‘Lib,’ Sean had said, cupping her face. His smile sent shots of warmth through her, neutralising Marion’s latest round of comments. ‘She wasn’t having a dig. The lunches you give me are the envy of everyone at work. No one else brings in gourmet leftovers from dinner parties, right?’ He’d squeezed her cheeks then, kissing her lightly. ‘And my clothes are soft enough for a baby to wear, so stop fretting. You know what Mum’s like.’ He’d laughed then, though Libby wasn’t sure if it was at his mother or at her.
‘I know,’ she’d said, backing down. ‘And I’m sorry. But I’m a grown woman and perfectly capable of managing my own—’
‘Do you remember what I told you way back?’
Libby rolled her eyes, trying to hide her smile. ‘How could I forget?’ She’d grinned at him then, always feeling a little bit special when she recalled what he’d told her, as though she’d somehow passed a test.
‘Look, I’m a bit wary about you meeting her, OK?’ Sean had admitted, about three months after they’d started seeing each other. He had an embarrassed grin on his face.
‘Wary?’ Libby laughed. ‘But she’s just your mum, Sean. She sounds lovely.’
He’d made a face then, half serious, half jokey. ‘Well…’
‘Well, what?’ Libby had snuggled closer to him, crossing her legs over his as they lay on the sofa at her place – the little one-bedroom cottage that came with the position she’d taken at the White House Barns Hotel. The job was the reason she’d moved to the area and also where she’d first spotted Sean. They’d both given each other tentative glances while working out in the gym and, when they saw each other again in a local pub, Sean had approached her.
‘It’s just that…’
Libby had grinned and poked him in the ribs, pouring more wine. The fire was flickering in the grate – a couple of logs with dancing flames wrapped around them. It was Christmas and the tree lights twinkled, reflecting in Sean’s eyes. Watery eyes, she remembered thinking, wondering why he was so emotional about the prospect of her meeting his family.
‘It’s just that, in the past, if I’ve introduced anyone to Mum…’
‘As in a girlfriend?’
Sean shrugged, looked away.
‘Go on…’
‘Well, they usually…’ He forced a smile. Libby knew he was trying to make light of it but could see the thread of pain. ‘They usually find a reason to end things shortly afterwards.’ He laughed, taking a large mouthful of beer, grabbing the TV remote control and searching for something to watch.
‘You think if I meet your mum I’ll break up with you?’ Libby said, hand on his wrist.
‘Yup.’
‘That’s ridiculous. Don’t be so silly.’
Sean had stared at her, almost as if he was trying to convey a secret message – a warning. Though Libby wasn’t sure what. All she did know was that, whatever his mother was like, she would not break up with him because of meeting her.
‘What about your ex-wife?’ Libby suddenly asked, having mulled it over for a moment. ‘She must have met your mother?’
Sean was thoughtful. ‘Yes, yes of course,’ he admitted, flicking through the channels and settling on the news. ‘But in that case, it was Mum who introduced me to Natalie. She said we’d be perfect for each other. That Natalie was different.’
Libby put the window up and stared across the countryside, resting her head sideways on the glass. Sean was probably trying to reach her, wondering where she was. But, with her phone dead, she was grateful for the few minutes’ solitude, especially after seeing her home swarming with police. A moment up here was time out, and it was almost easy to pretend that what had happened actually hadn’t. That she was just on her way home from the market and, when she got back, everything would be back to normal.
‘Normal,’ Libby whispered to herself, steaming up the glass. She took a breath and shook her head, reaching for the keys in the ignition. But then she saw the plastic bag of items on the passenger seat, the blue nose of Alice’s precious dog poking out. She reached across and took out the cookbook, flipping through to the page where she’d hidden the note. She wanted to read it one last time before ripping it up and burning it. It had done enough damage.
But the note wasn’t between the middle pages where she thought she’d tucked it away. In fact, as she riffled through the rest of book, she realised it wasn’t between any of the pages. She turned it upside down, shaking it out frantically before dropping her head down onto the steering wheel and sobbing for all she was worth. It was only when a passer-by tapped on her window to see if she was OK that she realised the horn was blaring, that the sound of her crying had drowned out the noise completely.
Twenty-Two
‘Libby!’
Before she knew what was happening, Libby felt a pair of arms slung around her from behind, almost knocking her over. She stumbled, catching her breath.
‘It’s so good to see you. You’ve not been up here in bloody ages!’
When she finally managed to turn around, wriggling in the vice-like grip, she saw it was Trish, her old boss, with a beaming smile on her face, her long hair yet another vibrant shade of blue. She’d been through an entire rainbow of dyes in the time Libby had known her.
‘Hello, Trish,’ Libby replied, pulling away and wrapping her coat around her. She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Lovely to see you too. I’ve just been so busy… you know how it is.’ She bowed her head. ‘But Fran insisted I come up for a quick coffee.’ She glanced at her watch then, not wanting to be rude but also not wanting to engage in chit-chat.
‘We sodding well miss you here, you know, woman,’ Trish said loudly, punctuating the words with several emphatic nods. The spacious open-plan foyer of the White House Barns carried her voice, convincing Libby that everyone could hear. She glanced around – spotting a few regular customers and familiar faces. A fire was roaring in the fireplace, with clients relaxing on the chesterfields, drinking coffee or pre-lunch cocktails.
The place had once been a huge part of Libby’s life and the reason she moved to the area. In her time as head chef, the White House had been her home for several years. And the reason she and Sean got together. They’d even had their wedding reception here.
‘If you ever want to come back, you know there’s always a job for you, my love,’ Trish said, pulling her large tunic top down lower over her middle.
‘Don’t tempt me,’ Libby replied without thinking. The regular income would take a lot of pressure off her and Sean and, she had to admit, she missed the place. She’d brought a fresh approach to the hotel’s menus, using only locally sourced produce. The already thriving business had gone from strength to strength, even opening an organic produce shop and deli on the premises for local suppliers to sell their wares. It was all Libby’s doing and she’d achieved a lot in just a couple of years.
‘But it’s hard with Sean on call and Alice,’ Libby added wistfully, knowing Marion’s health wasn’t up to the antisocial hours for childcare. ‘I can choose the evenings I work now,’ she said, thinking that one day soon they’d also want more children. ‘I couldn’t do those long shifts again.’
Trish narrowed her eyes. ‘I’ll get you back in my kitchen if it’s the last thing I do. Even if I have to split you and Sean up so I can have you all to myself,’ she said, letting out a huge belly laugh that turned a few heads.
Libby gave a small smile, only hearing split you and Sean up echoing around the barn’s vaulted interior. ‘Well,’ she said after a moment. ‘I’d better go and find Fran. She’ll wonder where I’ve got to.’ She touched Trish’s arm. ‘Lovely to see you,’ she said before heading off to the orangery.
* * *
‘God, you look dreadful,’ Fran said after she’d poured Libby some tea. She’d not long arrived herself and had ordered a pot of Earl Grey as well as some cakes. She knew what Libby liked. ‘What the hell’s been going on, Lib?’ She slid the cup and saucer across the table before offering her the
plate of macaroons and carrot cake squares.
Libby put her hand up, refusing the cake. She angled her head away slightly. ‘Maybe I’ll have one in a minute. I feel… I feel a bit sick right now.’
‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’ The tone of Fran’s voice lifted. ‘Remember how nauseous you were with Alice?’
But Libby was already shaking her head. ‘No, no I’m not pregnant.’
Fran narrowed her eyes. ‘It’s that bloody note, isn’t it? I hope you’ve seen sense and chucked it away.’
‘Well, to start with, that “bloody note” has gone, yes.’
‘Good,’ Fran said, sipping her tea. Her cheeks were tinged with a soft peach blush, highlighted by the light in the orangery – the complete opposite to Libby’s wan appearance. ‘So you threw it out?’
Libby shook her head, also sipping tea. ‘Nope. It’s just disappeared.’
‘Oh. That’s odd,’ Fran replied, staring at Libby, cup halfway to her mouth. ‘Did you check the other cookbooks? You may have put it in the wrong one. Or hidden it somewhere else entirely?’
Libby glanced out across the parkland at the rear of the orangery, watching as a few deer trotted briskly between some trees in the distance. ‘How did you know I put the note in a cookbook?’ she asked, turning back to Fran. Her heart thumped and her cheeks flushed – nothing like the soft, purposeful glow of Fran’s made-up face. Libby’s was now burning scarlet.
‘I saw you hide it away, silly. Or perhaps you told me where you’d put it. One or the other, I can’t remember.’ Fran bit into a macaroon, chewing and watching Libby before swallowing drily. She sipped on her tea again, washing it down. ‘You didn’t want Sean to find it, remember?’ Fran paused, waiting for a reply, but when there was none she reached out for Libby’s hand. ‘You look so upset, Lib. What’s wrong?’
Libby pulled her hand away. ‘No, no you didn’t see where I put the note, Fran. And I didn’t tell you, either.’
‘Libby, you’re stressing yourself out again.’ Fran tipped her head to one side.
‘Just before you left my place, you gave me back the note and I put it in my jeans pocket. I hid it again later.’
Fran gave Libby a pitying look. ‘Then I must have seen where you got it from when you first showed me,’ she said, her voice becoming impatient. ‘It’s not a big deal, Lib. What’s more of a big deal is the state you’re in about it. What’s going on?’
‘You’ve not heard?’
‘No. What?’ Fran frowned, shaking her head.
Libby took a deep breath. ‘Sasha Long, you know, the girl who sometimes works for me…? She… she went missing on Friday night.’ She closed her eyes for a moment, took another breath. ‘She was babysitting Alice, and when we came home she wasn’t there. No one’s seen her since.’
‘Oh my God, that’s awful,’ Fran said, taking in what Libby had said.
‘I’m surprised you’ve not heard. Or seen all the police cars in Great Lyne. Sean said it’ll probably be on the news tonight. It’s been on local radio briefly but I’ve not been able to listen. It’s too awful.’
‘You’ve had all this going on and not called me? I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I mean… what about Alice, did she see anything? Jesus…’ She took a moment to think as the implications sank in. ‘Have the police got any idea what happened? God, her poor parents. I know you hear of people going missing, but when it’s on your doorstep…’ Fran blew out between her teeth. ‘Shocking.’
‘Sean and I had to move out. They’ve been searching our house. God knows what for. Sasha obviously isn’t there.’ A shudder swept through her as she broke out in goosebumps. ‘I’m not sure I can ever face going back.’
‘I don’t blame you,’ Fran said.
‘I suppose they’re looking for signs of a break-in or intruders, trying to piece together a trail of Sasha’s movements in the house while we were out. Or worse…’
‘It’s amazing what the police can do now with all that forensic stuff,’ Fran said. ‘My boss’s wife is a cop. The stories he tells about how they find something out of nothing are incredible. No one can get away with anything these days.’
Libby stared at her. ‘Really?’ She paused, blinking. ‘Let’s hope so in this case, then,’ she said, deciding to take a slice of cake after all. ‘Sasha’s poor mum and dad were going through a rough time already. This is all they need.’
‘That’s true,’ Fran said. ‘I know her dad, Phil Long. I have a friend who works on the estate with him. He’s…’ Fran trailed off.
‘He’s what?’
‘He’s a good guy, you know. Been through a hard time. I’m not saying Sasha’s mum isn’t a good woman – I barely know her. But by all accounts…’ She stopped, holding up her hand. ‘Look, it doesn’t matter. I’m not a gossip.’
‘What, Fran? You can’t say that then not tell me the rest.’
She sighed, making a face. ‘For a start, Phil told me that…’
‘Told you about Jan…?’
Fran nodded. ‘He said that she’s borderline alcoholic, really hard to live with. Though Phil’s hardly squeaky clean himself. He smokes weed and…’
Libby hadn’t known any of this, but it wasn’t for her to judge either of them – especially not at a time like this.
‘Anyway,’ Fran went on. ‘Let’s just say that, according to Phil, there have been three people in their marriage for quite a while.’ She stared at Libby, biting her lip. ‘Though it’s probably paranoia talking. You know what smoking that stuff does to you.’
Libby suddenly went cold, her body shuddering from the inside out. She frowned, touching her forehead. ‘No, no I don’t know. I’ve never touched the stuff.’
Sean is having an affair…
‘And now they’ve got this with Sasha to deal with,’ Fran said, making a sympathetic face.
Libby made a noise – a mix of agreement and deep thought. ‘Fran, you don’t think that Jan and Sean…?’ Libby checked herself by shoving the last of her carrot cake into her mouth. But it was too late. She and Fran had known each other long enough to almost mind-read.
‘No, Lib. I don’t think that. And neither should you.’ She stood up, rummaging in her bag. ‘Anyway, there are far bigger things going on now with poor Sasha.’ She checked her pocket for her lighter. ‘Won’t be long. Addiction calls.’
Libby nodded, feeling ashamed for even thinking that way, watching as Fran went out through the glass doors, heading for the smoking area. She sat back in her chair, staring out of the large orangery windows as she finished her tea. A fine drizzle had started up, smudging out the area of park where she’d spotted the deer. Fran was right, of course. She was being selfish, and blaming Sean for her own insecurities when there were greater things to be concerned about. It wasn’t as if he…
Her thoughts trailed off as she heard a phone vibrating. She checked her bag, but it wasn’t hers. Then she saw Fran had left her phone on the table beside the teapot. Libby idly peered at the screen, but before she could get a proper look Fran had returned, swiping it up.
‘I’m always leaving the damn thing lying about,’ she said, smiling.
But Libby didn’t reply. She just stared at Fran then down at the phone in her hand again. No number had appeared on the screen, and not a full name either. Though Libby could swear, as she looked back out across the parkland, that she’d seen the initials ‘SR’ flash up as the caller’s ID.
Twenty-Three
Now
The solicitor’s words hit me hard.
‘You think they’ve found a body? Is it Sasha? Have they told you?’ I grip the edge of the table.
‘The fact is, I don’t know,’ Claire replies. ‘But there’s a chance.’ She makes that face again – part pity, part disbelief. I wonder if she mistrusts all her clients, views them as guilty until they prove otherwise. ‘But DI Jones isn’t going to tell me everything,’ she continues. ‘Not yet. He’s known for keeping his powder dry. And there doesn’t
need to be a body to make an arrest if there’s other compelling evidence.’
‘They can’t have found her body. Is that why they’ve brought me in, really? Please, dear God, no.’ I shake my head. Keep shaking it faster and faster until my brain hurts. Hair flies across my face and my vision goes blurry, the bland grey and beige colours of the room blending into streaks, the fluorescent strip light above flickering and buzzing.
But Claire’s face stays sharp as I fix my stare on her – her bright eyes, the compassionate pucker of her lips. She’s here to help me, I tell myself. She’ll make them believe I’m innocent and then I can just go home. Home to Sean and Alice. Pretend none of it ever happened.
I drop my head down onto the table, pressing my forehead against the cold grey surface. ‘Nooo…’ I wail, sobbing hysterically. ‘Dear God, no. Not Sasha.’ I claw at the tabletop, my fingers falling on Claire’s paperwork. She tries to pull it out of my way, but I grip on tightly, pulling it between my fingers, scrunching a few pages up in my fist.
‘Libby, stop. You really can’t do—’
‘Don’t tell me to stop!’ I yell, lifting my head. My hair is swept across my eyes and stuck to my wet face as I bare my teeth. I can tell by the look on her face that she thinks I’m demented, that I’m a threat to her. She glances at the door. Looks nervous.
Just tell it like it is, love. Just tell them what happened…
‘Sean?’ I say, swinging round. ‘Sean?’ I stand up, looking behind me, watching the door as if he’s just come in. But my legs give way, my lungs burning from my short, sharp breaths, and I slump down again. ‘Sean, is that you?’
‘Mrs Randell. Libby, calm down, please or I’ll have to call someone. I can’t help you if you—’
‘But I just heard Sean’s voice in here, I swear. He came in, didn’t he? Has he come to get me?’
Date Night (ARC) Page 14
