by Sue Fortin
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Steph, genuinely appalled at the story. Whatever Camilla’s profession, a sexual assault was a sexual assault – end of.
‘Don’t feel sorry for me,’ said Camilla. ‘I’ve dealt with worse than that and worse than him.’
‘I can’t say I liked Owen very much before, but, hearing that, I thoroughly dislike him now.’
‘He’s pathetic. He’s not the one to worry about. Look, I haven’t really got anything else to tell you, other than, whatever Elizabeth was doing, whatever her reasons for blackmailing Owen, it was something big. She had a bigger agenda, I’m sure. She didn’t confide in me, but I’ve seen women like her before. They’re ambitious. They always want more than what they’ve got. And Elizabeth, she had a plan to dominate that family and there’s only one way you can do that.’
Steph looked at her expectantly, hoping Camilla was going to say more, but she didn’t. Steph took a guess. ‘Money?’
‘Not just money. Power.’
‘Power over the Sinclairs?’
‘Well done. We got there in the end.’ Camilla drained the rest of her glass. ‘I need to go. Good luck and be careful.’
‘Thanks and thank you for talking to me.’ Steph watched Camilla put on her jacket and stand to leave. ‘I hope everything works out for you. Take care.’
‘Ditto.’
Steph’s Room, Conmere House,
Tuesday, 14 May, 9.45 p.m.
Steph looked at the notebook in front of her, confident it had more secrets to yield. It was all there, she just didn’t know what she was looking for.
Camilla had been certain Elizabeth’s ambition was much bigger than just blackmailing Owen for a few pounds. From what Steph had learnt of Harry’s wife, she was of the same opinion. Elizabeth had come from nothing and wanted everything. She was an intelligent woman and wouldn’t easily be put off her quest for not just success money-wise, but for power too.
It must have something to do with Conmere; it seemed the most obvious answer … maybe something to do with the business itself. Looking at the pages with a fresh agenda, Steph slowly leafed through them, looking for anything that could relate to Conmere.
After several minutes of careful searching, Steph hit gold. It was amazing how something could be hidden in plain sight. Now she knew what she was looking for, it was there, staring right back at her. A couple of months before the last entry in the notebook and just one line, but it was there. The words ‘Comp. Hs.’, followed by a number.
‘Companies House,’ said Steph, out loud.
She called up the website of Companies House and tapped in the number. It was no surprise at all when it came back with the result of ‘Conmere Enterprises Ltd’. Steph clicked on the information, and the directors were listed as Pru, Dominic, Harry and Owen. So Harry was still a director – that was interesting. She was under the impression he had left the business, but obviously he hadn’t left it officially.
Steph returned to the notebook and paid closer attention to the entries which followed. She wasn’t sure what she was hoping to find amongst the hair appointments, birthday reminders and shopping lists, but she could feel her luck beginning to change.
The next entry which stood out was ‘Bovis & Childs. 3m. N. Meadow.’
Thank goodness for the internet. In a matter of seconds, Steph had searched for Bovis & Childs and been rewarded with a website for a local, but specialist, estate agents who dealt with ‘high-end properties’ and ‘land valuation’.
N. Meadow was probably short for North Meadow, she concluded. The following search for North Meadow took a little longer for Steph to understand, but after just a few clicks the results showed it was a parcel of land at the north of the Conmere estate. The 3m Steph assumed to be the valuation.
Steph looked at the notebook entry again. There was an arrow pointing to the words ‘one vote p/p’ and underneath that, ‘letter to BoD sent’.
BoD? Votes?
‘Board of Directors,’ she said. Elizabeth had sent a letter to the Board of Directors concerning North Meadow. Steph assumed that the other entry related to the set-up of the BoD. Each director had one vote. If only she knew what the letter had said.
She rattled her pen between her teeth, trying to put together the tiny fragments of information she’d found so far. It was impossible without the letter and the reply. She stopped rattling the pen as an idea began to form in her mind. It was risky. It was unethical. In fact, it was illegal, but it was the only way.
Chapter Thirty-One
The Office, Conmere House,
Wednesday, 15 May, 3.00 a.m.
Steph stood before the filing cabinet and asked herself if this was one of her better ideas. Suddenly it seemed way too risky. Her heart was pumping harder than it needed to and her fingertips tingled with adrenalin. It had been a long time since she had picked a lock and she wondered if she would remember how. It had been a regular challenge when she worked at the paper with Adam Baxter. Their colleague, Amelia, had been notorious in the office for her penchant for chocolate biscuits and her unwillingness to share them with anybody. So much so that she had taken to bringing in a family-sized box of biscuits and keeping them in her desk drawer. Whenever she was away from her desk, Adam or Steph always dared one another to go and pinch a biscuit without Amelia knowing. What had started off as a small joke had snowballed. One biscuit had become two, two had become three, and not just on the odd occasion Amelia left her desk, but every time. In the end, Amelia had cottoned on to the biscuit theft and had started locking her desk drawer. The challenge to pick the lock was set and soon both Adam and Steph had become experts at getting into the desk drawer.
Steph was now relying on her lock-picking skills to gain access to the filing cabinet in the office of Conmere House.
It was three o’clock in the morning and if she was caught now she’d have absolutely no excuse for being up and about, let alone in the office. Steph held the pen-light she had between her teeth, the small beam directed at the lock. Using a bent paperclip and the clip from a tiepin, bent at a right angle, she jostled with the lock. It was only a case of lining up all the pins inside the lock and then using the tiepin as a lever to turn the lock. She heard the familiar click and the drawer was open.
Steph let out a breath, pleased she hadn’t lost her touch. She pulled the drawer open and began fanning through the files. She was looking for anything to do with North Meadow or minutes from the meetings of the board of directors.
She found the minutes folder first but there was only one sheet of paper which looked like a cross-reference list – one column with a date, another with the item and the final column where they were located. Most of the minutes were held on a digital file, according to the sheet. Steph scanned down to around the date that Elizabeth had written in her notebook. As was normal, the minutes had been saved as a digital copy, but for this particular meeting there were appendices, with the word ‘SAFE’ in the filing column.
Steph looked at the cupboard on her right. She had noticed it when she was in the office with Heidi. Steph opened the cupboard door and there on the shelf was a safe, about twice the size of one of those safes found in hotel rooms. It had an electronic keypad. Steph might be able to open a filing cabinet, but that was where her abilities ended. A digital code was way above her expertise.
Damn it.
There was no way she could guess it, and, even if she tried dates significant to the Sinclairs, it would be a long shot. She turned her attention back to the filing cabinet. Maybe there was something else of interest, although she doubted it. The files held mainly mundane staff details, delivery notes and day-to-day records relating to the running of the estate. She peered into the last drop folder in the drawer, which wasn’t labelled. A small black notebook was inside. Steph picked it up and opened it to the first page. It was a list of numbers followed by either the letters A, B or C. Nothing else, just numbers and letters.
‘Really?’ said Steph, astonished at the s
implicity of it. ‘This is their code system?’ She gave a small laugh to herself. It wasn’t exactly high-tech.
Crouching down in front of the safe, she punched in the last code in the book. A green light appeared next to the keypad, followed by the sound of a click. It really was that simple. She was in the safe.
Steph gave a small gasp as she peered inside. On the bottom shelf, neatly bagged and stacked, were several piles of twenty- and fifty-pound notes. It certainly exceeded any petty cash Steph had seen before. What was it all doing in there when such a large sum would be better off in the bank? But then, that would mean having to declare it to the taxman. She couldn’t help wondering who knew about it. Conmere operated on a cash and card basis, and she suspected most of their clients would use their credit or debit card; she couldn’t imagine large amounts of cash would pass through the till, and besides, almost everything was paid for in the all-inclusive price tag.
Money laundering. The alternative crept up on her. Were the Sinclairs laundering money through the business and, if so, where from?
The idea sat uneasily with her as she considered who would know about it. She assumed Pru and all three brothers had access to the safe. She did a rough calculation of how much money was there – somewhere in the region of ten thousand pounds, she thought.
A noise from somewhere in the building startled her and she stilled, listening for another sound. Her heart beat furiously and her mouth dried. She listened even harder, but there was nothing.
Steph took a deep breath. This snooping-around lark was certainly not for the faint-hearted. She had a sudden urge to get out of the office as quickly as possible but she knew this was probably her best chance of finding something about the letter Elizabeth had sent.
On the shelf was a reef of files. Steph took them out and inspected the labels. She found the one marked ‘Minutes Correspondence’ and with shaking hands opened it and withdrew the wodge of papers. She flicked through, looking for Elizabeth’s letter. There it was, neatly printed out and addressed to the board. Steph scanned the letter, taking in the contents.
Dear Board of Directors
I would like to make an official request for a meeting with the Board of Directors of Conmere Enterprises Ltd to discuss some personal information I have in my possession relating to members of the Board which could prove detrimental to the standing of the company. I would confirm that I am willing to come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement concerning the handling of this information and trust the Board are open to discussions in this respect.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Yours faithfully
Elizabeth Sinclair
Paperclipped to the back of the letter was a reply on Conmere headed paper, signed by Pru.
Dear Elizabeth
Thank you for your letter.
The Board would be willing to meet with you on Monday 7th October to discuss the information you hold. The meeting will take place in the Boardroom at Conmere House.
We trust until such time the information will remain confidential.
Yours sincerely
Pru Sinclair
Director
Taking out her phone, Steph hurriedly took photographs of the letters. There wasn’t much to remember, but at least now she had some evidence of the correspondence, just in case the originals went missing.
She looked through the remaining papers and there, towards the bottom of the pile, was a letter from the valuers, Bovis & Childs.
Dear Mrs and Messrs Sinclair
It was a pleasure to meet with Dominic Sinclair today and to visit North Meadow, situated at the edge of the Conmere grounds.
In accordance with your instructions, we have appraised the piece of land known as North Meadow, Conmere Estate, and are pleased to enclose our valuation report herewith.
Steph scanned the rest of the letter and then skipped to the report. It was five pages, mainly dealing with the legalities and technicalities of its findings. It was the last page which interested Steph, quoting the land to be worth in excess of three million pounds if sold with the consent of planning permission for a small development of houses.
Steph checked the date of the reply – it was the day before Elizabeth had been found unresponsive in the lake. Whatever information Elizabeth had had, this must be the lesson she had been going to teach them that Cameron had mentioned. Had this letter cost Elizabeth her life?
It seemed odd that Elizabeth would be communicating in such a formal way with the Sinclairs, but maybe she wanted some sort of traceable record to be left. Perhaps Elizabeth had known she was playing a dangerous game and the written correspondence was her security? Which was all well and good if the police had been playing fair.
Steph’s heart dipped. Poor Elizabeth, she hadn’t stood a chance.
Steph took a photograph of the report. Elizabeth must have been after the land. She’d wanted North Meadow sold so she could have access to the funds. A cool three-quarters of a million pounds for each shareholder, less any costs. Steph put the paperwork back in the folder and placed all the files back on the shelf of the safe, arranging them in the same order in which she’d found them.
Taking care to make sure the safe was closed properly and everything was returned to the filing cabinet, Steph closed the drawer and with her makeshift lock picks repeated the process in reverse, leaving the filing cabinet securely shut, and with any luck no one would be any the wiser.
Her palms were sweating and all Steph wanted to do was get back to the safety of her own room. She checked her watch and was surprised to see she’d been in the office for nearly an hour. Soon the breakfast chefs would be getting up to start their shifts.
Steph gave the office a final sweep with the torch beam and, ensuring no one was about, sneaked out and back up to her room. She closed the door and let out a long sigh of relief. A dizziness washed over her and her arms, neck and face were clammy. It was probably the adrenalin rushing around her body, Steph thought. She went into the bathroom and ran the cold tap, splashing her face with the water before wetting her flannel and applying it to the back of her neck. Gradually, she felt her body temperature lower and the giddiness disappear.
As Steph brought her head up and looked at her face in the mirror, it took a moment before she realised something was wrong.
‘Shit!’ Her hand flew to her ear. One of the drop-pearl earrings was missing. She frantically looked all around the bathroom and retraced her steps back to the bedroom door, but it was nowhere to be seen. Oh, hell, what if it had fallen out when she was in the office?
Chapter Thirty-Two
Two Years Earlier,
Travelodge, Near Kendalton, 24 September, 12.30 p.m.
Elizabeth slipped back into the double bed next to Dominic, who was looking at his phone.
‘Sorry,’ he said, glancing up. ‘Just got to reply to this email. Don’t want anyone to think I’m slacking off.’
Elizabeth snuggled up to him and trailed a finger across his chest. ‘I don’t think anyone can accuse you of slacking off.’ She gave a satisfied sigh.
‘Never let it be said that I don’t give something my all.’
‘No regrets?’
He stopped tapping at the screen and looked down at her. ‘Bit late now for regrets.’
Elizabeth propped herself up on her elbow. ‘I haven’t got any, but tell me, what makes a man want to sleep with his brother’s wife?’
‘Odd sort of question.’ Dominic carried on with his email.
‘I’m just interested.’
He put the phone down. ‘Because I wanted to. Because you wanted to. It’s Harry’s problem if he can’t stop you from looking elsewhere.’
‘You’re very cut-throat about it,’ said Elizabeth.
‘Pot. Kettle.’
‘I have my reasons but they’re probably different from yours. I don’t find Harry a threat, I just find him boring.’
‘Harry – a threat? I don’t think so.’
‘Then why?’
Dominic gave an impatient huff. ‘Because he pisses me off at times, the same way he used to piss our dad off. He thinks he’s better than everyone. Even as a kid, he used to give this aura of being a bit … removed from us. Not really a Sinclair. I’m like my dad, so everyone says, and I’d be inclined to agree with them. I’ve got the business brain. I’m a tough but fair boss. I expect my staff to be loyal and I’ll treat them right. Harry never showed any interest in the business, everything was done begrudgingly, and that’s one of the reasons Dad got cross with him.’
Elizabeth had, of course, heard Harry’s side of the story and it wasn’t dissimilar. ‘Yeah, he’s said in the past that he didn’t get on with his dad and would try to spend as little time with him as possible.’
‘He just made life more difficult for himself. I hate to say it, but in that respect Owen had more brains than Harry.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Harry would go out of his way to annoy Dad, but Owen did everything he could to make sure he kept Dad happy. He kept a low profile but in a good way.’
‘Harry said your dad was heavy-handed.’
‘His reality, not mine. Sure, we used to get a clip round the ear if we were cheeky or did something wrong, and there’s nothing wrong with a bit of tough love, but Harry was so belligerent, he used to make it more difficult for himself. Once when we were getting a telling-off from the old man, we were all lined up while he was bollocking us and then he cuffed the three of us. Me and Owen weren’t stupid and kept our heads down, but Harry, he had to be defiant, and I could see out of the corner of my eye, he kept his head up. It was like a challenge to Dad. Anyway, he earned himself an extra cuff on both sides of the head for that.’
‘Your dad sounds like a bully.’
‘He was harsh, but he loved us.’ Dominic rolled over and straddled Elizabeth. ‘Anyway, no more talk of my dad or my brothers; it’s not exactly a turn-on.’ His gaze raked her body. ‘You, on the other hand …’
