felt a profound sense of relief that I’d got through another night without incident. I told myself that the graffiti scrawled on my car was probably the work of a passing vandal, rather than anyone who knew me; that even if it was Emyr who’d done it, the attack would have satisfied the grudge he had against me, and against the world, and he wouldn’t be troubling me further. But I didn’t quite believe it.

By Sunday afternoon I was thoroughly keyed up, tense and jumpy; so when Bob and the girls came home, I was relieved to see them. I told Bob that someone had vandalized my car and that I’d taken it in to the garage, but I didn’t elaborate. After everything that had happened between us, I wasn’t about to run to him for help. He didn’t seem to notice how edgy I was, and went straight off to his study to work. Nella closeted herself in the bedroom again, so I stayed in the kitchen chatting to Rose. And then, after she’d gone to bed, I went up to see Nella.

I knocked on the door and went in. As usual, she was sitting at her computer, messaging her friends on Facebook. I went over and stood beside her, looking over her shoulder. She immediately clicked off the page, but before it vanished I saw a small photo of Emyr, with some text beside it.

I suppose it was because I was so tense, but without stopping to think, I flew off the handle.

“For God’s sake, Nella, what d’you think you’re doing?” I was shouting at her. “How could you . . .”

“Calm down, Mum.” Nella was taken aback.

I lowered my voice. “But you promised me you’d have nothing more to do with this man.”

“I’m not doing anything wrong. Emyr’s a friend, that’s all. He’s upset because he’s lost his job.” She hesitated. “I don’t suppose that could have anything to do with you, could it?”

I tried to compose myself.

“I did phone them to complain, yes,” I said. “Because what he did was wrong. He took advantage of you—”

“I’m not seeing him,” Nella interrupted. “And anyway, even if I was . . .”

“Nella, look. This isn’t funny.” I felt like slapping her, but I willed myself to talk to her in a level voice. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but someone’s vandalized the car. Scrawled something on it.”

“What?” Nella’s expression changed from anger to shock.

“You don’t need to know what. But I think it may have been Emyr who did it.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“I can’t. I just have my suspicions, that’s all.”

“You’re paranoid, Mum.” Nella spoke dismissively, but I knew that she’d been rattled by what I’d told her.

“Promise me you won’t meet him again. Ever.” Nella looked mutinous, but I carried on. “And make sure you delete him from your Facebook page.”

There was a silence. I glared at her and she glared at me. Then she backed down.

“Whatever.”

I took that to mean yes.

“I’m sorry I shouted at you,” I said. I spoke gently. I was sorry. Nella’s a sensitive person, and I could see that I’d upset her. But I hadn’t had much alternative, I felt.

Nella nodded, but she didn’t say sorry back.

I walked over to the door. I was upset, and I was trembling slightly, but I tried not to let her see it.

“You know something, Mum,” she said, as I was about to leave. “You should be more self-aware.” She paused. “You’re getting old, and you’re jealous that men find me attractive. More attractive than you. You just can’t cope with it, that’s all.”

Once again, I felt like slapping her. But the fury she aroused in me made me wonder whether there might be some truth in what she said.

I resisted the temptation to reply “Whatever,” and went out, shutting the door quietly behind me.

16

“Dr. Mayhew?”

The voice was one I’d heard before, but I couldn’t quite place it.

I hesitated. I always have a momentary impulse, on being addressed as “Dr. Mayhew,” to say something pompous like “The very same,” but I managed to resist it.

“Speaking.”

“This is Evan Morgan.”

I was taken aback. Evan Morgan was the last person I’d been expecting to call. All the same, I didn’t miss a beat.

“Mr. Morgan. How can I help you?”

“We need to meet, right away.”

“And why’s that?”

“I have some important information to tell you. Before you give a formal statement to the police.”

“How do you know about my statement?”

“Never mind how I know. I’m just warning you, if you get involved in this, you’re going to make a fool of yourself.”

I thought for a moment. “My husband’s put you up to this, hasn’t he?”

“Bob? No, of course not. He doesn’t even know I’m making this call.”

“Oh. Right.” I tried not to sound sarcastic.

“No, this is entirely off my own bat. You see, there are some crucial facts you don’t know about the situation. Gwydion and Arianrhod have been lying to you. Lying all along.”