very, very carefully,’ she had said.
So how come Evelyn had married Simon? Simon who had clawed his way up – somehow – from an emotionally and physically deprived background, left behind his scarred working-class roots via a scholarship – but to all that wealth? Huge house, cars, housekeeper, swimming pool, daughters educated at one of the top ‘ladies’ establishments, and was now talking about buying a black-and-white, Grade I listed house attached to something like a thousand acres. Worth millions. Where did all the money come from? Where had all the money come from?
It was something she and Martin had puzzled over for years. Nothing legal had been their final conclusion but what made this unlikely was Evelyn’s personality. Martha could not imagine her friend being married to a man who was less than honest. And Evelyn was too bright to turn a blind eye to an unpleasant truth. So she and Martin had argued the point round and round, never coming to a sensible conclusion until they had dropped the subject completely but unsatisfactorily.
Evelyn’s death from ‘the silent killer’, ovarian cancer, the year before had been a tragedy for all who had known her.
Martha lay back against her pillows, her mind racing, firstly thinking about Simon and Evelyn but then progressing to this strange case. Her thought processes were slow at first but as she became more awake they speeded up.
Sukey was the next person to intrude into her bedroom, in pink pyjamas, dressing gown and fluffy slippers, carefully carrying a mug of coffee which she handed to her mother. ‘Morning, Mum,’ she said, climbing onto the bed.
Martha took the coffee from her, inhaling the scent. It was fresh coffee. ‘Is this a thank you for allowing you to go to acting school?’
Sukey nodded, unabashed that her strategy had been penetrated. ‘I’m so excited, Mum,’ she confided, giving her a hug, almost splashing coffee on the starched white duvet cover. She opened her blue eyes wide. ‘I’ve just got this feeling that I’m born to be very, very lucky.’
Martha could have warned her enthusiastic daughter that a career in acting was at best precarious, quoted the mantra that many were called but few chosen and told her that even successful actresses had periods of inactivity. She might have added that they had no contacts in the media world, no famous relations who might be able to ease Sukey’s way into a role or two. But she had gone along a similar path with Sam, warning him about choosing football as a career. And look where he was now. The Liverpool Academy. With her twin brother so successful it was no wonder that Sukey was aiming high, convinced she would share his good fortune. Martha wondered if Sam would secure the Stoke deal and superstitiously crossed her fingers. Her twins, she was fast realizing, were a very unusual and unique pair. It made it more of a shame that their father could not witness their successes and perhaps be there to comfort them through their downfalls. But if Sam could play in a Premier League team why should not Sukey star in a soap or a film or go on the stage, whatever Noel Coward warned Mrs Worthington. Martha put her arm round her daughter, breathed in the soapy, lemony smell of her hair, drank her coffee and tried to find the right words to say, not to discourage but to encourage without raising false hopes.
In the end she kissed the top of her daughter’s head. ‘Go for it, Suks,’ she said. ‘Life’s too short to sit back, suddenly arrive at middle age and wonder what would have happened if you had followed your dream.’
Sukey flicked her long blonde hair behind her shoulders and looked into her mother’s face, frowning. ‘What parts do you think I could play, Mum?’ She was already sounding self-absorbed.
‘Just about anything.’
Sukey’s frown deepened. ‘I wanted you to say something more specific,’ she said grumpily. ‘Not soft soap me.’
‘What would you like to play? Classical stuff? Jane Austen?’
Sukey made a face. ‘I wouldn’t want to be one of those simpering wretches like in
‘Wouldn’t we all,’ Martha muttered. ‘Come on, Suks, climb off your cloud. Time to get up and go to work and school.’
Martha felt very happy that morning. Tuesday had started well, with the brief chat with her daughter and the telephone call from Simon Pendlebury which had been so pleasant and friendly. As she showered, she reflected that she had neither liked nor trusted him while Evelyn had been alive but since she’d died they had become friends. She smiled to herself and dressed in a black Betty Jackson suit worn over a pink silk blouse. One of the downsides to her job was that dealing so much with death on a day-to-day basis she was almost always forced to wear, if only for decency’s sake, sober colours. Most days she had face-to-face meetings with grieving relatives. But she felt she could risk a pink blouse today. She wore high-heeled patent shoes for a small touch of glamour.
To her surprise when she reached her office Jericho Palfreyman opened the door to her, his eyes bright with inquisitiveness. ‘Morning,’ he said, looking pleased with himself. ‘Detective Inspector Randall’s already here to see you, ma’am. I let him into your office.’
She hung up her coat. The weather was still freezing, especially in the early morning; she’d had to scrape the ice off the car which had delayed her by five minutes. But it was still only ten to nine. ‘It’s a bit early for a visit from him, isn’t it?’
‘It is.’ His words were heavy with meaning. He was dying for her to ask
She gave in. ‘Do you know what it’s about, Jericho? Did he say?’
‘No, ma’am, but he looks…’ Jericho fished around in his head for an appropriate word. ‘Restless. I think he’s worried about something.’
‘Right.’ She pushed the door open. Alex was silhouetted against the window, staring out at the snowscape. He turned round as she entered. ‘Alex,’ she greeted him warmly. ‘It’s nice to see you.’
‘I had to come, Martha.’
Jericho was right, she thought. Alex Randall was positively agitated.
‘Sit down,’ she invited.
He folded his long, spare frame into the armchair and leaned forward, his hands on his knees. ‘I’m going round and round in circles,’ he confessed. ‘Going mad and not getting anywhere very satisfactory which is why I’ve come here to talk to you.’ He smiled. ‘The voice of reason.’
She sat down too, not behind her desk but in the chair to his side. ‘You think I can help?’
‘I damn well hope so.’
She leaned back. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Shoot.’
‘I need a clue, Martha. A direction. Something – anything to give me a focus.’
She thought for a minute then spoke slowly. ‘This probably hasn’t got anything to do with it,’ she said, ‘but a friend of mine rang me late last night.’
Randall looked at her, patently wondering where this was leading.
‘He mentioned a friend of his who’d had a termination. A medical abortion,’ she explained.
Randall stared at her as though he thought she was stark staring mad. ‘That was not exactly what I’d expected.’
She met his eyes and he gave his head a faint shake. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I can’t see what that can possibly have to do with this case.’ His eyes were on her face as though he was searching for something. ‘I simply can’t see it, Martha,’ he said finally. ‘We’re talking about a baby here, not an abortion.’
‘I know that,’ she said stiffly. Then she smiled. ‘Stick with me, Alex,’ she said. ‘Be patient. Initially I wondered about Alice’s daughter, Rosie, if she had got pregnant. Could the baby possibly be hers? Then I decided no. If she had had an unwanted pregnancy she would have had a legal termination. Not gone to full term and then hidden the baby’s body. Rosie Sedgewick is simply too bright,’ she said. ‘And besides, from what you’ve told me she’s also too strong a personality. She doesn’t fit the profile I’ve built up of the child’s mother.’ She smiled at him mischievously. ‘I’m not being very helpful, am I?’
Randall waited, hoping she was about to say something a little more illuminating.
