‘I’m surprised to see you here,’ she said to Ger O’Loughlin’s daughter.
‘Why?’
‘I was not aware of any contact between your father and Albert Grenfell,’ Wendy said.
‘You never asked.’ Wendy realised that was true. Then, they had been interested in why O’Loughlin had left Mavis Richardson, not in his friendship with the Grenfells.
‘They were friendly?’
‘They maintained contact, conducted business together. I don’t think there was any more to it than that.’
‘Did you meet him when he was alive?’
‘A few times. My father liked him.’
‘Malcolm Grenfell?’ Wendy asked.
‘Today is the first time that I have met him. He’s not what I expected.’
‘His reputation was not good.’
‘According to my father, he was idle and useless.’
‘That was how we knew him, but today...’
‘The woman he is with, who is she?’ O’Loughlin’s daughter asked. ‘She’s very attractive.’
‘Emma Hampshire,’ Wendy replied. ‘Does the name mean anything to you?’
‘No.’
‘Emily Solomon?’
‘The body in the fireplace?’
‘One and the same.’
‘My father told me about him just before he died. He told me a lot of things, some I would have preferred not to hear.’
‘Why did he do that?’
‘He didn’t tell my mother, only me. A last-minute confessional, I suppose.’
‘You know about the parties?’
‘My father was always faithful to my mother. Always available for my sister and me. I could not believe it.’
‘It was true,’ Wendy said. ‘Did he tell you anything else?’
‘He told me that his first wife did not want children, whereas he did. It was the reason they broke up, but he was obviously still fond of her.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Her sister was eccentric, and her son was wild. Garry Solomon, am I correct?’
‘That's right.’
‘And his wife is standing over there.’
‘Yes.’
‘There was a reason Garry Solomon never contacted his mother. Do you know what it was?’
‘He caught her with another man.’
‘When?’
‘The day he left.’
‘Your father knew this?’
‘He was dying. Sometimes he was coherent, at other times he was rambling.’
‘This other man, did he have a name?’
‘He never mentioned it, but he was talking nonsense by them. He was alert when he told me about Mavis and the parties, but a lot of what he said I couldn’t understand.’
Chapter 33
Katrina had gone to talk with the staff at Penrith House. All apart from the gardener had resigned and left. All of them had come back for the funeral.
Isaac had taken the opportunity to talk to Lord Penrith. ‘Good ceremony,’ Isaac said. ‘My condolences.’
‘The old boy got a good send-off,’ Malcolm Grenfell said.
‘You’ve changed.’
‘Still the same rogue underneath.’
‘You’re more serious. Is that permanent?’ Isaac asked, although the person he really wanted to speak to was standing on the other side of the room.
‘I hope not.’
‘We’re holding Montague’s body for a few more days,’ Isaac said.
‘The man has left me seriously short of funds.’
‘You can manage?’
‘Manage yes, but until probate is dealt with, I cannot access the majority.’
‘And the Richardsons?’
‘Up to them.’
‘Montague had their proxy.’
‘Gertrude has a grandson?’ Malcolm Grenfell posed a rhetorical question.
Isaac thought the man looked smug.
‘You know the answer to the question,’ Isaac replied.
‘Emma’s son. He can deal with the Richardsons’ probate.’
‘Your relationship with Emma Hampshire?’
‘Friends, nothing more.’
‘You have a history of friendship with her.’
‘It’s no secret that we were involved at one time.’
‘While she was married to Garry Solomon.’
‘He was treating her badly. I was there as a shoulder to cry on.’
‘A man to bed.’ Isaac waited for the reaction.
Malcolm Grenfell stood still for a moment, his face reddening in anger.
‘As you say, a man to bed.’ Grenfell kept his emotions in check. He knew that seducing Garry Solomon’s wife was a motive. He had come so far; he was not going to destroy it by an inappropriate comment.
I will not let that working-class policeman rile me, Grenfell thought.
Isaac, a glass of wine in his hand, observed the man. It was clear he was holding something back. Before he inherited the title he had been an easy book to read, but now he had changed.
Isaac pondered whether the change was permanent, but as his mother would say, ‘a leopard never changes its spots’.
Grenfell was not a changed man, only a man who pretended to change. His elevation to the title had been too swift, too suspicious, for Isaac to discount skulduggery.
In a matter of days, the previous incumbent had died, and his successor had met with an unfortunate accident. Too many coincidences for Isaac, no proof.
Isaac looked down at the floor at Lord Penrith’s shoes. He judged them to be size 7. Gordon Windsor had stated that the unknown footprints at the top of Montague Grenfell’s stairs had been size 10. Scratch one murderer, Isaac thought.
Grenfell left Isaac and started to circulate the room. Isaac had to agree that he played the part of the lord with great skill. Isaac could hear him discussing plans for a new gym at the local youth centre with a large beefy man with a flushed complexion. Isaac knew the look of a leading councillor in the area. No doubt, an estate agent or local lawyer discussing council business, seeing what was in it for him.
‘It’s good to see you here, Chief Inspector Cook.’ Isaac was no longer alone. Emma Hampshire had come over to talk to him.
‘I did not expect to see you here,’ Isaac said. He had to admit that she was an attractive woman. She wore a dark dress, obviously expensive, for
