The Dead Wife

by Sue Fortin

  ‘Why, Owen, you are a naughty boy,’ she said quietly to herself. Harry had told her about Owen and his gambling habits, how Owen had promised he wouldn’t do it any more and had even taken counselling sessions to overcome his addiction. Clearly, they either didn’t work or Owen didn’t want them to work.

  Elizabeth gathered up her bags and the dry cleaning and left the coffee shop. She could be jumping to conclusions. Maybe Owen had business in the bookmakers’ and it was legitimately to do with the stables or the horses. Although something told her that she was probably being quite naive in thinking that. She crossed the road and slowed her pace, before taking her phone out and pretending to look at messages, but in actual fact looking in through the window of the bookmakers’.

  She couldn’t really get a clear view of Owen, but he was definitely at the back speaking to a cashier. Elizabeth opened the camera on her phone and took a couple of snaps. She wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do with the pictures but a vague idea was forming in the back of her mind. As she looked up she could see Owen turning to leave and she scooted into the shop next door so he wouldn’t spot her.

  She waited patiently and a few moments later Owen walked past the window. She assumed he was heading back to wherever he’d parked his car.

  Again, Elizabeth didn’t have time to reason out her actions, but she stepped out of the shop and from a safe distance followed him down the road. Fortunately, it was market day in the town and both locals and holidaymakers were out in force, making it easy for Elizabeth to follow Owen without being seen. She assumed Owen had left his car down one of the side roads but was once again surprised to see him pause outside a pub, where he had a quick look to his left and right, before entering.

  ‘You are being exceedingly naughty,’ said Elizabeth quietly. No wonder Owen had driven all the way out here. He probably thought he was on safe ground and no one he knew would be over this way. Well, he hadn’t banked on Elizabeth and her retail therapy, had he?

  With the idea of what to do with this knowledge now taking a better shape, Elizabeth followed Owen into the pub. He was standing at the bar watching the barmaid pull him a pint of lager.

  Excellent! This really was going rather well.

  Elizabeth moved out of Owen’s peripheral vision and waited patiently as he paid for his pint and then took a long swig from the glass. She didn’t miss her opportunity and snapped him on her phone as he slugged the cold liquid.

  As he put down the glass he rested his arm on the bar and half-turned to face the rest of the room. It was then he did an almost comedy double-take as he saw Elizabeth standing there. The expression of surprise was quickly replaced with guilt. He moved his body so that he shielded his pint and picked up the glass of orange juice which was sitting on the bar.

  Elizabeth admired his tactic and foresight; it was just a shame the execution and delivery were poor. She smiled back at him and walked over. ‘Owen! What a surprise. I thought it was you coming in here.’ She air-kissed the side of his face. ‘What on earth are you doing in Kendalton?’

  ‘Hi … er … I had to come over on business,’ he said, not meeting her eye. ‘Can I get you a drink? I was just having an orange juice. Sore throat.’ He gave a small cough and patted his neck with his finger. ‘Think I’m getting a cold.’

  Not a bad bit of acting, thought Elizabeth. She gave a sympathetic look. ‘There’s a lot of it going around at the moment. I’ll have a white wine, thanks.’

  Owen caught the attention of the woman behind the bar and ordered his sister-in-law’s drink. ‘What are you doing over here?’ he asked as the glass of wine was placed on the bar.

  With her forefinger Elizabeth traced a path through the condensation on the glass. ‘Had some shopping to do and needed to pick up your mum’s dry cleaning.’ She took a sip of her drink. ‘I was just having a cup of coffee when I saw you across the road.’

  The uneasy look on Owen’s face returned. ‘Well, it’s a nice surprise. Are you on your own, then?’

  ‘Harry’s back at the resort sorting out the new booking system. I’m surprised you’re not there.’

  Owen shrugged. ‘Need-to-know basis, apparently.’ He tried to look nonchalant, but Elizabeth could tell he wasn’t very happy about it.

  ‘It’s terrible that they don’t keep you in the loop with everything,’ she said. ‘It’s almost like they don’t value your opinion or input on anything.’

  ‘That’s exactly what it’s like.’

  ‘And, from what I can tell, you get outvoted on a lot of the decisions.’ A small tide of red rose up Owen’s neck. Elizabeth knew she was hitting all the right places with her comments. She continued. ‘I thought it was a ridiculous decision not to sell the land for development.’

  ‘It’s not really any of your business.’

  ‘I’m about to make it my business,’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘You need to protect yourself.’

  Owen straightened up, his face full of suspicion. ‘Against what?’

  Elizabeth cocked her head to one side and smiled sweetly at her brother-in-law. ‘Having your naughty little secrets exposed.’ She was loving the look on Owen’s face.

  ‘I still haven’t got any idea what you’re talking about.’

  Elizabeth leaned round Owen and slid the pint along the bar, leaving it between them. ‘This,’ she said simply.

  Elizabeth had to give Owen his due as he made a valiant effort to act surprised and then disinterested, as if he’d never seen the pint of lager before. ‘That’s not mine,’ he said.

  Elizabeth gave a patronising chuckle. ‘Oh, dear, sweet Owen. You’re a really bad liar.’ She took her phone from her pocket and called up the photos, turning the screen so Owen could see. ‘There’s one of you definitely supping that pint. And here’s another one of you in the bookmakers’. Now, I’m sure neither Natalie, your mum or either of your brothers will want to see these pictures.’

  ‘Are you for real?’ Owen looked incredulously at her.

  ‘Very real indeed.’

  ‘Look, it’s no secret that I have a pint now and again. Am I supposed to be worried that you’ve caught me?’ He emphasised the last two words to underline how ridiculous she was. ‘What exactly do you want, Elizabeth?’

  ‘No wonder Dominic despairs of you at times. Do I really have to spell it out? You change your mind about the sale of the land and I don’t send the photos. It’s quite simple.’

  ‘You’re serious.’ He laughed in disbelief. ‘You’re really fucking serious.’

  ‘Deadly.’

  Owen shook his head and defiantly took a swig of his pint. ‘You’re bluffing.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘You really expect me to agree to the sale of the land just because you have a couple of photos of me.’

  Elizabeth smiled again. ‘Yep.’

  ‘You’re crazy, you know that?’ said Owen. ‘And you really think I’m that worried?’

  ‘I know that Dominic has threatened to cut your salary if he finds out you’re drinking again.’

  ‘Fuck off, Elizabeth. As I said, drinking isn’t a crime. Dominic doesn’t care as long as I’m not paralytic.’

  ‘I still don’t think they’d be happy to see you drinking during the day, in secret, which, to all intents and purposes, is what you’re doing. And then there’s the gambling. I know Harry is concerned enough about you to agree to your salary being cut.’

  ‘You’re some piece of work.’

  Elizabeth was just about to thank him for the compliment when before she had time to react Owen snatched the phone from her hand and dropped it into his pint glass.

  Elizabeth let out a screech and tried to grab the phone, but Owen was too quick and moved the glass out of reach, covering the top with his hand. She looked disbelievingly at the phone and could already see the screen had gone blank.

  ‘You bastard!’ She pulled his hand away and dipped her fingers into the glass,
pulling out her phone, which dripped across the bar. Elizabeth wrapped it in a towelling beer mat. ‘You’ve ruined it!’

  ‘Oh, dear, that’s a shame. I guess the photos won’t be of any use now.’

  Elizabeth rushed out to the toilets. Maybe she could dry it under the hand dryer before it did too much damage. ‘For God’s sake!’ There were only paper towels in the ladies’.

  Owen was leaning casually against the bar when she came back out, an orange juice in his hand. ‘No joy?’

  ‘Fuck you.’ Elizabeth grabbed her bags and the dry cleaning. She could kick herself that she didn’t have automatic cloud storage for her photos.

  ‘Have a nice day, now,’ said Owen.

  ‘In case you didn’t hear me the first time,’ hissed Elizabeth, her face only inches away from his, ‘fuck. You.’ She spun round and marched out of the pub. He might think he was clever, and he might have got the better of her this time, but this only strengthened her resolve to get what she wanted. She’d think of another way, one that he couldn’t get out of. God help her, she’d die trying before giving up.

  Chapter Ten

  Conmere, Friday, 10 May, 1.00 p.m.

  Steph chose to drive up to Cumbria. Her Fiat 500 didn’t miss a beat as she motored north, but all the same, it was with relief Steph saw the entrance to Conmere Resort Centre. She swung her car through the gates and followed the road, which filtered through trees and eventually opened up to reveal the imposing Edwardian building of Conmere House. Signs indicated that she was to follow the road past the main entrance and to a car park further along. There were already lots of cars in the car park and, looking at her watch, Steph realised she was cutting it fine to get to the welcome meeting.

  The receptionist checked Steph in. ‘Leave your bags here and the concierge will take them to your lodge. If you go through to the main reception room there on the left, the welcome talk is just about to start. You’ll be given your room key at the end.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Steph, now wishing she’d left just half an hour earlier. She hated the thought of being the last one to enter the room.

  She was relieved to see it was a very informal affair in the reception room. There were probably another seventy-five to one hundred travel-agency PR people and reporters, all standing around in small groups chatting amiably and all with a drink in their hand. Steph was approached by a waiter with a tray of champagne and she gladly took a glass before making her way over to the buffet table and filling up her plate with as much food as was polite. She was starving and knew just one glass of alcohol on an empty stomach would be enough to make her want to curl up and sleep this afternoon. She had to make sure she paced herself and was able to write a full report. She also wanted to keep her wits about her so she didn’t miss an opportunity to find out more about Elizabeth.

  The clinking of a spoon against a glass brought the chatter of the room to an end and all the guests turned to the front, where three men and a woman were standing – the Sinclairs.

  ‘Hello and welcome to Conmere Resort Centre,’ began one of the men. ‘It’s great to see so many of you here. My name’s Dominic Sinclair and this is my mother, Pru, and my brothers, Harry and Owen.’

  Dominic was a natural speaker and came across as professional and charming. Steph tried to concentrate on what he was saying, but her mind kept drifting back to Sonia Lomas and her quest to find justice for her daughter. Steph looked at the Sinclairs – could one of them be a murderer, as Sonia had implied? Which one looked as if they could be capable of killing Elizabeth?

  A round of applause from the other guests brought Steph back from her thoughts as Dominic invited everyone to enjoy the buffet and feel free to ask any questions as they mingled. The Sinclairs smiled at the guests, although Harry Sinclair’s contribution was rather more lacklustre than the rest of his family’s.

  Steph finished her drink and exchanged the champagne flute for a bottle of sparkling water, making a show of examining the label as she surreptitiously kept an eye on her hosts. Pru was already engaged in conversation with one of the guests, standing slightly to one side, but her eyes every now and then scanned the room.

  Dominic was holding court with a group of reporters; with his hands in his pockets, he looked at ease in their company, smiling and being particularly engaging, looking at the scale model of the resort in the centre of the room, identifying various points of interest. He was clearly in his element.

  Aware that she should probably be speaking to at least one of the Sinclairs, Steph let her gaze seek out the remaining brothers. Owen was talking earnestly with two older men.

  So that left Harry Sinclair – her person of interest. Not immediately seeing him, Steph casually wandered over to the centrepiece of the room, beside which Dominic was chatting. The model of the resort was under a glass case, labels showing the main attractions. The indoor swimming pool with jacuzzi, sauna and spa pool were at the heart of the park and fanning outwards were the other facilities with groups of lodges dotted around. It looked like a small town to Steph.

  Something made her look up and on the far side of the room, standing almost in the shadows, was Harry Sinclair. They locked eyes for a moment. Steph’s heart bumped hard in her chest and, for a second, all she could hear was the pumping of blood in her ears at the power of his gaze. And then a beat later he broke the brief but intense moment, his eyes returning to his phone.

  Steph exhaled a small but controlled breath as she continued to watch him and was pretty certain he was purposely making himself appear unavailable to speak to anyone. As soon as someone looked as if they were approaching him Harry would raise his phone to his ear and mouth an apology to the approaching guest, accompanied by a smile, before looking down as if in deep conversation. Steph witnessed him do this at least three times, and it was quite amusing to watch.

  After deflecting a fourth approach with this ploy he looked up and, again, looked over at Steph, who gave a small shake of the head in admonishment. He offered a blank look in reply.

  A small laugh escaped Steph’s mouth. This was too good an opportunity to miss. Milling her way through the guests, she headed straight for Harry Sinclair. As she neared him he looked up and put his phone towards his ear, with his by now well-practised don’t-bother-me look. Steph was undeterred and came to a halt in front of him.

  ‘That’s a ten for presentation, ten for technical ability and a nine for artistic impression.’

  Slowly, Harry lowered the phone. ‘Only a nine for artistic impression? Where did I lose the point?’

  ‘Repetition, darling. Repetition,’ said Steph in a mock-showbiz voice. ‘You can’t pull the same stunt all the time – someone will get wise.’

  ‘Such an amateur mistake.’

  ‘I’d say.’ She leaned in conspiratorially. ‘However, your secret’s safe with me.’

  ‘Why do I get the feeling there’s a catch coming?’

  ‘Because I wouldn’t be doing my job as a travel reporter if there wasn’t.’

  ‘True. Fire away.’

  ‘Give me an exclusive on the resort and we’ll say no more.’

  ‘An exclusive? I’m not sure if I’ve anything exclusive to tell you.’

  Steph knew she had to pace herself here and not get too carried away. ‘Oh, I don’t know, there must be power battles between three ambitious brothers such as yourselves. What really goes on in the boardroom?’

  Harry gave a laugh, which Steph felt was forced. His eyes looked wary, although he tried to hide it. ‘You’ve come to the wrong place if you want any scandal.’ He paused and looked at Steph’s lanyard. ‘Ms Stephanie Durham.’

  ‘It’s Miss, just to clarify, and no one ever calls me Stephanie – it’s just Steph.’

  ‘Ah, fatal mistake,’ said Harry. ‘Never say you’re just someone – it’s so passive, which I suspect, with you, is a contradiction.’

  ‘Definitely not. Proactive, I’d say.’ Steph smiled broadly at him. He really did have the most sparkling
eyes when he was joking. For a moment it hid the deep sadness that she sensed lay within. ‘If there’s no scandal, why don’t you give me a guided tour?’

  ‘There’s no scandal and there’s a guided tour in half an hour.’

  Steph wasn’t giving up so easily. ‘What about if you show me your favourite part of the estate later? After I’ve been on the official guided tour?’

  Something must have caught Harry’s attention. He looked over Steph’s shoulder and his expression darkened.

  ‘Shit,’ he muttered.

  Steph turned to follow his gaze. ‘Shit,’ she heard herself echoing. Sonia Lomas was heading straight for them. What the hell was she doing here? Sonia had never mentioned to Steph that she was coming to the resort. How was this going to play out in front of Harry? She turned and looked for a reaction, but Harry’s gaze was fixed on his mother-in-law. Steph had a second to decide how to play this. She opted to say nothing and see how Sonia was going to react, but couldn’t help feeling irritated at the unexpected appearance. It could ruin everything.

  Harry stepped forward. ‘Hello, Sonia,’ he said, his voice the epitome of professional politeness. ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’

  ‘I didn’t tell you, that’s why,’ replied Sonia. She looked at Steph and then back at Harry. ‘And who’s this? Your new girlfriend?’

  Steph silently thanked Sonia for the coded message.

  ‘No. This is one of the guests.’

  Steph held out her hand to Sonia. ‘Stephanie Durham. Vacation Staycation website and magazine. I’m here to cover the reopening of Conmere Resort Centre.’

  Sonia shook Steph’s hand. ‘Sonia Lomas. My daughter was married to Harry.’

  Steph feigned a thoughtful look, followed by what she hoped was one of realisation. ‘Oh, I see. Er … Elizabeth—’