StillWaters:Book4oftheSophieGreenMysteries (25 page)

“Do you?”

Laura frowned. “I thought—I thought it might have been…”

“Who?” I asked gently.

“I thought it might have been Molly,” she said. “I heard Gav and her arguing about something the night she—” She broke off, and riveted her eyes on my foot.

So I’m not the only one who heard, then. Nice of Laura to tell that to the police.

“Eleanor went with you to Cornwall?”

“Aye, her and Michael.”

Hello.

“Does he work here too?” I asked innocently.

“In The Host, you know, the venue with all the special events?” I nodded. “He’s the manager.”

Eleanor and Michael. How very interesting.

By now, Laura was attacking new, smooth skin, and I flinched as she started to file away half of my little toe.

“Och, I'm sorry. Talking on like this about all my problems.”

“Not your problems,” I pointed out, watching her face. Unless there was more to this than she was telling me. As I was walked out to the Relaxation Room, my mind spun around like a gyroscope with all these new ideas. Eleanor Duvalle was going out with Michael Varley, but he was sleeping around. Possibly with Molly. Just for the fun of it, I threw into the mix the idea that Laura was interested in Michael. Talking about
her
problems.

And then there was Gavin Beasley, his girlfriend’s body not even released for burial, and he was calling someone else “babe”. Someone who seemed to me to definitely fall into the male category.

Someone who could be—

Oh,
shit
.

Chapter Fourteen

Angel had brought a swimsuit with her, so we tottered off on our pretty little feet to get changed to go into the sauna area of the spa. At Eden, however, even a sauna is not just a sauna. There are wet saunas, dry saunas, damp saunas, tepid saunas, salt saunas, indoor and outdoor saunas, dark saunas, scented saunas. Then, to cool off, there are plunge pools, cold showers, scented cold showers, misty cold showers, a bucket of cold water, hoses of cold water, and an ice room. As well as a foot spa and an outdoor pool with a Jacuzzi section, and a hydrotherapy pool to boot.

Yes. I do want to live here.

Angel looked around in delight and awe before rushing into the Turkish sauna to clear a week's worth of crying out of her sinuses. I meandered around, five minutes here, five there, taking a swim, a shower. All the grot that seemed to have been there since Luke and Maria hauled me out of the sea seeped from my skin, swirling away in the shower drain. I felt clean, really clean. Even the faint smell of seaweed, which had made me feel vaguely nauseous with its reminders of the sea, had been replaced by the aroma of peppermint from one of the scented showers.

I came out of the pitch dark Turkish hammam and blinked in the sudden light from the soft uplighters. Sensory deprivation is fantastic for thought, and I had several clear ideas in my head right now. I walked across to the ice room and plunged my still sore hands into the basin of ice chippings in the centre, holding them there until they became numb, then rubbing bits of ice over my arms and legs and face, before returning my hands to the ice again.

“Oh, God, that’s good.”

“Always said you were easily pleased,” came a voice from behind me, and I turned around so quickly I hit my head on the canopy of the ice basin.

“Ow! Luke—what are you doing here?” Looking fit in your swim shorts. Ooh la la. I tried not to lick my lips.

“Looking for you.” He looked me over. “I think I like you in this kind of outfit.”

I looked over my old blue swimsuit with the fraying hem. “You just don’t stop, do you?”

He grinned and reached into the ice basin. “Wanna cool me down?”

Visions of me rubbing ice all over that glorious body cavorted before my eyes, and I only blinked and woke up when I felt something really cold slide down my front.

“You bastard!” I gasped, as Luke pinged my neckline back into place, ice trickling between my breasts. “That’s bloody cold.”

“Sort of the idea,” Luke smirked, and I grabbed handful of ice and threw it at him. He ducked and I grabbed some more. We chased each other around the room and I got a handful down his shorts, making him shiver and wince.

“That is
really
cold,” he gasped.

“Told ya.”

“You little cow!”

He grabbed some more ice and lunged at me, but I ducked and slipped on the ice and went down, landing hard on my bum, an inelegant sprawl.

Luke laughed.

“Hey, that hurt,” I grumbled.

“Here.” He dropped his ice and held out a cold hand to me. I touched his fingers, saw that he was about to close them over my aching, sore palm, and quickly withdrew my hand.

Luke frowned for a nanosecond, his face confused, then hurt. Then closed.

He turned for the door, and I rolled my eyes at his pride.

“Luke, come here,” I said scrambling to my feet like a baby elephant. “Luke Sharpe, don’t be such a baby and turn around and face me.”

He did, sullenly, and I glared at him.

“Where are you going?”

“If you can’t even bear to touch me—”

Touch him? I felt like hitting him. “What are you, fourteen? Luke, look at my hands. Look.”

I thrust them in front of his face, and he stared at the weals and cuts all over them.

“What the hell?”

“Bees,” I said. “I’ll explain later. It’s really not you—” I gave a little smile, “—it’s me.”

Luke took my left hand and gently turned it over in his palm.

“Bees?”

I nodded and took my hand back. “You can touch me anywhere but there,” I said, and Luke raised his eyebrows. “Well—you know. Come on, let’s go sit down. It’s bloody freezing in here.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

“
Oi
, less of it.”

But I was smiling slightly as I led him over to the loungers Angel and I had staked out. She was there, reading a magazine, looking considerably better.

“Oh, hi, Luke.”

He looked over her petite, curvy body in its little gingham bikini, and I suddenly felt about three stone heavier. Than I already am, I mean. I’ve always been about three stone heavier than Angel to begin with.

“What are you doing here?”

She shrugged. “Beauty therapy.”

“I invited her,” I said. “For the afternoon.”

“Oh,” Luke said, and looked slightly lost. “Okay. Hi.”

Oh dear.

“Sophie, can I talk to you?” Luke said. “Excuse us, Angel,” and he towed me away to the Japanese Salt Room, which was thankfully empty. “Why is she here?”

“She’s feeling crappy.”

“You’re socialising when you have work to do?”

That annoyed me. He made it sound like I’d been skiving off to natter with my mates. “For your information,” I made myself comfortable on the tiled seat, my feet resting on a carved statue, “I have found out a hell of a lot today.”

“Such as?”

God, where to start.

“Well, did you get anything?” I asked first.

He grinned. “Varley’s gay.”

I bloody knew it.

“How do you know?”

“What do you mean, how do I know? He thought I was hot.”

The ego of man.

Although, if I looked like Luke, my ego would be in the stratosphere.

“You think he fancied you?” “
What does he look like? …really hot?
” Yeah, he’d fancied Luke.

“Not just me. He was checking out all the guys. Nice as you like. Said he didn’t remember us from Cornwall, but it had been a very traumatic time. Oh yeah, and he’s really, really gay.”

“He said that?”

Luke gave me a dead look. “What did you get?”

I smiled, savouring it. “First of all, Michael Varley is going out with Eleanor Duvalle.”

Luke opened his mouth to speak, and I held up a hand to shush him.

“Second of all, he’s cheating on her.”

This time I had to put my hand over his mouth. Is it fair that a man should have such full, lush lips?

“Third, Gavin Beasley has a new lover.”

His eyes widened.

“And fourth, I think it might be Michael Varley.”

Luke licked my palm, and I pulled my hand away.

“You think Gavin Beasley, the boyfriend of the girl who was murdered, is having a gay affair with Michael Varley, who is going out with Eleanor Duvalle?”

I nodded. I think that was all of it.

“Based on…”

“Various things.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure about Michael cheating on Eleanor. It’s just a hypothesis that it’s with Gav.” I told him about the tape, then stopped and stared in panic.

“What?”

“Rachel! Shit, what time is it?”

Luke went to the doorway to look out at the clock. “Five.”

“Double shit! I’m supposed to be picking her up. Bollocks.”

He looked me over. “Does Angel know Rachel’s here?”

I shook my head.

“Or that, presumably, Harvey will be coming to pick her up?”

I shook my head again.

“And Harvey and Rachel don’t know Angel’s here?”

A third shake.

“Is Sophie playing matchmaker?”

“They’re already matched,” I snapped. “I’m just playing Sophie the Fixer. Relationship superglue.”

Luke laughed. “Okay, all right. Presumably they’re supposed to be meeting at some romantic point?”

“I thought the Café Paris,” I said sheepishly.

“What time is Harvey getting here?”

“An hour after I call him.”

Luke ran his hands through his hair. “All right. How about I go and pick up Rachel and entertain her—” he looked weary at the prospect, “—while you make Angel beautiful and call Harvey and we’ll get this over and done with.”

“You’re offering to help?”

Luke sighed, obviously torn. I know he’s not Harvey’s biggest fan. “Let me see if I can put this simply,” he said. “Me like Angel. Angel unhappy, so me sad. Also me pissed off that she hasn’t got off her pert little arse and talked to Harvey about it. It’s pathetic.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Very eloquent. I’ll meet you at the crèche in, uh, forty-five minutes.”

“What about Angel?”

“She will already be happily installed at the Café Paris where you will go and keep her occupied until I escort Harvey and Rachel in.”

He saluted. “Ten-four. See you later.”

I suggested to Angel that we could perhaps go for a drink—a special marshmallowed hot chocolate, maybe—in the café in the Village Centre, and she listlessly agreed and followed me into the changing rooms. I bullied her into putting on some makeup—not that she really needs it, the cow, after a short sauna her face was less puffy from crying, her eyes didn’t clash with themselves any more and her hair dried in perfect golden waves—and sent a text to Rachel that Luke would be picking her up and I was sorry we were late.

She replied that she was entertaining herself by laughing at all the fouls made by the badminton players on the courts opposite.

Then I texted Harvey to tell him to set off, and he replied that he’d see us in an hour.

“Who loves you?” Angel asked, hearing the message bleep.

“What? Oh, it’s Luke. I mean, Luke texting me,” I added, and she smiled.

“Oh, yeah? You two seem to be getting on okay.”

“Yeah,” I said, deleting Rachel’s message and putting my phone away. “He’s—I don’t know. I think he’s really trying to be nice.”

“I call booking a holiday for your ex really nice,” Angel said, squinting at her reflection as she applied the mascara I’d threatened her with (if she didn’t put some on, I’d do it for her, with my right hand, and I’m left handed. She acquiesced).

“It’s not just that,” I said.

Angel looked me over. Today being a no-bicycle day, I was wearing a long chocolate brown skirt, knee-high boots and a soft creamy knit top with a ballerina neck. My hat was a chocolate beret and my coat a long, belted camel
woollen
trench coat.

“You look really good,” she said, and I blushed with pleasure. I do try. “And I don’t just mean the outfit. You look—I don’t know, last time I saw you, you looked a bit—I didn’t want to say anything, ’cos I was a hell of a state—you looked a bit down. But you look happy now. All sort of glowy.”

Get me, I’m glowy.

“Are you shagging Luke again?”

And now I’m less glowy. “No,” I said. “No shagging.”

“Is that what you were doing in that sauna? Oh my God, it is, isn’t it? You were shagging in the sauna!”

By now her voice was high enough to attract the attention of everyone else in the changing rooms. I grabbed her by the elbow and propelled her out.

“I have not slept with Luke since we broke up,” I said, “and I’m not planning on it, either.”

Angel looked disappointed and confused. “But—why not?”

Good question.

“Remember why I broke up with him in the first place?”

“Yes, but you don’t have a job any more.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” I said glumly.

“No, I mean—there’s no reason why you can’t be together.”

“He’s going abroad,” I said.

“Phone sex.”

“If we get back into a relationship and he says he doesn’t want to go away then I’m faced with knowing I’m holding back his career.”

Angel was silent.

“You think he’d stay?”

“Or—” I began, swallowing, because I’d never voiced this out loud before, “—what if we got back together and it didn’t stop him from going abroad? What if he just didn’t care about me and left?”

“But he does care about you!” Angel cried.

“This is Luke,” I wailed. “He has the emotional intelligence of a rattlesnake. You see, this is why I can’t sleep with him. One or the other of us gets fucked over.”

Angel gave me hug. “I’m sorry,” she said. “God, I thought the hard part was over when I found a really hot guy.”

“And then you find out he’s sweet—”

“And clever—”

“And good in bed—”

“How do you know?” Angel raised her eyebrows.

“I was talking about Luke.”

We walked on a bit, then Angel said, “I wouldn’t call Luke sweet, as such.”

“Yes, you would. You’re the one who said it first.”

“When?”

“Ages ago! You said he was really sweet for looking after me when I was hurt.”

“Which time?” Angel asked, because I do seem to be in the wars quite often.