Snapped in Cornwall (17 page)

‘We’ll never know for certain.’

Rose leant back to allow the waiter to clear the plates. ‘That was good. Very filling.’

‘I hope you’ve still got room.’

‘I have. I’d like to think she didn’t know. That invitation, it wasn’t Dennis’s writing. Maggie would have known that. She told me Gabrielle sent it, but the more I thought about it the more I felt that it was Anna who did.’

‘Correct.’ Jack raised his glass. ‘It wasn’t difficult finding out. The two women had shared the job of addressing them and sending them out a couple of weeks before the party. Anna took an extra one.’

‘How did she know about Maggie?’

‘Paul told her. He was worried his mother might get hurt. He’d seen his father and Miss Anderson in a restaurant somewhere or other. He confided in Anna, as anyone would their fiancée, just to get it off his chest, I suppose. We don’t know how she found Maggie’s address but maybe Paul told her the name – Dennis had no option but to introduce them at the time of their unfortunate encounter. He may even have said
what she did – it would have been an excuse for their being together.’

‘And Anna wanted her under Gabrielle’s roof, to make sure she did find out, to show her she was doing the right thing by leaving everything to Paul.’

‘Seems likely.’

‘And she killed her because she found out otherwise?’

‘Oh, no. It was far more cold-blooded than that. That would have been heat of the moment. She killed her because she couldn’t wait for the money. Money which wasn’t going to Paul anyway.’

‘That’s why she agreed to get married so quickly. She was sure Paul was about to inherit and she didn’t want to give him a chance to change his mind.’

‘That’s about the sum of it. A lot of this is supposition at the moment but we’ve got a confession. Thank God.’

There was a pause as they both realised it might have cost Rose her life for them to be absolutely certain of having a case. Jack felt vaguely ashamed but he had believed Anna would say something to Rose, something which would give them a lead. He had had confidence in Rose’s ability to make her talk.

Rose could hardly blame him. Had she not insisted on becoming involved, on dealing with matters she knew nothing about, Jack would not have come to her for the favour. The best thing was to try to forget it, to concentrate on the meal which had been placed before her.

‘Damn it.’

‘What is it?’ Jack looked up, the pepper grinder in mid-air.

‘I had appointments today. I forgot to cancel them. I’m not so affluent that I can lose business.’

‘No need to worry. It’s taken care of.’

‘What?’

‘Your friend. Barry. He cancelled them for you first thing.’

‘He did what? How did he know?’

‘Apparently your diary was lying on the kitchen table. He checked it.’

It had been, Rose realised. She had got it out to find his number the previous night. ‘Hang on. How did you know he’d done so?’

‘I called into the shop. Once I knew he’d been looking after you, I asked if he thought you were up to going out tonight.’

‘He knew?’ So many things seemed to be going on around her, concerning her, yet she was not aware of them. Barry had not mentioned this when she rang him earlier. But, on second thoughts, he hadn’t sounded very surprised either.

‘He was kind enough to tell me to have a good time.’

Rose wasn’t listening. ‘Paul,’ she said. ‘How is he taking it?’ He had lost his mother and his girlfriend in a very short time.

‘At the moment he’s denying it to himself. He relied on her for everything. Emotionally, that is. He was pleased to have someone to do things for. There was nothing he was able to do for his parents.’

‘He could have tried harder, to get on without running to them for help.’

‘Rose?’

She pushed the remaining pheasant to the side of her plate, too full to finish it. ‘What is it?’

‘Rose, promise me you won’t do anything? I know you’ve a penchant for lame ducks, but let this be.’

‘I will.’ The last thing she wanted was to become embroiled with any more of the Miltons’ problems. ‘I wonder if it will bring them closer together? Dennis and Paul.’

Jack doubted it. The two men only seemed to have their grief in common. Once that passed – if it passed – things would revert to how they had been before.

‘What’s going to happen to Paul?’

‘I’m not sure. It’s not our case. The Met are dealing with it.’

‘Will they take into account what’s happened?’

‘No. Paul was in trouble long before any of this. Can you manage a sweet?’

‘No way. Not another thing.’

‘You’d better knock back the wine, then I’ll take you home. You look shattered.’

Poor Dennis, Rose thought when Jack went to ask for the bill. His wife dead, his son in prison, his son’s future wife also locked up. What on earth would he do? Survive, that’s what
he’ll do. She answered her own question. She had managed to survive.

‘Jack? How did Anna know Gabrielle would die from that fall? I mean, she did push her over, didn’t she?’

‘Yes. But the PM showed that certain injuries were received before she hit the ground.’ He lowered his eyes and Rose knew he would tell her no more. There were things that he could not reveal in case Anna changed her story, in case there was a trial after all, not just a hearing. Still, she couldn’t help herself, couldn’t leave it alone. ‘But there would have been blood in the bedroom, surely?’

Jack grinned ruefully. ‘There wasn’t any when you dealt with Anna, Mrs Trevelyan.’

She felt the hot flush creep up her neck and decided it was time to keep quiet.

Rose cancelled her appointments for the next few days. She was still not up to working and, as people heard, one by one they were telephoning or coming to see her. Laura, tactfully, gave her a chance to recover but kept in touch by phone every day. Jack, too, rang daily.

At the end of the week he asked her out again.

‘And whose car was that parked outside early this morning?’ Laura asked when she called in for coffee on Saturday.

‘You know perfectly well whose it was.’

‘Well, how was it?’

‘Pardon?’

‘You know what I mean. What’s he like in the sack?’

‘None of your business.’ But Rose was smiling, she did not need to tell Laura.

Laura was pleased. Rose had been without a man for far too long. Things were still not certain between her and Trevor but she had made an appointment to see the doctor. There might be something in this hormonal business after all.

‘I’m not going to get the lurid details then?’

‘No chance. It’d be all over Newlyn before lunchtime.’

‘It’s all over Newlyn already, my girl. Everyone knows a copper’s car when they see one. And a lot of people know Jack. Don’t forget –’

‘Yes, I know. You all went to school together.’

‘Seeing him again, are we?’

‘Oh, bugger off, Laura, I’ve got things to do. I’ll ring you tomorrow.’

Rose remained at the kitchen table. It had seemed natural, inviting Jack in for a nightcap and ending up in bed with him. She had felt a small pang this morning when she heard him swear as the shower attachment fell out of its holder, just as it had done when David was alive. The low ceilings of the house were fine for someone of Rose’s dimensions, but there was nowhere to install a shower unit suitable for use by a tall man.

Jack was no replacement for David, she had known that from the start. They were different, and each attracted her for different reasons. And she had changed. Jack was like her now, there was always going to be a part of each of them that the other couldn’t touch. For now she was content to take every day as it came.

He had not stayed for breakfast, not even for coffee. For that, too, Rose was grateful. It smacked of too much domesticity too soon. She had no illusions. There would be broken dates when work interceded, and the flowers and chocolates were a one-off. Jack was not a man to operate in that way.

Later, she got into the Mini and wondered why it wouldn’t start. It seemed a lifetime ago she had asked Laura if Trevor would fix it. Laura, too, must have forgotten. She picked up the telephone to remedy the situation. Leaving the keys under the seat she strolled down to the sea and sat on a sandy bit of beach, her back resting against the high Promenade wall, the weak sun warming her face. She smiled at her indolence. Next week it was back to work.

Her parents, in their early seventies, were still full of life. They visited two or three times a year and, since David’s death, had persuaded her to spend each Christmas with them, away from the memories. Rose knew that it was for her sake, that they did not enjoy the traditional celebrations. How nice to be able to tell them that this year she might have other
plans. Either way, whether or not Jack was still around to accept her invitation, she was spending Christmas in Cornwall. She was not going to run away from possible pain again. They would make objections of course, but she knew they would sigh with relief when they put down the phone and rush off to book a cruise or a foreign holiday. They had the money to do so – why should she prevent them from enjoying whatever time they had left together?

Taking a paperback out of her bag Rose settled back to read, mentally waving two fingers at the still rumpled bed and the unpaid bills which would soon need attention.

Several small clouds drifted apart, exposing the whole of the sun. Herring-gulls paddled at the edge of the water, the tide far out. The salvage tug, which had been in the bay for weeks, had disappeared, maybe to refuel or maybe to be in on the kill. Rose felt a surge of optimism. David would understand her grieving days were over.

Snapped in Cornwall

Framed in Cornwall

Buried in Cornwall

Betrayed in Cornwall

Plotted in Cornwall

Killed in Cornwall

Caught Out in Cornwall