Authors: Anthea Fraser

Tags: #Fiction, #Suspense, #Mystery & Detective, #General, #Sudden Death, #Safaris, #Journalists, #South Africa, #Suspense Fiction, #Widows, #Safaris - South Africa

Shifting Sands (29 page)

BOOK: Shifting Sands

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He met her eyes then, and she saw anxiety in them. âYou do believe me?'

âOf
course
I do! I never for a moment thoughtâ'

âThank you,' he cut in, with a strained smile. âThat's good to know. Should I speak to Tina myself, do you think? Explain?'

âIt would probably be better, coming from you.'

âAnd, of course, I'll also tell the police.'

She made an instinctive movement. âIs thatÂ .Â .Â . necessary?'

âSomeone else might have seen me.' He frowned. âWhy, don't you think they'd believe me?'

âIt's a risk, but if you feel you shouldÂ .Â .Â .'

âI'll sleep on it, but I'll certainly speak to Tina, first thing in the morning. Thanks, Yvonne, for telling me. It can't have been easy.' He smiled. âI hope that now you'll be able to sleep tonight?'

âLike a baby!' she said.

Jonathan took the tube to Gloucester Road and, following directions he'd taken from the Internet, walked for five minutes before turning off the main road into a maze of squares and terraces leading to King's Gate Mews.

Number five was identical to its neighbours, a three-storey house, the ground floor of which was mostly taken up by a double garage, with a white-painted front door alongside. The upper part of the house was in rosy brick, the first floor having three windows, the centre of which boasted a small, wrought-iron balcony, while three dormer windows punctuated the slated roof. Very nice too, he thought.

The door was opened in response to his ring by a middle-aged woman of Mediterranean appearance.

âMy name is Jonathan Farrell,' he said. âI believe Ms Page is expecting me.'

She nodded and gestured for him to enter. He saw that the house went back farther than he'd thought; there was a kitchen or utility room beyond the hallway, and from where he stood at the foot of the stairs, he could see through its window to a paved terrace beyond.

Again obeying her gesture, he followed the maid, or whatever she was, up the narrow staircase to a large living area. His immediate impression was of luxury â deep-piled carpet, expensive hangings, paintings vibrant against white walls, and deep sofas covered in cream tweed, from one of which Myrtle Page rose gracefully to greet him.

âThank you, Isabella,' she said and, as the maid returned downstairs, came towards him with outstretched hand. âMr Farrell, I presume?'

âThank you for agreeing to see me.'

Myrtle Page was by any standards a striking woman, and he found it hard to believe she was in her late fifties. Tall and almost painfully thin, she had high cheekbones, slanting eyes of a disconcertingly light blue, and a wealth of red-gold hair that he suspected was no longer natural. She was wearing tight white trousers, a silk tunic in jade green, and a heavy gold chain that hung almost to her waist.

The hand he took was long, the wrist bony, and the fingers liberally bejewelled. Once a model, he thought, always a model. He met her eyes, faintly mocking, and realized that the summing-up had been mutual.

âPlease sit down,' she said. âIt's some time since anyone requested an interview. I'm out of practice.'

âI hope you won't mind my recording this?'

âNot in the least.'

He switched on the machine, setting it on the low table between them, and as he did so, she retrieved a silver cigarette case from the shelf beneath.

âAnd I hope
you
won't mind if I smoke? It soothes my nerves.'

âOf course not.'

âPerhaps you'll join me?' She offered the case, but he declined with a smile, watching as she lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and settled back on the sofa opposite him.

âRight, darling; off you go, then.'

And the interview began. Though eager to reach the part of her life that most interested him, it seemed politic to concentrate first on her modelling career. Consequently, the next twenty minutes were spent enlarging on the sketchy details he'd gleaned from his Internet search, culminating in what had proved to be her big break, being picked to model for Delaney.

âThough what I really should have been modelling was maternity clothes!' she added with her throaty laugh, lighting another cigarette. âBecause by then Lewis and I were married. Still, we managed somehow to work round my bumps.'

The opening he'd been waiting for! âThat was before he started his health clubs?' Jonathan asked, rapidly recalling dates.

âOh yes, at that stage no one had heard of him. He was an accountant when we met, and bored out of his mind, poor love. He'd always hankered after his own business, and he had one or two tries before he hit on the health clubs. Mercifully, they took off in a big way, but for the first years of our marriage I was the main breadwinner.'

âThen, in 1980, he bought Mandelyns Court.'

âCorrect; and when they launched their own beauty products â behold!' She lifted both hands, palms uppermost. âThey had a ready-made “face” to advertise them. Which, I may say with all modesty, did them no harm at all.'

âI'm sure.' Jonathan hesitated, unsure how to turn the conversation back to her husband. But again she forestalled him.

âIt's appalling luck, all this bad publicity they're getting. The timing could hardly be worse.'

âYes, indeed.' He paused. It didn't seem likely, butÂ .Â .Â . âDid you know the dead girl?' he asked.

âNot personally, no, though I'd seen her with my son.'

He took a shot in the dark. âWasn't she his PA?' Either his or his father's.

Myrtle nodded. âLater, yes.'

A frisson ran down his spine. âLater?'

She tilted back her head, blowing out a perfectly formed smoke ring, which she studied for a moment before continuing. âI suppose that's how she got the job. Not, mind you, that she wouldn't have been good at it â I'm sure she was. Cameron's not one to let sentiment stand in the way of business.'

Jonathan was struggling with this new and somehow alarming angle. âBut you'd seen them together
before
she went to Mandelyns?'

âOh yes, several months before, at the theatre. They didn't see me, and I never mentioned it â my son's a very private person. He's always had a pretty girl in tow, and I didn't give it a second thought, till I saw her again at Foxfield. I assumed she was a guest, till someone told me she was his PA.'

âYou think they were stillÂ .Â .Â . in a relationship?'

âWell, darling, I'd have said that was the point of the exercise, wouldn't you? I did try a little gentle pumping once â enquired after his love life, and so on. He said his girlfriend's name was Alice, which, on reflection, was probably as close as he could get without spilling the beans.'

Her long fingers were playing with the chain round her neck. âI'm so desperately sorry for him. He looked dreadful when we met for lunch, but when I tried to comfort him, I was immediately cut off.'

They were interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, and the maid Isabella appeared with a tea tray.

âI always have tea around three o'clock,' Myrtle said as it was laid on the table between them. âIt keeps me going till the sun's over the yardarm! Tea time, followed by G&T time!'

Having unloaded the tray â cups and saucers, silver teapot and milk jug, a saucer of sliced lemon and plate of shortbread â the maid withdrew, and Myrtle, stubbing out her latest cigarette, poured the tea.

âMilk or lemon?' she enquired.

âMilk, please.'

She handed him his cup and saucer and the shortbread, taking a slice of lemon for herself. Jonathan hesitated, unsure whether the interview was suspended during the tea break, though anxious to return to the subject of Cameron and Elise. But his hesitation cost him, because when she spoke, it was at a tangent.

âAnyway, if I probe too deeply into Cameron's affairs, he retaliates with some cutting remark about Damien, my husband. He persists in referring to him as my toy boy.'

Jonathan followed her glance to a silver-framed photograph on the bookcase, experiencing a stab of recognition. Damien Jessop's face was familiar from his many television appearances, but admittedly the boyish grin seemed at odds with the mature, sophisticated woman in front of him.

âNo doubt you're married yourself?' Myrtle said suddenly.

âYes, and two kids to show for it.'

âPity!' she said enigmatically.

Jonathan flushed and was stumbling after a suitable response when the sound of the doorbell reached them.

Myrtle exclaimed with annoyance, âWhoever can that be? I'm not expecting anyone, and Damien has his key.'

Voices reached them from below, one of them male, then a single set of footsteps, and a man rounded the corner of the staircase.

âCameron!' Myrtle exclaimed. âHello, darling, we were just talking about you! What a pleasant surprise! Did you ask Isabella for another cup?'

âI can't stay, Mother,' the newcomer said tersely, his eyes on Jonathan. âI just brought you the vouchers you asked for.'

âThis is Jonathan Farrell; I think I mentioned he was coming to interview me. My son Cameron, Jonathan.'

Jonathan rose to his feet. Cameron nodded briefly, and he did the same, taking stock of the man he'd been hearing about. He was very dark, his hair sleek and showing signs of receding at the temples, his eyes deep-set and shadowed.

Before Jonathan could form some kind of greeting, Cameron said abruptly, âI believe our parents met in South Africa.'

âReally?' Myrtle's voice rose in surprise. âWhat a coincidence!'

âIs it, Farrell?' Cameron asked levelly. Then, again before Jonathan could respond: âHave you met my father?'

âNo, Iâ'

âNor I your mother. Perhaps we should do a spot of joint investigating.'

âJust a minute,' Myrtle interrupted. âAre you saying Lewis and Jonathan's mother are seeing each other?'

âSeeing's the least of it!'

She gave a low laugh. âWell, the old fox! Good luck to him!' She glanced apologetically at Jonathan. âBut we're embarrassing my guest. Darling, do sit down, andâ'

âNo, really, I have to go.' He came forward and dropped an envelope on to the table. âI'll be in touch.' His eyes flicked to Jonathan. âNice to have met you,' he said, and, turning, ran lightly back down the stairs, leaving the two of them to deal with the bombshell he had tossed between them.

FIFTEEN

â
T
hey were
lovers
?' Steve echoed incredulously.

âIt would certainly seem so. Which puts a different complexion on things, wouldn't you say?'

âIf nothing else, it explains why she was so hesitant to blow the whistle. But you're saying no one knew?'

âWell, it would have made things difficult, wouldn't it? In point of fact, though, it probably doesn't alter anything. I mean, it won't affect alibis and such.'

âHaving met him, do you think he could have done it?'

âAny one of them could, as we've said all along.'

âBut does being her lover make it more or less likely?'

âWe won't know that till we know the motive. If we ever do.'

âFair enough. So â how was
la belle dame
? Did she eat you for breakfast? Or tea, or whatever it was?'

âNo, though if we hadn't been interrupted, who knows?'

Steve laughed. âDream on! Did she dig any dirt on hubby?'

âActually, she seemed quite fond of him. I was surprised; I'd heard it was an acrimonious divorce.'

âAh well, time heals most things, they say.'

âIf you're going all philosophical on me, I'm ringing off!'

âYou'll write up the interview, though?'

âToo right I will. She's back in the news, with the Mandelyns anniversary coming up. Memories of the early days, et cetera. I'm glad I got in first.'

âI suppose she'll be at the do next week. She'll be surprised to see you there!'

Or not, Jonathan thought as he ended the call. What he hadn't passed on to Steve was the fact that Myrtle had told Cameron he'd be there. That, Jonathan was sure, had been the real reason he'd called. But why, having made a detour specifically to see him, had he left after only a couple of minutes?

A possible answer struck him: Cameron might have seen his name on the guest list and wanted to be sure of recognizing him at the dinner. But again, why? So they could have a longer, more private conversation? And if so, what about? Not their parents, surely?

He switched on the recorder and replayed the interview. Since he'd hoped to continue it during tea, he hadn't turned it off, and Cameron's arrival was duly recorded, as was the slight awkwardness following his departure.

âI hope you don't feel I came under false pretences,' he'd said to Myrtle as he left.

âLet's just say under a flag of convenience.'

âI really am a journalist, you know, and I really will write up this interview. It's been a pleasure to meet you.'

âDear boy!' she'd said and, before he realized her intention, leaned forward and kissed him full on the lips. Jonathan went hot under the collar, remembering. Older woman or not, he could well understand Damien falling under her spell.

Karen Chadwick stood looking at her husband with folded arms.

âHow long is this going on?' she demanded.

Mike looked up, startled. âWhat?'

âYou know damn well what â you moping around the house like a sick parrot!'

BOOK: Shifting Sands

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