A Stranger's House

by Clare Chase

  ‘Hmm. All in all, it doesn’t sound like you were having much fun out there.’ He thought of offering her a G&T, but then remembered the consequences of too much booze the last time. Instead, he ripped open a packet of cashews, and they got halfway down it before he uncorked the wine.

  As they sipped their drinks, Ruby stayed quiet. She walked to and from the fridge, fetching the ingredients she’d asked him for: onion, garlic, chicken, yoghurt and peppers. Then she went to a cupboard for spices and got busy with some kebab skewers. Every so often Nate caught her looking at him. The moment their eyes met though, she looked away. The third time it happened she was biting her lip, too. It was starting to make him nervous.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  She nodded quickly. ‘Fine.’

  ‘Can I do anything?’

  She shook her head, and turned to face the chopping board she’d taken from under Newbold’s counter. A few of the cashews and some dried apricots were going into the meal.

  ‘Do you really think Samson might be guilty?’ she asked eventually. It somehow smacked of ‘making conversation’, but Nate went with it.

  ‘I don’t know. The house and its contents provide him with quite a motive. He’s planning to sell the lot, by the way.’

  ‘No sentimental desire to move back into the family home then?’

  Nate took another handful of the remaining nuts. ‘I doubt Samson Newbold’s got a sentimental bone in his body. But even though he’s keen on realising his assets, I don’t know about the murder. There’s something cold and reptilian about him. All that business about the frenzied attack … I couldn’t see him working up the energy somehow, could you?’

  ‘Probably not.’ Ruby was glancing at him again.

  ‘But I could be wrong. Who knows what went on between them in private? And whether he’s a murderer or not, I’d stake my life he’s up to something.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Instinct. That and the fact that he’s far too bothered about having someone in the house. As though he actually expects someone to come and swipe his new acquisitions from under his nose. That worries me.’

  They sat down to the food Ruby had prepared. She served it up on rice, with a green salad.

  ‘Looks good,’ Nate said.

  ‘Thank you.’ After all the glances earlier, she wasn’t meeting his eyes.

  ‘Um, Ruby?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing. By the way, I’m sorry I got cross when you told me off about pumping Samson for information. I can see from your point of view it must have seemed reckless.’

  From his point of view … ‘Wait a minute. With your instinct for investigation, have you, by any chance, been looking me up on the net?’

  The characteristic blush tinged her cheeks. ‘Well …’

  For just a second Nate was angry. He didn’t want her knowing, didn’t want her to see how he’d failed a member of his own family.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Her tone brought him to his senses. ‘Don’t be. I should have told you myself.’

  She seemed to read his mind. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

  Nate sighed. ‘If you’re a PI and you can’t even protect your own sister, it’s your fault.’

  She put her fork down. ‘Do you know who did it?’

  He shook his head. ‘Eighteen months on, and I’m still in the dark. And until I find out, I don’t know what I’m dealing with. If Susie was targeted to get back at me, then anyone else I’m close to might be in danger. And I’m sure she must have been – either that or I was the intended victim all along.’

  I lay there that night, my mind spinning after my conversation with Nate. My thoughts rushed from what he’d been going through, to what he’d said about anyone he was close to being in potential danger. It explained Steph’s comment about him being a confirmed bachelor, and the way she’d gone all tight-lipped about it afterwards. Those thoughts were followed by waves of guilt at my selfishness for even considering all this, and minding, at least in part, for my own sake. And then, after I’d wrestled with all of that for an hour or so, my mind turned back to Maggie Cook. Cue more guilt, because I hadn’t admitted to Nate that she thought Damien had made a new will. And what’s more, that Samson was aware of the fact. Nate had said he thought Samson expected trouble. Maybe he was worried Maggie might break in, in order to search for the document. Hell. I should have been open. But the truth was, I felt sorry for Maggie, and I hadn’t been able to think quickly enough when it came to working out how much of her story to pass on.

  As I’d got our supper ready, I’d thought again about what she’d said. I was sure she hadn’t killed Damien. She’d been pretty drunk when she’d first told me about the will, and was quite clearly convinced she’d given Samson a motive for killing his brother. I didn’t reckon she could have acted so convincingly with that blood alcohol level. And anyway, the timing didn’t fit. She’d been hot with rage when she’d found his address at River House. If she was going to go and bash his brains out she’d have done it then, not waited a few days. She wasn’t the sort to plan the thing out coolly in advance.

  But might she attempt to break in to find the new will, now I’d sent her packing? My head started to ache. It was two in the morning, and sleep seemed utterly out of reach.

  I pulled on a jumper over the top of my nightshirt and stepped out onto the attic landing. All was quiet below. Of course, the stairs creaked as I made my way down. I kept stopping to listen for any sound from Nate, so my progress was slow; all the more so as I crossed the middle floor landing. Moonlight showed my reflection in Damien’s mirrors.

  I reached the ground floor and went to the study. I could at least check the obvious places for any sign of a new will.

  I sat down in the chair by the desk and tried to be systematic. Step one, check the files. He had the cardboard sort that hang from metal hooks. Each section was tidy and organised; none of your papers spilling everywhere, or having to shove files to one side with all the force you could muster to drag out one section. He really had been weird. I looked under w, for will, l, for legal, s for solicitor, f for finance and then did a general once over, checking for any section that looked as though it contained a thicker than average document. I was pretty sure wills were full of standard clauses and legalese that meant they bulked up. But there was nothing.

  And yet, as I sat there thinking, I felt more and more certain that he must have told her he’d gone ahead and seen a solicitor. And it had probably been recently, which was why she wasn’t saying as much to me. It would certainly make her a prime suspect. Damien Newbold wasn’t the kind of man to stay constant in his affections. If she had wanted the money, killing him soon after he’d made a new will would have ensured he didn’t get the chance to change his mind.

  I believed her when she’d told me she’d loved him, but I knew what Nate would say to that. Hers must have been a love that could easily have tipped over into hate and despair. What if I was wrong about Maggie? Perhaps after years of being belittled and snubbed, taunted and strung along, she’d finally snapped.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nate didn’t have to go anywhere the following day, so he suggested I should take some time out in town. As I left the house Maggie Cook was still uppermost in my mind. Twice I was on the point of admitting what I’d kept from Nate, but knowing he’d send me straight to the police held me back. That, and the idea of explaining why I hadn’t been honest in the first place.

  Instead I tried to distract myself by looking round the shops. I still hadn’t been back to Saxwell, so I was pretty short of clothes, and even though I was trying not to spend too much, I could afford the odd T-shirt to tide me over.

  It was in the Market Square, standing next to a stall selling tie-dye stuff, that I saw Daisy Buchanan. She must have clocked me first. By the time I looked up she was nudging the leggy brunette next to her, and looking in my direction, laughing.
I turned away, feeling heat rush up my neck. I moved quickly along the row of stalls, not taking in what was in front of me. It was a couple of minutes later when I realised one of Daisy’s gang had come over to join me.

  ‘Daisy says your Luke won’t leave her alone. She wonders if you’d have a word with him. It’s – like – getting a bit heavy now.’

  I didn’t answer her. I could feel hot tears of fury and humiliation welling up in my eyes. In the middle of the sodding Market Square. Great. I stumbled away blindly, past WHSmiths and Fat Face, keeping my head down, letting my hair fall forward over my eyes.

  It was a warm day and the tourists were out in full force. Outside Boots a man in a purple shirt, green waistcoat and trousers was singing Mozart arias. A crowd had gathered and the hat he had laid on the ground was full of coins.

  A man and woman walked past me, he in flip-flops, T-shirt and surf shorts, she in a black vest top and sarong. They were eating ice creams.

  A carefree summer’s day in Cambridge. There were probably tramps as well, begging for money, but I didn’t see them. Didn’t want to. Didn’t want company in my misery. Instead I looked at a hundred happy people, flitting before my eyes, and rubbed salt into my own wounds.

  I’d got past Emmanuel and the bus station when I realised someone was staring at me. Well, hey, probably loads of people were staring at me, but – oh the luck – this was someone I knew.

  I should have thought how close I’d wandered to St Audrey’s. ‘My goodness!’ Paul Mathewson said. ‘What on earth’s happened?’

  I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, welling up afresh at his concern. ‘It’s not a great time to be honest. I’m not in a brilliant state.’

  I tried to carry on walking up the pavement, but he put an arm round my shoulders. ‘So I gather, but you don’t have to walk through town like this.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘I live in college. You can come in and get yourself together. I’ll make you a drink, and then, when you’re in a fit state, I can walk you back to River House.’

  I looked at the crowded street, and swiped at the tears cascading down my cheeks, but more arrived to replace them.

  ‘Come on,’ Paul said, steering me round, away from the road, and under a stone archway. ‘Give yourself a break. You’ve had so much to deal with.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I just don’t feel like talking.’

  He walked me across a court, to the bottom of a flight of uncarpeted wooden spiral stairs. ‘Don’t then,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we just sit for a bit and take it one step at a time?’

  It was the very last thing I wanted. I could feel him using his counselling experience on me, switching into responsible adult mode, taking care of the vulnerable, befriending the unfortunate. It made me squirm with embarrassment.

  At the same time I knew he’d been going through a crisis of confidence about his dealings with Emily, and I couldn’t think of a tactful way to reject his offer. And in any case, it was true: I didn’t want to parade my misery for all the town to see. Who knew, I might bump into Daisy and her mates again.

  He unlocked an oak door and ushered me into his rooms. Then I sat in an easy chair, next to a mullioned window, and he went to the sink to make me a cool glass of lemon squash. Outside, I could see the college gardens, awash with colour – roses, lavender and honeysuckle. How ironic that I should be spending such a beautiful afternoon in this way. I would just have to endure it until he felt he’d done his bit. Then I could go home again, and find something indestructible to kick for light relief.

  We did sit in silence at first, but then we graduated to stilted small talk. I had a feeling I needed to move to this stage, so that Paul would feel I’d ‘opened up’. He was probably used to formal college dinners where he had to be polite to strangers for hours. He had no problem coming up with neutral topics to keep us going.

  I told him all about how I’d stayed in Cambridge as a child, but I was careful not to stray into genuinely personal territory. Before long I was able to turn the conversation.

  ‘What about you?’ I said. ‘Where were you brought up?’

  ‘I lived in Barnsley until I was ten,’ he said.

  I was surprised. ‘You’d never guess it, from your accent.’

  ‘My parents had to move down here, and then I got a scholarship to an independent, co-ed school on Huntingdon Road. I lost the accent pretty damned quick. Self-preservation, weakness, call it what you will. Some of the staff thought I was a curiosity; the kids were worse. It singled me out for attention,’ he said, pausing for a second, ‘one way or another … But I got past all that eventually, and by that time I’d got a taste for the city. I stayed here to study for my first degree.’

  ‘I don’t even know your subject.’

  ‘I read politics, psychology and sociology here at Cambridge, and followed that up with a PhD in social anthropology at Yale. Then I came back here again as a post doc.’

  ‘You really do love Cambridge?’

  ‘I thought it would do me good to leave …’ He let the sentence trail for a moment, his eyes far away. ‘But it was a mistake.’

  ‘You didn’t like Yale?’

  ‘Oh, it was great,’ he said. ‘I met some fantastic people, and I loved New Haven as a place, but I, well, I just love Cambridge more. Warts and all. Once I knew I wanted to stay I applied for a lectureship, and settled here at St Audrey’s last year.’

  When we’d exhausted our upbringings I asked about Fi and Emily, and Paul quizzed me about my interview with the police, and about Damien himself.

  ‘Such an incredible thing,’ he said. ‘Not what you think you’re going to have to deal with. Obviously, I’d got a pretty poor impression of what Newbold was like after Emily’s dealings with him, but to attract that much hatred …’ He looked at me. ‘It must have been hard for you, living in his house. Did you get any inkling that he might have engendered those sorts of feelings?’

  I sighed. ‘To be honest, the more I’ve seen, the more I’ve been able to imagine any one of a number of people wanting to finish him off.’

  Paul nodded, as though it confirmed what he’d already thought, and I sipped my squash.

  ‘God, I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘That was an awful thing to say.’

  ‘It can’t be awful to speak the truth,’ Paul said. ‘And at least …’

  ‘At least?’

  ‘Well, obviously, it’s always appalling when anyone dies before their time, but I suppose – being brutally honest once again – it has to be less appalling if it turns out the person concerned spent their life hurting others.’

  ‘In terms of it being less hard for everyone left behind to bear?’ I said, clarifying what he was saying in my own mind. ‘Yes, that has to be true, really.’

  He picked up the squash he’d made for himself. ‘When I saw you were upset,’ he said, ‘I guessed it must be to do with this business. I wondered whether it was something that woman who called last night had said.’

  ‘Maggie Cook?’

  ‘Was that her?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘I didn’t recognise her. She seems to be a tartar. I think Emily had a run-in with her over the Damien Newbold business.’

  ‘I shouldn’t imagine she’s the sort to take kindly to a potential rival.’ I remembered Emily mentioning something about Maggie having been in touch, and that she was ‘telling lies’.

  ‘Might she be on the list of murder suspects, do you think?’

  ‘One of the many, I’d guess. But it wasn’t she who upset me.’

  And at the thought of Daisy, the floodgates opened again. I don’t suppose Paul knew what had hit him. I hated myself for letting go, but once I’d started I found I couldn’t stop.

  ‘Just tell me,’ he said. ‘You’ll feel much better, and it won’t go any further.’

  And between sobs I found myself reeling off the whole sorry story of Daisy and Luke. Even down to the fact that Luke and I had been trying for a baby. All the pent up anger and s
orrow just exploded out of me. I think it was from having bottled it up for so long.

  Paul’s face fell, and there was real pain in his eyes. ‘That’s unspeakably awful, Ruby. I’m so sorry.’ He put a hand on my arm and gave it a squeeze. ‘Has he been in touch?’

  I let out an undignified snort. ‘Oh yes.’ I found myself taking the letter Luke had written out of my handbag, and pulling it from its envelope. ‘This is his idea of an apology. He just doesn’t see what he’s done, either in terms of betraying me, or the effect it might have on Daisy. See for yourself. I can’t go back to him.’

  Paul took the letter out and studied it for some time, frowning, and then looked up. ‘Counsellors aren’t supposed to pass comment, but I think you’re right. There’s no way you should try to patch things up.’ He folded the paper, slipped it back into the envelope and passed it to me again. ‘I’m glad you’ve told me. You’ve had a lot to cope with recently. Do you feel a bit better for having shared?’

  I nodded. And I did, even though opening up went totally against the grain.

  ‘I’ll walk you home then, shall I?’

  ‘It’s okay. I’ll be fine.’

  He shook his head. ‘I insist. It would be a pleasure.’

  Nate was in the kitchen when he saw Ruby walk back along Midsummer Passage. She wasn’t alone. A guy he hadn’t seen before – rather formally dressed in a brown suit – was with her. They seemed to be deep in conversation. Outside the student place next door – Oswald House – they stopped, and Nate wondered if this was the tutor guy Ruby had said was looking after Emily Amos. Maybe they’d bumped into each other in Midsummer Lane. But then Mr Suit put a hand on Ruby’s shoulder and drew her in to give her a hug. What was that all about?

  Nate stood in the kitchen doorway as she let herself into the hall.

  ‘Nice time in town?’

  She raised an eyebrow. She looked – dishevelled somehow. Her eyes were in shadow so it was hard to read her expression.