The Dead Wife

by Sue Fortin

  It was a tempting proposition, Steph had to admit. She knew her position at Vacation Staycation wasn’t somewhere she wanted to be for the rest of her working days. She did have ambitions and Sonia was right, this could be an excellent opportunity to springboard her career. However, it would mean going back to where she’d grown up – not a place high on her wish list. It brought back too many sad memories, especially those of her father. Whenever she thought of Kendalton, the very next thought was of her father’s funeral. Coupled with the emotional desert of a relationship she had with her mother, Kendalton was not her happy place.

  Steph looked at the woman across the table. ‘You and Elizabeth were obviously very close.’

  Sonia looked slightly thrown by the statement but replied anyway. ‘Yes. We were. We stayed in touch with each other as she grew up and moved away. We might not have seen each other as much as we would have liked, but we spoke often.’ Sonia closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them, looking directly at Steph. ‘I miss her dreadfully. I can’t rest until I know she can rest in peace.’

  Steph swallowed and blinked back her own tears. She couldn’t help not only envy the relationship Sonia had had with her daughter but also admire the love. She reached out and squeezed Sonia’s hand. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said softly and then added, ‘But I’m not making any promises. What I find is what I find, if I find anything at all.’

  Chapter Eight

  Conmere, Wednesday, 8 May, 2.15 p.m.

  Harry dumped his bag onto his bed and, going through to the en-suite, splashed cold water over his face.

  ‘Shit.’ It was the only word he could think of to describe the past tortuous hour. One where he could barely look his mother in the eye yet could hardly stop looking at her. How could she be so ill and still look so elegant and well? Why wouldn’t she confide in him? He wasn’t sure he was going to be able to carry on as if he didn’t know the cancer had returned. He wasn’t exactly famed for Oscar-winning performances when it came to hiding his feelings.

  Drying his face with the soft white towel, he went back through to the bedroom. It had been a hard decision to stay here in the lodge where he’d lived with Elizabeth or to stay at the main house, but in the end his desire to hide away from the painful memories was lost to his greater desire to face those ghosts. He hated the thought of anything having that sort of power or control over him. His mother had arranged for the lodge to be cleaned from top to bottom and, in her words, given a small makeover. Looking around the place, he saw that had meant new curtains, a new bedspread and some fresh cushions in the living room. Subtle changes, but they were enough to signify a new start. He appreciated his mother’s thoughtfulness on this occasion. He didn’t want to dwell on the past or the dark thoughts that inevitably followed.

  He sat on the edge of the bed – his side of the bed – and stretched his hand out across the duck-egg blue duvet cover as he gave a small sigh. It wasn’t that he’d never slept in this bed alone and, indeed, had done so for several months after Elizabeth’s death, but being back here was stirring up more feelings than he had anticipated. A fleeting image of Elizabeth lying on the bed, propped up on one elbow, smiling at him while her fingers traced a path through the hairs on his chest came to mind. They hadn’t been married very long and those early days were such happy ones. He closed his eyes as her smiling face was eclipsed by one of anger and rage. One of their arguments where she had shouted and screamed at him and, in frustration, thrown her hairbrush at him. It had caught him perfectly above the eye. He touched his right eyebrow as he remembered that day and how he’d come up with a fake story of missing an intended catch after asking Elizabeth to chuck the hairbrush to him. God, she was fierce when she was angry.

  Absently, Harry pulled open the drawer of the bedside table and paused as he saw a photo frame face down in the drawer. He reached in and picked it up, turning it over. It was of his and Elizabeth’s wedding day. They had been married in the grounds of the estate and this photo had been taken in the Rose Garden. Elizabeth’s blonde hair had been fixed in a neat French pleat and her elegance was equal to that of a royal princess. He had loved her so much then.

  Harry replaced the photo frame and pushed the drawer closed. He could feel his mood dipping and the last thing he wanted was to become morose. He turned his attention to his holdall and spent the next few minutes unpacking his clothes. He didn’t have too much with him – he had only packed for a week – and living in rural France for the past eighteen months, where he only had to worry about himself, meant wearing a T-shirt twice wasn’t out of the ordinary. He doubted his mother would approve but what she didn’t know didn’t hurt her.

  He had just finished putting his toiletries in the en suite when the sound of voices from somewhere outside filtered through the open window. He wandered over to take a look. About fifty metres or so from the boundary to Owen’s lodge, Dominic was standing by the entrance to the driveway, glaring at another man, who had his back to Harry. He could hear Dominic’s raised voice, although he couldn’t make out the words, but from the look on his face he was clearly angry about something. Harry didn’t need to see the face of the other man – he knew instinctively it was his younger brother, Owen.

  What the hell was going on with those two?

  Owen’s shoulders were slumped and his head bowed slightly as Dominic berated him. Then Dominic gave Owen a clip round the ear with the tips of his fingers and pushed him away along the track which led back to the resort.

  It wasn’t quite how Harry expected to see his younger brother, but there was clearly some issue between first and third born. Dominic was a bit of a hothead and Owen very much the baby of the family. The scene reminded Harry of ones he had lived through himself as a youngster where he had been at the receiving end of his father’s wrath.

  Whatever was going on between his brothers, he’d find out later. He felt a small pang of pity for Owen. He was never going to grow up if he was always treated as if he were ten years old. Harry wondered if Owen really was still sober these days. It wasn’t something he could just drop into conversation when he called his mother. Pru was a strong woman, but having an alcoholic son was not something she liked to dwell on.

  Harry turned away from the window. They were all due to have dinner together tonight – the whole Sinclair family, including partners and children. Feeling restless and unable to settle, Harry decided to go for a walk around the grounds. He might even bump into Owen, who had appeared to be heading towards the stables. Owen loved the horses and was responsible for looking after the animals they used at the resort. Horse riding in small groups, hacking around the lake and surrounding countryside, was where his brother was at his happiest.

  Harry made his way towards the house, which was at the centre of the resort, and, following the path, he headed across the courtyard to the stables. He went through to the yard, the distinct smell of manure wafting in the air as the stable lad mucked out one of the stables. He gave Harry a look and a polite nod.

  ‘Hi, is Owen around?’ asked Harry as he neared the stable lad.

  ‘He’s in the office, I think. Do you want me to get him?’

  ‘No. It’s OK, I’ll be fine. Thanks.’

  Harry made his way along the row of stables, stopping as a big bay stuck his head out the half-opened door. ‘Hello, Billy.’ Harry rubbed the white blaze on the horse’s face. ‘Long time no see, eh? You’re not looking bad for an old boy.’

  ‘Same could be said for you,’ came a voice, and Harry looked up and grinned at his younger brother.

  Owen wore a V-neck jumper, cords and a checked shirt, and his dark blonde hair flopped down into his eyes. ‘Unlike you, who looks like they’re just about to do a photo shoot for Horse & Hound.’ Harry strode over and shook Owen’s hand, before giving him a brief hug. He realised as he did so he had taken a moment to monitor for any smell of alcohol on his brother. Old habits die hard, he thought, but was relieved that today Owen only smelt of aftershave. ‘How ar
e you, mate?’

  ‘I’m good, thanks. You? Or should that be, ça va?’ Owen said with a French flourish.

  ‘Very good – you’re practically bilingual.’ Harry followed his brother into the yard office.

  ‘Good to see you,’ said Owen, giving a small sniff as he took his seat and plucked a tissue from the pack on his desk.

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yeah, a bit of hay fever, that’s all.’ Owen wiped his nose and dropped the tissue into the bin. ‘Mum’s really been looking forward to you coming home.’

  Harry pushed his hands into his pockets. ‘Yeah, so I hear. I’m not home though. This isn’t my home any more.’

  ‘You try telling Mum that.’ Owen moved a riding hat from the desk and picked up the diary. He spun it round so Harry could see. ‘Look, she even made me cross today’s rides out. HARRY COMING HOME. See, capital letters as well.’

  ‘I’m here for the week, then I need to get back. Things to do.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. Things to do.’ He didn’t want to alert Owen to the fact he was going to have to change his plan. ‘People to see. Money to make.’ Owen took out a pouch of tobacco from his pocket and began rolling himself a cigarette. ‘Isn’t that what the old man used to say?’

  ‘Something like that,’ said Harry, not missing his brother hurriedly poking a small plastic bag back into the pouch. ‘Along with, don’t answer me back, didn’t you hear what I said and all the time I’m alive we’ll do it my way.’

  Owen gave a small rise of his eyebrows. ‘If you can’t say something nice …’

  ‘Jesus, you’re full of quotes today.’ Harry blew out a long breath. ‘Sorry, but that’s what being back here does to me. Makes me bloody miserable.’

  ‘Well, just keep up the pretence for the next seven days and that will keep Mum happy, eh? Then you can wave bon voyage and head off back across the Channel and not have to think about us for another six months. That’s how it works, isn’t it?’

  Harry gave a shrug and turned to look out of the window at the stables. ‘How’s it all going with the yard?’

  ‘Good. Really good.’

  ‘Billy is still going strong, then.’

  ‘I think he’s a bloody donkey really. He’ll outlive us all,’ said Owen, standing up. ‘Fancy a stroll? I can smoke this once we’re out of the yard.’

  ‘Natalie and the kids OK?’ asked Harry as they walked across to the gardens at the back of the house.

  ‘Yeah, they’re all great. You’ll see them tonight.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it,’ said Harry honestly. ‘Everything else OK? How’s things with Dominic?’

  There was a notable pause before Owen answered. ‘How everything always is with Dominic,’ he said eventually. ‘He still treats me like I’m some junior employee. Really pisses me off at times. I want to get more involved with some of the other aspects of the business, but he keeps knocking me back. I don’t think he can bring himself to even say what I want to do is a good idea, let alone agree to it going ahead. I’ve got a great idea for this place.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Owen lit his cigarette as they wandered around the formal gardens. ‘We’ve got the water sports pretty much sewn up. We’ve loads of things going on there but I think we’re missing a trick with the outward-bound things. Hiking and Nordic walking are both OK, but what about survival weekends? You know, proper boy-scout stuff for adults as well as kids. Spend a night out under the stars, learn how to start a fire, collect water and all that.’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ said Harry. ‘But Dominic’s not interested, I take it?’

  ‘Not in the slightest. If it was his idea, it would be a different story, of course.’ Owen scrunched his nose up and sniffed again.

  ‘You want me to speak to him?’ offered Harry.

  ‘Would you? He’s more likely to listen to you, and if you think it’s a good idea then he can’t really say no.’

  ‘He probably could, but I’ll give it a try. What does Mum think to it?’

  Owen drew hard on his cigarette. ‘She’s not sure. Said she’d have to think about it, look at insurances, et cetera. Basically, she just agrees with Dominic.’

  ‘If I get a chance, I’ll speak to him.’

  ‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’

  ‘It will cost you, though,’ said Harry, stopping and turning to face his brother.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Stop putting that shit up your nose and I’ll back you one hundred per cent.’

  Owen’s eyes widened and he took a step to the side, the back of his hand automatically going to his nose. ‘What? I …’

  ‘Don’t even try to deny it. I’m not stupid. I saw the little white packet in your baccy. And you’ve never in your life suffered from hay fever. The sniffles are from the coke.’ He shook his head. ‘You’re such a fucking idiot at times.’

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ said Owen, his eyes darting around. ‘It’s just now and again.’

  ‘What, just like the alcohol was now and again?’

  ‘Hey! That’s unfair.’ Owen looked embarrassed. ‘Seriously, it’s not really any of your business anyway. You don’t even live here any more and you’re only back because of Mum, so don’t pretend you care about my well-being or anything.’

  Harry sighed. Owen’s sulky expression made him look like a kid again. He placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘You of all people shouldn’t underestimate me or how much I care. Just because I’m in France, it doesn’t mean I’m not here for you – if you need me, that is.’

  Owen looked away and Harry gave him time to contemplate his response. Finally, Owen spoke. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just I’ve had Dominic on my back this morning already and now you. Look, I promise I’m not doing coke or anything like that. One of the guests left it in their lodge and one of the cleaners handed it in. Dom wasn’t about, so I took it. I meant to flush it down the toilet, but I forgot I’d put it in my baccy pouch. I didn’t want anyone to see it.’

  Harry wasn’t entirely convinced by his brother’s story – after all, it wouldn’t be the first time Owen had lied about his habits.

  ‘OK, sorry if I jumped to conclusions,’ Harry said, making a mental note to keep an eye on Owen while he was in the UK. They began walking again. ‘What was the beef with Dominic?’

  ‘Oh, nothing really. Just Dominic being Dominic. I think he forgets that I don’t actually work for him and that we work with each other. You know, all equal.’ Owen kicked at the gravel path. ‘But going back to what we were saying – if you can speak to him about the survival-days idea, then I can get on with it and sort it all out. He doesn’t even have to get involved.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ said Harry, although he was pretty sure that wasn’t what his brothers had been arguing about earlier.

  Chapter Nine

  Two Years Earlier, Conmere,

  19 August, 10.55 a.m.

  ‘Damn that bloody woman,’ said Elizabeth as she ended the call on her mobile. She was sitting in the coffee shop in the main shopping street of Kendalton, consoling herself with some retail therapy. Several boutique bags sat at her feet, but today the feeling of satisfaction wasn’t there. She didn’t really care for the £250 dress, the £300 boots or the £120 skirt she’d just acquired. It had been done out of spite, if she was honest. She’d used the credit card Harry had given her linked to his account which was supposed to be for emergencies, but Elizabeth had felt justified in using it today. After all, it was an emergency as far as she was concerned.

  She’d come into town to get some legal advice on her position within the family business. She’d hoped there would be a loophole she could apply which would give her some sort of voting power or at least something she could use to apply pressure on the Sinclairs to allow her a vote on issues such as the sale of the land. As it turned out, there was nothing. It frustrated the hell out of her.

  The call had been from Pru, asking her to be a darling and pick up her e
vening dress from the dry cleaners.’

  Pick up her evening dress from the dry cleaners! Who the hell did Pru think she was talking to? Elizabeth wasn’t some sort of PA!

  Elizabeth eyed the garment bag from Jones’ dry cleaners, which she had carefully laid over the chair next to her so as not to crease it. Pru wanted it for a dinner party she was attending that evening. Elizabeth drummed her acrylic nails on the table, and a small smile tipped the corners of her mouth. She sloshed some of her coffee into the saucer before reaching over and unzipping the garment bag. Taking the edge of the dress, she turned the pale blue fabric over and, making sure no one was paying her any attention, she dripped the coffee from the saucer onto the silk. The muddy-coloured latte bloomed to the size of an apple.

  Elizabeth’s smile broadened. That would teach the old bag a lesson. Pru probably wouldn’t even notice it until she was getting dressed and turned to admire herself in the full-length mirror of her dressing room. The coffee would well and truly have dried by then and it would be too late for Pru to do anything about it.

  Elizabeth would, of course, deny all knowledge and claim it must have happened at the dry cleaners. No one would suspect she’d do anything like that – why would they?

  Zipping up the garment bag, Elizabeth returned to her coffee – God, that tasted even better now. A small victory, with the only downside being Elizabeth wouldn’t be there to see the look on her mother-in-law’s face when she eventually spotted the stain. It would, of course, be awful if she didn’t spot it until she was already out. Yes, that would be dreadful.

  As she sat back smugly in her seat she cast a glance out of the window, absently watching the people of Kendalton go about their business. Something – or, rather, someone – on the other side of the street caught her attention. She sat up straighter and there, hurrying along, was Owen Sinclair. Tracking his path, she watched him enter the shop across the road – a bookmakers’.