by Sue Fortin
‘Doesn’t exactly narrow it down,’ said Owen. ‘But the name doesn’t mean anything to me. Why?’
‘It’s nothing,’ interjected Harry. ‘Dominic thinks he knows her, that’s all.’
‘Probably some bird you had a one-night stand with,’ said Owen, mimicking his brother’s expression with a degree of disdain.
‘Fuck off,’ said Dominic impatiently.
‘Gladly,’ replied Owen. ‘I don’t know about you two, but I’m going back in. Mum will have a fit if she realises we’re all out here.’
Harry stood by Dominic’s side as they watched Owen go back towards the reception room. ‘He has a point,’ Harry said.
‘Yeah, but he’s a little prick at times.’
‘Go easy on him, Dom. You don’t give him enough credit at times.’
‘Well, he is a little prick. It’s all right for you, you don’t have to see him practically every day of your life. You don’t always have to be looking out for him, making sure he’s not fucking things up.’
‘Is that why you won’t give him any more responsibility?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Like let him go ahead with the outdoor-adventure thing he wants to do.’
‘Jesus! You’ve only been back a couple of days and he’s already been getting at you about that.’
‘We were just talking, that’s all. I asked him what he was up to and he told me about his idea. I personally think it sounds a great idea and will definitely draw a different demographic of guests in. One we’ve possibly not explored before. People want adventure but they want it in a safe environment. It would be good for Owen too – you know, give him something else to keep him busy.’
Dominic pursed his lips before speaking. ‘Look, it’s a great idea and I think it would work, but Owen isn’t up to it.’
Harry winced. He had a feeling he knew what was coming next but he obliged with the question, ‘Why’s that?’
‘He’s not clean. He may have given up the booze, the gambling, the fags, but you know Owen, always got to have some vice. I wasn’t going to say anything, what with you being in France, and I haven’t, of course, said anything to Mum, but he’s been doing drugs. Coke, to be exact.’
Harry blew out a long breath, resting his hands on his hips. ‘You sure about that?’ He had wanted to believe Owen when he said the drugs in his baccy pouch weren’t his, but it wouldn’t be the first time his younger brother had lied about his addictions.
‘I caught him doing it. In the stables.’
‘What an idiot. Kind of makes the gambling seem small-fry now.’
‘Doesn’t it just? That’s the reason I won’t agree to the outward-bound thing. He’s got to get his head together, and fast. I can’t keep it from Mum forever but, with the way things are for her health-wise, I don’t want that little shit upsetting her.’
‘You need to tell him about Mum.’
‘No. I don’t. I can’t trust him. He won’t be able to cope and he’ll be no good to Mum.’
‘But giving him an incentive might make him sort himself out.’
‘Are you for real? He’s got an addiction. He can’t sort himself out. If it’s not coke it will be something else.’
‘Then let it be something else. Something not so harmful. Get him the help he needs.’
‘I’m through with babysitting him all the time. Making excuses. Taking responsibility for him. That’s why he’s like he is. He’s a baby. Never grown up. Always got someone else digging him out of shit.’
‘But giving him responsibility might be the making of him. Instead of treating him like the baby of the family, treat him like an equal.’
‘He’s got the stables. It’s not as if he has nothing to do.’
‘And he makes a good job of that. Let him take on more.’
‘Just shows how out of touch you are, Harry. I have to double-check everything he does over there. He doesn’t know but I’m always checking up on him, making sure he’s got the staff rota sorted, the hours covered, timesheets in, up-to-date with the vets and everything else that goes with running a stable. I can’t trust him. He needs to prove to me he can be trusted.’
‘Not that you’re a control freak or anything.’ Harry knew his brother liked to be in charge, but even by Dominic’s standards this seemed a little over the top.
‘I’m not just talking about work, though. That’s just the tip of it. What I mean is, the sooner he takes responsibility for himself, the sooner he’ll make something of himself. And don’t look at me like that; you’re just as bad as Mum. He needs tough love.’
‘You sound like Dad.’
‘Maybe that’s not such a bad thing at times.’ With that Dominic strode off back into the reception room, leaving Harry brooding over the predicament. He knew Dominic was right about a lot of things but he didn’t agree that leaving Owen to fend for himself and shutting him out of stuff was the way to go about it. And as for Dominic’s assertion that being like their father wasn’t a bad thing, well, Harry certainly didn’t agree with that.
Dominic halted at the doorway and came back over to Harry. ‘You must have a short memory. Remember the shitstorm he caused before?’
Harry’s chest tightened as he looked his brother in the eye. How could anyone forget that? Although Dominic was being rather magnanimous, as it had been Elizabeth who had been the catalyst of that shitstorm with her scheming to try to get what she wanted. All the same, he was taken aback that Dominic would bring it up. It was an unwritten agreement in the Sinclair household. No one spoke about that. Until now, it seemed. ‘Why bring that up now?’ Harry managed to say with a degree of control.
‘Because Owen is a liability and I need to make sure he doesn’t get out of control again. I know you don’t like talking about it, but what Elizabeth did to him just goes to show how susceptible he is. He’s a weak man and no one, least of all you, wants that episode dragged up again. So, when I say keep an eye on that journalist and keep Owen under control, it’s with good reason. It may not be so easy this time to keep our personal business out of the spotlight.’
Harry felt the old familiar feeling of irritation wash over him. Dominic could be dogmatic at times. Once he got an idea into his head, it was hard to get him to see it any other way. Now he had a bee in his bonnet about Steph and was trying to manipulate Harry’s thinking by dragging up the past. Harry sighed. This time he didn’t have the luxury of France for an escape.
Chapter Twelve
Conmere, Friday, 10 May, 2.00 p.m.
Steph was relieved to be back in the reception room, where she could lose herself among the other journalists and holiday reps. Even so, she kept one eye on the door, taking the stance that it was better to know where Dominic was at all times, rather than be surprised by him again. A few minutes later he came into the room, followed by Harry. The latter slunk back against the wall, while Dominic strode to the front of the room, stepping up onto the small stage.
‘If I can just have your attention one more time, please … So, ladies and gentlemen, just to let you know that you are free now to look around the grounds either on your own or on one of our guided tours. Your rooms are ready, so if you could check in over here and grab a welcome pack, you’ll see where your accommodation is. Please don’t hesitate to ask any questions, and a reminder that the restaurant will be open from six o’clock this evening. There is also a less formal restaurant situated in the Old Barn, just behind the pool house.’
Dominic smiled broadly at his guests. There was no doubt about it, he was coming across now as everything you’d expect from a successful businessman, thought Steph – eloquent, charming, but rather different to how he had been to her outside after Sonia had left. Steph cast her gaze around the room and landed on Harry. He looked the part too but there was something missing, she could see it in his eyes. It wasn’t grief, as she might have expected, even though it was two years since his wife’s death. No, it was a disconnect. It was as if he’d
rather be anywhere than where he was right then.
As Dominic left the stage, some of the guests began to head towards the check-in desk and Steph made her way over too. She wanted to get out of this room as quickly as possible and have a bit of time to herself in her accommodation. The receptionist furnished Steph with her welcome pack and handed her a key.
‘Lodge 174,’ she said. ‘That’s just behind the swimming pool.’ She circled the building on the map.
‘Thank you,’ said Steph. She took a moment to study the map and then, with as much haste as she could get away with without looking as if she was about to break into a sprint, she left the reception room, crossed the terrace and trotted down the steps towards her lodge.
‘Someone’s keen!’ another guest called out as she overtook them.
Steph looked back and gave a polite laugh but couldn’t think of anything particularly witty to say in response. She reached the foot of the steps and had to physically restrain herself from breaking into a run. She didn’t know what was wrong with her but she wanted to get as much distance between herself and the reception room as possible. As she turned the corner of the pool house, she glanced back up to the terrace. Her heart bumped hard against her breastbone. Dominic was standing on the terrace, tracking her with those piercing blue eyes of his. He tipped his head a fraction in acknowledgement.
‘Shit,’ Steph whispered to herself. Surely he couldn’t be on to her already?
The lodge she had been assigned was a one-bedroom accommodation, situated at the end of a terraced row of five other lodges which curved around the main hub of the resort, shielded by trees. Each lodge had its own courtyard at the front, with a wall separating one from the other to give some privacy. They were painted a cream colour with oak doors and window frames. She could tell just from the outside that it was high-spec. But then, she expected nothing less at Conmere.
The interior didn’t disappoint either. The door from the courtyard led into a large open-plan living room, with one wall papered with a scene from what Steph assumed was the Lake District. To the rear of the room was the kitchen, separated by a breakfast bar. A door at the back led to an outside eating area and ensured that at any given time of the day guests could sit out in the sun or the shade, as they desired.
A hallway led down to the bedroom and a large bathroom. It was all very tastefully furnished in a modern style with oak furniture throughout. The bedroom feature wall had also been papered with the landscape of a lake and hills in the background. She wondered if it was of Conmere Lake and made a mental note to ask Harry when she next saw him.
The thought stopped her in her tracks. She was surprised that she should think to ask Harry anything. She’d only had a brief conversation with him and yet she felt drawn to him. Unlike his brother, Dominic. Steph gave a shudder as she remembered how he had looked at her after she had persuaded Sonia to take the taxi home. How he had seemed convinced he knew her from somewhere.
There was no way he could possibly recognise her or even her name. Obviously, he would have met her mother when she had been the investigating officer into Elizabeth’s death, but there would be absolutely no reason why Dominic would suspect Steph was related to Wendy. She didn’t look like her mother, that was for sure, and Wendy had never taken her married name of Durham, but had instead kept her maiden name Lynch. Wendy had always maintained it was because she wanted to keep her family safe from anything that happened at work. Steph had never really bought this as she got older. She didn’t know of any other police officer who went to those lengths. On a personal level, it had felt like another barrier between her and her mother, something that stopped them ever really belonging together. Steph had always felt like her father’s daughter and never her mother’s.
A small lump lodged itself in her throat as she thought of her dad. Oh, she missed him so much. His early death several years ago had left a huge hole in her life.
‘Stop!’ she said firmly. ‘Keep it together.’ She took a deep breath and forced herself to think of something different. Sometimes it was just too difficult to remember her father, and today was one of those times.
To distract herself, Steph took her notebook from her bag and jotted down a few of her first impressions of the accommodation and then took a few photographs. Vacation Staycation didn’t have the budget for a full-time photographer and, as photography was one of Steph’s hobbies, she was always more than happy to take the pictures herself. Plus, it earned her a bit of extra money.
Next, she took a look at the schedule. Her boss had instructed her to try out as many activities as possible so she could write a complete review on the facilities. The more things the article covered, the more likely they were to get the hits online.
Steph blew out a long breath as she looked at the activities she was expected to take part in. She checked her watch, and realized she had fifteen minutes before she had to be at the health spa, where she had a session in the thalassotherapy pool booked, which would give her a chance to use the indoor pool, jacuzzi and sauna room. After that she had a massage booked and then it would be time to get ready for dinner. That was the next couple of hours taken care of anyway.
Steph changed into her swimsuit, putting her active-wear on over the top, and headed over to the health spa, where she was rewarded with a white fluffy dressing gown and pair of white slippers. She thoroughly enjoyed the two hours of pampering and couldn’t remember the last time she had been able to sit back and totally relax. It was at times like these when she loved her job.
She emerged from the massage room with her clothes in her bag and just her dressing gown on over her swimsuit. She felt so relaxed now, all she really wanted to do was go to bed, but her stomach had other ideas. The guests in her group had declared how impressed they were so far with the resort and that the recent refurbishment was stunning. Some remembered how it had been before, but, although Steph’s dad had worked for Max Sinclair, she had never visited the house with either of her parents, who had both kept strict boundaries between their personal and work life.
It was then she had a sudden, rather unsettling thought. Dominic might not associate her with Wendy because their names were different, but would he have known her father’s surname? Was that the connection he couldn’t quite pinpoint?
As Steph walked out of the pool house, she was mentally working out the probability. Durham wasn’t a particularly unusual name, but was it enough to jog Dominic’s memory? And would Dominic have even known her dad? She wasn’t sure of the timeline, but she thought her dad had passed away before Dominic had taken over. Lost in thought, she didn’t notice Harry coming the other way until she almost bumped into him.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I was miles away.’
‘That’s a shame,’ said Harry. ‘The idea of this weekend is to make you wish you were anything but miles away.’
Steph gave a small laugh. ‘I was actually working out what I was going to write for the review of the health spa,’ she said quickly.
‘All good, I hope?’
‘I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to divulge that information,’ said Steph, with a grin. ‘You’ll have to wait and see.’
‘Hmm, I guess I will. At least tell me how many marks the dressing gown gets.’
‘It’s OK. I do feel a bit One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest when I look around and there are quite a few people walking around in their dressing gowns too.’
Harry gave a snort of laughter. ‘I’m not sure that’s the image we were going for but I take your point.’ He looked her up and down. ‘Although I have to say, you are rocking the cuckoo look.’
‘I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult,’ said Steph as she felt her stomach give a little tumble at their banter.
‘Oh, it’s a compliment,’ said Harry.
‘I might just wear it for dinner tonight, in that case.’
‘You might be able to get away with it, but if it starts a trend and they all follow suit, it�
��s going to put some people off their dinner.’
They stood there grinning at each other for a moment, before self-awareness and embarrassment caught up with them both.
‘I’d better get going,’ Steph said. She waved her hand in the direction of her lodge.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Harry and then, seemingly reverting to his business-like self, ‘Is everything all right with your lodge? Is there anything you need?’
‘Everything’s fine,’ said Steph, making a conscious effort to sound professional. ‘I’m very impressed with it.’
‘Good. Right, I’ll see you later.’
‘Yes. Bye.’
Steph walked off to her lodge, cringing at herself for the flirty banter and for the feeling of embarrassment that had followed. What was she thinking, flirting with Harry Sinclair? And there was no doubt about it, he had flirted back! And, while she had to admit she did find him very attractive, she couldn’t be sure it was the same for him. Maybe he was going around and using the same sort of patter with all the female guests here this weekend? By the time Steph had reached the safety of her lodge, she was convinced she had just made an utter pillock of herself.
She had just over an hour before dinner. Perhaps it would be best if she didn’t go after all. At least that way she wouldn’t have to see Harry again today, and then if she bumped into him over the next two days she could just be very offhand and act as though what just happened hadn’t taken place.
Her stomach gave a growl of disapproval. No, this was silly. She couldn’t hide away in the lodge. It was best if she just got ready and acted professional when she next saw him. She’d make a conscious effort not to go all giggly and flirty around Harry Sinclair.
Steph looked at her clothes in the wardrobe. She had two evening outfits. A clichéd little black dress, which she had envisaged wearing tomorrow night for the gala dinner the Sinclairs were laying on for their guests, and a pair of tight black velvet trousers with a floaty chiffon top for tonight. As she wriggled herself into the trousers, another thought struck her. What if she did get close to Harry? She might be able to gain his trust a little and he might open up about Elizabeth if she asked him some questions. She was, after all, here for a reason other than just to report on Conmere Resort Centre. If she was going to find out anything more about Elizabeth Sinclair, then who better to ask than her husband? She side-swiped the little voice of warning in the back of her head that if Elizabeth had been murdered, then it was quite possibly Harry who had done it. Wasn’t it a fact that wives were more often murdered by their spouses? And yet he had been so kind and considerate to Sonia when she had gatecrashed the reception, tagging him as a murderer seemed ridiculous.
