The Flower Girls (15 page)

“Yes, it’s him,” she said.

“Are you absolutely certain?” Seth insisted.

“Absolutely. I wouldn’t say if it wasn’t. I’m not stupid.”

“Thank you so much,” Poppy said, devastated not in a small way to have her suspicions confirmed. Seth would be mortified. “And I’m sorry if I got you in trouble.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sara said stiffly.

“Was that why you lost your job, for talking to me?”

The woman smiled a bitter cynical smile. “No, they didn’t like anyone talking about customers but it wasn’t a sacking offence. I got in debt, nicked some money. I meant to put it back but they had an audit, I owned up. No sense in not doing. I was a fool.”

“I’m sorry,” Poppy said.

“I was fed up with the place anyway.” She held out her hand and Seth handed her the money. Sara flicked through it and obviously liked what she saw.

“Have you another job in mind?” Poppy asked.

“What do you care?” Then she seemed to regret her outburst and went on. “I’ve got some cleaning work, not what I want but with nicking money…well bar work’s out for now.”

It was a relief to get back out on the street. There were no cabs to be had and the street was too busy for them to talk about things.

“We can take a bus,” Seth said. “There’s plenty plough this route.”

It was busy on the bus, lots of students chatting and laughing. They sat in glum silence; as the University stop honed into view many students prepared to leave, their places taken at the bus stop by more students heading into the city.

Back at the hotel they headed up to their room, grabbed their bags and tramped to the underground car park. Once in the car, Seth, his expression pained, started the engine. They had exchanged not a word since Sara had confirmed her suspicions. There was much she wanted to say but she decided to wait.

Once free of city traffic and out on the open road, Seth pulled into a lay by.

“I can’t believe it,” he muttered after killing the engine.

“I wish somehow I’d never seen him, that I hadn’t got the crazy idea that he was Jasmine’s silver fox into my head.”

“We don’t know that he
was
her silver fox, as you call him. He could just have seen her there and stopped to chat.” But his tone of voice indicated that he knew this was a pipe dream.

Seth needed to believe that about his uncle, but he was not succeeding. Poppy knew it couldn’t be that Jasmine and Robert Donnington had met by accident and then had a friendly chat. Sara had been adamant that the man was Jasmine’s boyfriend. People who worked in bars were good at sizing up relationships. There had been no doubt in Sara’s mind but she surmised that Seth needed to have an iota of hope. After all the man was his uncle. Someone she guessed that he trusted.

“You don’t think that’s possible,” he said when she hadn’t answered him.

“It’s possible but I—”

“No, you’re right and I
am
clutching at straws. But, Poppy, can we hold off on telling the cops before I have a chance to speak with him. Please, I need to do that.”

“I’m not even saying your uncle killed Jasmine, Seth. Really I’m not, but he might know who—if anyone—held a grudge or even knew what she was doing that day, why she was found where she was. He might know
something.”

“And it might be that he would be more forthcoming with us than if we go behind his back and tell the police.”

“I wish I’d never started this but now I have I can’t stop.”

“I appreciate that and now it’s sort of been confirmed I want to press ahead. But do you mind if I do it on my own? I might be able to get more out of him than if you are there.”

“Of course. Whatever way you want to go I’m right behind you.”

He rested his head against the steering wheel. “It’s all such a bloody mess,” he murmured. “I just wish I’d never brought Jasmine into my orbit.”

“You can’t say that. You got married…you had to have been in love.” She kept the desperation out of her voice. The idea of this man being in love with her sister burned through her.

“I wasn’t in love with Jasmine.” He’d straightened and leaned back. He turned to face her; his complexion was dredged of color. “Jasmine was pregnant…” He paused, hearing her gasp, then went on. “It was genuine. That was why we married; as to whether the father was me, well I…” He shrugged. “But I wanted to do the right thing. I suppose coming from a broken family made me ultra sensitive about that kind of thing, God knows why, really—it was madness. She wasn’t in love with me. I realized that a couple of weeks after we’d married and moved to Heaton Grange. My life was definitely not what she’d envisaged.”

“And the baby, she lost it…”

Seth seemed to look through her. “She went to town, to London. She said to see some relations—”

“We have no relations,” she interrupted.

“I know that now. That was just an excuse. She told me she had miscarried but I think she had an abortion.”

“Oh my God.” Pain shot through her, it knifed her heart and made her throat throb. There was a burning sensation at the bridge of her nose. She swallowed a lump that seemed to be forming at her throat…her eyes filled with tears.

“I’m sorry.” He took hold of her hands. “Don’t cry. I’m over it now; it might be that I’m imagining what she did, she never said. Suspicion’s a nasty thing.”

But Poppy could feel the truth of it. It was something Jasmine would do. Her sister would get rid of anything that she felt wouldn’t suit her lifestyle. Jasmine had married Seth believing that her life was going to be a round of parties and meeting important people, instead of which he brought her to his house on the moors. Jasmine would see it as the ultimate betrayal. She’d gambled and lost.

Words of comfort and commiseration failed her; she could think of nothing to say. If she said anything it would be to condemn her sister and she couldn’t bring herself to do that out loud. In the end Jasmine had paid a terrible price for her selfishness. Whatever she’d done and to whom she’d done it, Jasmine hadn’t deserved to die like that. It was the one thought which would keep Poppy going.

Chapter 19

Seth looked severe. His eyes were glacial, his lips set firm. It wasn’t an expression she’d witnessed before. It made her a tremble a little. She thought of Jasmine and wondered if she’d witnessed it. A coldness emanated from him. He wasn’t a man to cross. The thought frightened her a little. Jasmine had done terrible things to this man, had he been unforgiving and so chilling it made the blood run cold? Was Jasmine’s fear genuine and not a ruse for some reason to get her sister to leave the life she loved? All these thoughts tumbled through her mind as she waited for him to speak.

In the end his voice was quite level, ordinary even. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Me?” she asked weakly, leaning against the table for support. They were in the library. It was quite late but light still spilled in. Midsummer Day had come and gone but the light nights were still a blessing.

“You were right. Jasmine
did
see him at the Presidents.”

A tiny moan escaped. No wonder Seth looked so stern. His uncle had betrayed him with his own wife. In many ways it was far worse than if it had been Edward Donnington.

“I don’t want to talk to him,” she said at last.

“I think you should. I can’t get very much out of him. He might tell you more.”

“What about your aunt—Caroline—what does she have to say?”

“She isn’t there. In a way that too is a blessing. She’s visiting Edward and his wife. He begged me not to tell her, he probably wants to do the same with you.”

“Did you assure him you wouldn’t tell your aunt?”

“Of course. What’s the point in destroying their marriage? He didn’t murder Jasmine.”

“How do you know?”

“He wasn’t in the country then. Don’t think I didn’t ask him. Poppy, please see him.”

“I don’t know.” Reluctantly she turned away. “I don’t see the point. He didn’t have anything to do with the murder; what else do we need to know about it?”

“You started it, you have to finish it.”

He was so harsh. The way he spoke to her brought a burning sensation at her eyes. He was right but it needn’t have been said, and in that tone of voice. Jasmine was her sister. She might disapprove of everything the woman did but blood as they say was thicker than water. She would always love Jasmine; she could find no room in her heart where hatred would grow. No matter what Jasmine had done to Seth.

“You have to let me think about it,” she insisted, feeling a strength growing.

“All right, but if you can make up your mind before Caroline comes back…”

“When will she be back?”

“After the weekend.”

That gave her three days to make up her mind; there was more than enough time.

“I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

He came towards her; she heard his footfall on the carpet. His hands came to rest on her shoulders, should she move slightly she would feel the hardness of his body pressing against the length of hers. Not now, she decided and stepped out of his reach.

“I need time…on my own.” She hated the words.

“Sure,” he agreed at once and then abruptly turned around and walked out of the library. The door clicked to a close; she slid into the comforting arms of the chair. Her hands were icy cold in spite of the warmth of the day. A pulse throbbed at the back of her eye and exhaustion seeped out of every pore. She had a premonition that nothing would ever be the same again.

* * * *

The idea of calling the police the next morning just popped into her head. It wasn’t premeditated and she knew she would say nothing about Robert Donnington.
Yet.

However, she’d not heard anything from them. Obviously because they had nothing to report, but it did seem odd, almost as if they’d closed the case.

Last night she’d gone to her own room to sleep. Some dreadful thing had crawled between her and Seth. There were awful feelings inside her and a wish to escape him and the house and
everything.
Warm thoughts of Florida tripped in and out of her mind. She thought with nostalgia of her small apartment, the warm waters of the Gulf, her friends, coffee shops and malls, all the things she’d come to love about life in the sunshine State. No matter how she tried she couldn’t shift the feeling of homesickness, that awful despair of being in the wrong place.

She was put through to Inspector Foreshaw right away. That surprised her. He sounded kinder over the telephone. There was warmth in his voice that hadn’t been there when he’d been at the house.

“I was going to call and see you, you and Mr. Sanderson. There was what I thought a development but it turned out not to be.”

“A development? What kind…I mean what was it?”

“I can come out and see you—that might be best.”

“Or I can come there.”

“You could, but would Mr. Sanderson come too?”

“Should he?”

“How is he doing? It’s not pleasant.”

Poppy’s heart started to thud. “In what way?”

“It doesn’t paint your sister in a good light.”

“We both know about that.”

There was a pause.

God, what
have I said?

She’d given too much away. How could she extricate herself without revealing what she’d found out about Jasmine and Robert Donnington?

“What I mean…well Jasmine and her husband didn’t have a good marriage. They would have split up…
eventually.
Jasmine liked the high life. She always had.”

“But it wasn’t what was called an open marriage was it?”

“No, not in the sense you mean, but it was over. The marriage I mean. It was just that the timing…you know.”

“Look, I’d rather just talk to you initially. Any chance of that happening?”

“Of course. Today, I can come in today; if I leave now I can be with you in less than an hour.”

“All right.”

Secrets and lies—she hated it. She was so bad at it but when she went down to the kitchen Mrs. Carrington said that Seth had gone out. He had some business in York. “I need to go out; do you mind if I take the other car?”

“Of course not, you do that, Poppy.”

Mrs. Carrington being nice to her was even more cause for guilt. She only hoped that the older woman didn’t notice how red her cheeks were.

* * * *

At the police station she stopped a policewoman who was just leaving to ask if there was anywhere for her to park. She was directed to a car park at the back of the building. Thankful, she drove to it and found a place to leave the car. It was a dull day, a reflection of her mood, Poppy thought but it was warm. She tugged off her cardigan and carried it over her arm rather than tying it around her waist. That would look far too casual, she analyzed. Once through the door she was faced with a counter. There was a glass with one of those holes thorough which to speak. There was a bell push. She pressed it. In moments a large police sergeant sauntered out from a back office.

“Madam,” he said.

“I’ve an appointment to see Inspector Foreshaw, Miss Lord.”

“Just a moment.”

He sauntered back into the office. Her heart started to accelerate. Had she done the right thing in coming here? She knew the police could be cunning and make you say more than you wanted. It had to be part of their training. Anxiously she flicked a tongue over her lips. She was deep in thought and had turned slightly away from the glass partition and she jumped when she heard the door click open. It wasn’t the sergeant come to beckon her, it was Inspector Foreshaw. As when she’d first seen him, he wore an immaculately tailored suit. This was light gray, summer weight and he wore a pale pink shirt and darker pink tie. He could have been an investment banker rather than a policeman. He had that kind of stylish polish.

“Hello, Poppy,” he said pleasantly. “I thought we could go for a coffee. It’s lousy coffee here.”

“Oh.” She blanched a little, thinking going somewhere for a coffee was less formal, more intimate and twice as dangerous. She had to be on her guard. He indicated she should walk through the door in front of him. Once out on the street he lightly touched her elbow to turn her to the left.