by Simon Brett
Nuala conceded that she did.
'Right, we'll be at Sec at seven o'clock this evening.'
'How will I recognize you?'
'I'm blond and plump, my friend Carole is thin and grey-haired with glasses. You'll recognize us. We'll rather stand out in a City wine bar. We're in our fifties.'
To their surprise, Carole and Jude did not stand out in Sec as much as they had expected to. The time of year and its relative proximity to St Paul's, the Bank of England and other London sights, meant that the wine bar had more than its fair share of tourists that June evening. And though there were a few young, lean besuited slickers quaffing champagne, there were at least as many men and women of ample American proportions. And in fact Carole and Jude identified Nuala Cullan, rather than the other way round.
It wasn't difficult. They remembered Philly Rose's description and when, shortly after seven, a tall slender woman in a pinstriped trouser suit and pointy black shoes entered, they knew it had to be her. She was beautifully groomed, and the long black hair contrasted with the piercing blue of her eyes. But for the sharpness of her features and a slight discontent in her expression, Nuala Cullan would have been beautiful.
Jude crossed the bar and introduced herself, asking what Nuala would like to drink. She and Carole, straying from their usual Chilean Chardonnay, were on the Sauvignon Blanc.
'I'll just have a mineral water, thank you.' So much for the hard-drinking image that Philly had put across. 'I'm on antibiotics,' continued Nuala, explaining her abstinence.
'This is my friend Carole.'
'Oh?' Nuala Cullan stretched out a long cool hand and shook Carole's.
'Grab a seat and I'll get your drink.'
Nuala subsided elegantly into a chair and gave the woman opposite her a hard, appraising look. 'So you know Mark too, do you?'
Carole was flustered. She wished she and Jude had discussed a cover story to answer such a question, but her neighbour was never very keen on preparation for this kind of encounter. She always felt confident the right words would come when required. Well, they might, to Jude. Carole couldn't think of anything very convincing to say.
'I haven't actually met him, but I've heard a lot about him from Philly.'
'Ah, so you've only had her version. In which he no doubt appears like a cross between Mother Theresa and the Angel Gabriel.'
'Well—'
'Do you know where he is at this minute? Do you have an address for him?'
'Well
Carole's discomfiture was fortunately then reprieved by a bleep from Nuala Cullan's handbag. She pulled out an iPhone and deftly answered a text message. By the time she had finished Jude was back from the bar with Nuala's mineral water.
'Right, what is all this?' Nuala asked peremptorily.
'Have the police been in touch with you?' asked Jude.
'What the hell should the police be in touch with me about?'
'You heard about the discovery of human remains on Smalting Beach?'
'There was something in the news, yes, and I remember thinking, "Well, there you go - Mark's moved out of the wicked City and into his seaside love nest and suddenly it's down there that all the crimes are happening.'"
'But the police haven't been in touch with you about it?'
'No.' She looked faintly nauseated by the idea. 'Why on earth should they be?'
'The beach hut under which the remains were found was rented by Mark and Philly.'
'Was it?' This seemed to amuse her. 'Sounds like their life was even further away from the perfect country idyll.'
'And,' Jude went on, 'we were wondering whether the police might have been in touch with you as they tried to track down Mark.'
'Well, I suppose they might have been.' She shrugged. 'But they haven't. So it seems like everyone's looking for Mark, doesn't it?' A sudden thought shocked her. 'You're not suggesting the remains are of Mark, are you?'
'No, no, there's no suggestion of that,' replied Carole. 'When did you last see him, Nuala?'
'I don't know. Some time in May, I suppose.'
'After he'd walked out on Philly?'
'What?' Nuala's fine brow wrinkled in puzzlement. 'He's walked out on her?'
'Didn't you know?'
'Of course I didn't.' But as she took in the idea she started to chuckle. 'So domestic bliss in Smalting didn't work out, did it?'
Jude looked at the cool, self-possessed executive in front of her and wondered for a moment whether this could also be the vengeful hysteric, the emotional blackmailer whom Philly had described. And her knowledge of human nature told her that it all too easily could.
'Mark walked out on Philly at the beginning of May,' said Carole, 'and she hasn't seen him since.'
'Oh, well, I have the advantage of Little Miss Perfect then, don't I?'
'Philly thought he might have moved back in with you.'
'Did she?' This seemed to Nuala another funny idea. She laughed openly as she said, 'I'm not sure that I could cope with that.'
'I believe,' Carole went on, 'that Mark had made some kind of financial arrangement with you . . . that he paid you a monthly amount to let him get on with his life?'
'Well, don't make it sound so shabby. I am his wife, you know, still his wife. And that does give me some rights. Bloody Mark can't just abandon me and start spending all his money on some other woman.'
'I understand he hasn't got much money now.'
'That's not my problem, is it? Look, if my husband wants to act like he's divorced, then I ought to get something from him, something like I would get if we were actually divorced.'
'Do you want a divorce?'
Nuala Cullan smiled slyly. 'I might think about it. But I am a Catholic, you know, and however lax I have been in observing Catholic rules of behaviour, my Church still does not approve of divorce. So I'm in no hurry to make Mark's life any easier for him.'
Carole and Jude both now realized exactly how manipulative the woman in front of them could be. She would never let Mark Dennis go, never let him find real freedom. Nuala Cullan was trouble. They could understand how readily Philly Rose had entertained the idea that Mark might have murdered her. And from the way he spoke on the phone, Cyrus Maxton sounded as if he wouldn't have minded topping her as well.
'Have you had any money from Mark recently?'
'No.' She pouted with annoyance. 'That's why I want to find out where the bastard is. Last payment I had from him was in May. When I do track him down, he's going to be paying interest on those arrears.'
'So when exactly did you last see him?' asked Carole.
'May. I said.'
'When in May?'
Her forehead wrinkled as she tried to remember. The tracery of lines on her face showed through the expert make-up. She wasn't as young as she had first appeared. Well over forty. Getting to an age when she might not be able to rely on her looks quite as much as she used to, to get what she wanted. Getting to an age when she might well be wanting to safeguard her future.
'I think it was the eighth,' Nuala replied eventually. 'Mark said he wanted to meet up and talk. He took me to the Oxo Tower, one of our regular haunts ... in happier times.'
'And he didn't mention that he'd left Philly?'
'I've told you, this evening is the first I've heard of it. He just told me that he couldn't afford to continue paying anything to me.'
'He told you this at the Oxo Tower?'
'I'd booked the venue.' She smiled at the memory of another small triumph over her husband. 'And I told him, no way, Jose. I told him he could take the idea of stopping payments to me and put it where the sun don't shine.'
'But surely,' said Carole, 'if he chose to stop paying you, there was nothing you could have done about it.'
'I could have sued him.'
'You mean it was more than a verbal agreement?'
'You bet it was. I'm not stupid. I got a schedule of payments drawn up by my lawyer.'
'And Mark signed it?'
'Of course he did. All neat
ly tied up with pink ribbon it was. So when I said he owed me arrears, I meant just that. He is legally in default of those payments.'
'But why did he sign it?' asked Jude.
'I don't know.' Nuala smiled a smile of mock innocence. 'Maybe he thought I was capable of causing a lot of trouble in his relationship with Little Miss Perfect. Though why he should think that,' she continued, maintaining the wide-eyed pose, 'I cannot imagine.'
Jude exchanged a momentary look with Carole. They were beginning to realize just how destructive Nuala could be if she set her mind to it.
'How did he seem that evening at the Oxo Tower?' asked Jude. 'Just like you remember him?'
Nuala Cullan shook her head. 'No, there was something strange about him. Mark seemed distracted . . . almost as if he was frightened of something.'
'Had you seen him in that state before? During your marriage?'
Another shake of the head. 'Mark was always very confident, even brash at times. But that night at the Oxo Tower he was very jumpy. Nervous. Stressed.'
'He didn't say why?'
'Didn't need to. The details he told me about his financial situation were enough to make anyone stressed.' Suddenly Nuala Cullan seemed to lose patience. 'Look, what is this all about? You got in touch with me because you said you knew something about Mark's whereabouts. I don't have the whole evening to waste. Tell me where he is.'
It was Carole who answered. 'He was seen down in Smalting in the small hours of last Tuesday morning.'
'Oh? So he's back with Little Miss Perfect, is he?'
'Philly Rose said she hadn't seen him since May.'
'Has it occurred to you she might be lying?'
'I don't think she would,' said Jude.
'Oh, I see. So you've been fooled by her wide-eyed innocent look, have you?'
More than I have by yours, thought Jude. But all she said was, 'I thought you hadn't met her.'
'I don't need to meet her. I know the kind of woman Mark would be a sucker for.'
'But he was a sucker for you at one point. I wouldn't have thought "wide-eyed innocent" was a very accurate description of you,' said Carole with some asperity.
'No, you're right. It isn't.' Nuala Cullan smiled a feline, controlling smile. 'Our relationship was very powerful, passionate, but also potentially toxic. Mark couldn't always keep up with me. I am strong liquor, the hard stuff, you see. And Mark's basically a coward. Which is why he opted instead for milky afternoon tea in Smalting.'
'Anyway,' said Carole, who had had quite enough of this preening, 'when Mark was seen down there last Tuesday morning, there was a woman with him.'
'So?'
'Philly's first thought when she heard was that the woman must be you.'
'Why?'
'Because she thought you and Mark were back together.'
'Well, I've told you, we're not.' Nuala Cullan looked at the small Rolex on her slender wrist. 'And is that all you've come to tell me? That he's been seen? Or can you actually tell me where I can contact the bastard?'
'No,' said Carole rather feebly. 'We just wanted to tell you he's been seen down in Smalting.'
'Well, thank you very much,' came the sarcastic reply.
'We thought you'd want to know.'
'Why?'
'At least it proves he's still alive,' said Jude.
'And why shouldn't he be alive?' Nuala looked sardonically thoughtful. 'Though if he were dead, it would in a way solve all my problems, wouldn't it?'
'How?'
'I'm still his wife. I would inherit everything.'
'Though it doesn't seem there'd be that much to inherit.'
'Don't you believe it. Someone as canny as Mark's always going to have something stashed away.' There was a gleam of pure greed in her eyes as she spoke.
Repelled by this, Jude said, 'Well, he's not dead, so the issue doesn't really arise, does it?'
'No.' Nuala Cullan took another look at her watch and picked up her handbag. 'I won't say thank you, because so far as I'm concerned our meeting has been a total waste of time. But if you do find out where Mark is, let me know. You have my mobile number.' She stood up.
'And there wasn't any other contact Mark gave you?' asked Jude, desperate to retrieve something from the situation.
The tall woman stood undecided for a moment. Her desire to be uncooperative conflicted with her interest in tracking down her absent husband. She still wanted to leech more money out of him.
She made up her mind. 'There was a number he gave me, some acquaintance down in Smalting where he said I could leave a message. I tried it a few times, but my messages never got a response from Mark, so I stopped bothering.'
'Did you speak to this acquaintance of his?'
'No, the phone was always on voicemail.'
'Would you mind giving us the number?' asked Jude.
The area code was 01903, which covered Worthing,
Littlehampton, Fethering and Smalting. Jude wrote it down, and Nuala Cullan walked out of Sec without a word of farewell.
The two women decided to have another glass of Sauvignon Blanc to bolster them for the slow train journey back to Fethering. And they both knew exactly why Mark Dennis had wanted to get away from his wife.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Two
They were back home too late to do anything else that evening. And on the Wednesday morning Jude had to go and visit one of her Fethering clients who was immobilized with what the patient thought to be a slipped disc, but the healer knew to be anxiety about her daughter's forthcoming wedding.
It was after her neighbour had gone - and therefore too late - when Carole realized that Jude had got the piece of paper with the phone number Nuala Cullan had given them. That was annoying. She'd been hoping that contact might offer some breakthrough on the intractable mystery that confronted them.
But even as she felt the frustration building within her, Carole received a phone call that brought her new information. It was from Curt Holderness.
She was surprised that he had rung back. The message had been left on his mobile without much optimism. But the fact that he had got back to her and his manner when he spoke gave Carole a lift. He was clearly still worried that she might draw the attention of the authorities to his lax approach to his job. Which gave her a position of power over him.
'You rang me, Carole. What can I do for you?' Curt Holderness's opening words were breezy enough, but there was an encouraging undercurrent of anxiety in his voice.
'Oh, thank you so much for getting back to me. Yes, there was something I wanted to follow up with you, further to our previous conversation . . .'
She let the silence dangle for a moment and was rewarded by a nervous 'What?' from the other end of the line.
'Oh, it was about that night, you know, when you saw Mark Dennis going on to Smalting Beach.'
'Yes.' He sounded relieved now he knew the subject of her enquiry. She wasn't raising issues of low-grade local council corruption.
'You said that he was with a woman . . .'
'Yes.'
'. . . but you didn't recognize her.'
'Right.'
'So could you give me a description of her?'
'Shortish.' If Nuala Cullan hadn't already ruled herself out that would have done it. 'I don't know, it was fairly dark that night. Shortish, as I say, and maybe on the chubby side.'
'What age?'
His manner implied a shrug as he replied, 'I don't know. I mean, she wasn't the kind of woman who made much impression, if you know what I mean. Just like plenty of women you see in the street, nothing remarkable about them.'
'Hair colour?'
'Blond, possibly.' He didn't sound very sure.
'And how was Mark Dennis behaving with her?'
'What do you mean?'
'Well, were they holding hands, arm in arm?'
'Oh no, nothing like that.'
'Were they just ambling along or were they looking furtive? Were they hurrying?'
&
nbsp; 'Yes, I'd say they were hurrying. The man might even have been swaying about a bit.'
'You mean - as if he was drunk?'
'Possibly.'
'And you couldn't tell exactly where they were going?'
'I was just driving past,' he protested. 'I only saw them for a couple of seconds.'
'You're absolutely certain the man was Mark Dennis?'
'Absolutely certain,' said Curt Holderness.
A silence stretched out between them. Then suddenly a new thought came into Carole's head, a recollection of something the security officer had mentioned when they'd first spoken. It was a long chance that the question would lead anywhere, but anything was worth a try. 'There's another thing I want to ask you,' said Carole.
'Oh?' He was once again wary.
'When we first spoke on the phone, Mr Holderness, you assumed - wrongly -that I'd contacted you because there was some rule about use of the beach hut on Smalting Beach that I wanted you to bend for me.'
There was an uncomfortable silence from the other end of the line, so Carole pressed on. 'You also gave examples of rules that you had managed to bend, of people having small generators in their huts, or staying overnight in them . . .'
'So? Are you planning to report me for it?' There was a new menace in his question. Carole visualized the thickset security officer and was in no doubt that he would be quite capable of physical violence.
'I don't think that'll be necessary, ' she said, more calmly than she felt, 'if you were to tell me which of the current owners of Smalting Beach beach huts you have allowed to stay there overnight.'
'Well, in the past there's been the odd adulterous couple who use the place for their assignations . . .'
'Any of that going on at the moment?'
'No. Last one of those broke up just before Christmas. The woman's husband found out and surprised them at it in the beach hut. Very messy and violent.'
'How violent?'
'Nobody was killed, if that's what you mean. But a heavy beating was administered to the wife and her lover.'
'Was it reported to the police?'
'Of course not. Not in any of their interests to make the thing public, was it? Mind you, we had to get professional cleaners in to get the blood off the walls.'
