by Roberta Kray
‘Straight up,’ she said. ‘I’m not having you on.’
‘What kind of secret?’
‘I dunno. It wouldn’t have been a secret if she’d told me, would it?’
‘And you want paying for that?’
‘No, I want paying for the name she mentioned. I reckon this person might be able to help you – and Lita.’
‘Mal Fury?’ he asked, unwilling to throw his money away on a lead he already had. ‘Esther, Teddy, Brenda Cecil, Joe Quinn?’
Sheila didn’t blink at any of the names he threw at her. ‘Joe Quinn’s dead.’
‘So tell me.’
‘Forty quid,’ she said.
‘Thirty – and that’s my final offer. Take it or leave it.’ Nick held his breath while he waited. Perhaps, finally, he was going to get the break he needed.
50
Lita never did get her dinner with Jude. She had been looking forward to it, even planned what she was going to wear, when he rang to postpone.
‘Sorry, but I’m not feeling too good,’ he said. ‘I think it’s a dose of summer flu. You don’t mind leaving it, do you?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘But we’ll get together soon, yeah? I’ll give you a call.’
Lita wasn’t sure if she believed him, about his flu or the call. She felt disappointed, let down, but that was nothing new when it came to Jude. What she should have done was put him completely out of her mind. What she did was to think about him constantly.
To make matters worse, there was an awful atmosphere in the house. Ever since the weekend party, Mal and Esther had been at each other’s throats. Sometimes it was just low-level sniping, other times there were full-blown rows. Voices were raised and doors were slammed. When they were in the same room, the tension was palpable, a simmering antagonism that threatened to explode at any moment.
Lita wasn’t sure what the arguments were about. She caught only snatches, hurled accusations that were not explicit in their content. Both sides attributed blame – but blame for what? For what had happened to Kay, perhaps. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that things were escalating and that it would all come to a head sooner rather than later.
Most days Esther got in her car and disappeared for several hours. Mal didn’t go to work. He shut himself away in the library or paced the grounds in a furious fashion. He was drinking too much and his face looked grey. Lita was filled with a sense of foreboding. It was as if a loose end had been pulled and everything was gradually unravelling.
In order to escape from the stifling atmosphere of the house, Lita walked down to the village. It was one of those close, humid mornings, the air thick and heavy. The clouds were low and in the distance she could hear rumbles of thunder. By the time she reached the shops, big drops of rain were starting to fall and she hurried for shelter before she got caught in a downpour.
The café with the courtyard was the nearest place. Lita went inside, ordered a coffee and found a free table by the window. She’d barely sat down when the door opened and Theresa came in.
‘Hi,’ she said, pulling out a chair. ‘I thought it was you. You okay? How’s things?’
‘All right, thanks.’ Lita wondered why that response immediately sprang to her lips. British politeness, she supposed, but it was about as far from the truth as it could possibly be. ‘You?’
‘Not bad. I just dropped Sam off with my mum. I’ve got a shift at the pub at twelve.’ Theresa inclined her head and stared at Lita. ‘I’ve heard things are a bit… well, less than peaceful over at the house.’
Lita was no longer surprised by how much the villagers knew about the Fury household. Gossip travelled fast in small communities. ‘You could say that.’
Theresa leaned forward, lowering her voice so no one at the surrounding tables could hear. ‘What’s Esther playing at?’
Lita shrugged. ‘I don’t have a clue.’
‘Of course you do.’
Lita gazed back at her. She didn’t want Theresa to think she was holding out, but didn’t want to add to the gossip either. ‘They’re just arguing all the time.’
‘Well of course they are. I mean, shit, she’s off shagging someone else and —’
‘What?’
‘Oh, come on. You must have realised. Why else do you think they’re at each other’s throats? Everyone knows. She’s not exactly being discreet. It’s humiliating for him, isn’t it?’
Lita was shocked, still trying to digest the revelation. She hadn’t guessed, not for a second, that this was the cause of the trouble. Now she thought about it, it all made sense: the rowing, the anger, Esther’s frequent disappearances. Suddenly a cold wave of suspicion washed over her. A series of images flashed into her head: Esther and Jude sitting together at lunch, the way she whispered in his ear, the way he looked at her. And then there had been Anna Leighton’s insinuations. Are you sure it’s just the script she likes? ‘Who… who is it?’ she stammered. ‘Who’s she seeing? Do you know?’
Theresa shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea. I thought you might —’
‘No,’ Lita said quickly. ‘I don’t. I haven’t heard any names. I didn’t even… No, I don’t know.’
‘Beats me why the two of them even stay together. It’s hardly a marriage made in heaven, is it?’ Theresa glanced at her watch, sighed and stood up. ‘I’d better go or I’ll be late for my shift. Catch you later, yeah?’
‘Yeah,’ Lita said, forcing a smile.
The waitress turned up with her coffee. Lita’s hand shook as she lifted the cup to her lips. All she could think about was Jude and Esther. Could it be true? Was that why Jude had bailed on her? The more she thought about it, the sicker she felt. Esther might be older than him but so what? She was beautiful and glamorous and a part of that world Jude was so entranced by.
It had grown dark outside and the rain was lashing down into the courtyard. Lightning forked across the sky, closely followed by a loud clap of thunder. Lita flinched. She knew she had no rights to Jude’s affections, that no promises had been made, but she still felt like her heart was breaking. And what about Mal? She was the one who’d introduced Jude to Esther, and now…
Lita took a few deep breaths and tried to rein in her emotions. She was jumping to conclusions that could be completely false. Esther could be having an affair with anyone or no one. Jude could be on the Mansfield, working on his script. None of the bad stuff was necessarily true. She drank some more coffee and stared out at the rain.
It was another fifteen minutes before the storm passed over. Lita paid the bill and left. She walked slowly back along the lane, dragging her feet, reluctant to get home any sooner than she had to. The ground was covered with puddles, the hedgerows drenched in rain. She plodded on with her head bowed, hoping that her worst fears weren’t about to become reality.
Lita went through the side gate and along the drive. She was just rounding the bend when she heard raised voices carried on the sluggish air. She thought she caught the name ‘Teddy’ but couldn’t be certain. A few seconds later, when she had a clear view of the entrance to the house, she could see Mal and Esther standing outside the front door. The two of them were in a fight, yelling at each other, their faces twisted and full of rage. Mrs Gough hovered in the background, a silent witness to it all.
‘I’ve had enough. Don’t you get it?’ Esther was shouting. ‘I’m not doing this any more.’
‘You’ve had enough. Jesus, that’s rich. How can you even —’
‘Just stop it, Mal! Stop it! It’s over!’
‘You’re not going!’
‘For God’s sake!’
Lita was walking forward although she was barely aware of it. Her gaze was fixed on the battle taking place in front of her. Esther turned away and made an attempt to go down the steps, but Mal grabbed hold of her. There was a brief struggle, more shouting, a flailing of arms and then… Lita’s eyes filled with horror as one moment Esther was at the top of the steps and the next she was tumbling dow
n them.
It all happened so fast, she could barely take it in. And then there was a pause as though time had slowed down, followed by a dreadful silence. Esther lay motionless, strangely twisted, with one arm thrown out by her side. And then suddenly everything started moving again. Mrs Gough let out a small high-pitched scream. Mal launched himself down the steps.
Lita broke into a run. She heard Mal shout for an ambulance and saw Mrs Gough rush back inside. By the time she reached him, Mal was crouched down beside his wife, his face ashen, his lips moving but no sound coming out. For a second, Lita thought she was dead – she had a cold flashback to her mother lying on the grass outside Carlton House – but then saw the shallow movements of Esther’s chest. Not conscious, though, and an injury to her head was leaking blood.
‘Don’t try and move her,’ Lita said, recalling her first-aid classes at school. ‘Keep her still.’ She knelt down beside Mal who finally found his voice.
‘Esther,’ he said. ‘Open your eyes. Talk to me.’
But Esther didn’t open her eyes.
‘Christ,’ he murmured. He covered his face with his hands and groaned. ‘What have I done? Jesus, what have I done?’
‘She’ll be all right,’ Lita said, even though she knew the words were empty. Esther looked about as far from all right as a person could be. But she had to say something and didn’t want to cause panic. She could smell the booze on him, knew he’d been drinking. Her gaze slid across the drive to where one of Esther’s shoes was lying, and then on to the two suitcases that were standing by the boot of the red MG.
People seemed to appear from nowhere, gardeners and cleaners, even Mrs Docherty who had come up from the basement. They stood around, not sure what to do. Mrs Gough had come back and she stayed close to Esther, her teeth bared like a tiger defending her cub. She glared at Mal, her hatred palpable, a thin hiss escaping from between her lips.
It felt like a long time before the ambulance arrived. Lita heard the siren in the distance, the ominous noise that always made her stomach lurch. And this time there was good reason for it. Was Esther slipping away? Her face was pale, almost translucent. She hadn’t moved or made a sound since the fall.
The police followed in the wake of the ambulance, and while the medics dealt with Esther, Mrs Gough talked to the cops. It was obvious what she was doing – laying blame where she thought it should be laid. The housekeeper’s loyalties were not divided; it was only Esther she cared about.
‘He pushed her. I saw it. It was his fault. He pushed her down those steps!’
Lita didn’t like what she was saying – surely it had been an accident? – but she didn’t get the chance to interject. Mal was trying to get in the ambulance with Esther and one of the officers was barring his path.
‘I don’t think so, sir.’
‘I have to go with her.’
‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’
‘Get out of my way!’
And Lita, seeing that he was about to lose his temper, quickly stepped in before he did something else he’d regret. She took his arm and gently tried to pull him aside. ‘Leave it, Mal. Come on. Mrs Gough can go to the hospital with her. She won’t be on her own. We can follow on behind.’
But Mal wasn’t having any of it. The mixture of shock and guilt and alcohol proved to be a lethal combination. Freeing himself from her grasp, he attempted to push past the constable. ‘Move! That’s my wife. I’m going with her.’
There was an ungainly scuffle that was only ever going to end one way. Thirty seconds later Mal had been handcuffed and was sitting in the back of a panda car. The only place he was going now was the police station. As the ambulance pulled away, Lita prayed that Esther would survive. She had to. She must. If she didn’t, Mal’s life was about to come crashing down around his ears. Her gaze flicked towards the suitcases still standing on the drive. Lita sucked in a breath. Perhaps it was too late. Perhaps the crashing had already happened.
51
Lita kept eye contact with the constable, determined not to look shifty or evasive. She had told the truth when she’d said she was sure it was an accident, but was prepared to lie when it came to the details. Although it had been a long time since she’d last had to talk to the police, she’d lost none of her natural suspicion. On the Mansfield the cops had been the enemy, and she still didn’t trust them.
PC Rowland was sitting at the kitchen table with his notebook. ‘But you were quite a distance away. How could you see what happened?’
‘Not that far,’ Lita replied. ‘I was on the drive. I could see quite clearly.’
‘And they were arguing?’
‘Yes. At the top of the steps.’
‘And then what?’
Lita phrased her answer carefully. ‘Mal had hold of her arm. Esther kind of twisted away, trying to shake him off, and then… then she lost her balance and fell down the steps.’
‘You’re quite sure she wasn’t pushed?’
‘Quite sure,’ Lita said firmly.
‘Only Mrs Gough was standing right beside them and she thinks otherwise.’
Lita kept her eyes on him. ‘Well, maybe she was too close. Sometimes you can’t see the wood for the trees, can you? It was all quite fast, but I know what I saw. It was an accident, pure and simple. Mal would never do anything to deliberately hurt Esther.’
‘Even if she was leaving him?’
‘I wasn’t aware that she was.’
‘You didn’t notice the cases on the drive?’
‘There was nothing unusual about that. She often goes away for work.’
The officer wasn’t writing anything down. He tapped the pen against the notepad but didn’t appear to think that anything she said was important enough to record. ‘Mrs Gough says the marriage was over, that Esther Fury was leaving her husband.’
‘I don’t know about that.’
‘Did Mr and Mrs Fury argue a lot?’
Lita inclined her head and gazed at the constable. She could have told him about the recent rows, the simmering tension, but of course she didn’t. ‘No more than most married couples, I should imagine.’ And then before he could interrogate her any further she quickly asked, ‘So what’s going to happen to Mal?’
‘That depends.’
‘On what?’
‘On what Esther Fury says when she comes round – if she comes round. And if we decide to charge him with assaulting a police officer.’
‘You won’t do that, will you? I mean, he was just upset. All he wanted was to go in the ambulance with her. I know he shouldn’t have lashed out, it was stupid, but it was just the heat of the moment.’
‘A lot of things can happen in the heat of the moment.’
Lita knew he was referring to Esther’s fall, and shook her head. ‘He’s not a violent man. He’s not. Ask anyone in the house, they’ll tell you. Ask Mrs Docherty.’
Mrs Docherty, who had been listening to the exchange while she chopped vegetables for a meal that might never be eaten, quickly agreed. ‘Not Mr Fury,’ she said. ‘He’s not got a mean bone in his body. And when you think of all he’s had to put up with over the years…’
The constable’s eyebrows shifted up. ‘Put up with?’
A red flush swept across Mrs Docherty’s face as she realised how this might have sounded. ‘With the baby and all,’ she added smartly. ‘With little Kay going missing like that.’
