Wicked Beauty

by Susan Lewis

  ‘Hello, is Katherine there?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ he answered. ‘Who’s speaking, please?’

  ‘It’s uh … Just a friend. I’ll call back.’ Before he could say any more she rang off.

  So what conclusions was she going to torment herself with now, she wondered angrily. No Tim and no Katherine. Did that mean they were together somewhere, sharing out the spoils of whatever corrupt enterprise they were engaged in? Was she seriously going to put herself through that on the morning after his election victory, when his future couldn’t be more dazzling, or his need for scandal less vital? When she believed totally in his love, and had just heard another man altogether answer Katherine Sumner’s phone, no doubt because Katherine herself had popped out for bagels? So maybe the most sensible idea right now would be to pull herself together, slip into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and go downstairs to find out what her visitors wanted.

  Twenty minutes later she walked into the conservatory where the two men were sitting amongst the plants, either side of a small mosaic-topped table, apparently absorbing the garden’s early summertime colours. ‘I’m sorry to have kept you,’ she said, her voice sounding perfectly natural as she tried to gauge from their appearance who they might be. ‘Did we have an appointment?’

  ‘Mrs Hendon.’ The taller and bulkier of the two stretched out a hand as he got to his feet. ‘William Haynes. I’m sorry to barge in on you like this.’

  She shook his hand, feeling the warmth of it enclose the iciness of hers.

  ‘George Flynn,’ the other man told her.

  She took the hand Flynn was offering, and met his sober grey eyes with a cautious stare. A sixth sense was telling her who they were, and she was now prepared to give anything not to have stepped into this glass prism, where the many shards of light were like a maniacal display of her inner fears.

  ‘We’re from the 17 Division,’ Haynes informed her. ‘We have a few questions we’d like to ask you.’

  A buzzing started in her ears: 17 was the Specialist Operations division assigned to Westminster. But now? The morning after an election win? His enemies really knew how to play their hand.

  ‘Shall we sit down?’ Haynes suggested. He was indicating a chair, as though he were the host.

  Obediently she perched on the edge of it, then her anxiety doubled as Flynn went to close the kitchen door before coming to sit down too. Obviously, whatever they had to say wasn’t for Winnie’s ears, which wasn’t so surprising, it was just … unnerving.

  Haynes folded his hands on the table and waited for her to look at him. ‘When did you last see, or speak to your husband?’ he asked in a neutral tone.

  Rachel’s heart jolted. ‘Why?’ she countered, trying not to run with the thoughts that were already terrifying her half out of her wits. ‘Where is he? What’s happened?’

  ‘Please, just answer the question.’

  She stared at him hard, wanting to refuse, but knowing she couldn’t. ‘I spoke to him on the phone, at about two-thirty this morning,’ she said.

  ‘And where were you at the time?’

  ‘I was here. Tim was still at the celebrations.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I could hear them going on in the background.’ Her eyes darted between the two men. ‘Please tell me what this is about,’ she said, politely but firmly. ‘Why are you …?’

  ‘You say you were here at two-thirty,’ Haynes interrupted. ‘Did you go out at all after?’

  ‘No!’ she cried, shocked by the question.

  His tone became almost apologetic as he said, ‘We’re just trying to get things straight, make sure we know where you were.’

  She blinked, and felt her heartbeat jar against another onrush of dread. ‘I was here,’ she said shakily. ‘Now obviously there’s a reason for these questions, so please tell me what it is.’

  She was staring at them with harsh, yet fearful eyes, waiting for one of them to speak, but for the moment neither did. She tried hard to muster some calm, to find a way of dealing with this that was less defensive and antagonistic, because it wasn’t helping. She couldn’t think why she was behaving this way, for she had nothing to hide, but she was terrified that Tim did.

  ‘Where’s my husband?’ she demanded. ‘Do you know where he is?’

  Haynes’s gaze wavered towards Flynn, but came back before reaching him. ‘Mrs Hendon,’ he said quietly, ‘is there a member of your family you can call? Someone who lives nearby?’

  Rachel’s heart stopped beating. She knew very well why that question was asked, and she wanted this to end now, before anyone said any more.

  ‘Perhaps we can make the call for you,’ Flynn offered.

  ‘What’s happened!’ she suddenly shouted. ‘Where is he? Just tell me where he is.’

  Haynes’s face had turned a shade paler. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs Hendon,’ he said, ‘but your husband is … dead.’

  The breath left her body as shock struck her a staggering blow. But no, she hadn’t heard right. She couldn’t have. Her hands went up, as though to protect her from any more, but the words were there in her head and she couldn’t get them out again. She stared at Haynes. She tried to speak but no sound came out. Then it was as though her brain stopped functioning as it should. It was slow, tangential and so full of horror that it was impossible to think. ‘What are you talking about?’ she finally managed. ‘Was there an accident?’ Before anyone could answer she continued. ‘He’s just won an election. Last night. You must have seen it on the news.’

  Haynes’s regret was apparent as he looked at her.

  She looked back, then suddenly she was pressing her hands to her head. ‘He can’t be dead!’ she cried. ‘It’s just not possible. Don’t you know who he is?’ She spun away from Haynes as he tried to reach her. ‘I’m telling you, he’s not dead,’ she shouted, backing into the plants. ‘He’s not dead.’

  ‘We should call someone from your family,’ Haynes insisted. ‘If you could give us the number …’

  ‘I’ll get it from the housekeeper,’ Flynn said quietly, and left the conservatory to go back inside.

  Rachel’s eyes moved from nothing to nothing. Her head was pounding hard, but it was as though it was happening to somebody else. Haynes came up to her and put his hands on her shoulders. She looked at him strangely, then allowed him to lead her back to the chair.

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ he told her earnestly.

  Her pale, dry lips opened, then hung loosely apart as in her mind’s eye she saw Tim through the crowd last night, his eyebrows raised in that small, familiar gesture they shared to convey their love when it couldn’t be spoken. That was the last time she’d seen him. She closed her eyes as a terrible emotion wrenched at her soul. Please God no, that couldn’t be the last time she’d ever see him.

  ‘Mrs Hendon?’

  Her vision half focused on Haynes. ‘How?’ she said. ‘Was it the car? He shouldn’t have been driving …’

  ‘It wasn’t the car.’

  She looked away, then back at him, and wanted to beg him to say he was lying. That he’d come here about something else entirely, and she was misunderstanding …

  ‘Your husband was … shot,’ he said, awkwardly. ‘In the head.’

  Rachel sat very still, unable to move. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. She had to make herself wake up …

  Haynes was speaking again. She watched his lips, but it was a moment before she registered what he was saying.

  ‘… so we need to be clear about where you were between two-thirty and six o’clock this morning,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’ Her voice was like the dry clatter of a stone falling to the ground. Then realizing why, her head started to swim. ‘You think I …’ She couldn’t say the word, she just couldn’t.

  He had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘I’m afraid I have to ask,’ he said.

  She looked out at the garden and felt a dreadful numbness spr
eading through her like a fog. There were a hundred questions she should be asking, dimly she knew that, but she couldn’t think what they were. He was dead! Someone had killed the man she loved more than her own life. ‘I was here,’ she said, her voice croaking with the strain of holding back. ‘I left the party around two and came straight here. I don’t have an alibi.’

  ‘Why did you leave so early?’

  Her eyes were wide and staring again as she thought about the baby. Then she was picturing how Tim’s face would look when she told him he was going to be a father. His laughter and tenderness, his shouts of joy and pride … It all felt so suddenly real that it might actually have happened. Then from a place that seemed strangely remote from their surroundings, she could hear a sound like an animal wailing. Her shoulders were shuddering, and great racking sobs started to choke her.

  ‘It’s all right, Mrs Hendon,’ Haynes assured her, putting a hand out to steady her. ‘You don’t have to do this now.’

  Behind her Flynn opened the door, then closed it again quietly. ‘Your sister’s on her way,’ he told her.

  Haynes was passing her a handkerchief. ‘Can we get you something?’ he offered. ‘Water? Maybe something a little stronger?’

  ‘The housekeeper’s making some tea,’ Flynn told him.

  ‘We’re going to the Virgin Islands on Sunday,’ Rachel said drying her eyes. She gazed out at the weeping ash that bowed over the small, flagstone patio. She must remember to fill up the birdbath, and reset the sprinklers to water the beds every day before they left. ‘We’ve rented a villa. We want to be private.’ She didn’t know what she was saying. All she knew was that the world was trying to trick her because it still looked the same, even though it was another place now, one she didn’t want to be in, ever.

  ‘Where does the sister have to come from?’ she heard Haynes saying quietly to Flynn.

  ‘Primrose Hill. She shouldn’t be long.’

  ‘You don’t have to wait,’ Rachel told them.

  Neither man attempted to move. After a while she became aware of some kind of commotion going on elsewhere in the house, but only later did she learn from Lucy that it was officers from the Anti-Terrorist Branch, searching Tim’s study and removing most of the contents. It was just a precaution, they’d insisted, but it had to be taken.

  Winnie bustled in with a tray of tea. ‘I make toast as well,’ she told them tersely. ‘Mrs Tim have no breakfast. She hungry.’ Whether she had any idea why Haynes and Flynn were there Rachel didn’t know, but the strain in her sallow cheeks showed that she was aware something wasn’t right. As she set the tray down the smell of the toast wrenched so hard at Rachel’s stomach that she only just made it to a flowerpot in time.

  After taking the water and towel Winnie fetched from the kitchen, she watched the portly old woman leave again, then turned her gaze back to Haynes.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, exhaustion cracking her voice.

  ‘It’ll be the shock,’ he told her.

  She nodded and sat down. She didn’t know what else to do.

  Haynes spooned sugar into her tea then passed the cup. ‘It might help,’ he said.

  She took it but didn’t drink. ‘Where is he?’ she said. ‘I have to see him.’

  ‘Of course. As soon as the coroner’s finished.’

  Coroner! Oh please God, please, this wasn’t happening. ‘You said he was shot,’ she said.

  Haynes nodded.

  ‘Where? How?’

  ‘In the head,’ Haynes repeated.

  It wasn’t what she’d meant, and she flinched, almost as though she’d been shot too. She stared at him, her eyes glittering with tears. The image in her mind was so devastating she doubted she could handle any more. ‘Where did it happen?’ she asked.

  She turned round as the doorbell rang, so missed the glance Haynes threw at Flynn.

  She could hear voices in the hall, then the door opened and Anna was there, her face almost as white as Rachel’s.

  As they embraced, Anna’s husband, Robert Maxton, introduced himself to Haynes and Flynn. He was a slight, wiry man with large brown eyes, receding hair, and a manner that exuded enough confidence for Haynes and Flynn to appear relieved to have another man on the scene.

  ‘When did it happen?’ Robert asked.

  ‘We think some time around five or six this morning,’ Haynes answered.

  ‘Do you know who? Or why?’

  Haynes glanced at Rachel. ‘Not yet,’ he answered.

  ‘Where did it happen?’ Robert said.

  ‘At a flat in Kensington.’

  Hearing Rachel groan, Robert put a hand on her arm. ‘Katherine’s?’ Rachel said.

  Haynes’s expression showed sympathy for her distress. ‘If you mean Katherine Sumner, then yes, it was a flat she was renting,’ he confirmed.

  Robert looked at him. ‘And what about Katherine?’ he asked. ‘Where is she?’

  Haynes shook his head. I’m afraid we don’t know. Her clothes are still there, but her personal effects, wallet, passport …’ Again he shook his head. ‘I’m afraid she’s disappeared.’

  Rachel pressed her hands in tighter to her face. ‘Oh God, Anna, I can’t stand this,’ she sobbed. ‘I just can’t stand it.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Anna shushed, pulling her back. She turned to Haynes, her dark eyes showing confusion. ‘You are looking for her, I take it,’ she said.

  ‘Of course,’ he replied.

  ‘What about witnesses? Did anyone see or hear anything?’

  ‘It’s still very early in the investigation,’ Haynes reminded her. Then somewhat cryptically added, ‘At this stage we’re ruling nothing out.’

  Anna was about to speak again when someone rang the doorbell. A moment later Winnie could be heard shouting over a chorus of other voices.

  ‘I would imagine,’ Haynes said, glancing at his watch, ‘that the press has got hold of it. We kept it back as long as we could.’

  ‘I should go and help her,’ Flynn said.

  After he’d gone, Haynes turned to Rachel. ‘We can take you away from here,’ he told her. ‘We have places where the press won’t find you. Your sister and her family can come too.’

  Rachel hardly heard what he was saying.

  The door opened and Lucy came in. Her small face looked pinched and uncertain, the redness of her eyes showed she’d been crying. She handed the phone to Rachel saying something that Rachel wasn’t quite hearing. Then understanding, Rachel put the phone to her ear.

  She listened dutifully to the voice at the other end, and gave the answers that seemed to be required, though not much of what was being said managed to penetrate her mind, except she was dimly aware that maybe she should feel heartened to learn that their leader had such confidence in Tim’s integrity as a politician, if not as a husband. Later she would feel intense anger at the assumption of an affair, and of the careful manipulation that seemed to be pushing her towards admitting it was no more than that. But for the moment, the fear and magnitude of what she was facing now was making it hard to feel anything, beyond the utter disbelief and devastation of the loss – or even to recognize the subtle warning that she was very probably about to be ostracized even by those her husband had considered friends.

  When the call was over she handed the phone back to Lucy and turned to Haynes as he spoke her name. Was he really going to subject her to questioning now? She supposed he had to, and she could feel herself resisting. A voice of utter despair and denial was crying out inside her. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. He wanted to know about Tim’s relationship with Katherine. What could she tell him? What did she really know?

  Robert put an arm around her and she leaned gratefully against him. ‘There was no relationship,’ she heard herself say. ‘At least not in the sense you mean it.’

  Haynes said, ‘Then in what sense?’

  She closed her eyes and allowed herself to sink deeper into the comfort of Robert’s reassuring presence. She so desperately di
dn’t want to do this now. Why wouldn’t Haynes just go away and never come back? Almost without thinking she began apologizing to Robert for making him come here when he had other much more pressing commitments elsewhere in London – a cast of actors, a crew, a schedule that come what may had to be met. As she spoke she was wishing she could plunge herself into the fiction of his world, lose herself in the fantasy rather than deal with the brutal reality of her own.

  The door opened and Flynn put his head in. To Haynes he said, ‘Bartle and his team are here.’ Then to Robert, ‘Can I have a word?’

  After Robert had left with Flynn Rachel turned back to Haynes, who was still sitting at the table. ‘Their relationship was purely professional,’ she said.

  ‘Then maybe you could tell me about that,’ he said.

  Going to the table, she sat down opposite him and clenched her hands in front of her. ‘You think Katherine did it, don’t you?’ she said.

  ‘Do you?’ he countered, his eyes fixed unerringly on hers.

  ‘Was anyone else at the flat?’

  ‘Not that we know of, at this stage.’

  Her eyes fell away.

  ‘Do you know of any reason why Katherine Sumner might have done it?’ he prompted.

  She looked at him again. ‘No,’ she said. ‘None whatsoever.’

  Beside her Anna only blinked.

  Chapter 2

  SIR THOMAS KELSEY put down the phone and stared hard at the woman seated opposite him. His pale grey eyes were unfocused as he absorbed the information he’d just been given, while his long, bony fingers ran a path over his down-turned mouth. They were in his private office at Vauxhall Cross, in the building some called Ceaucescu Towers. As one of the most senior ranking officers of this intelligence unit he had just been given the task of monitoring, not conducting, the investigation into Tim Hendon’s murder. It was going to be an extremely delicate operation, which was clearly going to require the utmost discretion and careful handling that his agents were trained to provide. Already he knew who he would call upon; he was now merely deciding how much to tell them before they began.