by Jill Mansell
Reading her mind, Red reached for her hand. ‘I know. It’s a bugger, isn’t it? Shall I tell you something?’
‘Go on.’
‘Remember how I told you I didn’t love you? Well that was a lie.’
Maura looked down at his thin hand clasping hers, then up at his face. ‘What?’
A fleeting smile crossed his features. ‘I did love you. But I couldn’t tell you that. Because I couldn’t let it happen.’
There was probably a complicated German word for wanting to sob with relief whilst simultaneously wanting to murder someone. Although Maura already knew the answer, she said, ‘Why not?’
Maybe hearing him say it would be enough.
‘I was single, you were married. You had your fancy lifestyle, I had my unfancy one.’ He paused, then said steadily, ‘And we had your girl and my boy to consider.’
So that was it.
Maura knew she’d always been a selfish kind of person, had tended to put her own needs before others. All those years ago, she and Red had been aware of each other in an interested kind of way. Nothing had happened, but she’d always sensed that it would at some stage. She’d enjoyed the anticipation and had looked forward to the right opportunity presenting itself.
Then Didi and Shay had got together on that trip to Venice, which had put the kibosh on her happy plan. Red had withdrawn his attention and frustratingly this had made Maura want him more.
She hadn’t given up, obviously. Had continued making opportunities to bump into him. There was an almost palpable chemistry between them that she’d known wasn’t just a figment of her imagination.
It was powerful, all-encompassing and growing by the day. More than that, it was mutual.
But Red had continued to play the relationship down. ‘We mustn’t. It wouldn’t be right. Not when Shay and Didi are making a go of things.’
It was such a pointless argument. So what if her daughter and his son were currently seeing each other? They were only teenagers; it wasn’t as if their relationship was ever going to last. Yet Red had maintained that it might, which meant he’d steadfastly refused to allow anything to happen between them.
Even more annoyingly, after the burglary at the hotel, Didi and Shay had – inevitably – broken up, and just when she’d thought the way was clear at last, Red had been arrested and carted off back to jail.
It was like a fairy tale with no eventual happy ending. There’d always been some obstacle or other in the way – their children, the law, her own unhappy marriage. And it was never going to happen now. She would never know what it could have been like.
‘I definitely need that drink,’ she said. ‘Are you having one?’
‘No thanks.’ His smile was crooked. ‘See? That’s how you know I’m ill.’
In the kitchen, Maura found an unopened bottle of Cloudy Bay in the bottom of the vast American-style fridge. Spinning off the lid, she took a crystal flute down from the wall cupboard and poured herself a full glass. Then she took a couple of big swallows and topped it back up. What an unholy mess; what a lesson she’d learned from one impulsive mistake, and how she wished she’d never made it.
She gave a shudder of regret. Selfishness aside, she had always thought of herself as an essentially decent person . . . well, at least an honest one. It had been David’s fault for buying her a birthday present he should have known she wouldn’t like, from a store overseas that had no truck with returns. Despite twenty years of marriage and knowing perfectly well what she liked, he’d managed to choose a ridiculously ornate emerald necklace, the garish stones mounted in a modern tangle of too-yellow gold. It had genuinely been the polar opposite of her taste in jewellery, and she’d hated it, wearing it only once – under sufferance – before putting it back in its velvet-lined leather case and chucking it into a drawer.
Then, six months later, the burglary had happened, and although it had been completely out of character for her, the idea had arrived fully formed in her brain. The emerald necklace might be horrible, but it was worth thousands of pounds. And it was insured.
Well, why not?
Hearing herself tell the police it had been there in the safe, she’d half expected to be struck down by a lightning bolt. But nothing had happened. Everyone had believed her. She’d shown them a photo taken on the one occasion she’d worn the necklace.
She had also, needless to say, found a much safer hiding place for it than her bedside table.
In due course, the insurers paid out, but by then the guilt had well and truly kicked in. With the money, she’d bought a stunning diamond bangle, but the joy of owning it had never materialised. Each time she saw it on her wrist, it reminded her of the bad thing she’d done. But it was too late: she’d learned the hard way that crime didn’t pay, it just made you feel hideously ashamed of yourself.
Red might have been able to do it – found it fun, even – but she definitely wasn’t cut out for that sort of life.
Then, three years after the robbery, her marriage had come unstuck for good. There came a stage when you both had to admit defeat, accept that the relationship had run its course and move on. David had stayed in Elliscombe, training Didi to take over the running of the hotel, whilst Maura had found herself a beautiful apartment in Marbella Old Town and embraced the expat lifestyle. Before leaving, though, she’d come to Hillcrest to see Red.
Now, having topped up her glass for the second time, she carried it back through to the living room. She paused to take in Red’s profile against the window: the carved cheekbones, those long dark lashes, the curve of that clever mouth she’d never stopped wanting to kiss.
Sitting down next to him, she said, ‘We’ll never know who did it, will we?’ Red had always maintained it hadn’t been him, and she’d believed him.
‘Oh, I can tell you the answer to that if you want.’
She stared at him, saw a flicker of a smile. ‘You mean it was you?’
He simultaneously coughed and laughed. ‘No. But if you really do want to know, you need to keep it to yourself.’
Maura nodded; she’d had enough affairs over the years to become an expert at keeping secrets. ‘I won’t tell anyone,’ she said fervently.
‘It was Big Gav.’
‘What? Your friend?’
‘Yes.’
‘But . . . but how did he get hold of the keys to the safe?’
‘Remember Antonia?’
Maura frowned. ‘Antonia Webb?’ Antonia had worked at the hotel as head housekeeper for five years. She’d been Scottish, dour, disapproving and fond of tweed. ‘What about her?’
‘She and Big Gav had a bit of a thing going.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘I know, but it’s true. She’s the one who gave him the keys.’
‘I can’t believe that.’ Maura shook her head; you could search for years and not find anyone more prim and proper. ‘Did Gav tell you himself?’
‘Not at the time. His wife did, when she found the photos on his phone.’
Her eyes widened. ‘What kind of photos?’
‘The bondage kind. She made copies and brought them over here to show me.’ Red grimaced. ‘Not the prettiest of sights, Antonia in stockings and a basque, and Big Gav with a—’
‘Stop!’ Wine slopped over the rim of Maura’s glass as she waved her arm in protest. ‘For God’s sake, why would she even show you?’
‘Because she was mad as hell. Have you ever met Big Gav’s wife?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘She’s bloody scary. Gav was terrified of her. When she found out what he’d been up to, he dropped Antonia like a brick, couldn’t get away from her fast enough. That’s why she left the hotel.’
Maura remembered Antonia leaving suddenly, but so many hotel employees did. ‘She told us she’d been offered a fantastic promotion at a five-star in London.’
‘She got out in a hurry before Big Gav’s wife turned up and knocked her block off.’
‘Wow.’ Maura shook her head i
n wonder.
‘He came up from Cornwall last week,’ Red said easily. ‘Caught me on the TV, just like you did. It was great to see him again.’
‘But he let you take the blame for something he did!’
‘Well, these things happen. Can’t be helped. He was a dodgy guy, but then we both were. And Gav was a good mate. I only ended up back in jail because I broke the terms of my parole,’ Red reminded her. ‘That was my fault, not his.’
There it was, honour amongst thieves. Maura took another gulp of wine. ‘Is he still with his wife?’
‘He is. Still scared of her as well, I’m sure.’
‘So nothing ever happened to the photos?’
‘He knew she’d taken copies and put them somewhere. She told Gav any more funny business and she’d post them all over the internet. Kept him in check, I suppose.’
‘Do you know where they are?’
‘Certainly do.’ Red flashed that wicked smile of his. ‘They’re buried in the same airtight box as your emerald necklace.’
‘Have you been crying?’ Didi searched her mother’s face; there were telltale signs of redness beneath the freshly applied eyeliner.
‘No. Well, maybe a bit.’
‘Why? Oh my God, are you ill?’
‘Not ill. I popped in to see Red on my way here, that’s all. It’s a strange feeling, saying goodbye to someone with both of you knowing you’re never going to see each other again.’
Didi nodded. ‘I know.’ That was the thing about Red; despite being no saint, so many people thought of him with genuine affection. ‘Is that why you flew over? To see Red?’
‘Not the whole reason. I came to see you. Whenever I call you about the wedding, you tell me everything’s under control.’ Maura was giving her one of her unnerving looks now. ‘But you never raise the subject yourself. It’s as if you’re not even excited to be getting married. Most brides-to-be can’t talk about anything else. I mean, I know it isn’t a big wedding, but . . .’ She trailed off meaningfully and waited.
Oh well, at least they were in her private quarters. There was no one to overhear their conversation. Didi said, ‘There isn’t going to be a wedding. Well, there is, but I gave my booking to someone else. Aaron and I broke up.’
A slow nod. ‘But you’re still wearing the ring.’
‘I know. It’s complicated.’
‘Whose idea was it to not get married?’
‘Mine.’
‘Well, that’s something. And am I allowed to ask why?’
‘It wasn’t feeling right. He didn’t do anything wrong,’ said Didi. ‘I just don’t love him enough.’
‘I see. Anyone else you do love?’
‘No.’ But she’d said it a split second too soon.
‘Who is it?’
‘No one.’ Some daughters told their mum everything, but Didi had never been able to do that, not since the disastrous burglary and her mother’s instinctive reaction to Shay.
‘Married, I’m guessing. I’d have thought you’d have known better.’ Maura raised a disappointed – and somewhat hypocritical – eyebrow.
‘He’s not married.’
‘Not single either.’
Didi shrugged; let her think what she wanted. ‘Anyway, you won’t have to fly over for the wedding.’
‘Did you ever even buy a wedding dress in the end?’
‘No.’
‘I knew it. Oh darling, be careful. It’s all very well being a career girl and letting the hotel take over your life, but work isn’t everything. Love’s important too.’
‘I’ll be OK. I’m fine.’ This wasn’t true; the only person she loved was someone she couldn’t have. Shay was involved with Caz Holloway and she had a horrible feeling theirs was a relationship that was going to last. Caz was crazy about Shay, and why would he want to finish with someone as adorable as her?
‘You don’t look fine.’ Her mother’s gaze was frankly appraising. ‘You’ve lost weight.’
This time last year, Maura had informed her that her bum was too big. Didi said, ‘Isn’t that supposed to be a good thing?’
‘Not when it doesn’t suit you. No one likes a scrawny woman.’
Her mother had always been honest to the point of bluntness. By way of retaliation, Didi pointed at her normally flawless French manicure. ‘Nobody likes dirty fingernails either. What have you been doing, Mum? Don’t tell me you’ve taken up gardening in your old age.’
‘I was helping Red with a pot plant.’ Maura quickly hid her less-than-immaculate nails from view. With a touch of asperity she said, ‘And I’m not old, either.’
Chapter 38
‘Oh, hello!’ Harry looked taken aback when he opened the door and saw Layla on the doorstep. ‘This is a surprise.’
‘I had a meeting with a client in Cheltenham, thought I’d drop by on my way back.’ She hopped from one foot to the other. ‘I’d have called to let you know, but my phone’s died. And I’m bursting to use the loo . . . Can I come in?’
For a split second she wondered if he had another girl with him. Then he broke into a smile. ‘And there was me thinking you couldn’t wait to seduce me. Of course you can come in.’ He moved aside and Layla raced up the stairs ahead of him. As she reached the landing, she couldn’t help pausing to glance through the half-open door into his bedroom. No, of course there was no naked female in his bed; there was just a metal box lying on top of the crumpled duvet, next to an open notebook with writing on it and . . . hang on, was that her own name? She faltered, but Harry was behind her and he had a bit of a thing about privacy, plus her bladder had sensed she was within seconds of finally being allowed to pee, and once it knew that, there was no stopping it.
By the time she emerged from the bathroom two minutes later, there was no sign of either the metal box or the notebook.
‘Did I catch you in the middle of writing your diary?’ she teased Harry. Maybe he’d been saying lovely things about her.
‘Oh, you mean the blue notebook?’ He shrugged easily. ‘No, I just use it for work to keep track of my clients’ training schedules.’
But that night, lying beside him in bed, Layla found herself unable to sleep. Yesterday morning, over a coffee and a catch-up, Didi had asked to see the photo of Harry on her phone. Having studied it, she’d said with an air of triumph, ‘Yes, that’s him, I knew it. I saw him going past in a red Mercedes on Saturday evening. So he does come to Elliscombe occasionally.’
Layla had been startled. ‘Was he driving?’
‘No, he was in the passenger seat. I couldn’t see who was behind the wheel.’
‘And it was definitely him?’
‘Yes. Well, ninety-nine per cent sure.’
But when Layla had asked Harry the next day, he’d laughed and said, ‘I must have a doppelgänger, because it wasn’t me. I told you, I was up in Sheffield.’
And when he’d said that, she’d ninety-nine per cent believed him. Because he was so believable. But deep down, she’d begun to waver, and wonder, and take a metaphorical step back in order to focus more clearly on the tiny inconsistencies that over the weeks had begun to add up. Maybe it was time to acknowledge them.
In his sleep, Harry shifted his hold on her, moving his arm from around her waist and rolling onto his other side. When his breathing had settled once more, Layla slid out of bed and silently searched the room. There weren’t many places to hide something the size of the box she’d seen, and it didn’t take her long to find it, hidden in the back of the wardrobe beneath an old sports bag. It was secured with a hefty padlock. Lifting and tilting it, she could feel the notebook sliding around inside.
Returning it to its hiding place, she covered it back up. Finding the key that would fit the padlock would be a far trickier task.
She crept through to the kitchen, noiselessly slid open the junk drawer and found the spare front door key tucked between a ball of string, several pencils, assorted batteries and a penknife. When she’d got here early the other week
and been forced to wait outside for an hour until Harry arrived home from work, she’d wondered if he might give her his spare key. But he hadn’t.
Stealthily she closed the drawer and dropped the key into her shoulder bag. Seconds later, Harry’s voice called out, ‘Where are you?’
‘Just getting myself some water. I’m thirsty.’ She ran the tap and filled a tumbler. ‘Do you want one too?’
He sounded sleepy. ‘No, I missed you, that’s all. Come back to bed.’
In the morning, they left the flat together at ten to eight. Having apparently borrowed the money for his new motorbike from a friend, Harry now headed off on it and Layla crossed the road to where Will was waiting in his cab.
‘Morning.’ He smiled at her, returning his iPad to the glove compartment.
‘Hi.’ She double-checked that the motorbike was out of sight. Harry was on his way to visit a client in Chipping Camden. ‘Actually, I’ve forgotten something. I’ll be back in two minutes . . .’
‘No worries,’ said Will, unruffled.
Her hand shook as she fitted the stolen spare key into the lock. Not stolen, borrowed. Up the stairs, into the bedroom, pull out the metal security box. It was too big to fit into her handbag, which meant she’d have to put it in a supermarket carrier bag. Luckily whenever she’d brought food over here, she’d left the bags in the cupboard under the sink so they could be reused.
And now one of them was finally getting its chance.
Back downstairs, hyperventilating with the stress of what she was doing, she let herself out of the flat and hurried back to where Will was waiting with the engine running, for all the world like a getaway driver.
As she was clambering into the passenger seat, a small rip in the bottom of the plastic carrier suddenly expanded and the sharp-cornered box tumbled out onto the pavement.
‘Whoopsy!’ A woman in her sixties hurried over, picked up the box and handed it to Layla before she could reach it herself. ‘Can’t trust a plastic bag, can you? There you are!’
‘Thanks.’ Scarlet, Layla wondered if the woman lived here in Bourton. Did she know Harry, and was she likely to say something to him in all innocence?
