Silent Truths (27 page)

Still, there was always this little exclusive about Beth Ashby having a book published under another name to give her heart. In the grand scheme of things it might seem rather a minor detail, but she’d stake her entire two-thousand-pound fortune that there were several people out there who’d dearly love to get their hands on that book before it hit the shelves, this mysterious Marcus Gatling no doubt being one of them. Needless to say she was another, though she didn’t hold out much hope of Rhona doing the deed, not after the débâcle earlier, when Rhona had had to come up with an alibi fast in order get them both off the hook. Which circled her right back to Elliot, who’d no doubt have several cat-burglar contacts who could scale walls in the dead of night and manage to slither through barred and locked windows to claim the prize. But there was just no way she was going to him for help, and the very fact that everything, not to mention everyone, seemed to be pushing her in that direction, was just making her more determined than ever not to.

*

Bruce couldn’t help noticing that Colin Ashby’s face was becoming more and more drawn with each visit, and his shoulders seemed almost to slump under the weight of his ordeal. For a man who had always been so upright in his posture and self-possessed in his manner, it was hard seeing him like this, though, thank God, today they at last seemed to be making some headway in persuading him to do something to help himself.

He was sitting in his usual place for these visits, at the scratched central table with his back to the door. Giles Parker was seated opposite him, while Bruce stood against one cooling stone wall, watching and listening, and waiting as Colin mulled over the fact that Giles Parker had talked to a reporter, and was prepared to disclose what little information they had on the case, with Colin’s permission. Better still would be if Colin himself would agree to see the reporter, and the fact that he hadn’t, so far, dismissed either suggestion, was providing some cause for encouragement.

In the end, Colin’s eyes remained fixed on the table as he said. ‘So who is this Laurie Forbes? I don’t know that name.’

‘But you know the paper,’ Parker responded.

‘Of course. Laurence Goldman’s –’ He stopped, and changed tack. ‘I worked there myself, a long time ago. It’s got substance. Goldman’s done a good job.’ He rubbed his hands over his badly shaven face. ‘Elliot Russell’s asking to see me too,’ he said.

‘It’s up to you who you talk to,’ Parker told him, ‘but I would strongly recommend you talk to one of
them.’ He had no particular loyalty to Laurie Forbes just because he’d met with her on Monday to check how far she was prepared to go for this story. Her answer had been encouraging, but his only real interest was in his client, and the preparation of a defence case that would eventually contain all, rather than just some, of the facts.

Colin’s face reflected his inner struggle.

‘Look,’ Parker said, ‘these unidentified fibres tell us that someone else was in the flat. That alone is cause –’

‘But when?’ Colin growled. ‘Midday or midnight? Fibres don’t tell the time, and matching them –’

‘If they can be linked to someone who has no alibi at the time of the murder …’

‘All right, I hear you. I just don’t want any of us getting our hopes up on a few fibres that might well have been left there by the damned gas man, for all we know.’

‘OK,’ Parker conceded. ‘So let’s go back to Laurie Forbes. Or Elliot Russell. Or anyone else you’d feel more comfortable with.’

Colin inhaled deeply, letting the air puff out his cheeks.

‘With you, or without you, both Russell and Forbes will continue their investigations,’ Parker warned. ‘You have no control over that, and it would be in your interest, presuming you want to get out of here, to help at least one of them.’

Colin’s agitation was starting to show. ‘Look, I just don’t know how far they’re prepared to go with this,’ he said. ‘The kind of risk involved –’

‘They’re prepared to take it,’ Parker cut in.

Colin looked at Bruce. ‘Do you know either of them?’ he asked.

Bruce shook his head. ‘I’ve heard of Russell, of course.’

‘I know the man,’ Colin said. ‘Not well. But he’s good. Damn good. He’ll get this without my help.’

Taking that as a refusal to see either, Parker’s eyes closed in frustration.

‘OK, let’s give this Laurie Forbes a chance,’ Colin suddenly said. ‘Russell’s too high profile.’ Then with a dry laugh: ‘It’ll be one way for this Laurie Forbes to make a name for himself, if he wants to.’

The door crashed open before Parker could correct him. ‘Lunch, Ashby!’ the guard snarled.

Bruce and Parker began packing up. Nothing interrupted prison routine, not even lawyers’ visits, and neither of them saw any reason to get into the gender confusion when it might endanger the yes.

As he reached the door Colin turned back to Bruce. ‘What news of Beth?’ he asked. ‘How is she?’

‘She’s going to Spain tomorrow to stay with her parents,’ Bruce answered. ‘She needs to get away.’

Colin looked so dejected that Bruce was tempted to tell him about Ava Montgomery and the book, in an effort to show she was surviving. But there wasn’t time, and it wouldn’t be true anyway, for the depth of Beth’s heartache was never going to be healed by a few smart dresses and a book deal, despite the brief respites they were managing to buy.

‘I’ve been worried about her,’ Colin said. ‘Has she done anything about a divorce?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘She should.’

‘
Ashby!
’ the guard growled.

Parker handed over Laurie Forbes’s address. ‘Send the visiting order today,’ he said. ‘And make it for the next visit.’

‘My mother and Heather already have it,’ Colin answered.

‘Then change it.’

Bruce held on to Colin’s shoulder as he shook his hand, glad that Beth had no way of knowing that Heather wasn’t only being allowed to visit, but that she was supposed to come with his mother. He didn’t mention it to Colin either, for he couldn’t find it in himself to make the man feel worse than he obviously already did. So all he said was, ‘You’re doing the right thing, talking to a reporter.’

‘I hope to God you’re right,’ Colin murmured. ‘I just hope to God you’re right.’

Chapter 12

LA RESIDENCIA D’EL
Sol
was about seventy kilometres from Málaga, and five from the nearest beach, in a beautiful sun-drenched valley of vibrant feathery palms, powdery sand and lush cool grass. The two-storey buildings, with their exquisite Moorish arches, red roofs and bougainvillaea-clad walls, were grouped around an Olympic-sized pool, with half a dozen tennis courts, a clubhouse providing all facilities including two gourmet restaurants, and an eighteen-hole golf course completing the sprawling acreage of the luxury complex.

Beth’s parents, Hal and Joyce Winters, had lived there for seven years. They spent their afternoons golfing, and evenings imbibing the local brew. Hangovers, and any shopping or chores that needed to be done, generally took up the mornings. They knew everyone in the complex, and might have been more enthusiastic about reintroducing their daughter to their friends, were she not embroiled in this embarrassing fiasco.

‘Of course, we’re always glad to see you,’ her
mother said, her words slurring into each other because it was now early evening and she’d already consumed the best part of a bottle of plonk, ‘but we have busy lives and the world doesn’t just stop because you’ve decided to turn up. I hope you understand that. Are you going to have some?’

Her father was putting a tray on the mosaic-topped table with three tall glasses, a dish of succulent black olives and a large pitcher of his home-made speciality, sangria. ‘Of course she is,’ he answered. ‘She’ll need one after that long journey.’

‘So how is Colin?’ her mother demanded, her leathery face puckered with resentment. ‘What on earth did he think he was doing? He surely didn’t imagine he was going to get away with it? Well, of course he hasn’t, has he? And no more should he, but I don’t mind telling you it’s not been easy holding our heads up around here, us being related to him and all. Right to the top, Hal.’

‘Have you been to see him?’ her father asked, passing a brimming glass of sangria to his wife.

‘Only once,’ Beth answered, watching him fill a glass for her. ‘You heard about the other woman and the child, I suppose?’

‘Makes you wonder how much worse it’s going to get,’ Joyce snorted. ‘Here, cheers,’ and she clanged her glass against Beth’s. ‘Anyway, enough about him. We’ve got some friends coming over at eight, so why don’t you go and freshen up? You might want to go into the local town for a look round. Or you can stay here with us. Up to you, but I don’t want to spend the evening talking about him.’

‘I’ll just get an early night,’ Beth responded, wondering why on earth she’d come when she’d known full well it would be like this. It had never been any different where her mother was concerned – she was an irritant, a liability, a pathetic streak of nothing that had never got any further than being a kindergarten teacher, though, by some miracle, had managed to land herself the dashingly handsome and successful Colin Ashby, a man of impeccable character and social standing who’d presumably suffered some kind of aberration the day he met her. Of course, Joyce’s high opinion of Colin had dramatically nose-dived now, though it would only be a matter of time before she got round to making Beth fully responsible for his disgrace.

She spent the first two days by the pool, carrying her book and towel as far from her parents’ apartment as she could get, and setting herself up under a blue-and-white-striped parasol to read and sleep the time away. No one had mentioned Colin again, and though she wasn’t surprised that her mother hadn’t bothered to ask how she was coping, or what she might be planning to do now, she couldn’t help feeling resentful of the neglect. But she kept it to herself. It never paid to get into a row with Joyce, and being in such a vulnerable state anyway she knew how unlikely it was that she’d be able to handle too many of Joyce’s hurtful remarks. She hadn’t even told her about Ava or the book deal, though the fact that she was using Ava’s persona to defend herself against her mother hadn’t gone unnoticed.

‘What kind of outfit’s
that
?’ Joyce spat, as Beth stalked into the sitting room in a flame-red bikini
and matching sandals. ‘It’s not decent. You can’t go out there like that.’

Beth simply ignored her. As Ava she didn’t even hear people like Joyce, never mind heed them.

‘Cover yourself up!’ Joyce cried after her. ‘I’ve got to live here.’

Ava turned slowly on her heel to face her. ‘Mother, this is a bikini,’ she said. ‘And out there is a pool. Why are you having trouble matching one with the other?’

‘Don’t you speak to me like that,’ Joyce raged, her face turning puce. ‘There’s no backside in that thing, and no one else round here wears thongs, so I don’t want you out there making a spectacle of yourself because it’ll only reflect on me.’

‘So this is about you, not me?’

Joyce’s nostrils flared as her eyes bulged with fury.

‘Or is it about the fact that my backside is small and firm, whereas yours … isn’t?’

Joyce was so shocked that for a moment she looked like a fish. ‘Just who the hell do you think you’re talking to?’ she demanded, saliva bubbling at the corners of her mouth. ‘I’m your mother! You don’t take that attitude with me.’

‘Then don’t take it with me.’

‘You just get yourself back in that bedroom
now
, and make yourself decent,’ Joyce shouted in panic as Ava started to move on. ‘If you don’t have a proper swimming costume you can use one of mine.’

‘No thank you,’ Ava responded pleasantly. ‘I’m quite happy with this one. Enjoy your golf,’ and off she stalked.

It was a small victory that made her feel good for a while, but as the day wore on, and she fell into the self-inflicted misery of composing letter after letter to Colin, she became increasingly unhappy and confused. She was so desperate to talk to him that the need swept through her like bolts of energy, readying her to go to the phone or the car, anywhere that would connect her to him. But for the moment at least, letters were all she had, and knowing she would probably never send them made their comfort very small.

On the third morning Joyce’s hangover was particularly bad, so she had less to say about the bikini this time, though she couldn’t let it go entirely. ‘You look like a tart,’ she sniped as Ava brushed past her in the kitchen to pick up her book.

‘Thank you,’ Ava responded.

‘Why do you want to go flaunting yourself like that, a woman your age? You look ridiculous.’

‘How kind,’ Ava said with a smile. Then looking her full in the face, ‘Would you like to tell me why you dislike me so much, Mother, or shall I just put it down to jealousy?’

‘Jealous of you?’ Joyce snorted. ‘What’s there to be jealous of? And where did this hoity-toity attitude come from, eh? Anyone would think you had something to be proud of, instead of more than enough to be ashamed of.’

Realizing that Colin’s name was only a few seconds away, but forcing herself to think of the book, Ava said, ‘Mother, if only you knew,’ and draping a towel over one shoulder, she slipped on her sunglasses and walked out of the flat showing not a glimmer of the quaking hurt inside.

By mid-morning her mind was clogged with thoughts of Colin again. She felt angry and sad and confused that both he and her mother were treating her so badly. She didn’t understand why. She wasn’t a bad person, and she’d certainly never done anything to hurt them.

Looking down at her long, lean body, she thought of the way Colin always used to touch it. It was almost three months since they’d last made love, and it seemed the deeper the pain of missing him drove, the stronger her desire became. Sometimes it was almost as though the two were linked, for the harder she cried the more aroused she became. But it wasn’t only crying; the agony of thinking and feeling could make her respond the same way. It was as though everything in her was so raw and charged by grief that her emotions were a physical mayhem.