‘Why not?’
‘Because Matilda was shaped from the same mould. I never knew either of them, not truly, not the way my father and mother know each other.’
‘Love is a strong emotion,’ Isaac said. ‘So is hatred, the need for revenge, for retribution.’
‘I rejected love as a wasted emotion,’ Amelia said.
‘Sometimes people have a distorted view of life, and they feel the need to lash out at those who have affected their balance, thrown it into confusion.’
‘This is ludicrous. I came here at your request, and now you’re virtually accusing me of murder. I couldn’t have done that, not to him.’
‘Because you hadn’t rejected love, but because you had embraced it, even though he would not reciprocate.’
‘Okay, you win. Yes, I loved him. Is that what you wanted to hear?’ Amelia said. ‘And now he’s dead, and I don’t know who killed him, nor do you.’
‘Thank you for being honest. Now, what else don’t we know?’
‘Matilda knew how I felt about her brother.’
‘Did she tell him?’
‘She may have, but I don’t think so. She was possessive of her brother. From what I understood, their childhood must have formed an unbreakable bond, the reason that both of them were incapable of unconditional love.’
‘The cocaine, other drugs?’
‘That’s all I know, and that’s the truth. I wish that Barry was still alive, not that it would have helped me. He wouldn’t have been mine, apart for the occasional one-night stand.’
Wendy felt sad for the woman who had a good moral compass from her parents, but not the love of a man her age that she craved.
Amelia Bentham left Challis Street and hailed a taxi. She gave Wendy a hug as she was getting into the vehicle. ‘I miss him, but life goes on,’ she said.
‘It takes time, that’s the hard part,’ Wendy said, remembering the feeling of emptiness when her husband had passed away.
Chapter 26
Christine Mason left the hotel where she had worked for the last four years, three months, and eight days: the period clearly stated on the severance notice she had received when she had been called into Archibald Marshall’s office and summarily dismissed.
Marshall had been professional, she might have agreed, if she had not been shocked by the suddenness of the dismissal. Alongside him in the office was a senior manager from head office, as well as the hotel group’s chief accountant.
‘There’ll be no reference,’ Marshall had said. ‘Embezzlement is a serious crime.’
The pot calling the kettle black, she should have said, but did not. And as the time since her removal from the hotel extended, Christine reflected on it. There were questions with no answers. Why did it need a chief accountant? Why did it need someone from head office? The woman had said she was the head of Human Resources, but Christine had never heard of her before.
She was guilty of rank stupidity, she knew that, in giving money to Colin whom she had loved, and then to Marshall whom she detested and had slept with because he protected her. And then telling her husband of her infidelity, remembering her sister and her husband entwined. Remembering Terry, Gwen’s former husband, and her bearing his unborn child in her teens. All that she had suffered, yet Archibald Marshall had come out of the sordid and shabby business at the hotel as though he smelt of roses.
Christine Mason was determined to find out the truth, and, as her shock abated to be replaced by bewilderment and then anger, she made a phone call. ‘The park bench where we met before,’ she said.
From her handbag she withdrew the severance notice detailing the financial settlement, the confidentiality agreement. It did not mention the specifics, only the generalisations about not discussing internal hotel procedures and finances, and not to reveal anything that could be of benefit to a competitor. Not that she intended to work for another hotel, anyway. It was a small world, and she knew that her departure from the hotel would be gossip for the next week, the rumour mill working overtime trying to figure out what had gone on, and why.
There’d be some who would say it was due to incompetence, although it hadn’t been. Others would say it was a witch hunt, another sign of male domination of a weak and defenceless woman. Few, if any, would realise that she was the sacrificial goat to protect the hotel’s reputation and that of its manager. But why Marshall? He was equally guilty, and she had the proof.
Isaac dropped Wendy off at the park entrance. It wasn’t that far from Challis Street, and parking in inner London was a nightmare, even for a police car. And Wendy was sure that she did not intend to rush away from her meeting with Christine Mason. Bridget was still trying to find out who the specials were on Domett’s list, Amelia Bentham had brought a degree of uncertainty to her situation, and Terry Hislop had met up with his former wife in London.
There was a belief that an imminent breakthrough was about to happen, but the team had felt that before, only for them to fall flat on their face.
Wendy found Christine Mason sitting on the bench, as agreed. From a distance, she looked a lonely and lost soul.
‘What is it, Christine?’ Wendy said as she sat down beside her.
The enveloping hug from the woman was not expected. ‘I’ve been dismissed,’ she said. Her voice was tremulous.
‘This was always expected. Was there any mention of the money you took?’
‘It was intimidating. There were three of them; one of me.’
Outside the
