by Jill Barry
“Thank you. What I really need to know is whether you’ve had contact with Mr and Mrs Deacon’s house sitter since viewing their property.” Bethan’s words tumbled out in a rush. “I’m talking about Ruth Morgan.”
“In a word, yes,” said Jalil. “We had a chance encounter with the lady and her gentleman escort at our hotel that evening.” He hesitated. “I don’t feel comfortable in disclosing details of the conversation that took place in the bar, Bethan. I wouldn’t risk my integrity by revealing information regarding anyone’s health issues, whether they were genuine or as perceived by a third party.”
Health issues! “I understand,” said Bethan. “Please forgive me, Mr Sarani, but I have certain suspicions. If proved accurate, there could be serious repercussions.”
“You have my full attention.”
“Could I enquire whether whatever you heard from Ms Morgan caused Mrs Sarani to ring BCB and check whether the vendors might be likely to change their minds about selling?”
Again, he hesitated. Bethan waited, anxiously chewing the end of a stray strand of hair.
“I have to say, yes, it did. But this disclosure is strictly confidential and, all in all, events conspired to make us decide to let the dust settle. Off the record, my wife and I were somewhat nonplussed by the house sitter’s attitude towards the sale. We received mixed messages. On that basis, I’m afraid we would be highly unlikely to make an offer on the property.”
Bethan closed her eyes.
“We very much like that house, Bethan. But as you know, we’re in no particular hurry. Your office of course has us on the mailing list so you may yet find us parachuting onto your patch.”
“I do hope so, Mr Sarani. Please give my regards to your wife.”
Bethan closed the call, her feelings a mix of anger, regret and satisfaction. She called Ray Kirby straightaway.
“You caught me cracking open a bottle.”
She grinned. “I forgot to visit my wine merchant on the way home.”
“That’s tough. Since you’ve already responded to my email, I imagine something else has happened?”
She gave him a swift précis of her conversation with Mr Sarani, referring to him as a prospective house purchaser.
Ray gave a low whistle. “That’s pretty conclusive, though I appreciate whoever it was wouldn’t wish to give a verbatim report of that cosy little chat.”
“I wouldn’t want to urge him to contact Mr and Mrs Deacon, that’s for sure. As you know, this is an extremely delicate situation but clearly Morgan has put the boot in.”
“At least we know there really is cause for concern and your speculation has substance.”
“So, do I now go to the Deacons and reveal all? Or do I allow enough rope in the hopes that a certain person might hang herself?”
“You could take the easy option and wait until I’ve brought Claudia to see the house.”
“I just don’t trust Ruth Morgan, Ray. What if she finds out about your visit and pulls out all the stops to put you off?”
“That’s not going to happen, Bethan. My card is clearly marked and, in any case, she has to be running out of stunts. I don’t want to tell you how to do your job but have you alerted your staff? Made sure they don’t divulge information about future viewings? I wouldn’t put it past Morgan to ring your office and get all pally with one of your admin people.”
“I’ve instructed that anyone who calls regarding The Sugar House, whoever it might be, is put through to me or asked to leave a number so I can ring back.”
“Excellent, Miss Moneypenny.”
“You sound more Billy Connelly than Sean Connery. Anyway, isn’t it time Miss Moneypenny became a Ms?”
“Nope. I’m an old-fashioned kind of guy.” He chuckled into Bethan’s ear, making her smile. “So, any news of the Deacons returning?”
“Not so far. I have to carry out a valuation the other side of Three Roads tomorrow so I plan to call on my way back. See if anyone’s home. Make sure no taps have been left running in the bathroom, etc. Mind you, Ms Morgan would have to pick up the tab if she pulled that trick.”
She heard him click his tongue.
“Just watch your back, Bethan. I imagine you have safety procedures regarding being on your own when you’re out of the office?”
“Well, of course. You’re thinking of poor Suzy Lamplugh, aren’t you?”
“Now you mention it, yes, although that was a long time ago and this is an entirely different situation. However, I’m not at all sure we’re dealing with someone operating on all cylinders. I really need to do some research.”
“On mental health issues?”
“Nah. Something’s been niggling at me ever since I met this lady. I’ll get a colleague to check it out. Have you ever heard of a Julia Hayes?”
Bethan thought. “I don’t think so. Should I have?”
“I’ll explain when I see you. It could be nothing.”
“Anyway, Ray, what if I text you after I leave? Ms Morgan might not even be there but obviously I’ll alert the office as to my progress after the valuation.”
“Okay. If we don’t speak again, I’ll see you on Saturday at high noon.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re enjoying all this?”
She waited two beats. Sometimes he liked to take his time before responding.
“I think we make a good team.”
Ruth still smarted from Suzanne’s flip comment when making her brief phone call the evening before. You can get your things together and return to Rock Cottage after breakfast! What kind of an attitude was that? Even Ruth’s offer to stock up with fresh vegetables and whatever other items their highnesses might require, met with a negative response, Suzanne simply stating their intention of stopping to do a big shop on the way through Abergavenny.
Ruth had completed a tour of the house, checking everything was in order. She’d stripped her bed but, with a flash of malice, dumped the used linen in the John Lewis laundry basket. Her original offer to wash the bedding hadn’t seemed to impress Suzanne. Thoughts of retaliation simmered and seethed. She was annoyed because the Deacons hadn’t allowed her sufficient time to prepare an appropriate welcome home calamity. She’d originally intended to devise a situation to dismay the couple and allow her to ride to the rescue, thereby basking in the resulting sunshine. She’d been caught on the hop.
The amethyst and turquoise necklace was back in the jewel box. The frock she felt fitted her shape so well, and which she’d worn to meet Huw at the hotel, dangled, spineless, from a rail in Suzanne’s walk-in wardrobe. All empty wine bottles, including a couple discarded by Eddie in the kitchen bin, were placed in her car boot, destined for recycling.
All appeared to be in order but she still disliked the way in which Suzanne had ordered her out and off home. She’d wanted to be in residence, prepared to welcome her friends on their return. Ruth rather enjoyed throwing open the front door and standing back to allow the couple access. She’d done that several times in the past. What could be the reason for the very deliberate put down this time?
Eddie and Suzanne had been quick to butter her up when he’d arranged for them to go away and needed a favour. Now, with her future and theirs poised for change, there must be some means of regaining her former place in the couple’s affections. She longed to regain control. Or at the very least the comfortable routines she’d enjoyed before.
She was startled by the sound of the doorbell. Ruth strode across to the hallway, almost forgetting to slow her pace and favour the leg she’d elected to afflict with phoney arthritis. She decided there was probably a parcel delivery service vehicle parked on the driveway, as Suzanne often ordered paperbacks and DVDs from an online bookstore. Ruth opened the door to find herself face to face with Bethan Harley.
Chapter Nineteen
The Deacons had reached Suzanne’s favourite supermarket. They sat in the coffee shop, Suzanne jotting down necessary items on a memo pad. Eddie, fingers awkward as uncooked sa
usages, was haltingly composing a text message to let their daughter know they were back in Wales, an easy drive from home, and would ring that evening.
“I may as well stock up with coffee beans while we’re here.” Suzanne gazed at the service counter without taking in the scene.
“Good thinking,” said Eddie. “God, how I hate predictive text.”
Suzanne took a sip of her cappuccino. “Poor you. I’ve got my phone set so it lets me do the work.”
“All right, Clever Clogs. It’s sent now.” He reached across the table and picked up his wife’s shopping list. “Can you write bottle of brandy on there?”
“Medicinal?”
“No. Something smooth. Like I get in for Christmas. And I fancy a pack of those Medjool dates.” He looked up at her. “Also like we have at Christmas.”
“Any special reason?”
He shifted his position on the plastic chair and grimaced. “Doesn’t the driver deserve a treat after a long journey?”
“Of course you do, darling.” Suzanne took back the list and scribbled the items on it.
She looked up at him. “I thought I’d choose a really special box of chocolates for Ruth. Maybe Belgian or Swiss. As a thank you.”
Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Whatever for? I thought we agreed to give her cash this time. She’s always insisted she helps us out of friendship but now it’s different. We both know we don’t want or need that feeling of being beholden.”
“To her or to anyone else, in fact.”
“Absolutely. Oh God.”
“What is it?”
“I haven’t given a thought to it until now.”
“Eddie, I haven’t the foggiest what you’re on about.”
“Nor should you have. Before we came away, I noticed a weird kind of smell in the downstairs loo. I felt a bit guilty, leaving Ruth with a potential problem.”
“A smell? Why on earth didn’t you say something?”
“We needed to get away. It’s not as if Ruth’s incompetent. I completely put it out of my head.”
“It couldn’t have been anything too awful, surely? We’d have got an emergency call.”
“You’re right.”
“So how much money did you have in mind for Ruth?”
“I thought £75 would be appropriate.”
“Aren’t you being over-generous? We’ve only been away a few days. She’ll have been living out of our freezer and drinks cupboard.”
“Which is what we suggested she do. Think of the money we’ve saved by not having to put Sparkles in kennels.”
“I suppose so. All right, Eddie. But I think I’ll still get the chocs.”
“Now who’s being over-generous?”
“No,” said Suzanne. “Not any more I’m not. You wait and see.” She drained her cup. “Let’s grab a trolley and get this done. It’s time we went home and picked up the reins again.”
“That’s my girl.” Eddie kissed her on the cheek, clasped her hand and led her to the trolley rank.
Bethan noted how the house sitter remained expressionless when she opened the door and saw who stood before her.
“Mrs Harley. To what do I owe this honour?”
“Good morning, Ms Morgan.”
“Surely you haven’t brought more prospective purchasers?” Ruth peered over Bethan’s shoulder.
“Not this time. I’ve just completed a viewing the other side of the village so decided to drive back this way. I’m calling to make sure everything’s all right.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
Bethan shrugged. “Well, we both know there have been a few odd happenings around the sale of this property. And your leg has been troubling you. You and I didn’t get off to the best of starts, did we?”
“I really don’t have the time to stand chatting.”
“I understand how busy you are and I shan’t keep you. But it would be reassuring to hear you haven’t been troubled by any other odd occurrences.” Bethan watched the house sitter’s eyelashes flutter and the eyes swivel away from her gaze. Up went the hand. Bethan held her breath as she heard the nervous throat clearing.
“Everything’s in apple pie order. Mr and Mrs Deacon are due back later today, so if you don’t mind, I need to get on.”
Bethan nodded. “Mr Deacon sent me a text. You’ll be moving back to your cottage now, of course.” She lowered her voice, hoping to sound confidential, singling out the Deacons’ friend as the privileged one, chosen as first recipient of glad tidings. “Your friends may have cause for celebration soon. I’ll say no more. We both know there’s many a slip—”
The house sitter’s face contorted. She raised her right hand, long fingers spread, as if about to slam the door in the sales negotiator’s face. Bethan flinched. The movement had revealed something that rocked her. Stunned by the significance of this carelessness on Ruth Morgan’s part, she gathered her scattered wits and stepped back on to the gravelled drive.
“I, er, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to return to your own home again.” She turned away.
Behind her, the door slammed. Resisting the urge to run as though fleeing demons, she walked back to the lay by where she’d left her car. She got behind the driving seat and tapped out a text to Ray Kirby.
Just left RM. Little fingernail R/H bears bronze nail polish trace.
Bethan pressed send and sat, waiting, eagerly anticipating a swift response. She wasn’t disappointed. Smiling, as if opening a long-anticipated gift, she cracked open the newly arrived message on her phone.
Yay! Respect. CU 2morro. RK
Funny. She wouldn’t have taken him for the kind of person who used text-speak.
Bethan set off towards Knightly, her emotions strangely mixed. She really shouldn’t have wound up the house sitter with her teasing titbit of news. She’d wanted to drop the hint as a veiled warning that despite devious tricks on Morgan’s part, there could be an interested party on the verge of making an offer. But what if the woman flipped and ordered a ton of hardcore – or something worse – to be dumped outside the Deacons’ gate? You heard of such malicious behaviour, especially when jealousy showed its fangs. Discarded wives had slashed Armani suits. Poured vintage wine down drains, their minds deranged at the thought of another woman warming their husband’s bed.
This was a different kind of emotion. But, if the house sitter did play some malevolent trick, wouldn’t the telephone or online ordering system identify the originator’s whereabouts? And Ray Kirby now retained as much information on Ms Morgan’s perfidy as did Bethan.
She couldn’t believe her good fortune in spotting that vital confirmation of Ruth and Delyth being one and the same. A careless application of nail varnish remover had blown Ruth’s carefully contrived cover. It didn’t matter if the mistake was noted and the bronze streak removed. If Ray Kirby arrived tomorrow to find the Deacons wringing their hands over yet another unforeseen calamity, he and Bethan could sit them down quietly and explain exactly how the two of them had tracked the behaviour of their so-called friend over the last week or so.
Care was needed now. Bethan would make Mr and Mrs Deacon aware of Ray Kirby’s second viewing scheduled for next day, but she would warn them to remain silent. Bethan should also alert them regarding any telephone call purporting to be made by an employee of her agency. She wouldn’t put it past Ms Morgan to carry out a voice disguise scam but Bethan needed to consider all opportunities for mischief making. A simple password would suffice.
There was a small research task she needed to carry out before tomorrow. Several times, she’d been on the brink of typing Claudia Kelsey’s name into her search engine and each time decided against it. Now she felt she should take a look.
Bethan caught her breath as the glossy image appeared on her screen. Deep inside her, molten heat triggered the wrong kind of response. She calmed herself by imagining how the beautiful, dazzling vocalist would dress for a late September trip to damp, misty, mid Wales.
Eddie drove along
the track towards his house and found the gates already open. A sharp sucking in of breath from Suzanne accompanied his own groan. Ruth’s car stood at the side of the forecourt. Somehow it would even have been better if she’d shown no consideration and left her vehicle in the place he always used. That way, she might have hurried out to explain she was just on her way.
“I thought I made it clear there was no need for her to wait for us,” Suzanne said.
Eddie swung the car around so the rear was closest to the house. “She could be giving Sparkles a last walk before leaving. I’ll go through the front and open up the back ready to unload the shopping.”
He went ahead of Suzanne, unlocked the front door and stepped into the hallway, giving an apprehensive sniff. “What a relief!” When he went back to help his wife from the passenger seat he was beaming. “The hall smells of flowers and furniture polish. No peculiar odours, thank goodness.”
“I wonder how many strange pairs of feet have crossed the threshold while we’ve been away,” said Suzanne. “Unless it’s all been quiet.”
Eddie chuckled. “I expressly stated I didn’t want you bothered by feedback but now we’re home I can tell you there have been several viewings. We both needed a break, didn’t we? Ready to face the music.”
“You were right, Eddie. I feel so much calmer now about everything, though I did wonder why Ruth hadn’t been in touch. I’m sorry I threw that little wobbly.”
“Forget it, my sweet.”
The couple stood still, leaving the door open. They looked up at the sound of light footsteps along the landing towards the head of the staircase.
“Welcome home! You made good time, then. I haven’t even started the coffee yet.” Ruth descended the stairs. Slowly. Long fingers skimming the banister rail, feet clad in suede moccasins treading in turn on each step of the expensive cream carpeted staircase. The carpet they’d chosen and which now, Suzanne felt, Ruth seemed to appropriate with every new step she took.
She recovered herself first. “We haven’t long had coffee, thanks, Ruth. It’s sweet of you to have waited but we really mustn’t keep you any longer than necessary.”
