Barbie was still asleep, lying on her back, as far away from him as she could be without falling out of bed. Still a bit miffed at him, he supposed. She’d slept in the spare room on Monday night and as he was still mad at her he’d let her get on with it, but he’d brought her back to their own bed the following night because he’d needed sex. She’d made a fuss a first, complaining it was hurting her sore ribs, but she’d given in in the end, even seemed to enjoy it after a fashion. Not quite so much as usual, perhaps, but what the hell? She was always a bit off after a row; she’d get over it.
He leaned up on one elbow to look at her. The bruises had started to fade, but her face still looked a bit of a mess. He hadn’t meant to hit her that hard, but he reckoned she’d asked for it after deliberately disobeying his orders. It was all her fault that Terry Holland had caught up with him, threatened him and wound up ducking him in his own pool and ruining his new Hugo Boss summer suit. Still, he’d cooked old Terry’s goose for him, hadn’t he? Things were back on track, Lorraine was dead – and he, Hugo, had all that lovely money and a lot of valuable rocks to dispose of. And this morning, at ten o’clock, Sukey would be along to take the photos he’d commissioned.
Thinking of Sukey reminded him that it was important to make sure Barbie kept her shopping date. It was up to him to keep her sweet, check there was plenty of spare credit on all her plastic. He shook her by the shoulder and she opened her eyes.
‘What is it?’ she asked sleepily.
‘It’s nearly eight o’clock. How about a cuppa?’
‘Oh, all right.’ She pushed back the duvet and sat up on the edge of the bed with her back to him, reaching for her white satin robe. She stood up and put it on before slipping her feet into matching mules. Her nightdress was white satin as well. It was what he liked to see her in… and what he enjoyed taking off her. Some blokes preferred black lacy stuff, but Hugo reckoned wives should stick to white. Black – or red maybe – was OK for your bit on the side. He wondered what Sukey favoured. With luck, he’d soon be finding out.
‘Sleep well, did you?’ he asked.
Barbie didn’t look at him, but she answered quietly enough, ‘Yes, thank you,’ as she tied the sash on her robe and went over to the window to draw back the curtains. Sunlight poured into the room.
‘Going to be a nice day for your shopping trip. Got plenty of elbow room on your cards?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Catching the nine fifty train, I think you said?’
‘There isn’t a nine fifty any more, it’s ten thirty. I’ve ordered a taxi for ten past.’ She disappeared into the bathroom.
‘Shit!’ he muttered under his breath at her retreating back. He’d asked Sukey to be there by ten, thinking Barbie would be out of the way by half-past nine at the latest. As things were, there was a fair chance that the pair of them would bump into each other. He’d have to do some fast talking if that happened, but he wasn’t unduly worried. He’d bullshitted his way out of trickier spots before now. He switched on the radio and settled back onto the pillows. When Barbie emerged from the bathroom a minute or two later he was lying there with his eyes closed, a picture of a man entirely at his ease.
‘I’ll go and get the tea now,’ she said.
‘Great.’
‘You know something,’ he said when she reappeared with the tray. ‘I fancy a dip in the pool before breakfast.’ He drank his tea and held out the cup for more. ‘On second thoughts,’ he went on, almost thinking aloud, ‘I’ll have half an hour in the sauna first, then a swim and a shower. That’ll set me up for the day’s work… and the night’s fun, eh, girl?’ With his free hand, he reached out and squeezed her bottom as, having refilled his cup, she sat down on the edge of the bed. Her own cup rattled in its saucer.
‘Careful, you’re making me spill my tea,’ she said. He noticed that her hands were shaking slightly.
‘Sorry. Just nip down and switch the sauna on for me, there’s a good girl. Usual setting.’
‘All right.’ She put her untouched tea back on the tray and went out.
‘I’ll have breakfast after me swim,’ he told her when she came back. ‘Just make me some coffee first. Hot, strong and sweet – you know how I like it.’
‘All right,’ she said again.
‘That’s my girl.’ He was glad she’d got over her sulks.
He stayed in bed and listened to the radio while she had her shower. She took her time, but there was no rush. The sauna needed thirty minutes or so to warm up. When she came out of the bathroom she was wearing the satin robe again and smelling of some of the expensive body lotion he’d given her recently. Apart from the marks on her face, she looked pretty appetising. If there had been time, he’d have dragged her back into bed.
‘I’ll go and make your coffee now,’ she said. ‘I’ll get dressed later.’
‘Cheers! With you in a few minutes.’
When he went downstairs he found her in the kitchen, drinking orange juice. On the table was a tray with a mug, a sugar basin and a jug of coffee.
‘Are you going to have that here or by the pool?’ she asked.
‘By the pool, I think. Too good to be indoors this morning, innit?’
He wandered into the sitting room, slid back the patio doors and stepped outside, flexing his arms and taking a few deep breaths. Barbie followed him with the tray, put it on the table and poured coffee into the mug. She stirred in two large spoonfuls of sugar and handed it to him.
‘Ta.’ He took a mouthful, swallowed, took another. ‘Boy, that’s good.’ He strolled along the edge of the pool, mug in hand, admiring his property. The light seemed perfect for photography. Not that he knew much about it. He’d get Sukey to teach him – and then maybe he could teach her a thing or two.
Behind him, Barbie called, ‘I’m going to get dressed now, and then I’ve got a few things to see to before I leave.’
‘That’s OK, there’s nothing else I want for the moment.’
She went back indoors and Hugo checked the sauna. Not quite up to temperature yet. Never mind, it was only a quarter to nine. He’d spend twenty minutes or so in the heat, swim a few lengths of the pool and then have a quick shower, there was plenty of time. It was pleasant out here in the early morning sunshine. He refilled his mug with coffee, drank it, settled down in a chair and closed his eyes. Conscious of a faint movement close at hand, he opened them again. He sat up, scowling, as he recognised the newcomer.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ he demanded.
‘I want to talk to you… privately.’
‘You’ve got a bleeding nerve. I’ve got nothing to say to you.’
‘But I’ve got one or two things to say to you.’
‘I’m not listening.’ Hugo got up and entered the sauna cabin. ‘Just piss off and don’t ever show your face here again,’ he shouted as he slammed the door behind him. It was a bad start to the promising little programme he’d planned for the morning.
It was getting hot in the sauna. Much too hot. Hugo’s head was swimming and his heart pounding; his entire body had become lethargic and heavy. He must have dozed off and stayed too long in the heat. His parched mouth was desperate for water, his body running with sweat. Dimly aware that he had slumped against the wall of the cabin, he struggled to a sitting position and tried to stand up. His knees buckled and he lurched forward and fell, striking his head on the door. Panic set in. The consultant’s advice and the warning signals that he had so lightly dismissed were like burning darts taunting his befuddled brain. He was being roasted alive… he must get out of this oven… out of this soundproof box where his calls for help would go unheeded… into the air… fresh air… dear God let me breathe sweet fresh air again. He managed to struggle into a kneeling position and reached up, blindly groping for the handle. His outstretched fingers touched it, closed round it, gave it a feeble downward tug. It moved a fraction, but not enough to unfasten the latch. His hand was slippery with sweat and his grip failed. H
is strength was ebbing by the second, the blood was boiling in his veins, his head was a raging inferno. The dim light in the cabin seemed to blaze like a bonfire that engulfed him, consumed him… and sent him sliding at last into oblivion.
Gary’s house – Sukey still thought of Hugo Bayliss as Gary even though she now knew his real name – was in the Charlton Kings area of Cheltenham. Had he lived on her own patch, she doubted whether she would have agreed to his suggestion. If by an unlucky chance her visit had coincided with a burglary in the neighbourhood she would have risked being spotted by one or more of her police colleagues and questions might have been asked. She could hardly admit to moonlighting and it certainly wouldn’t do much for her relationship with Jim Castle if she gave as her explanation an invitation to share a sauna or a dip in the private pool of a handsome and wealthy businessman who had picked her up in one of his health clubs.
She calculated that the journey would take twenty minutes, but decided to allow half an hour to be on the safe side. At nine thirty, after making sure all the doors and windows in the house were locked and checking that she had everything she was likely to need in the capacious pockets of her denim jacket, she opened the garage, got in the car and switched on the ignition. The starter motor churned energetically, but the engine failed to respond. Normally, it fired first time. She tried again, jabbing her foot impatiently on the throttle. Nothing. She turned the key a third time, and a fourth. Still no response.
‘I don’t believe it!’ she exclaimed aloud through gritted teeth. ‘I just… don’t… believe it!’ She got out of the car in a fury, slamming the door behind her.
Her next-door neighbour emerged and called a cheerful ‘Good morning!’ He was a pleasant, sandy-haired individual who had recently moved in with his wife and two small children.
‘What’s good about it?’ said Sukey crossly.
‘Something wrong?’
‘My car won’t start,’ she replied despondently. ‘I’ve got an important appointment at ten – I’ll have to call a taxi.’
He stepped over the low fence separating their front gardens. ‘Let’s see if I can help.’
‘Would you? I know it needs a service, but I’ve never had this trouble before.’
He got into the car and sniffed. ‘I think you’ve flooded the carburettor.’
Sukey grimaced. Why hadn’t she thought of that? ‘You’re probably right. I was in a hurry and—’
He grinned. ‘Too much throttle. I know – we’ve all done it at some time or other.’ His tact made her feel better, less like a novice who had only just passed her test. He got out of the car, helped her to push it out of the garage and lifted the bonnet. ‘Yep, that’s your problem. Give it a few minutes to evaporate and then it should start OK. Not too much gas, remember!’
She gave him a grateful, if slightly embarrassed smile. ‘I’ll remember. Thank you so much.’
‘No trouble.’ He hopped back across the fence, got out his own car and drove off, leaving Sukey to wait and fume as the minutes ticked past. Her prospective client had not struck her as the kind of man who appreciated being kept waiting, even for a short time, and there was no way she was going to be there by ten o’clock. She was not particularly superstitious, but it crossed her mind that Fate was warning her that what she was doing was ill-advised in more ways than one. She’d had reservations from the beginning. Maybe she should just phone and cancel the arrangement. The trouble was, she didn’t have his home number. Then she told herself not to be stupid, closed the bonnet lid and got back into the car. She held her breath as she turned the key, this time more cautiously. As if it had never given any trouble in its life, the engine turned over and fired first time. From that moment, Fate seemed to give up on being perverse and obstructive and became positively obliging. Gaps appeared in the traffic and red lights changed to green at Sukey’s approach. When she reached her destination, she was only a few minutes late.
The Bayliss residence was in a private road, set well back behind a tall laurel hedge. It had a semi-circular drive flanked at either end by a pair of white stone pillars, each pair adorned with the words ‘The Laurels’ in painted black letters. Not a very imaginative name, thought Sukey as she swung the wheel, parked the Astra behind the hedge and went to the front door. The house was white and, like the pillars at the entrance, appeared freshly painted. It was built in a neo-Georgian style, with sash windows below which multicoloured petunias sprouted from window boxes concealed by little wrought-iron balconies. There was more wrought iron in the form of a gate in the white stone wall which linked the main building to a large double garage.
Before Sukey reached the front door, which was approached by a low flight of stone steps, it was opened by a woman wearing a stylish dress and jacket of flowered silk with a small hat in the same material. The white kid gloves that she held in one hand and the white leather purse dangling by a gilt chain from one shoulder suggested that she was on the point of going out. At the sight of Sukey, she appeared disconcerted. ‘I thought you were someone else,’ she said. Her eye went to the Astra and back again. ‘I heard a car and I thought it was the taxi,’ she went on.
‘I have an appointment with Mr Bayliss for ten o’clock,’ Sukey said. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve kept him waiting, my car was playing up.’
‘An appointment? With my husband?’ The woman looked flustered. Her lacquered fingertips moved from her gold necklet to the matching earrings just visible under her carefully coiffured blonde hair, as if she was reassuring herself that they were still in place. ‘He didn’t say nothing… anything to me.’
‘He asked me to do a series of photos of your house and garden. He said you wanted them.’
The woman seemed even more bewildered. ‘He didn’t say,’ she repeated. She spoke with the same compressed vowels and the slightly nasal tone of voice as her husband. ‘I don’t know nothing… anything about it.’
‘Perhaps he wanted it to be a surprise for you,’ said Sukey.
The smile that greeted the suggestion, and the tone in which Mrs Bayliss replied, ‘I dare say he did’, held a trace of weary cynicism, as if she was unimpressed by the excuse offered for her presence by this unexpected – and clearly unwelcome – visitor. It tended to confirm Sukey’s own impression that ‘Gary’ was a womaniser, something that could well have caused trouble between him and his wife in the past… quite possibly the very recent past, judging by the bruising round the eyes, only partially concealed by dark sunglasses, and the discoloration on the cheekbones that was clearly visible despite the careful make-up.
‘My husband’s not here,’ Mrs Bayliss said. ‘He must’ve forgotten you was… were coming. There’s no point in waiting, I’m sorry.’ She spoke hesitantly at first, then with nervous haste. She was plainly relieved when a taxi turned into the drive and pulled up, leaving the engine running. ‘Won’t be a minute!’ she called to the driver. She ran into the house, pushing the door to behind her as if to make it quite clear that Sukey was not to be admitted. Emerging a minute or two later, she shut it with a bang, brushed past Sukey and got into the cab. As it moved away, she wound down the window and repeated, ‘There’s no point in waiting.’
‘Well, sod that for a waste of time,’ Sukey muttered irritably. She was on the point of going back to the car when it occurred to her that Mrs Bayliss, suspicious of her husband’s motive in inviting a strange woman to the house, might have deliberately lied to her. ‘Gary’ might be there all the time, unaware that she had arrived. From one point of view, this might be no bad thing. She had started out with certain misgivings and the encounter with Bayliss’s wife offered the perfect excuse to call the whole thing off. On the other hand, the streak of stubbornness in her nature that had seen her through far more serious setbacks than this made her reluctant to give up that easily. After a moment’s hesitation, she climbed the steps to the front door and pressed the bellpush.
There was no movement inside the house. She rang again with the same result. She cou
ld hear the sound of the bell quite distinctly; anyone indoors could not fail to hear it. It seemed, after all, that she had come on an abortive errand. She would have to find the money for Fergus’s school trip some other way. She was halfway back to the car when she remembered the side entrance to the garden. Perhaps ‘Gary’ was waiting for her there, out of earshot of the doorbell. She tried the latch on the gate, found it unfastened and went through.
A short passage between the house and the garage gave on to a paved area dotted with stone containers overflowing with flowering shrubs. A fair-sized swimming pool, surrounded by an assortment of luxury garden furniture, lay in the angle created by a single-storey extension which, Sukey guessed, had been built to accommodate the changing rooms, shower and sauna of which the owner had boasted. The smooth water glistened in the sunshine like pale blue satin and beyond it was a wide, velvety green lawn fringed by trees and herbaceous borders. At the far end, a summer house nestled in the shelter of another tree-lined boundary behind which rose the distant backdrop of the Cotswold Hills. No neighbouring houses were visible; the overall effect was one of total seclusion and considerable affluence. Sukey figured that Bodywise Systems must be doing very well indeed. There was no sign of life and no response to her call of, ‘Is anyone there?’ Mrs Bayliss had obviously been telling the truth after all.
It crossed her mind that if she went ahead and took some pictures, she could show them to ‘Gary’ next time she saw him at the health club. He might, of course, pretend they were not exactly what he wanted and try to persuade her to make another appointment, which would confirm her suspicions of an ulterior motive. And if he wouldn’t come across with the money, all she stood to lose was a roll of film and the cost of processing it.
Death at Hazel House Page 12
