Hugo thinks of me all the time, though. He knows that I can’t afford the type of clothes I’ll need when we start to be seen in public, especially gowns for the charity functions. So nearly every day some little (or big - but always expensive) package arrives for me at work or at home. Sometimes it’s flowers, sometimes it’s a piece of jewellery, and sometimes it’s actually clothes! Can you imagine finding a man that will go out and choose the most divine clothes for you? He says looking after me is one of his pleasures in life. He seems to know the exact size - clothes, shoes,
everything
. (He hasn’t actually bought me underwear yet. I suspect that in the circumstances he doesn’t think it appropriate.) What’s most interesting about the clothes he chooses is that they are clearly so much more sophisticated than anything I would have picked. I’m beginning to think that perhaps I have looked a little cheap in the past - clothes too tight, too low cut, too revealing. Am I right? The clothes he selects for me are very subtle and elegant. He goes to some couture house where they make them to his specification! He obviously knows what he’s doing - so it’s best left to him, I think. I’ve evidently got a lot to learn.
Anyway, back to Alexa. I asked Hugo whether she’d been told that we were planning to get married.
‘I want Alexa to meet you first, and then when we know that she likes you, we can tell her that we’re going to be married. Annabel won’t tell her, because I told her not to.’
Was Hugo implying that if Alexa doesn’t like me, we won’t get married? Was Alexa’s permission required? A child of less than three years old? And why would Annabel do anything that her ex-husband asked, or rather
told
, her to do?
I think I’m just getting edgy. Pre-wedding nerves and all that. Hugo is absolutely the kindest man I’ve ever met. He’s generous, attentive, got impeccable manners. He’s completely gorgeous. And he respects me. He always calls when he says he will, and he says that next month he’s going to introduce me to the world as his ‘beautiful future wife’.
Now that I’m going to meet Alexa, I thought perhaps I could twist his arm about a visit to Oxfordshire. His reply shouldn’t really have been a surprise, but it was.
‘I’ve been thinking about that, darling. I think it would be perfect if you didn’t see the house at all until the wedding day. We’ll be having the wedding here, of course, but it would be such a thrill for me to introduce you to the house as the new Lady Fletcher.’
I had no idea that we were going to be married at the house. We had broadly set a date for September, but he’d told me to leave the arrangements up to him. I didn’t know whether he meant the actual wedding
ceremony
to be at the house (has it got its own chapel?).
‘No, of course not. There’s a charming church in the village. It’s absolutely beautiful. I’ll speak to the vicar, of course, because as I’ve been married before that will be a hurdle that I need to overcome. But anything’s possible, particularly if the church needs a new roof or something. I think you’ll agree that the reception has to take place here at Ashbury Park, though.’
Wonderful as that sounded, I’d never been - and Mum and Dad can’t afford anything flash. Hugo chuckled down the phone.
‘Don’t be silly, darling. Ashbury Park is an extremely large manor house. It will be perfect as a wedding venue, and equally perfect as our home. But you don’t have to do a thing, and your parents certainly don’t have to worry. I’ll get the whole thing organised as soon as we’ve finalised the date. All you need to do is turn up!’
I didn’t know what to say. He’s so considerate, but maybe I want to be involved? And I’m sure my parents want to have some input into their only daughter’s wedding. How can I suggest that without hurting his feelings?
‘You know, Hugo, I really appreciate you doing everything - but it would be a pleasure to be involved in the planning. It’s something we could do together, isn’t it?’
‘Not at all. Nothing for you to worry about, darling. Just show up looking marvellous. It’s all going to be my surprise! I won’t hear another word about it. I want to do this for you.’
I knew that the battle was lost, although I have to concede that I didn’t put up much of a fight. He’s so determined to make my life as easy as possible, and to give me everything. It’s very sweet, and I mustn’t get carried away by picking silly arguments.
Anyway, we got back to the subject of Alexa, and it was agreed that I could see her the following weekend. He would bring her to London for the day.
I wanted so much for her to like me. But I never expected to fall in love for the second time in six months.
Hugo, formal as ever (but charmingly so), introduced me to his daughter.
‘Alexa, I would like you to meet a good friend of mine. This is Laura.’
I crouched down in front of the most beautiful little girl I have ever seen. She is absolutely exquisite. She has almost white blond hair that falls in soft waves just to her shoulders, and her eyes are a mesmerising mixture of brown and green. She has the type of fragile slenderness that makes me want to pick her up very, very carefully and hug her little body with the utmost gentleness. She was looking at me a bit warily, so I thought that perhaps I should try to break the ice a little.
‘Hi Alexa. I’ve bought you a little present. Do you want to open it, and see what’s inside?’
I’d managed to find a pretty rag doll, dressed in palest pink gingham with a floppy hat. It’s perfectly soft for a small child, and it’s just the sort of doll that she can take to bed with her if she likes it.
I’ve never seen a child unwrap a present like she did. No tearing wildly at the paper (which is what we always did - and I still do, unless Hugo’s around when I try to behave with a little more decorum). She unwrapped the present really carefully, and actually folded the paper and laid it on the coffee table in front of her. She’s clearly not an impetuous child. But then she looked up and smiled. It was the smile of an angel, and her little face glowed with pleasure.
‘Thank you, Laura’ she said, without any prompting from her father. Unbelievable!
I was smitten. It was love at first sight, and I know that I will care for this child for the rest of her life, as if she were my own.
With love
Laura
PS - You’ve
still
not met him - so I’m hanging onto this. We’ll read them all together when everything’s settled down.
Tom popped his head round his boss’s open office door. They had both attended the post-mortem, although the DCS had to leave for a meeting part way through - or so he’d said. Nobody likes post-mortems.
‘Have you got a moment, James?’
‘Come in, Tom. Excellent timing. Let’s have an update on progress.’
James Sinclair pushed a pile of files to one side to make space on his cluttered desk. This wasn’t his only investigation although without a doubt it had the highest profile. Tom took a seat.
‘Not a lot to report yet, I’m afraid. Lady Fletcher came in and identified the body. She filled us in on Hugo’s charity work, which was very interesting. By the way, she’s insisting we call her Laura, and refer to her husband as Hugo. I hope you can live with that.’
‘It’s not ideal in my opinion, as you know Tom,’ Sinclair replied. ‘If we treat them all the same - suspects, victims and the bereaved - we don’t blur the lines. And while she may not have got her own hands dirty, we still can’t rule her out completely.’
‘Point taken. She’s very vulnerable at the moment, though, and to have refused to break down the formality barrier, I think she would just have shut down even further.’
‘Hmph. Fine. I’ll leave it up to you. Do we know the cause of death yet?’
‘We do. It’s just been confirmed as liquid nicotine. A huge dose was injected into his groin - actually into his femoral vein. Apparently ‘groin injecting’ as it’s known, is quite common in drug users. There’s an obvious link here, of course. Prostitution plus drug abuse? Not sure where it gets us, though.’
‘And I bet not many of them use liquid nicotine either,’ the DCS said. ‘How much is a lethal dose?’
‘As little as sixty milligrams, and our victim was given a much higher dose. It would have worked pretty quickly, I’m told.’
‘Okay, so how do you get hold of the stuff?’
‘We don’t know yet. I’ve Googled it on the basis that it’s probably where most people would start, but I didn’t turn up anything useful. I’ve discovered that you can dissolve it in vodka and give it to somebody to drink, but that’s not what happened here. One of the lads is onto it.’
Looking slightly bemused at the term ‘Googled’, the DCS got back onto what was, for him, safer ground.
‘What else have we got? Anything on the scarves?’
‘No, we’ve probably drawn a blank there. They’re from Tie Rack, and they’ve got branches on every high street, airport - everywhere. They’re going to check the computer records, but they sell thousands of them, so it’s highly unlikely we’ll have any luck.’
James took a deep breath, and blew out slowly through puckered lips.
‘Okay - so please tell me we’ve got something on the woman that the neighbour saw?’
Tom wished he had something more positive to report. He really needed to get a result on this case.
‘The news is mixed. Forensics have come back on the red hair found at the scene. It is real hair, but they’re pretty sure it’s from a wig. Apparently hair in a wig is actually woven into a sort of cotton lace cap, which is designed specifically for the wearer - at least if it’s an expensive one. There’s some evidence that the hair had previously been tied, with a minute trace of the cap attached to it.’
Tom paused for breath, before coming to the crunch.
‘Which means that all we have to go on is that the woman seen leaving the house is of medium height and slim. Because it was a wig, we can stop looking for somebody with red hair. On the positive side, this was a real hair wig so we can assume it was expensive and would probably have been made to measure. We can begin to trawl round all the wig makers and see what we can come up with. I don’t think there are that many, to be honest.’
‘What about fingerprints? Did you manage to print Lady Fletcher this morning?’
‘We did. Fortunately Beryl had recently cleaned everywhere very thoroughly - what she calls her ‘autumn clean’ as opposed to her ‘spring clean’ - so anything we found has to have been within the last ten days. But there’s nothing exciting to report. We found Beryl’s and Hugo’s prints in the bedroom, together with Laura’s - although strangely hers were only on the bedroom door and the wardrobe door. Her prints were also in the kitchen and the bathroom. So we need to have a chat with her about that. We did find more in the drawing room, including Laura’s, plus some prints from Jessica Armstrong, his PA. But nothing else.’
James Sinclair was tapping his pen on the desk in a staccato rhythm.
‘I know he’s been dead for less than twenty-four hours, but we need to be able to show some progress. We’ve got no clear motive, and no real suspects. No sign of anything being taken I suppose?’ he asked.
‘Absolutely not. There were some very saleable things in the house that I’m sure would have gone if burglary was the motive. Lots of small things in silver, not to mention a few very good paintings. We’ve got a couple of the lads down there at the moment with the cleaner - who seems much more cheerful today apparently - and she can’t see anything missing. We’ll have to check with Laura, but there’s nothing obvious. We’re off to talk to the charity staff in a few minutes, then heading back to Oxfordshire. I’ll also see the ex-wife today.’
Tom had arranged for one of his team to go and interview the bodyguard company too. He could understand why Hugo wouldn’t want them with him when he was at home, but why exactly did he need them at all? He must have thought he was in some sort of danger, but who from?
‘What’s your take on the bodyguards, James? I can only assume Hugo thought he should have protection because of his charity work. He must have seriously pissed off quite a lot of unsavoury people. We need to find out whether there was anybody in particular who may have had enough of a grudge to either murder him, or get somebody to do it for them. I doubt it was anything to do with his property business, though. He was quite removed from that, and they seem be very fair and above board in everything they do.’
James Sinclair rested his chin on clasped hands and stared off into space for a few moments.
‘Sorry to state the obvious, Tom, but we know he knew this woman - certainly well enough to invite her into his home. It looks pretty definite that sex in some form or other was on the cards, because there seems to have been no struggle to tie him up. This was no chance encounter. So he
must
have had a mistress, and if he did somebody would surely have known about it. What about family? Who was he closest too?’
Tom suppressed an exasperated groan. He’d been round and round these questions in his head. He needed to find the mistress, but nobody seemed to know anything. He was hoping and praying that somebody at the charity offices would come up with a name, because there weren’t that many people to ask.
‘Apart from his wife, his daughter and his ex-wife, all his dealings seem to be with the charity or his business. He doesn’t seem to have any close friends. When I spoke to Laura I alluded to the sex angle, but she didn’t come up with any names. However, I have to say that she didn’t seem shocked either. I certainly get the feeling she suspected something, and I’m on to that. As for family, his father died about forty years ago. His mother died in 1997, just before he met Laura, and he has a sister, Beatrice, but nobody has the remotest idea where she is.’
‘So how about this for a theory?’ James said. ‘One of these Eastern European girls has been got at by her original pimp. In return for some promise or other, he gets her to offer her services to Hugo. She’s a pretty girl, and he can’t find it in himself to refuse. She does the deed, according to plan, and then she walks away to reap her reward. Is that a possibility?’
Tom thought for a moment.