The English Boys (2 page)

Two

Carey Burke found her
mother, borrowed the necessary hairpins, and turned back in the direction of the room where her older sister was getting ready. She and Tamsyn hadn't been as close as she would have liked in the past few years, but she wanted her to be happy and to settle down to an ordinary life. Nothing, however, about this wedding was ordinary. The groom was a well-known and respected actor, and his father even more s
o. Half the guest list had appeared in
Hello!
magazine, dined with royals, or snagged top film awards. In fact
, she wondered how many of them Tamsyn had even met. She and Hugh had only been engaged for a few months.

Their parents had driven over from Wales, and though she had hoped her best friend, Nick Oliver, would come with them, he had declined the opportunity. She didn't blame him; an occasion of this magnitude was completely out of their sphere. In fact, she hadn't even wanted to be in the wedding, but because Tamsyn never asked anything of her, it was the least she could do.

Hugh Ashley-Hunt was, if not a shocking choice for her sister, at least a complete surprise. None of them had expected her to settle down so quickly. Of course, Carey could understand the attraction. Hugh was handsome: tall, with cropped blond hair and startling blue eyes. Though he had a formal manner, he also had a way of putting people at ease. He'd charmed their parents, and their father in particular wasn't easily charmed.

His friend, Daniel Richardson, was no less attractive. He was tall, though not as tall as Hugh, with dark, wavy hair and a bemused smile. However, Carey was not as easily impressed as her parents. She had no time for film stars. She barely had time to attend her sister's wedding. As far as she was concerned, it would take a long time, years perhaps, to develop relationships with her new brother-in-law and his friends. She didn't let people into her life easily, or without a great deal of thought.

She didn't approve of the Abbey for the wedding either, though clearly the Ashley-Hunts had insisted on it. Carey believed a wedding should be small and personal, including only the people one loved most, in a place that had a special meaning to the bride and groom. Nevertheless, she made her way through the halls and found Tamsyn to deliver the hairpins.

“Thank you,” Tamsyn said, taking two of the pins from her and securing a lock of hair into place. She turned and looked at Carey with a smile. “How do I look?”

“Perfect,” Carey answered, and it was true. No one would have eyes for anyone but the bride today, which was just as it should be.

Tamsyn reached out and squeezed Carey's hand. “I just need a moment to myself, and I'll be ready.”

“Of course.” Carey nodded and slipped out the door.

She had done the right thing. Tamsyn had wanted her to be in the wedding, and she was fulfilling her promise. That's what a sister was for.

Daniel stood at a window in the corridor, watching cars arrive. A couple got out of a vehicle, the woman in a frothy, feathered hat that obscured her face and the man in a formal suit and top hat. He recognized them at once: Hugh's longtime friend Marc Hayley and the American actress Anna Parrish. Their arrival in England had caught the notice of the press the day before. In fact, the guest list had excited a great deal of attention. He thought about going down to greet people as they arrived, many of whom he knew, but changed his mind. He had no desire to shake any more hands than necessary.

“It's going to be a long evening,” a voice said behind him.

He turned to find Carey at his elbow, her arms crossed. She was an unexpected ally in the war against weddings, and as far as he could remember, she had never initiated a conversation with him before.

“I'm not sure why Tamsyn and Hugh insisted we get here so early,” he said.

“They probably wanted to make sure everything goes well.”

“We've got a bride, a groom, and a church. What more could they want?”

“A guarantee would be nice.”

He stopped and gave her a second look. There was something about her eyes that held his for a moment. They were intelligent eyes, clinical in their intensity. This was a girl who was precise about everything. Her face was rounder than Tamsyn's with a hint of a dimple in her right cheek, and he wondered if she ever smiled to show it.

“What do you mean, exactly?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she answered, and he realized that she did not want to confide in him. He suddenly wanted to keep her talking.

“Weddings are a miserable business, aren't they?” he asked.

“I don't know. I don't often go to weddings.”

“I've been to too many. I don't see the attraction, myself.”

“Neither do I,” she replied. “I can't imagine sacrificing education and career to tie oneself to a kitchen and a man who leaves socks lying about.”

Daniel laughed. “What are you studying, again? I'm sorry. I keep forgetting.”

“Neuromuscular diseases.”

“Good lord. Why on earth would anyone want to study neuromuscular diseases?”

Carey shrugged. “Someone has to.”

He nodded, eyeing the dress she had no doubt agreed to wear only for her sister's sake. The traditional white silk dress, chosen so that the bride is not singled out by evil wishers who might curse her for her happiness, had cap sleeves and a bodice that hugged her thin frame. The skirt ballooned over a slip of petticoats, falling just below her knees. It was a considerable change from her normal uniform of jeans and woolly cardigans. Her pale hair fell to her shoulders, not quite blonde, and not quite brown. On the few times he had seen her before, she had always seemed as if she wanted to blend in with the crowd, which was the opposite of Tamsyn, who did everything to stand out.

“You're in love with her, aren't you?” she asked suddenly.

“Tamsyn?” he sputtered. “No, of course not. We're friends, you know that. Just friends.”

He examined the tips of his shoes to keep from looking at her. How had she known? He'd never said anything to anyone, and yet she stood there, probing him with those piercing eyes as though she could see into his soul. He was trying to think of a way to change the subject when he saw Sarah Williams approaching them. Fuck, he thought. Could this day get any worse?

“So, you won't take my calls,” Sarah said, brushing Carey aside. She was attractive enough in her blue satin gown until one looked her in the eye and saw the Valkyrie within.

“Sarah,” he began, trying to think of a way to prevent an argument right there in front of everyone.

“Excuse me,” Carey said. She turned with surprising dignity and walked away.

Daniel took a deep breath, watching her retreat before he looked back at the girl before him. “Look, I'm sorry if I have offended you.”

“Offended?” Sarah said. “Really? You've slept with me and that's all you can say?”

Heads turned at the end of the hall.

“Keep your voice down, please.”

“I'll do whatever I like,” she answered. “I'll scream to the whole bloody world that Daniel Richardson doesn't give a damn about anyone.”

“I think most people who know me already realize that.”

“You're a bastard, you know that?”

“I don't think we should get into this here. Why don't we meet somewhere later and talk?”

“No. You'll stand me up, that's what you'll do. It's all you're good for. Running out on people.”

She made a fist and punched his shoulder, and the jab, while it did not hurt, knocked him against the wall.

He held up his hands as if in surrender. “You're right. We need to talk. Tell me where and I'll meet you, I promise.”

“Why should I trust you?” she asked.

Daniel looked down the corridor and noticed several people whispering and nodding in their direction.

“I wanted you to take my calls,” she continued. “I didn't sleep with you to be another of your conquests.”

“One night does not constitute a relationship,” he snapped, regretting it the moment the words tumbled out of his mouth.

“How dare you?” she replied. For a wretched moment, he thought she might cry.

“Sarah, I—” he began, but she turned her back and marched away.

Daniel tapped the pocket that held his cigarettes, wishing he could have a smoke. He couldn't go back toward the crowd gathering in the direction Carey had gone. There was nothing for it but to meet Hugh at the altar. He wouldn't make eye contact with Sarah during the ceremony but would stand, circumspect, thinking of his evening, when he would finally be at home. Nothing sounded better than sitting alone in his quiet flat, although he knew that when he got there he would be plagued with thoughts of Tamsyn and Hugh on their wedding night. He comforted himself with the thought that he would see Tamsyn often. It would be enough, hearing her voice and watching her laugh, drinking in the essence of her. One could befriend a married woman, and he would be good at it. He was an actor, for God's sake. It would be painful, but he could bear it just to be near her.

Suddenly, a scream pierced the stillness of the Abbey, echoing through the empty halls. Daniel turned and ran in the direction from which it had come. A crowd had materialized outside the nave and he skirted it, running instinctively to the room where Tamsyn had been. He found a knot of people already crowding outside the door.

“Ring the police!” someone shouted.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his parents come up beside him, but he ignored them and pushed his way inside. Tamsyn was lying face down on the cold marble floor, surrounded by members of the wedding party. He pushed forward, brushing everyone back. Hugh knelt beside her. Daniel took her shoulder to roll her gently over, gasping when he saw the blood soaking the front of her gown and slicking onto the floor. Her eyes were half-open and lifeless.

“What happened?” Hugh cried. “Did anyone see what happened?”

No one answered. Tamsyn's mother fell to her knees and took hold of her daughter's wrist, searching for a pulse. The crowd was silent, afraid to move. Eyes darted from person to person as every mind formed the same unspoken question: who had killed a bride on her wedding day? Daniel couldn't tear his eyes from the sight of Tamsyn's body, which moments ago had been so full of life. Beside him, Hugh began to groan, a low, animal-like sound that was answered with a chorus of moans and cries from the huddled groups behind them.

“Get back, everyone,” someone shouted. Daniel looked up to see his father taking command in the panicked room. “Give them some room!”

Daniel's hands were shaking. He wondered how he had known to run to her. Had it been a premonition, or had he wanted to protect the one he loved? He leaned back to give Hugh and Tamsyn's parents more room, but he was damned if he was going to leave her side, no matter what anyone said.

Tamsyn was gone. The person he loved most was lying dead in front of him. And just like that, without a single warning, his entire world came crashing down.

Three

The crowd began to
react. Some of the women were crying; others had to sit to prevent themselves from fainting. Someone was sick in the corner of the room. Daniel felt ill himself. Hugh still crouched on the floor, clutching Tamsyn's limp hand, leaning forward to prevent anyone else from coming near. Blood seemed to be everywhere: on their clothes, the floor, and the wall. Daniel stood, heart pounding in his chest, unable to accept what had happened. She couldn't be dead. It wasn't possible.

By the time the police arrived, someone had taken him by the shoulders and sat him down in a chair. People were speaking to him and around him, but the words didn't make any sense.

Everyone who had not been seated in the church was then led down the East Cloister into a room that looked as though its chief function was for storage. Unlike in the formal rooms of the Abbey, there were no Waterford crystal chandeliers, no votive candle stands depicting the Christ or the Blessed Virgin Mary. There were no stained glass windows; in fact, there were no windows at all in the dimly lit room, where folding chairs that had been propped against the wall long ago were now being dusted off to seat the crowd.

Suddenly, Daniel was angry. The police were wasting valuable time. Family and friends were being rounded up like suspects while whoever killed Tamsyn had slipped right past them and was probably miles away by now. He glanced at his watch. Barely half an hour had passed since the police had been summoned. Beside him, Hugh stared at the blank wall, unseeing, his crisp white shirt stained red with blood. Carey's face was wooden, unlike the painful displays of emotion around her. She stood with one arm around her mother, who had begun to weep. Daniel brought them both chairs. Mrs. Burke allowed herself to be helped into one, her husband taking the one beside her.

“Thank you,” Carey murmured.

He nodded, looking at his own parents and brother, Alex, who sat at the back of the room, talking in hushed tones. Cliques formed among the anxious crowd, people already growing suspicious of one another. The Ashley-Hunts sat nearest the door, as if desperate to escape, and assorted cousins and friends stood in groups of three or four talking amongst themselves. Before long, a detective entered and stood in the center of the room.

“Have a seat, everyone,” he said, gesturing to the chairs. He was a short but elegant man, a far cry from the bleary-eyed, coffee-stained sort of policeman they might have expected. He looked to be around fifty, and his calm demeanor might have soothed everyone had the crime been less shocking. “I'm Detective Chief Inspector Murray, and we're going to take statements. I have three constables here who will speak to you, one or two at a time. This can be a fairly quick process if everyone cooperates. Find a chair and cease talking for a few minutes as we prepare to begin.”

“What are you doing?” Mr. Burke called out. He struggled to his feet. “Why aren't you trying to find out who's done this?”

“There may be witnesses in this room, sir,” Inspector Murray replied. “We have to find out what was seen and heard in the minutes prior to Miss Burke's death. It is important that we speak to everyone present.”

Owen Burke looked at his wife and sat down, allowing the inspector to continue.

“Each of you has your own story to tell,” the inspector stated, “but if you talk to others, you're going to change their stories, and they yours. So I want you to think about everything you can remember and keep it to yourself until it's your turn.”

There was a murmur of assent. Daniel looked at Hugh, trying to keep his eyes off his friend's bloodstained jacket and hands. He loosened his tie, unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, and sat down next to his brother. The two of them hadn't gotten along in years. In fact, he wished his mother hadn't insisted Alex accompany them to the wedding. She had probably told him he'd never have another chance to see a wedding in Westminster Abbey, or some other rot like that.

“Christ, can you believe it?” Alex said, ignoring the inspector's request. “I mean, a murder in a fuckin' church.”

Daniel held his tongue out of respect for his mother, who frowned at Alex.

“Watch your language,” she whispered. “We're in a place of worship.”

“More like a war zone, init?” He looked at Daniel, daring him to say something about his deliberate use of lower class speech, flexing his wiry shoulders under his jacket to antagonize him.

“Exactly like a war zone,” Daniel replied. Had they been at home, he'd
have gotten him in a head lock. “Full of bloody criminals.” He glanced at Alex's coat, wondering if there was a bag of cocaine tucked inside.

“Boys,” Sheila Richardson hissed. She looked at her husband with irritation. “Gerry. Say something.”

“Why bother?” he grumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “No one's listened to me in years.”

Before Daniel could reply, another police officer stepped into the room. He murmured something to Murray and then left.

Carey rose from her chair. “Inspector, surely my parents don't need to be present for this.”

“Miss Burke—”

“I'm sorry, but you'll appreciate how unbearable this is for our family. Could you let them go first, please?”

Inspector Murray cleared his throat. “Certainly. Will you need someone to drive you home afterward?”

“No, sir,” Owen Burke answered. “I have my car.”

“Dad, are you sure you can drive?” Carey asked.

“I can drive,” he declared. “Anything to get out of here.”

“Are you going to fingerprint everyone?” Alex interrupted, shifting in his chair.

Murray shook his head. “Not at present, no. Just be prepared to answer a few questions, and then you'll be free to go.”

Noel Ashley-Hunt finally broke his silence. “Our son has also been through a devastating shock. We'd like to take him home. And my mother-in-law—for God's sake, she's in her seventies. She's certainly not a suspect.”

Ashley-Hunt's temper, though Daniel had never seen it, was legendary. Even Hugh clashed with his father on occasion. The man was used to getting his own way.

Murray looked at one of the officers. “Take the Burkes into the next room and get a statement from each of them so they may leave. Then talk to the Ashley-Hunts.”

A quarter hour later, another officer was assigned to interview the Richardsons. Alex leapt out of his chair, eager to state his non­involvement. Sheila Richardson tried to repair her face with a tissue while her husband held her handbag. Daniel was rising to follow his brother and parents into the next room when Inspector Murray put a hand on his shoulder.

“Not you,” he said, shaking his head.

“What?” Sheila asked, tissue poised in mid-air. “Why not him?”

Daniel looked at his mother and shrugged, conscious that everyone in the room had looked up. “It's all right, Mum. You go ahead.”

“But we're a family. We should go together.”

“I'll be fine. I'll ring you tonight.”

Under Murray's scrutiny, she nodded and followed her husband out. The room bristled with an uneasy silence as minutes ticked by on the clock. The bridesmaids sat together, eyeing everyone else in the small room. Nearby, Sarah Williams looked lost in thought. Daniel distanced himself from her as much as possible, relieved they had been told not to speak. An interminable twenty minutes later, a constable came into the room, clipboard in hand.

“Miss Williams.” He looked up from his notes as Sarah straightened her skirt and stood. She gave Daniel a self-satisfied smile and followed the officer out of the room.

The two other young women still sat huddled together, texting furiously as they were forced to wait. He wasn't the only man in the room who noticed them. A striking, muscular man in a leather suit jacket was propped against the wall, brooding. He narrowed his eyes, frowning in Daniel's direction. Daniel recognized two people in the corner as old friends of Tamsyn's from her days in the theater. She had mentioned Dylan Cole and Lucy Potter to him on more than one occasion. They were an odd pair from what he could see, unconnected to the rest of the party. He knew that in earlier days, they and Tamsyn had made a hard-partying lot, with her the center of attention. In recent months, they were more a fringe group hanging on as Tamsyn made her way up the hierarchy of the British acting community. They might be scorned by the respectable members of the party, but, in turn, they seemed to disdain everyone present even more.

The film producer Sir John Hodges and his wife, Antonia, with whom Daniel had become familiar, regarded the proceedings with something bordering on outrage. The Hodges had produced the Hardy film in which he, Hugh, and Tamsyn had starred, and they were now in post-production, making arrangements to promote the picture. A great deal had been expected of it. On the other side of them, Marc Hayley sat next to his date, Anna Parrish, who was talking in a low voice on her mobile.

One by one, they were called in to speak to the police, until eventually Daniel was the only person left in the room. In spite of himself, his heart beat faster as he wondered if the police could possibly think he would kill someone he cared for as much as Tamsyn.

He waited to be assigned to a police officer, practicing his statements in his head in spite of himself:
I have no idea what happened. She was perfectly fine when I saw her; eager to get married. We talked, like any normal day.
While thoughts swirled in his tired brain, Inspector Murray himself walked over, and rather than taking Daniel into a separate room like everyone else, he pulled up a chair and sat next to him. The poor lighting threw shadows in the tracery of lines on the older man's face.

“You're Daniel Richardson,” he stated.

“Yes, sir,” Daniel replied, waiting for him to take out a pen and pad of paper, but the Inspector merely crossed his arms.

“How long have you known Miss Burke?”

“Almost a year,” he answered.

“I understand you were close.”

“Yes,” he managed. “I introduced her to Hugh, in fact.”

“And you've been friends with Hugh for a number of years.”

“Yes, since we were young.”

Murray's eyes narrowed. “How did you feel about them becoming a couple?”

Privately, Daniel had thought them mismatched, but he wouldn't say that to the inspector. Instead, he answered, “They were happy. They were my friends. I was happy for them.”

“Can you tell me what happened this morning?”

“I have no idea. I went to talk to her, to wish her luck. I don't think I was in there more than five minutes, if that.”

“What did you talk about?”

“How beautiful she looked, mainly. She seemed anxious about the dress.” He neglected to repeat Tamsyn's assertion that he was jealous of Hugh. It would only implicate him unfairly.

“Did you see anyone else in the corridor before or after you left?”

“I don't think so.” Daniel leaned forward, his shoulder muscles tense. “No, wait. I did see Noel Ashley-Hunt. He was looking for Hugh. In fact, we both were.”

“And then?”

“He asked me to look for his son. I found Hugh a few minutes later in the chapel.”

“How long did you and Hugh talk?”

“Not long. A few minutes at most. It was almost time for the ceremony.”

“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Anyone running or rushing away from that room?”

“I've wracked my brain, but I can't think of anything. I was a bit distracted.”

“Ah, yes,” Murray said. “You were having a rather public quarrel with Sarah Williams.”

Daniel looked at the inspector. “We went out last week, but I realized right away it was a mistake and I don't want to see her again. Unfortunately, she took it personally.”

“She's definitely a very angry woman. Quite a number of people interviewed mentioned that she struck you in the hall. You're fortunate that it establishes your whereabouts near the time of the murder.” Murray touched his lip in thought. He reached into his coat pocket and extracted a business card. “If you think of anything else, I want you to give me a ring.”

“That's it? I can go?”

Murray nodded. “You may go, but I'll be in touch.”

It was late by the time the cab pulled up in front of his building, and he was exhausted.

Daniel turned up his collar as he got out of the taxi. The mild weather had been interrupted by a burst of cold wind and the threat of rain. He walked up the steps to the entrance, relieved to be home, and took the lift up to his flat.

It was his first flat, this cavernous set of rooms in the white stone building off Kensington High Street, just around the corner from his favorite pub. It was sparsely furnished, which suited him, a contrast to Hugh's more formal house in Holland Park, which resembled a nineteenth-century gentleman's club full of jardinières and walking sticks and good leather chairs. Daniel had often wondered how Tamsyn fit in there. She cluttered up the place with pink and purple knitted scarves and boots littering the floors and gaudy bangles lying atop Hugh's first-edition copy of
Daniel Deronda
. What did they see in each other, really? he wondered as he unlocked the door and stepped inside. He turned and bolted it behind him, as if to lock out everything that had happened that day. He went straight to his bar and looked at the dismal contents before shrugging off his jacket and collapsing on the sofa, his fists tucked into his eye sockets.

After a few minutes, he rubbed his face and opened his eyes. He had no idea what he was going to do. A world without Tamsyn Burke was unimaginable. She had been the only one who could make him laugh at any time or any place, particularly the wrong place, simply with one of her devilish looks.

“You're going to go mad if you sit here and think about it all night,” he said aloud to himself. However, he didn't stir. Instead, he stared at the large empty wall across from the sofa, on which Tam had once threatened to paint zinnias. He ought to have let her. He suddenly wanted something of hers, like one of her endless scarves, something he could hold in his hands. He would ask Carey about it at the funeral. God, he thought, groaning. She'd have him in church twice in one week. It was one more bit of proof of her hold over him.