The recording is turned off, then turned on again.
CECILY: I’m sorry.
ALAN:No. I can understand. It was your wedding day. The whole thing must have been awful for you.
CECILY: It was.
ALAN:We can do this later, if you like.
CECILY: No. Let’s do it now.
ALAN:Well, I was wondering if you could tell me more about Frank Parris.
CECILY: I didn’t see very much of him. I told you.
ALAN:Did you see him on the Thursday he arrived?
CECILY: No. I heard he didn’t like his room – but Aiden dealt with that. Aiden’s brilliant with the guests. Everyone seems to like him and if there’s ever any problems, he always finds a way round them.
ALAN:He moved Frank into room twelve.
CECILY: He swapped him with another guest. A teacher or something. He hadn’t arrived yet so he wouldn’t know.
ALAN:And then on Friday he went in a taxi to Westleton.
CECILY: Derek arranged that for him. Have you spoken to Derek?
ALAN:Your night manager? I’m seeing him this evening.
CECILY: I saw Mr Parris around lunchtime when he got back. I was having to deal with the people about the marquee. They’d actually let us down quite badly – we won’t use them again – by arriving late. It was all right in the end but I was out on the east lawn when he came back in another taxi and Aiden came out at that moment and I saw the two of them chatting.
ALAN:Do you know what they were talking about?
CECILY: Oh – just the hotel, the room, that sort of thing. I wanted to see Aiden so I went over and joined them. He introduced me.
ALAN:What did you make of Frank Parris?
CECILY: Can I be honest? I know he was your friend and I don’t want to offend you.
ALAN:Please. You can say what you like.
CECILY: Well, I didn’t really take to him. It’s difficult to explain and part of it may be that I had my mind on other things. But I found him quite . . . I didn’t believe him. I thought he was being just too friendly and pleasant – he was all over Aiden for changing his room – but all the time I got the feeling that he was just pretending. When he said he loved the hotel I got the feeling that he didn’t really like it at all. And when he congratulated Aiden and me because we were getting married, it was almost as if he was sneering at us.
ALAN:Frank could be a little bit . . . supercilious.
CECILY: I’m not even sure I know what that means.
ALAN:Condescending.
CECILY: It was more than that. He was lying. And actually, I can give you an example. Aiden said that we were having a party that night to celebrate the wedding and he hoped the noise wouldn’t disturb him. And Frank said it didn’t matter because he was out that evening. He was going to Snape Maltings to see a performance of The Marriage of Figaro. I don’t know anything about opera, but I remember that he was absolutely specific about the name. He went on and on about how it was his favourite opera and he’d always enjoyed it and that he couldn’t wait to see it.
ALAN:What makes you think he was lying?
CECILY: I know he was lying because I happened to go to Snape Maltings a couple of days later – they had a market – and I saw a list of all the events and The Marriage of Figaro wasn’t on it. They had a youth orchestra playing Benjamin Britten that Friday night.
ALAN:Why do you think he would make up something like that?
CECILY: Because of what I just told you. He was sneering at us.
ALAN:It still seems quite a strange thing to do.
CECILY: I don’t think there was any reason for it. I just think he enjoyed being superior. Maybe it was because he was gay and we were straight. Is that a bad thing to say? He’d lived in London and we were stuck out in the country. He was the guest and we were just the staff. I don’t know. When he said goodbye to us, he had this weird handshake. He sort of took Aiden’s hand in both of his like he was the president or something and didn’t want to let him go. And then he gave me a kiss, which I didn’t think was at all appropriate, and at the same time he had his hand very low on my back. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. All I’m saying is, he was playing with us. I only met him for a few minutes and you knew him a lot better than me, but I didn’t think he was a nice man. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth.
ALAN:Did you see him again?
CECILY: No. I had the party on Friday night and I didn’t even think about him. The hotel was full anyway, so there were plenty of other guests to worry about. I went to bed early with a sleeping pill and of course the next day was my wedding.
ALAN:Did you see Stefan Codrescu at the party?
CECILY: Yes. He was there.
ALAN:How was he?
CECILY: Well, obviously Lisa had just fired him so he wasn’t very happy. In fact, he hardly said anything. Aiden said he’d had too much to drink. He left quite early. I think Lionel took him back to his room.
ALAN:But a few hours later he was up again. According to the police that’s when he went back into the hotel, into room twelve.
CECILY: That’s what they said.
ALAN:Derek saw him.
CECILY: He might have been wrong.
ALAN:You think so?
CECILY: I don’t know. I can’t talk to you about all that. Actually, if you haven’t got any other questions, I think I’ve told you everything I know.
ALAN:You’ve been very helpful, Cecily. And that is a great tan. How are you enjoying married life?
CECILY: (Laughs.) Well, it’s early days. But we had a wonderful time in Antigua and now I’m glad to be back. We’re very happy in Branlow Cottage and I just want to put everything behind us and get on with it.
ALAN:Thank you very much.
CECILY: Thank you.
The recording ended and there was something quite oppressive about the silence that followed. It reminded me that she was still missing after ten days and I wondered if anyone would ever hear her voice again.
There was another interview on the memory stick. Aiden had told me that he had met Alan briefly. I had to play it a couple of times before I realised that this must have happened before Alan spoke to Cecily. The two men were introduced by Pauline Treherne and Alan was already recording.
PAULINE: I’m sorry. I don’t really want to be recorded.
ALAN:It’s just for my private use. Easier than taking notes.
PAULINE: Even so, I don’t feel comfortable about what happened. You’re sure you’re not going to write about it?
ALAN:No, no. My new book doesn’t even take place in Suffolk.
PAULINE: Do you have a title for it?
ALAN:Not yet.
Aiden arrives.
PAULINE: This is Aiden MacNeil. My son-in-law.
ALAN:We’ve already met, I think.
AIDEN:Yes. I was in reception when you arrived. I helped you change rooms. I hope you’re more comfortable now.
ALAN:It’s fine, thank you very much.
AIDEN:Excuse me, are you recording this?
ALAN:Yes, I am. Do you mind?
AIDEN:As a matter of fact, I do.
PAULINE: Mr Conway is asking questions about the murder.
AIDEN:Well, I’d prefer not to talk about it.
ALAN:I’m sorry . . . ?
AIDEN:Forgive me, Mr Conway. My whole job here is to look after the interests of the hotel. This business with Stefan Codrescu has been nothing but trouble for us and I really don’t think we need any more publicity.
ALAN:I’m not going to share these tapes with anyone.
AIDEN:Even so. We told the police everything that happened that day. We didn’t hide anything. And if you’re going to suggest that the hotel was in some way responsible . . .
ALAN:That isn’t my intention.
AIDEN:We can’t be sure of that.
PAULINE: Aiden . . . !
AIDEN:I’m sorry, Pauline. I already told Lawrence that I think this is a bad idea. I’m sure Mr Conway is a very
respected writer—
ALAN:Please, call me Alan . . .
AIDEN:I’m not playing this game. I’m sorry. Do you mind turning that off?
ALAN:If you insist.
AIDEN:I do.
And that was the end of it.
It was obvious that Aiden had disliked Alan Conway from the moment they met – and I could understand that. Should I read something into the fact that he had refused to be interviewed? No. As Aiden had clearly said, he was only doing his job.
It was after midnight and I had an early start, but the last thing I did before I went to bed was go to Apple Music and download The Marriage of Figaro. I would listen to it the next day.
Lionel Corby (Breakfast)
I was tired the next morning. I hadn’t slept well and I left the house at first light, before Craig had even got up. I had to cross the whole of London for my 7 a.m. meeting with Lionel Corby, the spa manager who had been working at Branlow Hall at the time of the murder, and I sat bleary-eyed on the Tube for what felt like an eternity, glancing through a free newspaper that only had enough material for two or three stops.
My first impression of Lionel Corby wasn’t a very favourable one. He came weaving through the traffic on one of those very expensive bikes with ultra-thin wheels, wearing Lycra that stopped halfway down his thigh and which had clearly been designed to show off his perfect musculature and, for that matter, his well-formed genitalia. I like to think the best of people, a trait not entirely helpful when investigating a murder perhaps, but there was something about him that instantly struck me as . . . well, cocky. Yes, he worked in a gym. He had to advertise his physique, but did he have to do it so loudly? As we shook hands, his eyes travelled over me and I felt positively dowdy. By contrast, he crooned over the bicycle as he chained it to the rack.
‘So, Susan, are you going to have some breakfast?’ He had one of those exaggerated, sing-song Australian accents. ‘They’ve got a decent café and I get a discount.’
We went inside. Virgin Active occupied a concrete bunker on a busy main road. Curiously, Atticus Pünd had lived in a flat just round the corner . . . which is to say, Alan Conway had used the building as his inspiration. The café had only just opened and there was no one else there. The air conditioning had already turned it into a refrigerator. Lionel ordered himself a power drink of some sort: any number of health-giving fruits and vegetables compounded into an unappealing green slime. I noticed that he had pulled on a knitted beanie as he sat down. He had luxurious hair but it was thinning on top and he was probably self-conscious. I was longing for scrambled eggs, but the nearest they had was poached eggs on smashed avocado with sourdough toast, none of which had the slightest appeal. I settled for a cappuccino.
We took a table by the window.
‘I’m afraid I’ve only got half an hour,’ Lionel said.
‘It’s very kind of you to see me.’
‘Not at all, Sue. It’s so awful about Cess.’ He sounded almost too genuine to be genuine. ‘Is there any news?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘That’s terrible. And how are you involved in all this? Are you a friend of the family?’
‘Not exactly. Lawrence Treherne asked me to help.’ I didn’t want to go into all that again and Lionel had already said we only had half an hour so I moved on swiftly, explaining how Cecily’s disappearance might be connected to Frank Parris’s murder eight years before.
‘Frank Parris!’ He let out a low whistle. ‘When I got your text, I wondered how I could help. I haven’t been back to Branlow Hall since I left. I’ll be straight up with you, Sue. I couldn’t stand the place! I was glad to get out.’
‘But you were there for quite a while, Lionel. Four years.’
He smiled at that. ‘You’ve done your homework. Actually, it was three years and nine months. I took over the new spa once it was finished and that was cool. State-of-the-art equipment, everything brand new, great pool. I had some decent clients, too . . . especially the ones from outside. But the pay was lousy and although I was doing personal training the Trehernes only paid me twenty-five per cent of the fee. They were shit employers. And let me tell you, sometimes the whole place was more like a madhouse than a smart hotel. Stefan was OK. And I got on with some of the kitchen staff. But I couldn’t stand the rest of them.’
‘I don’t suppose you had a client called Melissa Conway?’ I don’t know why I asked about her. It had come as a surprise to me when James had mentioned she was living in Woodbridge and on the memory stick Cecily had said that she used the spa.
‘Melissa? Yes, there was a lady called Melissa – she was in all the time. But her name was Melissa Johnson, I think. She rented a house on the estate.’
That was her, but she had gone back to her maiden name.
‘Why do you want to know about her?’ Lionel asked.
‘She was married to Alan Conway,’ I said.
‘Oh! I get it. Well, since you mention it, she actually came in on the Wednesday or the Thursday evening before it happened. I remember because she was in a foul mood. No fun at all.’
‘Do you know what had upset her?’
He shrugged. ‘No idea.’
‘So how did you end up at Branlow Hall?’ I asked. ‘How did you get the job?’
‘Yeah, well, I didn’t know what I was walking into. I came to London from Perth about eleven years ago. That’s Perth, Australia, of course. My mother was English. I rented a room in Earls Court and got a job as a personal trainer. I was only twenty but I’d done a CEC course at a uni in Perth and I was lucky. I landed on my feet. I had a few private clients and they recommended me to others. Even so, London’s an expensive place and I had a devil of a job keeping my head above water. You have no idea of the sort of stuff I got up to! Then I was training this guy and he mentioned he’d just got back from Branlow Hall and they were looking for someone to run their spa. It seemed a good way to earn some cash, so I went for an interview and I got it.’
‘Who was the client who recommended you?’ I asked.
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Were all your clients men?’
‘No. They split about fifty-fifty. Why do you ask?’
‘No reason. Go on. Why were the Trehernes such bad employers – apart from the pay?’
‘Well, the pay was the main thing, but they really made you put in the hours. Ten hours a day, six days a week. I’m not even sure that’s legal, is it? And there were no perks. Everything you ate in the hotel you had to pay for and although the food was cheap, they gave you zero discount in the bar. You weren’t even allowed to go in if there were any guests there.
‘And that thing they were doing with crims! The Youth Offender Programme, they called it, but that wasn’t what it was about. It was the pits. They were paying Stefan way under the minimum wage and he was on call literally twenty-four hours a day. He was meant to be general maintenance but they had him doing all the shit jobs, including the toilets, the gutters on the roof, the trash . . . you name it. He got really sick once and they didn’t even want to give him the day off. They had him over a barrel, you see. If he complained, they could throw him out. He was Romanian. He had a prison record. He wasn’t going to get another job – and certainly not without a reference from them. They knew that. They were bastards.
‘And then there was Lisa Treherne.’ He shook his head in admiration. ‘The older daughter. She was a real piece of work.’
‘She accused him of stealing.’
‘She knew he wasn’t a thief. That was Natasha.’
‘The maid?’
‘Yes. Everyone knew that. She was shameless! Shake hands and check you’re still wearing your watch. But Lisa was playing the same power game as her dad. She wanted Stefan.’
‘Wanted him . . . how?’
‘How do you think?’ Lionel looked at me disdainfully. ‘Lisa had the hots for him. A nice hunk of twenty-two-year-old Eastern European flesh. She couldn’t keep her eyes off him.’
> Could I trust what Lionel was telling me? According to him, Melissa was angry, Lawrence was crooked, Stefan was exploited and Lisa was rapacious. He didn’t have a good word to say about anyone. And yet I thought back to the meeting I’d had with Lisa in the dining room at Branlow Hall. She’d been fairly vengeful herself. ‘Hiring Stefan Codrescu was a mistake from the very start. I said so at the time, although nobody listened to me.’ And what was it her father had said? ‘You liked him to start with. You spent lots of time with him.’ I’d made a note of the contradiction. Perhaps Lionel had just explained it.
‘For what it’s worth, Lisa tried it on with me as well,’ he continued. ‘She was always in and out of the spa, and I’m telling you, mate, the sort of workout she wanted didn’t involve anything I’d been taught in Perth.’
‘Did she have a relationship with Stefan?’ Even as I asked the question, I thought it was unlikely. Surely, if they had been sleeping together, it would have come out at the trial.
Lionel shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t call it a relationship. Stefan didn’t fancy her any more than I did.’ He pointed at his mouth. ‘You know, she had that scar, and even without it she wasn’t exactly Miranda Kerr. But they were having sex, if that’s what you mean. The poor bugger couldn’t say no to her! After all, she was more or less running the hotel. She had complete power over him.’
‘Did he talk to you about it?’
‘No. He never talked about that sort of stuff. But he was always miserable when she was around and one time I actually saw them together.’
Moonflower Murders Page 16
