by Rena George
Sam nodded. ‘From the moment she was sent down. She blamed Bentine for that and spent all of her prison sentence plotting her revenge.’
‘What about Kit?’
‘I think she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don’t believe Kit was ever all that bothered about taking revenge on Bentine. He might not have been one of the greatest lawyers, but the courts found Kit guilty and so she was sent down. She would never have thought of revenge if Abbie or Geraldine, to call her by her real name, hadn’t talked her into it.’
‘So what happened when they left prison?’
‘According to Geraldine, she got a flat in London. She had money so that was not a problem. Kit joined her when she was released a few months later. I don’t suppose it was very difficult to discover where Bentine and Magdalene had moved to, although they did keep a much lower profile when they came down to Cornwall.’
Loveday nodded, her brow creased in thought. ‘My guess would be that he sold up in Cambridge to get away from people who wanted to get even with him. He was a blackmailer. But I suppose you knew that?’
They knew plenty about that. Paul Bentine had had another laptop, and it had been recovered from Abbie’s room in the pub where the women had been staying. She’d admitted stealing it from his house and copying selected bits of information, in particular, Lawrence Kemp’s name, onto a memory stick. It was the one they found later – as they had been meant to - in his desk drawer. But Loveday didn’t need to know that, not yet. It would all come out in court.
‘What about Lawrence’s painting? Was Abbie/Geraldine, whatever her name is, did she actually admit she was responsible for that as well?’
Sam nodded. ‘Apparently.’
‘Did she tell you why she did it?’
Sam cleared his throat. ‘It was exactly as Kit had said in her letter. She saw Kemp’s painting when she and Kit visited the museum, recognised the location and got some sort of fixation that she was the figure on the cliffs -’
‘So she went back and obliterated it?’
‘Something like that.’ He turned to look at Loveday. ‘So you were on the ball there too.’
‘Not me. That was all Lawrence’s idea.’ She shot him a mischievous glance. ‘As I recall, you rubbished it.’
‘That’s right. Rub it in.’
Loveday laughed. ‘If it’s any consolation, I did too, at the time. I told Lawrence he was mad.’
A helicopter, crossing the sky like a giant dragonfly, droned high above them.
‘It’s on its way to the Scillies,’ Loveday said, her voice, reflective. ‘Do you know the Scillies, Inspector?’
‘It was Sam a minute ago,’ he said, watching her. ‘And no. I don’t know the Scillies.’ He glanced around him. ‘This place is good enough for me.’
They had stopped to look back and take in the wide sweep of the coastline. They could see Mousehole across the water, the sun glinting on the windows of its picturesque little cottages.
‘Loveday nodded. ‘I run down here.’ She took a deep breath, enjoying the sensation of the clean air filling her lungs.
‘I can see why,’ he said, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the horizon.
‘Reminds me of home,’ Loveday explained.
‘Scotland?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which part?’
‘The Black Isle. My parents run a pub there. It’s just north of Inverness.’
‘And is it?’
‘What?’
‘Black?’
Loveday laughed and her nose wrinkled. ‘More like green, but they do say the soil is rich and black.’ She looked at him. ‘And before you ask, it’s not an island either.’
‘All very clear. Sounds like a place that has to be seen to be believed,’ Sam said as his phone rang. He pulled it from his jacket pocket and flipped it open. ‘My son,’ he said. ‘Do you mind?’
Loveday nodded and Sam strode across the beach, speaking into his phone. When he came back a few minutes later he was frowning. ‘I promised to take him fishing when this case was wound up.’ He grinned. ‘He’s pinning me down.’
‘How old is he?’
‘Jack’s 11 and Maddie is eight.’ He paused, as though deciding whether to give any more information. ‘They live in Plymouth with their mother.’
She nodded, and then looking up saw that he had been watching her. ‘You don’t ask many questions - for a journalist, that is.’
‘No,’ she said quietly, ‘Even journalists have days off.’ And know when to keep quiet, she added silently.
‘Don’t know about you, but I’m starving,’ he said suddenly, springing up from the rock where they had been sitting and extending a hand to help Loveday to her feet.
‘Me too,’ she said, realising that it was actually true.
‘I know just the place.’
Loveday’s hand went to her face. ‘I’m no fit sight for company.’
‘You’ll love where I’ve got in mind,’ he said before hesitating and turning to face her. ‘And just for the record. You look fine.’
They went back to Loveday’s cottage to collect his car and she noticed Cassie’s Land Rover had gone. Sam followed her gaze.
‘They’ve gone to St Ives. A picnic was mentioned.’
Loveday turned a surprised stare on him.
‘I was invited in for coffee, earlier,’ he explained as he followed her into the cottage. Her phone was flashing on the kitchen table where she had left it. Three missed calls – all from Lawrence.
‘Go ahead,’ Sam said, when she motioned silently that she would check them. She walked through to the sitting room, leaving Sam in the kitchen and pressed the answer button.
‘Loveday! What the hell’s been happening? Cassie said you’d been hurt. Are you all right?’
‘Cassie told you?’
‘I phoned her when I couldn’t get hold of you. She thought I knew.’
‘What did she tell you?’
‘That you’d been hurt…and that the police have charged someone for Bentine’s murder.’
‘That’s right. I know her. She’s a lawyer who used to work with Bentine. Look Lawrence. I can’t talk right now. Can I call you back?’
‘When?’
‘Tonight. I promise.’
Kemp! Damn it! Sam had forgotten about him. …And Loveday had told him she would be calling him that night. They were obviously in a relationship. He glanced round the room. She had her own life here, and he wasn’t any part of it. Not that he wanted to be part of it, he tried to convince himself. He wasn’t looking for a relationship. The only reason he had come here today was to apologise for his behaviour yesterday…but what had he to apologise for? Loveday Ross had only herself to blame if she got into trouble.
She came back into the kitchen. She’d brushed her hair and it was hanging loose now around her face, the dark strands against her bruised skin emphasizing how fragile she looked.
He imagined Lawrence Kemp coming here, could see him making himself at home, pouring wine, taking ownership of the little cottage…taking ownership of her. He was suddenly angry and he wasn’t sure why.
The painkillers Loveday had taken earlier in the day had long since worn off and she flinched as she moved across the room.
‘Sore?’ Sam asked.
Loveday grimaced. ‘All my own fault.’
‘I’ll second that,’ Sam said, his face serious.
Loveday looked up. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You said it yourself, Loveday. Self inflicted injuries.’
She shook her head and stared at him for an explanation. When none came, she said, ‘Have I done something wrong?’
‘Now let me see,’ he said, eyes searching the ceiling. ‘Journalist…meddling…troublesome.’ Are you getting my drift?’
Loveday opened her mouth to reply, but his raised hand silenced her.
‘What I’m getting at is that this was a serious investigation and you did rather interfe
re.’
Loveday was shaking. ‘You know what,’ she said. ‘Let’s just forget about lunch. I’ve lost my appetite.’
Sam turned to speak but, shaking his head, thought better of it.
Loveday moved to the door and held it open. ‘Goodbye, Inspector.’ She said, slamming it shut behind him.
She watched, eyes narrowed, as his car retreated at speed up the drive, the tyres sending gravel flying in all directions. The man really was insufferable.
Loveday went to the fridge. The bottle of Australian Chardonnay was half full and she poured herself a glass and took it outside. The rabbits on the lawn scattered as she sat down on the peeling wooden bench beneath her window. Even they were deserting her. She took a gulp and felt the cold liquid flow down her throat. Somewhere inside she could feel it begin to relax her. She sipped the rest more slowly. The rabbits had come back, emerging gingerly from their hiding places under the hedge that bordered the garden. Inside the cottage her phone was ringing. Loveday tried to ignore it, but eventually she went and picked it up.
‘Me again,’ Merrick said. ‘Just checking up on you.’
‘I’ve already got a mother, Merrick,’ she sighed.
‘Oh dear. Touchy today aren’t we?’
‘Am I?’
‘Want to talk about it?’
‘Hmm, no, not really…but thanks for your concern. I just need a bit of space right now, that’s all.’
‘Sure?’
‘Yes, I’m fine. I’ll be good as new in a day or two. You’ll see.’
‘Well I’m here if you need me. Oh, and I don’t want to see you back in the office until you really are well enough. Got it?’
‘Got it,’ Loveday smiled into the phone. ‘And thanks Merrick. I really do appreciate your concern.’
‘OK. Take care.’
‘You too.’
She put the phone down and wiped her face dry. The tears were just delayed reaction from yesterday’s ordeal.
She’d forgotten her promise to ring Lawrence, so wasn’t prepared for his call later that evening. She knew she had to speak to him. It was one final loose end she had to tie up. ‘Sorry. I was just going to ring you,’ she lied. It was only a tiny fib, but she wondered why she had bothered to make it. ‘What exactly has Cassie told you?’ she asked.
‘She said this woman attacked you. Christ, Loveday! What happened? I feel this is all my fault. If I hadn’t got you involved in my problems none of this would have happened.’
‘Actually, Lawrence. You couldn’t be more wrong. Somebody told me today that I just can’t help meddling, poking my nose in.’ She let out a long sigh. ‘It’s what journalist do, isn’t it…interfere?’
‘Are you sure you’re OK? You’re sounding funny.’
Loveday wondered how many times in a day she would have to tell people she was ‘fine’ before they actually started believing her.
‘It’s been a funny kind of day.’
‘What happened, Loveday?’
Over the next 20 minutes Loveday filled in details of the past few days’ events. Lawrence listened in silence until she had finished.
‘Christ!’ he said again. ‘Abbie did all that? She really did have it in for Bentine. He wasn’t a nice man, but nobody deserves ending up like that. What happens now?’
Loveday shrugged. ‘Geraldine Fielding, which is Abbie’s real name, has been charged with Bentine’s murder and I suppose if Sa.. She was going to say Sam, but there were more detectives than him in the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary. ‘If the police can get enough evidence, she might also be charged with Kit Armitage’s murder, depending on what the post mortem results throw up.’
‘So, are you saying we can put all this behind us now?’ Lawrence asked.
‘I suppose I am,’ Loveday said. ‘Case closed.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘Why Monday?’ Sam had asked. ‘Only you, Charlie, would get married on a Monday.’
Arthur Charlton shrugged. ‘It was a cancellation. Registrars are very busy people, apparently. Besides, it was either grabbing this slot or waiting until December.’ He grinned. ‘No contest.’
‘Very smart, boss,’ Amanda had looked impressed as Sam strode into the office. Other faces lifted from their work and gave ‘good morning’ nods as he passed. Sam had exchanged his Harris Tweed jacket and brown slacks for the charcoal suit that spent most of its life hanging unworn in his wardrobe. He had added a soft grey silk tie, which, according to the looks he got, was acceptable wedding attire. It didn’t stop him feeling uncomfortable though. He wasn’t used to such formal clothes, but Charlie was a friend and Sam felt compelled to make an effort. It was his wedding day after all.
The stack of papers in Sam’s inbox appeared to have grown in his absence over the weekend. He knew that sooner of later he would have to knuckle down and attend to them – but not today. So maybe, despite his dislike of weddings, it wasn’t all bad.
The euphoria in the office at getting that confession from Geraldine Fielding a week ago had settled. But the team was still somewhat buoyed up by their success. He should be sharing those feelings with them, but the black mood that had settled since his disagreement with Loveday was still with him. He shouldn’t have said those things. He’d handled it badly. He should have been more humble…talked of his concern for her safety out on the cliffs that day…explained his anger was mainly with himself for not being there. Why hadn’t he? He didn’t know.
He’d driven up to Plymouth on Sunday. They weren’t expecting him. Victoria’s new partner was there. But Maddie and Jack had been excited to see him, and had pleaded with him to join them for the Sunday Roast. But Victoria’s eyes had said ‘Don’t you dare accept.’ So he hadn’t.
Arrangements were made for him to collect the children the following Friday night and bring them to Cornwall for the weekend. …And this time he wouldn’t be letting them down – no matter what. The feeling of lethargy had stayed with him on the drive back to Stithians after his fall-out with Loveday that afternoon. Pictures of her kept flitting through his mind…her poor scratched face…the bruises. They made her look vulnerable. Wasn’t it his job to protect the public? But then Loveday wasn’t just another punter. But why did she have to be so headstrong?
Sam had never been inside the Truro Register Office. It was on the other side of town. He’d thought of walking, and then changed his mind. The air had a nip in it now, signs of the approaching Cornish winter.
‘Sam!’ Charlie interrupted his nervous pacing to rush forward, hand outstretched in greeting. ‘Thank God you’ve come. I need some moral support here.’
Sam glanced over his shoulder into the room where the ceremony would take place. It was a sea of pinks and fuchsias, lemons and powder blues, interspersed with the more sombre colours of the male wedding guests.
‘They’re all Laura’s friends,’ he explained, flapping his hand towards the gathering. ‘You see that little group down at the front?’
Sam strained his neck and nodded when he saw the half dozen people in the far away corner.
‘That’s all of my lot.’
Sam smiled and put a hand on Charlie’s back. He could feel his friend trembling. ‘Nerves are normal,’ he assured with a pat. ‘Just look at the bride you’re getting.’ He beamed across the foyer as Laura approached. She was wearing a fetching cream dress and matching jacket and carrying a neat bouquet of tiny pink roses and trailing gypsophilia.
‘You look just wonderful,’ he said, embracing her. ‘You both do.’
‘You’ll be joining us at the reception?’ Charlie asked, his eyes pleading. ‘It’s at Trevarthian Manor.’
That hadn’t been part of Sam’s plan, but giving up an afternoon for his friend surely wasn’t too much to ask. So he nodded. ‘Of course I’m coming,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t miss it.’
‘Great. We’re just waiting for Laura’s friend, then we can go in.’ Charlie’s hands were still visibly shaking.
‘Here she is now,’
Laura smiled as the newcomer approached. Sam spun round and found himself staring into Loveday’s blue eyes.
She touched her still bruised cheek with an embarrassed smile. ‘Not great for the wedding photos. I’ll have to steer clear of the photographer.’
Sam was unprepared for the little flutter of pleasure that had started inside him. ‘I didn’t know you were coming…you…you didn’t say.’
‘Well, Inspector,’ she said, keeping her expression blank, ‘Maybe you’ll just have to accept that you don’t know everything.’
Bride and groom exchanged uneasy glances. But Loveday had produced a little bunch of white heather. ‘Special delivery from the Highlands,’ she said. ‘My mother sent it for luck.’
She handed the little posy to Laura, but not before extracting a sprig.
Turning to Sam, she tucked the prickly heather into the lapel of his jacket and gave it a little pat. ‘Would have looked better on the tweed one,’ she said, struggling to keep a straight face as his eyes narrowed in a look that said he hoped he wasn’t misunderstanding the gesture.
But as they walked into the Marriage Room, Loveday hadn’t missed Sam’s smile.
His day had suddenly improved.
A CORNISH OBSESSION
By
Rena George
It's a snowy December night and Jago Tilley is making an unsteady way home from the village pub. He doesn’t know that by morning he will be dead!
It falls to DI Sam Kitto, of Devon and Cornwall Police, to investigate the old fisherman’s brutal murder, and once again magazine editor, Loveday Ross, finds herself involved in her policeman boyfriend’s case.
Suspicion falls on the dead man’s disreputable nephew, Billy Travis. But what is his relationship with St Ives gallery owner, Zachariah Paxton-Quinn?
Loveday’s boss, Merrick Tremayne, is acting distinctly out of character. Could his strange mood have something to do with her discovery of a burglar rummaging through the magazine’s old archive files?
And then there is the glamorous Dutch boutique owner, Sabine De Fries. What is her connection with the Tremayne family?
