His vision blurred as tears stung at his eyelids, and he clenched his fist.
I’d have been a grandfather.
He shoved the pile of receipts to one side and rested his elbows on the desk, his head in his hands. He couldn’t comprehend how everything had gone so wrong.
He’d agreed with Diane that the private church group would be a good thing for them to do as a family. After all, it ensured that they could worship with their peers, not the usual rabble that filled the pews on a Sunday morning out of duty rather than a need to prove their devotion. Those other people seemed to treat the whole business of worship as an excuse to catch up with one another and gossip, not celebrate their belief.
In addition, it meant that Sophie could mingle with others her age that offered her the support and friendship her position in society demanded. Both he and Diane agreed it balanced out the fact she had to attend school with the likes of Eva Shepparton. Neither of them wanted to admit that private school fees were beyond their means.
Not even to each other.
No, the private group was much better, and Diane had been pleased when the Hamiltons had suggested it to them after a particularly rowdy Sunday morning service. It meant she and Matthew were seen as important members of their community, which of course they were.
Diane’s family had lived in the area for hundreds of years – this house had been in their possession since the eighteenth century, and prior to that her family name had resurfaced time and time again in historical records for the county.
A few weeks after first meeting Diane, he’d been introduced to her parents at a Chamber of Commerce function, the Earl peeling off from the rest of the crowd to take Matthew to one side and interrogate him about his intentions for his daughter. Matthew had explained that he owned a software business that was sky-rocketing in value, and the old man had warmed to him instantly.
The wedding had taken place twelve months later.
Twelve months after that, the dot-com bubble burst.
He’d managed to find work – eventually. He might have lost his business, but his computer skills were still in demand in the aftermath of the stock market crash. He had little choice – Sophie had been born two months prior to him finally admitting his business was no more, and Diane was beginning to worry about the state of the house.
The Earl and his wife had died a week after seeing their first grandchild – the Earl from a severe stroke, and his wife from what their doctor could only describe as “a broken heart”. Matthew hadn’t thought it possible, but when the will had been read out – in this very room – it transpired that the Earl’s gambling debts ensured that Diane received a pittance of an inheritance, and a family home that could, at best, be described as dilapidated.
The surveyor who attended the property in Diane’s absence from the house one morning when she had been at a hospital check-up for her and Sophie, had turned to Matthew and shaken his head.
‘This is the problem with these old properties,’ he’d said. ‘Once you let them fall into disrepair, you have to spend a fortune to restore them.’
Somehow, Matthew had managed to find a role a couple of miles out of London, an easy commute that meant he could scrimp and save the money they needed over the years to fix the major issues – a new roof; rising damp in the back bedrooms; a refitted kitchen – but it wasn’t enough, even when he’d set out on his own with a new consultancy business.
He’d been delighted when Sophie had struck up a friendship with Josh Hamilton at their church group several months ago.
The Hamiltons were influential within certain circles of the community, and Blake Hamilton carried a formidable reputation as a businessman.
Matthew couldn’t remember when the business of Sophie and Josh’s engagement was first mentioned, but he did recall the relief that his daughter’s future would be secure.
But now—
He still felt the shock that had coursed through his body upon hearing the news that Peter Evans had been arrested on suspicion of Sophie’s murder.
He’d had to threaten the boy to get him to leave Sophie alone, to stop turning up at the house, to stop phoning her.
When he’d questioned his daughter, she’d admitted that she’d met Peter through school friends – he was the same age as Josh, but from an entirely different background.
‘Working class,’ Diane had said, her nose wrinkling.
And Sophie – pregnant?
He raised his head as the door to the office opened, and Diane appeared, a tray in her hands.
‘I asked Grace to make tea,’ she said. ‘I thought you might like some.’
She placed the tray on the desk in front of him and began to pour the brown steaming liquid into two ornate cups, then added milk and held out one of the cups to him.
She frowned when he slopped tea over the side and into the saucer, his hand unsteady. Her gaze found his, her eyes questioning.
He gestured to the screen.
‘We’re going to have to let George go,’ he said.
Diane’s face fell. ‘But he’s been here since Mother and Father were alive! How am I going to manage the garden on my own?’
‘I’m sorry. I’ll organise someone to come around once a month to take care of the big jobs for you, but we’ve got to start saving money where we can.’ He held up his hand to stop her interrupting. ‘It’s either that, or—’
Diane sank into the velvet upholstery of the two-seater sofa in the middle of the room, her face pale.
‘We’re going to lose the house, aren’t we? After all this, we’re going to lose the house.’
Twenty-Six
Duncan Saddleworth tipped the dregs of his lukewarm tea into the kitchen sink the following morning before leaning against the draining board and peering outside.
Beyond the
