Silent Truths (17 page)

Murray was typing up his orders.

After a moment Elliot said, ‘Did you get any
comeback from Laurie Forbes on the prison visit?’

‘Negative,’ Murray responded.

Elliot was pensive. ‘Who covered it for us?’ he asked.

‘Liam. It’s in today’s
Guardian
. We’ve also had pick-ups from France, Germany and Australia.’

Elliot nodded, then turned back to his desk. ‘Did Laurie Forbes get a by-line in her paper for the story?’ he asked.

Murray’s face was impassive. ‘Yes,’ he answered.

‘So she was there. OK, put a call in to her tonight,’ he continued. ‘I’m going to the New Forest first thing, give her my mobile number and tell her to call.’

Still Murray’s expression showed no sign of receiving anything other than run-of-the-mill instructions.

‘What do you want to do about Sophie Long’s family?’

‘Leave it with me.’ Elliot got to his feet, threw his jacket over one shoulder and pocketed his mobile and palm-pilot. ‘I’m going to see a man about a dog,’ he said. ‘You know where to get hold of me.’

Only after the door had closed behind him did Murray allow an eyebrow to drift. Never, after all that had happened, had he imagined his boss having anything to do with the Forbes family again, but Elliot was nothing if not an enigma.

And that wasn’t all that had Murray’s curiosity piqued on this benignly sunny afternoon in June, while birds were singing in the trees outside and boats were gliding up and down the river. It was the information they’d just received from Priority
One, not so much because of what it was, but because it had come at all. Obviously it was going to serve someone’s purpose somewhere, and the mystery of who, and how, had to be perplexing Elliot every bit as much as it was Murray. However, that was nothing to what it was going to do to poor Beth Ashby, if what they’d just heard was true, and since Murray had no reason to believe it wasn’t, he could only feel for the woman when she opened the morning paper a couple of days from now.

Chapter 8

‘
OK, ARE YOU
ready?’ Robin Lindsay cried, making ready to open the champagne.

‘Ready,’ Ava laughed, holding the pen over the last page of her new contract and looking into the camera Robin’s assistant, Caroline, was holding.

‘Stacey, move in a bit,’ Caroline instructed.

Stacey Greene, Ava’s new editor, stepped in closer to Ava, putting a proprietorial hand on her shoulder. Her shiny grey bob framed a jovial face with small brown eyes, apple cheeks and a permanently smiling mouth. Beside Ava’s glamorous figure-skimming white dress, with its wide shoulder straps, low, but discreetly cut bodice and scalloped knee-length hemline, her own ankle-length wrap-over appeared quite lamentably drab. But she certainly wasn’t there to upstage her new author, nor could she even if she tried. No one had told her quite how lovely Beth Ashby – or Ava Montgomery – was in the flesh, certainly none of the newspaper shots had suggested it, and it was unusual for Robin Lindsay, who had an eye for the
ladies, to hold back on such detail.

‘OK, Robin, make with the cork,’ Caroline instructed, after clicking a few shots of the preparation. ‘Stay with the contract and pen, Ava.’

The cork popped, everyone cheered, and Robin quickly filled the four flutes on his desk. After handing one each to Ava and Stacey, he picked up his own and went to stand between them. ‘So here we go! The big signing!’ he declared. ‘Put the ink on the page, Ava.’

Ava touched the gold pen to the signature line. It was a Mont Blanc that Georgie had given her as a surprise that morning.
Amazing
, she was thinking to herself, as Caroline started clicking away. She was actually signing a contract with a major publishing house that wasn’t only going to provide publication for her novel, but was going to turn her financial difficulties into financial dreamland.

‘Great!’ Caroline declared. ‘The moment’s suitably captured on film.’

‘Then let’s drink a toast to our new rising star,’ Stacey suggested, beaming a smile up into Ava’s face.

‘To Ava and
Carlotta’s Symphony
,’ Robin said, holding his glass high.

‘To Ava and
Carlotta’s Symphony
,’ Stacey echoed.

They clinked glasses, Caroline snapped some more, then picked up her own drink. ‘To you, and your absolutely brilliant book,’ she gushed to Ava. ‘I was spellbound.’

Ava’s smile was quietly dazzling. Her dark eyes were suffused with laughter, and her lightly tanned olive skin glowed. How wonderful and easy it was to be this other person when there was
no one around who knew her. ‘Thank you,’ she responded, in Ava’s lush, guttural tones. ‘All of you, thank you.’

‘The rest of the team is eager to meet you,’ Stacey pronounced happily. ‘Most of them have already read the book; the others will have finished by the time you come into the office. It’s causing quite a stir. As I told you when we spoke on the phone, I was especially impressed with the way you’ve turned life itself into the villain of the piece, rather than death. Quite extraordinary. Mesmerizing. Well done, you,’ and she clinked Ava’s glass again.

‘Thank you.’ Ava smiled graciously. Then after sipping her champagne she said, ‘The rest of the team, who are they exactly?’

‘Sales, publicity, marketing. The top –’

‘Publicity?’ Ava looked at Robin. ‘Didn’t you tell –’

‘It’s OK,’ Robin assured her. ‘Stacey’s not talking about personal publicity.’

‘Oh, no, no, no,’ Stacey laughed. ‘We quite understand your reasons for shunning the limelight, though it has to be said, the sales –’

‘I know what it would do to sales if people knew who I really was,’ Ava cut in, ‘but if the book’s as good as you say …’

‘Oh, it is! It is!’ Stacey cried. ‘I was simply saying –’

‘Does anyone at your office know who I am yet?’ Ava interrupted again.

‘Only those who have to,’ Stacey promised, ‘and I personally can vouch for their discretion. Of course, they’ll be disappointed that you don’t want to promote the book yourself …’

‘We agreed, no publicity,’ Ava stated, her smile turning chill. ‘I don’t want people, reporters, taking this book apart in an effort to find allusions or some kind of synchronicity with my husband’s crime. It’s not about him. It’s not about me either, but they’ll manage to turn it into something that is, and their analysis isn’t likely to be favourable – it could even be damaging. So no, I won’t promote it myself just to be gawped at, or pitied or vilified because I’m the wife of a celebrated killer, and that’s what will happen, whether any of us wants it or not.’

‘Of course, we understand,’ Robin said, stepping in smoothly, though like Stacey and Caroline he too was slightly shaken by her candour. ‘And you’re right to be concerned, because conclusions will almost certainly be drawn, even though I, personally, can see no connection to current events at all.’ He looked pointedly at Stacey. ‘The only publicity will be for the book itself,’ he said, ‘not the author. Though I think you’ll have to accept, Ava, that the secret’s bound to come out sooner or later.’

‘Then let’s do everything we can to make sure it’s later,’ she responded, her eyes directed straight at Stacey.

‘Oh, you have my word,’ Stacey responded. ‘We’ll be a very small group who knows the truth. Just three or four of us. You’ll meet the others when you come in on Friday.’

Ava sipped her champagne.

‘Have you set up an editorial meeting yet?’ Robin enquired.

‘Yes, we must do that,’ Stacey replied. ‘As it’s such an unusual love story we’re rather hoping to publish in February in time for St Valentine’s Day.
I think it should be possible. There’s really not much editing to be done – perhaps a few cuts here and there, but we can discuss that when we meet.’

Ava was regarding her with interest. ‘Cuts?’ she repeated.

‘Just a few,’ Stacey chortled. ‘It’s normal. And maybe a few points could do with a little clarification.’

Ava tore her eyes away and fixed them on Robin. ‘So how long will I have to wait for the first cheque?’ she enquired.

Grinning, he looked at Stacey. ‘Oh, about a week,’ he said, a roguish light in his eyes.

Stacey chortled again. ‘Make that four,’ she corrected.

Ava’s perfectly plucked eyebrows rose, but she merely turned to greet several more agents who were piling in from along the corridor, come to join the celebration. Robin opened more champagne and Ava received her critiques and adulation with modest gratitude and enchanted smiles. Though right there in the moment, she was watching herself too, marvelling at the poise and elegance that seemed to come so naturally to Ava. Of course, they all imagined this was exactly how Beth Ashby dressed and behaved, but Beth had no such confidence, or style. If she had, maybe she’d have done a better job of satisfying her husband, who’d no doubt be as enthralled by Ava as he was by any woman who emanated such sublime sensuality. Where had all this been during the years of their marriage, she wondered. Why had she been so afraid of it then, when it might have saved her from so much pain? She had no answers right now, only
a profound fascination with the miracles a little suntan, a French manicure, an expensive dress and newfound success were performing on a battered and bewildered psyche. How desperately Beth needed this, how fortunate she was to be able to reach inside herself and find it.

She left the agency at three when the taxi Robin had arranged came to collect her and take her to Paddington Station. The train ride to Swindon lasted no more than an hour, where another taxi was waiting to drive her back to Georgie’s.

‘So how did it go?’ Georgie cried, bursting out of the front door in a bright red swimsuit, matching shorts and little Blake in her arms. ‘God, you look fantastic in that dress. Who’d have thought one little trip into Bath could result in such a transformation? I feel like a fairy godmother. So, do I call you Beth or Ava?’

Beth was laughing. ‘I think Beth,’ she answered, scooping Blake into a hug and planting a big kiss on his cheek. ‘How are you, you gorgeous thing?’ she teased. ‘Looks like you’ve been playing in your pool.’

Delighting in the attention, Blake bounced up and down and blew a few bubbles.

‘You’ve got a visitor,’ Georgie said, keeping her voice low.

Immediately Beth’s heart turned over. ‘Who?’ she asked.

Georgie nodded towards the sleek black Mercedes that was parked under the trees at the end of the drive. ‘You didn’t see it on the way in?’ she said.

‘Whose is it?’ Beth asked, shielding her eyes from
the dazzling sunlight. ‘Why is it parked down there?’

‘To keep the chauffeur cool in the shade.’

Beth’s heart was hammering as her eyes came back to Georgie’s. ‘Leonora,’ she murmured.

‘She’s in the drawing room,’ Georgie confirmed. ‘She arrived about twenty minutes ago and decided to wait.’

‘What does she want?’

‘She didn’t say. My mother’s in there, keeping her entertained and probably in need of rescue.’

‘Just give me a minute to change,’ Beth said.

‘Why? You look –’

‘It just doesn’t feel right, seeing her in something like this,’ Beth cut in. ‘I’ll be two minutes.’ And, dumping Blake back in his mother’s arms, she ran quickly up the stairs to her room.

In less than two minutes she was fully transformed back to Beth just by putting on a thin rust cotton dress that flowed loosely round her slender body, and sturdy leather sandals. She looked in the mirror and was dismayed to see how far her earlier glow had faded with the nervous tension that was building inside her. Now she looked pinched and anxious, a woman of little self-esteem, who was no doubt about to be belittled and beleaguered by the supreme sophistication and Machiavellian intellect of the woman waiting downstairs. How she detested herself for being so unnerved by Leonora Gatling, yet she wasn’t alone, for anyone who’d met the woman knew that only a fool underestimated that veneer of exquisite charm. Even Colin, who Beth was certain had slept with her, treated her with extreme caution and repeatedly
advised that she, Beth, should do the same. Inwardly she shuddered. What she wouldn’t give to avoid this encounter. She simply wasn’t equipped to deal with Leonora’s convoluted mind games, even though she might be able to use them to persuade Colin to let her visit again, for he’d surely want a blow-by-blow account of every word, every nuance and gesture.

Beatrice, Georgie’s mother, had taken Blake up to his playroom by the time Beth opened the door to the drawing room. Almost instantly the overpowering scent of Joy confirmed that Leonora really was there. Georgie rose from one of the sofas, put a dainty cup and saucer back on a silver tray, then reached out to take her guest’s.

‘Leonora, what a pleasant surprise,’ Beth declared warmly, surprising and pleasing herself with how relaxed she had managed to sound.

Leonora ascended from her chair, rising to a full six feet, which made her taller than Beth, though not quite as slender, nor as young. However, even at fifty Leonora was still the most striking-looking woman Beth had ever met. As usual her glossy, ebony hair was rolled in an immaculate pleat, her exotic, finely honed features were perfectly made up, and her light summer suit hadn’t acquired a single crease. ‘Beth, my dear. How are you?’ she said in her low, velvety tones. ‘I do hope you don’t mind me crashing in like this. I’ve been so concerned. I simply had to come and see you for myself.’

Beth didn’t remark on how many weeks it had taken, she merely kissed the air either side of Leonora’s cheeks, as Leonora did the same to hers.

‘You’re looking a little thin,’ Leonora remarked
with a charming smile, ‘but that’s never a bad thing. Has it been terrible? Yes, of course it has.’

Clearing her throat, Georgie said, ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to talk.’

‘I was rather thinking a walk in the garden would be nice,’ Leonora suggested. ‘It looks so beautiful out there, and I’m sure that lovely high wall with those glorious roses climbing all over it will make us perfectly private.’

As Beth showed Leonora out through the French windows she glanced quickly back at Georgie, then stepped out on to the patio, with its exploding tubs of geraniums and fuchsias, which were nestled in amongst the deeply cushioned green wicker furniture and an assortment of Blake’s cars, trucks and Lego bricks.