for you. Why did you mention his interviews?’ he asked.
Donna reached down beside her and fumbled in her handbag. She produced Ward’s diary and flicked it open, turning it around on the table so that Connelly could see it.
‘October 25th,’ she read aloud. ‘Interview in Oxford.’ She turned a few more pages. ‘November 16th. Interview in Edinburgh.’ She looked at Connelly. ‘He was gone three days that time. And here, London, December 2nd. He was gone two days then.’ She turned more pages. ‘January 6th. Dublin.’
Connelly shook his head.
‘Did you arrange those interviews, Martin?’ she wanted to know. ‘Or weren’t they interviews? Was he with
‘Donna, I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Connelly said wearily. ‘
‘I’m talking about Suzanne Regan. My husband’s mistress. Did she go with him on any of these trips?’
‘I don’t know. Really. Trust me.’
‘What about these?’ she said, pointing at other entries in the diary. Beside every single interview in London, Oxford, Dublin or Edinburgh was the initial D.
‘Who was “D”?’ she asked. ‘Was that his pet name for her?’
Connelly could only shake his head.
‘I really don’t know what any of it means,’ he said. ‘I didn’t arrange those interviews, if that’s what they were.’
‘Did you know he was going to be in those places?’ she persisted. ‘I thought you and Chris usually let each other know if you were going away, in case one had to contact the other urgently.’
‘Donna, I wish I could help you. I can’t remember if Chris mentioned those trips or not.’
Donna reached into her handbag again, this time pulling out the photos she’d found of Ward and the five other men.
‘Who are they, Martin?’ she asked.
Connelly didn’t speak.
‘Recognise any of them?’ she persisted.
He ran his eyes over the pictures.
‘Where did you get them?’ he asked finally.
‘I found them in Chris’s office,’ she said, realizing it prudent not to mention she’d found identical ones in Suzanne Regan’s flat. ‘I want to know who they are and I’m going to find out.’
‘How?’ he enquired.
She flipped through the diary to another entry.
DUBLIN NATIONAL GALLERY
and beneath that
JAMES WORSDALE
The date was about a week later.
‘I’m going to Dublin,’ she announced defiantly.
‘What the hell for?’
‘To find out exactly what Chris was working on. To find out who these men were.’ She tapped the photo. ‘I think they’re linked in some way. And I think they’re linked to his death. I want to know how and I’m going to find out, no matter what I have to do.’
The rest of the meal was eaten in virtual silence and Donna finally left without having a coffee, having carefully gathered up the photos and the diary. She said goodbye to the agent and hurried out, flagging down a cab that was dropping off nearby.
Connelly paid the bill quickly and ran out after her, calling to her across the street.
Donna hesitated as he approached.
‘When are you leaving for Dublin?’ he asked.
‘In five days,’ she told him. ‘Why?’
Connelly shrugged and smiled awkwardly.
‘I thought you might like some company,’ he said. ‘I’ve been there a few times. Perhaps I could help you.’
Donna eyed him with something close to contempt.
‘I’ll manage,’ she said and climbed into the cab. Connelly watched as it pulled away.
Julie Craig received the news of Donna’s intended trip to Dublin with not so much surprise as weary resignation.
The two women were lying in bed, with only the ticking of the bedside clock an accompaniment to their subdued conversation. Julie lay on her back gazing up at the ceiling, listening to Donna recount her meeting with Connelly that afternoon. It was all she could do to stop herself telling Donna she was sick of hearing about the whole subject. Still she seemed obsessed with Suzanne Regan.
‘Do you think it’s a good idea you going so soon after the funeral?’ she asked.
‘The quicker I get this business sorted out the better,’ Donna told her.
‘And what if you don’t get it sorted out? What if you don’t find the answers you want?’
Donna had no answer.
‘Are you going to let it haunt you for the rest of your life? Are you going to think about it for the rest of your life?’
‘It’s easy for you to dismiss it, Julie,’ Donna said, irritably.
‘I’m not dismissing it,’ the younger woman said. ‘But this has become an obsession with you.’
‘Maybe it has. I’ll just have to learn to live with it. The same way I’ve got to learn to live without Chris.’ She wiped a tear from her eye. ‘I have to do things my way, Julie. It’s my way of coming to terms with it.’
They lay there in silence for what seemed like an eternity, then Julie broke the stillness.
‘If you need me to help you, to come with you to Ireland, or anywhere else, you know I will,’ she said softly.
Donna nodded in the darkness.
The light filtering through the window illuminated her face and Julie could see the tears glistening in the dull light. She reached across and wiped them from her sister’s cheek, stroking her face.
Donna held her hand and kissed it.
Julie began stroking her sister’s hair, smoothing the soft blonde tresses back.
‘Everything’s arranged for tomorrow,’ she said quietly. ‘The cars, the flowers, everything.’ She continued stroking. ‘The caterers will be here before we leave; they’ll have the food ready when the service is over. I told them nothing too elaborate.’
‘Sausages on sticks?’ Donna murmured, managing a thin smile.
Julie smiled too, her initial annoyance giving way to a feeling of helplessness. She could see the suffering in her sister’s eyes, feel it in her words, but knew she could do nothing to ease it. All she could do was stand by helplessly and watch. She carried on stroking, seeing Donna’s eyes closing.
‘Go to sleep,’ she whispered. ‘You need to rest.’
‘Remember when you used to do this when we were kids?’ Donna murmured, her voice low, her words delivered slowly. ‘It always used to make me drop off then.’
‘I remember,’ Julie told her. ‘You did it for me, too.’
‘Little sister looking after big sister,’ Donna said, her eyes closed.
