She had the remainder of the day to herself. She’d see Woody again tomorrow. The good thing about their relationship was that they both felt the same way in that, much as they loved being together, they needed time apart and their own personal space. Kate knew there was no way she could exist full-time amid Woody’s chaotic collections of books and boats any more than he could survive in the tidier, feminine environment of Lavender Cottage, complete with Angie. And particularly not with Angie. Woody was fond enough of Angie but didn’t pretend to understand her.
Growing up, people remarked diplomatically that Angie was the ‘pretty one’ and Kate the ‘sensible one’. Nevertheless, prettiness had not brought Angie much self-confidence or contentment. On the contrary, she always seemed to be striving for something or someone she couldn’t have; ‘chasing after rainbows’, their mother had put it. At sixty years of age Angie was still chasing after those rainbows. Now Fergal was on the scene. But Fergal was in a world of his own and, on one occasion, actually ‘forgot’ it was Saturday and left a furious Angie, high and dry, all dressed up with nowhere to go.
Kate walked the dog for nearly an hour but, when she got back, she found the kitchen still empty. She put on the kettle, got out her laptop and googled ‘Edina Martinelli’.
Edina Martinelli was born plain Edna Martin in Bognor Regis in 1940. There followed brief details of her schooling, of her singing lessons and winning ‘Soprano of the Year’ in 1962. Then there were some years with the D’Oyly Carte Opera Company, the English National Opera and finally to Covent Garden where her one starring role was as Leonora in Il trovatore in which, of course, she poisoned herself. She married twice, the first time to a fellow opera singer, Maurice Le Fevre, from 1959 to 1964, which ended in divorce. She then married Roger Courtney in 1966. She had no children of her own, only David Courtney, her stepson. Miss Martinelli retired from public performances in 1999.
Kate was about to switch off her laptop when she thought about this Roger Courtney. Had he been the person who brought Edina down to Cornwall? There was no harm in googling him to find out. And there he was, Roger Courtney of Courtney & Son Motors, with a large showroom in Exeter, and so that was most probably the reason why Edina had ended up in the South-West. He’d died in 2010. Was the stepson still running the motor business? Hadn’t the twins said the business was struggling? Was that the reason he was desperate for money? She wondered then if the Potter twins might have been right. Would he have had enough motivation to murder his stepmother and could he have had the opportunity to poison her? Perhaps it was time to investigate David Courtney.
As Kate closed her laptop she felt re-energised by the information she’d just discovered. The thought of investigating David Courtney had given her a new focus – who needed Bill Robson? At that moment Angie shuffled into the kitchen in her dressing-gown and sat down morosely at the kitchen table.
‘Good afternoon!’ Kate said cheerfully. ‘Cup of tea?’
‘Why are you always so bloody cheerful?’ Angie groaned. ‘Oh, need I ask – a night with the wonderful Woody? And I’m having coffee.’ With that she stood up and stuck a pod in the coffee machine.
Kate sighed. ‘And why are you always so grumpy? What have you got to be miserable about on a nice day like this?’
‘I know, I know, there are children starving all over the planet and drinking filthy water, I know. I know there are homeless people on the streets and I know there are people dying of dreadful diseases. I know, I know. I should be thankful for what I’ve got, blah, blah, blah.’
‘Well,’ Kate said, ‘can you crack your face into some sort of a smile then? What’s biting you anyway – or need I ask?’
‘No, you needn’t ask. It’s that bloody Fergal. He was supposed to ring me last night to make plans for tonight and tomorrow.’
‘And he hasn’t?’
‘Bloody right he hasn’t.’ Angie took a gulp of her coffee.
‘Have you tried calling him?’
‘Yeah, he’s not answering. Straight onto voicemail.’
‘Well,’ Kate soothed, racking her brain for a comforting remark, ‘perhaps something’s cropped up at work or…’
‘For God’s sake, Kate! He only flogs postcards, he’s not a bloody brain surgeon! And he always carries his phone on him everywhere.’
‘Maybe he’s lost it?’
‘There is such a thing as a landline, you know. No.’ Angie stood up and gazed out the window. ‘I have to accept that he’s not exactly reliable. I’m beginning to have my doubts.’
‘About what?’
‘About him. Do you think he could be married?’
‘Unlikely.’ Kate stared at Angie in astonishment. ‘Why on earth do you say that?’
Angie shrugged. ‘Dunno. He’s too enigmatic. I mean, I’ll probably not hear from him all weekend and then next week he’ll surface like nothing’s happened.’
‘Nothing has happened.’
‘No, well, you know what I mean. Do you fancy a trip to Plymouth?’
Kate poured boiling water over her teabag. ‘Plymouth? What on earth for? Don’t tell me you’re heading for The Gin Factory?’
Angie grinned. ‘No, although that’s not such a bad idea. No, I mean to see where he lives. Let’s face it, we’ve been going out for months and he always finds some excuse for us not to go to Plymouth. We always go out around here. Doesn’t that sound a bit dodgy to you?’
‘Hmm,’ Kate murmured, unconvinced.
‘I thought we could maybe do some shopping and lunch and then have a stroll around where he’s supposed to be living.’
‘Have you got his address?’
‘Not all of it, but it’s a flat somewhere in the Barbican and I think it’s called Raleigh something-or-other. We could go tomorrow if you haven’t made plans with Wonderboy.’
‘I’m afraid we have made plans.’
‘Oh bugger. Never mind, I might go myself anyway.’
Kate took
