THE DEAD WIFE
Sue Fortin

Copyright

HarperCollinsPublishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2019

Copyright © Sue Fortin 2019

Cover design by Ellie Game © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

xxxxxx

Sue Fortin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008348069

Ebook Edition © July 2019 ISBN: 9780008294526

Version: 2019-07-08

Dedication

To Ged and our first trip to the Lake District back in the 1990s when we toured the area on a motorbike. It rained a lot. We got very wet. But, despite rotten weather, we still had great fun and fell in love with the area and the fantastic scenery.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Sue Fortin

About the Publisher

Chapter One
Two Years Earlier, Conmere Resort Centre, Lake District, Cumbria

Everyone who visited, worked or lived at Conmere knew the lake to be both beauty and beast all at the same time. A water with two faces – the south shoreline the beauty, bathed in sunlight, the water sparkling and glistening as it gently lapped the pebbles around the edge. It was the jewel in the crown of the Conmere estate. By contrast, the north side was where the waters were dark and shrouded for most of the day in shadow cast by the Con Point Hills, which loomed large and jagged over the water. This was where secrets were drowned and silence prevailed.

It all happened in a matter of seconds, but to her, time stretched as her brain registered her body falling towards the water. So many more impressions filled her mind. The blackness of the water, that it was particularly deep at this point of the lake, that there was no gentle slope from shallow to deeper depths, and there was a tangle of weeds. She wondered if the weeds would soften her fall but then remembered she was wearing a heavy Barbour coat – one that Harry had insisted she wear that morning because the weather had taken a turn for the worse overnight. Then, of course, there were her wellington boots – she wished she’d had time to kick them off before they filled with water.

Turning her face to the side, she impacted the lake with first her shoulder and then her hip and her feet. For a moment she thought the weeds had acted as a safety net but then her head went under the water and the cold water swamped her face, rushing up her nostrils. She kept her mouth closed, squeezed her eyes tight shut and blew out from her nose. Automatically her arms flew out as she tried to paddle water, but her limbs were heavy and it was difficult to move in the thick coat. The water had already soaked through her clothing and the cold and wet wrapped itself around her arms. She kicked her feet, but her boots had gulped in the water, making it impossible for her to move.

She flung her head up and her face broke through the surface. She gulped in fresh air. A deep, huge lungful before being dragged down again. She had to get the coat off and frantically she grappled with the press studs. She must remain calm. One press stud undone. She must concentrate on what she was doing. Two press studs undone. She mustn’t panic. Three press studs undone. Her lungs were ready to burst. Four press studs undone. She grabbed at the zipper pull and yanked it down and, releasing the pin, with a Herculean effort managed to shrug the thick, waxy garment from her shoulders. Instead of falling away, it drifted almost motionless in the water. Her arms began to flap, trying to force her body upwards to the surface. The panic was taking hold now. She needed air. Lots of it. Her lungs were stinging – so painful. She mustn’t take a breath. It was an automatic bodily reaction but she knew she would only take in water if she did.

For the second time, she broke through the surface and gasped for air. She managed another lungful before she felt the pull of the water in her boots. She had the fleeting image of a figure standing on the bank. Her brain registered the sound of a dog barking.

Down again into the depths of the lake she sank. Her arms and legs were so tired and heavy, now starved of oxygen, she couldn’t move them. Didn’t they say that when a person drowned, their life flashed before them? Her lungs were once again at break point. In one last attempt she tried to move her arms to push herself to the surface but it was futile. She needed oxygen. She could no longer fight the urge not to breathe in and she felt the rush of water into her body.

Her last thought was, why hadn’t anyone tried to save her?

Chapter Two
Pallant Art Gallery, Brighton, Monday, 6 May, 1.16 p.m.

Instagram Story

Well, today I have been tasked by my illustrious boss at Vacation Staycation to spend the weekend in the Lake District at Conmere Resort Centre, which has been revamped by the Sinclair family – Pru and her three sons, Dominic, Harry and Owen. And, best of all, I get to meet them and sample the new facilities – can’t wait! #BestJobEver

‘What do you think?’ asked Steph, as her friend read her Instagram post.

‘I must say, you sound far more enthusiastic on Instagram than you do in real life,’ said Ria, putting down her phone. They were sitting in the office at the back of the gallery, Steph having called in to her friend in her lunch break.

Steph looked at her across her cappuccino. ‘I’m looking forward to it. I remember Conmere House from when I used to live up there. You know, my dad was a delivery driver for the Sinclair family for quite a few years, up until he died, actually, which was soon after the three sons took it over.’

‘And the sons have done the refurb?’

‘As I understand it. They offer all sorts of outdoor activities now but aimed at the high-end market. Pretty expensive, from what I’ve seen of the price list. Anyway, it’s not so much the resort I’m excited about, it’s the scenery. I’m hoping I’ll get a chance to take some photos for my portfolio.’

‘Oh, yes, do,’ encouraged Ria. ‘Lakes and mountains always sell. Soon you’ll be rich enough to leave your job at the travel agency.’

‘Yeah, in my dreams. Don’t get me wrong, I do like my job, but this is about as exciting as it gets. I’d like to get my teeth into something juicier.’

‘Like what?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Something that’s a bit more serious and high profile. Current affairs or investigative journalism.’

‘I thought you were going to say you’d prefer to do photography.’

‘I would, but it doesn’t earn me a regular steady income. It’s hard-going being single. I thought after being divorced for over a year, I’d be more financially stable now.’

‘I think you were too easy on Zac; you should have pushed for more.’

‘Just because he had an affair? No, I was actually relieved when I found out. At least it prompted me to do something about it – to start afresh. We both knew our marriage was over long before that.’ Ria didn’t look convinced, but Steph had long since given up trying to justify her actions to her friend, as, no matter how well-intentioned Ria was, she hadn’t been in that marriage. Ultimately it had been down to Steph and Zac to sort things out, which they had done amicably. Privately, Steph had admitted to herself, if Zac hadn’t been the one to have an affair, it could so easily have been her. They had both been looking for love and affection, which sadly neither could provide the other with.

Steph cleared her throat in a bid to clear her mind. Zac and their marriage and divorce certainly didn’t need revisiting. ‘Anyway, back to my new assignment. I’m sure I can get some great photos up there in the Lake District and any extra money will be most welcome, especially at the moment. I just had to spend out to get my car through its MOT.’ Steph’s gaze dipped as she concentrated placing her cup onto her saucer.

‘Hey, don’t be so glum. You know you’re a great photographer but it’s a hard market, you know that,’ said Ria, not saying anything they hadn’t already said over the past few years. Ria gave Steph a sympathetic smile and then struck a cheerier note. ‘And there’s the bonus that you’ll be back on your old stomping ground.’

‘I’m not sure I’d describe that as a bonus.’

‘You might be able to spend a bit of time with your mum, now that she’s retired.’

Steph appreciated the delicacy with which her friend spoke the words. The relationship between Steph and her mum was difficult at the best of times, so she wasn’t entirely sure spending time together was on the agenda.

‘How is your mum enjoying her retirement?’

Steph could hear the genuine concern in Ria’s voice. ‘Hard to say, if I’m honest. She says in the end she hated working for the police, especially CID when she was promoted to DCI. There was so much paperwork and red tape that went along with the job, it just wasn’t her thing.’

‘It’s a shame she feels like that. It should be something she looks back on with pride and affection.’

‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? She was more married to the job than she was to my dad.’

‘Did she ever encourage you to join?’ Ria picked up the cups and took them over to the sink.

‘God, no. Besides, I didn’t want to be overshadowed by the wonderful DCI Wendy Lynch. The one who was awarded a bravery medal, the one who cracked a child-trafficking ring, the one who went deep under cover and nearly paid for it with her life.’ Steph shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’

‘Instead you opted for a career with no security, one that’s full of uncertainty.’

Steph opened the Twitter app on her phone. ‘If I can create a bit of a buzz about my new assignment, get the word out about the photography too, I might get some more work. I’m going to tweet it as well as putting it on Instagram and Facebook.’

‘Good idea. I’ll retweet it and share it, of course.’

Steph read the tweet aloud as she typed. ‘Long weekend in Lake District to review Conmere Resort Centre. Can’t wait! #Conmere #Sinclairfamily #freelance.’

‘You need to word it so there is some sort of interaction,’ pointed out Ria. ‘Ask people to recommend places, then maybe you can approach those places for some promo work.’

‘Excellent idea,’ said Steph as she reworded her tweet before posting it.

‘Look, I need to get back to work. I’ve got an American coming in looking for something special for his apartment,’ said Ria, rinsing the cups and drying her hands. ‘Don’t forget it’s Gareth’s birthday meal a week on Friday. Eight o’clock. My house.’

‘How could I forget? But no matchmaking. I don’t want to be stuck with your husband’s latest single male colleague he’s rustled up from the depths of the corporate world’s basement.’

‘Don’t be such a spoilsport,’ said Ria.

‘I mean it!’ Steph gave her friend a hug before going on her way.

Brighton, Monday, 6 May, 7.23 p.m.

Throughout the afternoon, Steph’s phone pinged intermittently with replies to her social media posts. Ria had been right about asking for people’s recommendations; it had provided a wealth of answers. It would be even more exciting if one of those transformed into a new commission, thought Steph as she ran herself a bath. She really didn’t fancy bar work but, judging by the balance of her bank account that afternoon, she wasn’t going to have any choice in the matter. She had enough in her savings account to pay two months’ rent and then that was it. The books weren’t balancing; her income-to-outgoing ratio was tipping the wrong way. She’d have to come up with something soon because she sure as hell wasn’t going to go begging to her mother for a sub. For a start, that would be admitting defeat – it would prove her mother right that travel journalism wasn’t any better than the local reporting she’d done when she first left uni. All her mother’s doom and gloom predictions could be soon fulfilled if Steph didn’t get something sorted.

Having spent a good hour in the bath, dressed in her pjs, her hair wrapped in a towel and with a tub of ice cream in one hand, a spoon in the other, Steph opened her laptop to catch up on some box-set viewing. While she was waiting for the series to load, she checked her phone. The social media notifications had calmed down now, but when she opened the Twitter app she saw she had a direct message.

Hello, Steph. I saw your tweet about Conmere Resort Centre and the Sinclair family. My daughter was married to one of the Sinclair brothers. Check out my timeline and Google Elizabeth Sinclair. My daughter’s death was NOT an accident. I’m looking for someone to prove this. I can pay well. Message me if you think you’re up to the job. From Sonia Lomas.

Chapter Three
Brighton, Monday, 6 May, 8.25 p.m.

Steph read the message for a second and third time. It was probably the most bizarre message she’d ever received, and yet the most intriguing one too. It must be some crank, surely? Who in their right mind would DM someone on Twitter about looking into the death of their daughter? She went to close the app but her stomach gave a little somersault of excitement. What if this was true? What if there really had been a miscarriage of justice?

Steph allowed herself the luxury of taking the thought further. This could be her chance to change the trajectory of her career. If she discovered the death of this woman’s daughter had been covered up, then what a scoop that would be. Not to mention the money she could earn from it. Perhaps she could even sell it to one of the nationals.

She looked at the TV screen as a box-set uploaded and, picking up the remote control, she pressed the pause button. She placed the ice-cream tub and spoon on the coffee table, her appetite for such delights now disappearing. She had to find out more about this Sonia Lomas and her daughter.

She logged on to Twitter via her laptop, the bigger screen being easier on her eyes at this time of the evening, and then scrolled through Sonia Lomas’s timeline.

The screen was filled with picture after picture of a young woman, about Steph’s age, smiling at the camera, her blonde, relaxed curls sitting on her shoulders, her make-up light and natural and her teeth white and straight. All with the hashtag of Elizabeth Sinclair. Every so often there was a different photograph of her: in one she was sitting on a wall in a pair of denim shorts, her tanned legs crossed at the ankles; in another she was leaning against the side of a yacht in a rather clichéd blue and white striped jumper, cropped chinos and bare feet. The images alone made it look like a photoshoot for a high-end outdoor-clothing chain. The words accompanying each tweet, however, painted a different picture.

HELP! @CumbriaPolice did not investigate the death of my daughter fully. Please sign the petition to have her case reopened. #JusticeForElizabeth

Elizabeth Sinclair, wife of Harry Sinclair of the Sinclair family, died in suspicious circumstances. @CumbriaPolice won’t listen to me. I need your help to reopen her case. Please sign the petition. #JusticeForElizabeth

And so the tweets went on, each accusing Cumbria Police of not doing their job and each asking for the petition to be signed.

Steph clicked on the link which took her to the petition, where she found more detailed information.

Two years ago, my daughter Elizabeth Sinclair was found unconscious in Conmere Lake on the estate of the Conmere Resort owned by the Sinclair family in Cumbria. She was taken to hospital but never regained consciousness and her life-support machine was turned off two days later. The coroner recorded a verdict of misadventure. Cumbria Police investigated my daughter’s death but failed to consider other lines of enquiry which would suggest my daughter was, in fact, murdered. I have had an independent review of my daughter’s death which recommends a further and fuller investigation. Despite countless requests to Cumbria Police to reopen my daughter’s case, and letters from my solicitor, Cumbria Police have refused to do so, citing not enough new evidence to warrant the case being reopened.

As a mother, I cannot let this matter rest until it has been fully investigated again and I would urge you to sign this petition to help me gain the publicity I need to apply enough pressure on the police to reopen the case.

Thank you.

Sonia Lomas

Steph’s stomach gave another roll of anticipation. This Sonia Lomas was serious; she wasn’t a crank at all. She was a mother fighting for her daughter’s memory. Steph couldn’t help comparing her own mother to Sonia Lomas and instantly wished she hadn’t. It struck a painful chord – Wendy was so out of tune with motherhood. Steph pushed the comparison away and typed ‘Elizabeth Sinclair’ in the search bar.

The story of Elizabeth’s death was towards the end of the page and it gave a few more details. Steph picked up her pen and notebook from the coffee table and made some notes.

Elizabeth Sinclair

30

Married to Harry Sinclair

No children

Born in London. Mother – Sonia Lomas, Care Assistant, Hackney

No siblings

Father? Not mentioned

2 years ago – found unconscious – died later in hospital

She then searched the name Harry Sinclair. Steph knew the Sinclair family had a large estate in the north-west of England which was a holiday resort centre, and was aware of the backstory, how their great-great-grandfather had won another man’s estate during a game of poker back in the early 1900s. The family had managed to hold on to their position, wealth and prosperity through two world wars and several recessions. The younger generation of the Sinclair family consisted of three brothers who had managed to turn what had become a failing business into a highly successful company. Max Sinclair had inherited the home, which had been in disrepair after years of financial pressure. He had turned the fortunes of the Sinclairs around by developing the 150-acre site into a commercial high-end woodland-activity-type business. Max’s vision had been much more upmarket, and the log cabins inspired by his time working on a ranch in Texas where he’d met his wife-to-be, Prudence Cutchins. When his sons had come on board their vision had broadened the estate further and encompassed not only all things outdoors but water sports, rock climbing, mountain-bike trails, hiking and a health spa.

This was as much as Steph knew from her time living in the Kendalton area and from her briefing with her boss, Tim, about her assignment. Now she needed to dig deeper with her research. The next person to check out was the husband himself, Harry Sinclair.

This proved harder than she expected. There was next to nothing on the internet about Harry Sinclair. There were a few photographs of him and his brothers, sometimes with his mother in shot, standing outside a stately-looking home which would be worthy of Downton Abbey status. The three brothers looked very striking, all sharing their mother’s dark hair; the older two had theirs cut short, while Owen, the youngest brother, wore his a little longer, which reminded Steph of some sort of art-student type. Dominic and Owen were smiling, whereas Harry’s expression was sombre. Steph checked the date of the photograph. It was six months ago, so that also made it a little over eighteen months since his wife had died, in which case he was excused for looking pretty miserable. Although, as she looked at the photograph again, she wasn’t sure if miserable was the right word. He looked more … serious … moody even.

Steph read some of the articles about the resort the family had opened, but there was very little personal information.

Eventually, she came across an online local newspaper which had reported the death of Elizabeth Sinclair. It wasn’t much, but it did give a little more information. It would seem Elizabeth had taken the family dog for a walk which was later found wet and covered in mud. It was assumed that the dog had gone into the water and Elizabeth had taken it upon herself to rescue the much-loved pooch but had become entangled in the weeds just below the surface.

After another half an hour of searching, Steph surveyed her notes.

Harry Sinclair

Middle brother – 35

Widower

Stays out of the limelight

No comments found concerning the death of his wife

Dominic Sinclair – named after GGG

Older brother – 37

Director

Driving force of the company

Attends lots of business and social functions

Divorced – 1 child – 15, boy – with former wife

Another child – 7 – with current partner – Lisa – together 10 years

Property in South of France

Lives in private lodge in the grounds of resort

Comment re death of SIL – Very much missed by us all. We are all in shock.

Owen Sinclair

Youngest of three brothers – 32

Director

Married – Natalie (27)

3 children – twin boys aged 3 and daughter aged 5

Pru Sinclair

Mother

Director – 68 years old

Widow. Husband died 2014

Formidable. Public speaking

Involved with lots of charities and local businesses

Comment re death of DIL – Deeply saddened. Elizabeth the daughter I never had.

It didn’t scream murder to Steph but she knew she wouldn’t be able to leave this alone now. Something was urging her on – journalistic gut instinct? She wasn’t sure, but she wasn’t going to ignore it.

She was about to close the article when the bottom paragraph caught her attention. The air was knocked from her lungs and her heart thudded against her chest wall.

‘Bloody hell.’

She peered closer to the screen as if to make certain she was reading it correctly. She read each word with precision.

There had been speculation that Elizabeth Sinclair had been having an affair but police dismissed this notion. DCI Wendy Lynch of Cumbria Police issued a statement that there was no suggestion whatsoever that these rumours were in fact anything other than local tittle-tattle, which was completely insensitive to the family’s current circumstances and in particular to Mr Harry Sinclair himself. Lynch went on to request that the family’s privacy was respected at this difficult time.

Steph picked up the phone and called her mother – DCI Wendy Lynch.

Chapter Four
Brighton, Monday, 6 May, 8.30 p.m.

Frustratingly, Steph’s call to her mother went to answerphone. She left a brief message, asking her mother to ring her in connection with the death of Elizabeth at Conmere. Steph had decided to keep it brief; she didn’t feel the need to elaborate, as her mother would, no doubt, recall the case.

She picked up the tub of ice cream, which had defrosted to the point that calling it ice cream was almost criminal, but nevertheless she managed to secure a spoonful of the cookie-dough mixture on the spoon. It struck Steph as strange that Wendy had never mentioned the Elizabeth Sinclair case. A death of a member of the Sinclair family was a little out of the ordinary and, although she knew Wendy wouldn’t have gone into any detail, the fact that her father had worked for the Sinclairs made it more personal and worthy of a mention at least.

Steph sighed as she savoured the ice cream in her mouth.

Steph knew it had been passed down through several Sinclair generations.

She wondered again why her mum had never mentioned Elizabeth’s death, and as she tracked back over Sonia Lomas’s timeline her idle curiosity morphed into something more insistent. She hoped her mum would talk about it, but Steph had long since learned that Wendy Lynch was a tough negotiator and not easy to move once she had made her mind up about something. In fact, Steph struggled to think of a time when Wendy had ever conceded.

Brighton, Tuesday, 7 May, 8.45 a.m.

Steph had to admit, twelve hours wasn’t exactly a long time to wait for her mother to reply, but she had been barely able to sleep last night as she had repeatedly gone over the whole Sonia Lomas message and everything connected with it. Her imagination had certainly been fired up and her desire to find out what her mother could tell her was in overdrive.

‘Ah, you’re there,’ she said when her mother answered the phone. ‘How are you?’

‘Hello. I’m fine. A little busy. Is everything OK, only I’m about to go out?’

Steph was used to her mum’s brusqueness. Wendy Lynch had never quite been able to leave the formalities of the workplace behind. Even as a child Steph remembered their days being like a military operation. In fact, her mother would have been as suited to a military career as she had to a police one.

‘Did you get my message last night?’ asked Steph as she stirred her coffee and settled herself at the breakfast bar in her little apartment in Brighton. She didn’t miss the slight pause her mother gave before replying.

‘On the answerphone? It was a bit garbled, to be honest. I didn’t really know what you were talking about.’

‘Elizabeth Sinclair,’ said Steph, trying to keep her patience. ‘You know, the Sinclair family who Dad worked for and the wife who drowned in the lake on their estate.’

‘Well, yes, I do remember her but it wasn’t really much of a case. It was one of my last ones. She was out walking. The dog jumped in the water and she tried to save it. Got into difficulties and tragically drowned. That’s all there is to it. Why do you want to know?’

‘You didn’t listen to my message at all, did you?’

‘As I said, it didn’t come out very clear and I am rather busy.’

Steph reined in her sigh and attempted to inject an affable tone into her voice. ‘Work want me to go up to the Lakes and cover the new opening of Conmere Resort Centre. I’m going to be up there for the weekend and I tweeted about it. Then I got this weird direct message from Elizabeth Sinclair’s mother. She said her daughter’s death was not an accident. I’ve looked into it and I was amazed to see your name at the bottom of an article.’

Wendy gave an audible sigh. ‘You really mustn’t listen to Sonia Lomas. She’s got mental-health issues. I mean, it’s tragic, but the fact of the matter is, Elizabeth Sinclair drowned and it was an accident. The woman has been hounding Cumbria Police for the past two years about it. I can’t really tell you much else, not because I don’t want to, but there simply isn’t anything else to say.’

Steph couldn’t help thinking her mother probably knew more about it than she was letting on. It wouldn’t surprise Steph if her mother was purposely being light on detail. ‘Do you think there’s anything at all in the accusations? Is there even the slightest possibility it might have been anything other than an accident?’

‘Now listen to me, Stephanie,’ said Wendy. ‘There is nothing at all in Sonia Lomas’s accusations. What I suggest you do is concentrate on the task you’ve been given, i.e. report about the reopening of the resort and don’t go poking your journalistic nose into matters that are purely fiction or don’t concern you.’

‘My journalistic nose is my business,’ said Steph, rearing up at her mother’s demand. It had been a long time since her mother had told her what she could and couldn’t do. Steph wasn’t going to start listening to her now. ‘I was only asking if there might be any truth in it.’

‘I meant it when I said don’t go poking your nose in where it’s not welcome. You’ll be upsetting a lot of people, not to mention Mrs Sinclair herself, who would be quite within her rights to complain about you to your boss. And then where would you be? I’ll tell you where: sacked. So think on.’

‘I’ll tell you what, Mum. Say what you think, don’t pull any punches, honestly. Speak your mind.’ Steph couldn’t help coating her words with sarcasm.

‘I’ve always been honest with you, Steph. Why wouldn’t I be now? Anyway, like I said, I’m in a hurry and really must go.’

‘Don’t you want to know if I’m coming to see you when I’m in Cumbria?’ asked Steph. ‘I mean, I’m there for the weekend, it would make sense. That’s if you want me to come over.’

Steph wanted her mother to say yes. She wanted Wendy to want her to visit. And yet, at the same time, the desire frustrated the hell out of her. She hated the fact that she still sought not only her mother’s approval, but her affection as well.

‘Of course I want you to come and see me. It goes without saying.’ This time there was a softening in Wendy’s tone.

‘OK, good,’ said Steph, acknowledging the morass of emotions she was experiencing. ‘I’ll message you Sunday evening when I’m leaving the resort and maybe I can come over and stay for a couple of nights? If that’s OK with you.’

‘Stop asking if it’s OK. Of course it is. Now I really must go. Have a good weekend and I look forward to seeing you on Sunday, but remember, don’t poke your nose in where it doesn’t belong.’ And with that the line went dead.

‘Yeah, love you too,’ said Steph, looking accusingly at the silent receiver. Disappointment washed over her. Here she was, practically begging to be able to visit her mother. Why did she always set herself up for a fall? Her mother was never going to change now.

Steph spent the next hour researching the Elizabeth Sinclair case some more. She phoned a contact she’d had from her days working in Carlisle for a local newspaper after graduating from uni. That placement had been far enough away from her hometown of Kendalton and her mother, to put a reasonable distance between them, so that any visits needed to be prearranged. It was an excuse that had worked for both of them.

Steph looked back fondly at her days with the local rag; despite the lack of action it had been a good starting point, and Adam Baxter had taught her everything he knew and had made the job so much more bearable.

While Adam had been happy to stay with the local paper, Steph had felt the need to explore other opportunities, and when the job with Vacation Staycation had arisen the lure of being based on the south coast tempted her to apply. She had been delighted to be offered the position and, with nothing to keep her in Cumbria, Steph had made the move five years ago. She had meant to keep in touch with Adam when she moved, but phone calls had been replaced by text messages, and over time the messages had become fewer and fewer. Steph wasn’t sure when she’d last been in touch with Adam – two, maybe three years ago?

She searched through her phone contacts, locating her ex-colleague’s name, and hoped he still had the same mobile number. She was in luck. Adam answered almost immediately.

‘OMG! Well, if it isn’t Stephanie Durham herself. What a blast from the past.’

‘Hi, Adam. How are you?’

‘Surprised but oddly pleased to hear from you.’ She could hear him pause as he drew on a cigarette. ‘Now, what do you want?’

‘What makes you think I want anything?’ said Steph, noting how easily they fell back into their old, comfortable ways with each other.

‘Seeing as I haven’t heard so much as a whisper from you in the last three years, call it journalist’s intuition, but I’m guessing you want something from me. Either that or you pocket dialled me and are too embarrassed to hang up.’

Steph gave a laugh. ‘OK, you got me. I pocket dialled.’

‘Bollocks did you,’ said Adam. ‘What is it you want to know?’

Steph dispensed with any further preamble. ‘Elizabeth Sinclair. What do you know about her death?’

‘Elizabeth Sinclair … wait, let me think.’

Steph waited patiently, giving Adam time to raid his memory bank. He had a knack for being able to recall news events as if he had his own database in his head. ‘Do you need a clue?’ she prompted.

‘Nope. Elizabeth Sinclair – I’ve got her now.’

‘Like you didn’t have as soon as I mentioned the name,’ said Steph. ‘You can quit humouring me now.’

‘Right, here goes. Elizabeth Sinclair was married to Harry Sinclair from the highly esteemed, not to mention wealthy, Sinclair family who own the great big fucking house up near the Con Point Hills. Elizabeth drowned in a lake on the estate while trying to rescue her dog.’

‘What else do you know?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Come on, Adam, you always know more than you let on. Did anything stand out as odd?’

‘No, nothing. It was a family tragedy. Simply an accident.’

‘So why has Elizabeth’s mother been running a media campaign to have the investigation into her daughter’s death reopened? She says it wasn’t an accident. Have you not seen her Twitter feed?’

‘Oh, you mean Sonia Lomas. She’s a fruitcake. She’s a mother who desperately doesn’t or can’t accept her daughter is dead.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Everyone knows it – she was like it before her daughter died and she’s got worse since.’ Adam was beginning to sound bored with the conversation.

‘What was she like before?’

‘Highly strung. Emotional. That’s what friends and family said anyway.’

Steph pushed on. ‘If you were convinced your daughter was murdered and no one believed you, wouldn’t that be enough to give you mental-health problems?’

‘My point exactly, especially if you were a bit that way inclined beforehand. Anyway, why the interest?’

‘I’m going up to Conmere Resort Centre to cover the reopening of the place since its major refurb.’

‘Ooh, get you. All expenses paid, I hope.’

‘Of course. Why do you think I left the Carlisle Post?’

‘If you want my advice, which you probably don’t, but I’m going to give it to you anyway,’ said Adam, his voice taking on a more serious tone, ‘you’ll be best off just sticking to the assignment and not concerning yourself with Elizabeth Sinclair’s death.’

‘That sounds more like a warning than a piece of advice,’ said Steph, doodling a lake surrounded by bulrushes on the notepad in front of her.

There was a significant pause before Adam answered. ‘Look, Steph, the Sinclairs are a powerful family. They know lots of people, influential people. It won’t do you or your career any favours if you come up here and start ruffling feathers about the death of one of their own.’

Steph gave a laugh, despite the seriousness of Adam’s speech. ‘And you must realise, as someone who once worked on a paper, I can’t leave something alone when there’s a whiff of a story.’

‘Honestly, Steph, there’s no story. Don’t you think I would have been on it if there was?’

‘True.’ Adam was like a bloodhound when it came to sniffing out stories, but at the same time her own sense of intrigue wasn’t quite satisfied. Both Adam and her mother were keen for her not to pursue the Elizabeth Sinclair story any further, and for some reason that troubled her.

‘If you get time, why don’t you give me a call when you’re up here?’ said Adam, changing the pace of the conversation. ‘We could meet for a drink.’

‘Yeah, I’d like that but I’ll have to see how much time I get. I’m supposed to be visiting my mother too.’

‘Good luck with that,’ said Adam. ‘Unless, of course, things have drastically improved between you two.’

‘Not really,’ admitted Steph. ‘She retired last year and I thought we might see more of each other, but it’s never really happened.’

‘Look, if you get a chance, call me.’

‘Cheers, Adam …’

‘And forget the Elizabeth Sinclair story.’

‘Don’t know what story you’re talking about,’ replied Steph with exaggerated innocence.

Adam made a humph sort of noise, clearly not convinced. ‘Look after yourself, Steph,’ he said, before hanging up.

His parting words felt loaded with meaning but, far from putting Steph off, they only served to drive her on to find out more.

She opened the Twitter app on her phone and went to the direct message from Sonia Lomas.

Steph: Hi, Sonia. Would you like to meet up? Where are you based?

She received a reply within a few minutes.

Sonia: I’m in Croydon but can travel.

Steph: How about Arundel? It’s about halfway between us. 12 tomorrow at The White Swan? We can meet for coffee.

Sonia: Yes, that works for me. See you then. And thank you.

For some reason, Steph didn’t think Sonia Lomas was unhinged. Sad and depressed, yes, but not mentally ill in the way both her mother and Adam had implied.

Chapter Five
Conmere Resort Centre, Cumbria, Wednesday, 8 May, 1.20 p.m.

Harry Sinclair swung his BMW X5 into the private car park at the back of Conmere House and, taking his spot marked with a small wooden placard bearing his name, next to his brother’s Range Rover, he cut the engine, letting out a small sigh as he did so. Just one week to get through and then he could leave all this behind him. It wasn’t only the physical presence of Conmere House that troubled him, it was all the bad things in his life that it represented, not least the death of his wife.

As he stepped out of his car he was greeted by the sound of yapping – his mother’s beloved trio of bichon frise dogs came scampering out from the pathway between the laurel hedges.

‘Hello, girls,’ said Harry, practically folding his six-foot frame in half to give the dogs a quick pat. His mother had borne only sons and he supposed Daisy, Flora and Rosie were her substitute daughters. Thank God he was a male, otherwise she would no doubt have adorned his hair with a ribbon as she had the dogs’.

‘Harry! Oh, it is you, darling,’ came his mother’s clipped voice, with only the tiniest of remnants left of her Texan accent. Pru Sinclair walked down the path, waving to him over the hedge.

‘Hello, Mum,’ said Harry, greeting her with a kiss on each cheek.

‘I was just wondering whether to phone you or not. I thought you were coming earlier.’ She stood back and surveyed her son. ‘You’re looking very well; the French climate seems to be agreeing with you.’

Harry retrieved his holdall from the back of the car. ‘A bit of simple living doesn’t do the body or mind any harm.’

His mother gave a small raise of her eyebrow. ‘Well, that’s as maybe, but I’m glad you’re home.’

Harry felt himself bristle but resisted the urge to correct her use of the word home. This place had never felt like home to him and, despite his mother’s best intentions to subtly change his perception with her own version of cognitive behavioural therapy, Harry knew the sooner he was away from Conmere House the better he would be. The sabbatical in France with the design company was the perfect excuse to break the family ties. He followed his mother down the path that bordered the lush green lawn and through the open patio doors into the main living room. The three white fluffy hounds scampered back and forth along the path, excitedly announcing the arrival of Harry.

‘Oh, thank God you’re here. Mum was about to put out an APB, ring all the local hospitals and get the BBC to reconstruct your last known movements on a special edition of Crimewatch.’

Harry’s older brother rose from the armchair he was occupying and greeted his brother with a handshake and slap on the back.

‘He’s exaggerating. Take no notice,’ said Pru. ‘Now, I’ll make us all a coffee. Are you hungry? I can make a sandwich or get something sent through from the cafe.’

‘Coffee will do fine, thanks, Mum. I stopped on the way for something to eat,’ said Harry over the noise of the dogs, who were building themselves up into a frenzy of whining and yapping.

‘Oh, the girls are so pleased to see you,’ laughed Pru as she headed out of the room.

Harry exchanged a look with his brother. A sadistic smile spread across Dominic’s face. He looked down at the dogs and gave a swift kick to one of them, catching her bottom. The dog yelped. ‘Now fuck off,’ said Dominic, holding his arm outstretched. He hustled the dogs out through the patio doors. ‘Jesus, they get on my nerves. They must be the most pampered pooches in the county.’

‘I forgot what a compassionate soul you were,’ said Harry. ‘You’d better not let Mum see you do that.’

Dominic gave a shrug. ‘Anyway, I’m glad you’re here,’ he said, walking over to the drinks tray on the walnut sideboard. ‘I wasn’t sure if we’d actually see you.’

‘Really? Why’s that?’ Harry settled himself in the wing-backed armchair by the fireplace, a favourite spot of his late father’s. Max Sinclair had always sat in that seat and woe betide anyone who had dared occupy it. Harry rested his hands on the arms and mentally gave his father a two-fingered salute. He hoped the old bastard could see him now and that he was turning in his grave.

Dominic paused with a bottle of gin in his hand and turned to give his brother a reproachful look. ‘You really need me to spell it out? How many times have you been back to the estate since Elizabeth’s accident?’

‘I’ve been busy in France,’ said Harry, noting the uneasy roll his stomach gave.

Dominic made a scoffing noise as he returned to mixing himself a G&T. He gestured with the bottle to Harry, who shook his head. Dominic sat down on the sofa with his drink. ‘I’ll tell you how many times … three. Christmas two years ago and twice for Mum’s birthday.’

‘I’m a dutiful son,’ said Harry. ‘Like I said, I’ve been busy. Anyway, I’m here now for the grand reopening. What’s the problem?’

Harry knew what the problem was but acting ignorant somehow gave him an excuse, if only to himself. Of course, everyone knew what the real reason was for his absence but for the most part they skirted around it. Dominic, however, appeared to want to buck the trend. Harry eyed his older brother as he rested his forearms on his knees, his hands clasped around the crystal-cut tumbler.

‘Mum misses you,’ began Dominic. ‘She worries about you.’

‘She doesn’t need to,’ said Harry. ‘I’m a grown man in my thirties; I don’t need my mother clucking round me. In fact, I don’t need anyone worrying about me.’

‘Bit of a selfish attitude,’ said Dominic, swigging the G&T down.

‘She worries unnecessarily. It’s suffocating. Why do you think I moved to France?’

Dominic sat back in his seat. ‘OK, I’ll level with you.’ He gave a furtive glance towards the door. ‘This is strictly between us.’ He took a deep breath and Harry knew he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear. He steeled himself as his brother continued. ‘Mum’s not well. Not well at all.’

Harry’s body gave an involuntary jolt. ‘How unwell are we talking?’

Dominic rose and poured himself another drink and this time made Harry a neat Scotch. He passed it over and resumed his position on the sofa.

‘Dom, how ill?’

Dominic gave him a steadying look. ‘The cancer is back.’

Harry sucked in a breath so hard, he almost winded himself. ‘Prognosis?’

‘The worst. Months.’

‘How many?’

‘Twelve if we’re lucky. Six if we’re not.’

‘We’ll get a second opinion. I know some brilliant doctors in France,’ began Harry, allowing his pragmatic approach to jump ahead of his emotions, a trait he’d learned at a young age when dealing with his father. ‘She’ll get the best treatment and fast.’

Dominic shook his head. ‘It’s too late. Don’t you think I’ve made sure she’s seen all the top oncologists? Nothing more can be done.’

‘Radiotherapy? Chemo? Surely there must be something?’

‘No. It’s untreatable. Besides, she’s refusing to go through chemo again.’

‘On what basis?’

‘On the basis of freedom of choice,’ snapped Dominic, and then became calmer. ‘She wants to live her last months to their fullest. She doesn’t want to spend them sick, recovering from treatment which to all intents and purposes is futile. You know how ill she was before. She literally can’t face it again.’

‘Fuck,’ muttered Harry as his emotions finally surfaced. He downed the Scotch in one go and rested his forehead in his hand. ‘Fuck.’

‘Sorry, mate,’ said Dominic.

Harry let out a long breath, composing himself before sitting back in his chair. ‘But she looks so well.’

‘You know Mum. She’s a trooper.’

Prudence Sinclair had to be the most stoic woman Harry knew. For a start, when she was just twenty years old she had moved thousands of miles from her home in Texas after falling in love with his father, Max, who was working out there on the family cattle ranch one summer. Harry had never heard her once complain about her life in the UK, and to the outside world Max and Pru Sinclair had had it all – a wonderful life, consisting of a grand family estate and four sons, until tragedy had stepped in with the death of Elliot, the youngest of the boys, who had died at three months old from cot death. A turning point in their lives where nothing was ever quite the same. Not that the outside world would know, but inwardly, behind the imposing gates and high walls of Conmere House, the dynamics had shifted, and the once solid foundations had begun to subside. It was only Pru’s underpinning that had saved them. According to Pru, Max had never got over the loss of their youngest son and had carried his heartbreak to the grave, although Harry had always been sceptical of this and privately assigned his mother’s thoughts to wishful thinking on her part. Harry remembered his father as someone who was hard to please, someone around whom he and his brothers had tiptoed for fear of upsetting him. Max was someone who believed in strong discipline and especially so where his sons were concerned. Harry had long since replaced the ‘strong discipline’ mentality with that of a bully.

‘Does Owen know?’ asked Harry, his thoughts turning to his younger brother.

‘Not yet. Mum doesn’t want to tell him. She’s worried he’ll start drinking again.’

‘He’s been sober for a good eighteen months,’ said Harry. ‘Do you think he would?’

‘Who knows? Owen and Natalie are going through a bit of a rough patch, from what I can tell.’

‘That’s a shame. Anything in particular?’

‘I don’t know the details – he doesn’t say much to me – but reading between the lines, three-year-old twins and a five-year-old are putting a bit of a strain on their marriage. Natalie wants to move back to Norfolk to be near her mum. Owen doesn’t.’

‘Not if he’s going to be part of the business,’ said Harry. ‘I mean, what else could he do? And Mum, she’d be heartbroken.’

‘Exactly. Although that didn’t stop you.’

‘It’s different. I’m a widower. I haven’t got any kids. I’ve never wanted to be part of the business.’

‘Mum was still heartbroken.’

‘No, she wasn’t. She was just sad about me going, but not heartbroken,’ said Harry. ‘Is Mum aware you’re telling me?’

‘No. She was adamant she didn’t want anyone to know, including you.’

‘So why are you telling me?’ While Harry was glad Dominic had broken the news, he knew his brother well enough to know there’d be another motive behind the disclosure.

‘Jesus, Harry. Why the fuck do you think I’m telling you?’ hissed Dominic. The sound of their mother humming as she came down the hall filtered through into the room. ‘Because you’re her blue-eyed boy and nothing would make her last days happier than having you about.’

‘She said that?’

‘Of course she didn’t but everyone knows that’s true. You can’t go back to France. You need to stay here.’

Harry eyed his brother as he considered the prospect of having to stay. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to support his mother, far from it, but Conmere itself held far too many bad memories for him. Memories he had escaped from when he’d moved to France. The idea of staying at Conmere any longer than a few days filled him with a sense of unease, but the alternative – leaving his mother when she had only months to live – was unimaginable and something he knew he couldn’t do.

Chapter Six
Two Years Earlier, Conmere Resort Centre, 10 August, 10.30 a.m.

Elizabeth took a final sip of her Earl Grey tea and, glancing down at the little dogs sitting expectantly at her feet, she picked up the croissant from her plate, broke it into three and chucked it onto the terrace. ‘You can afford to get fat,’ she said as the dogs eagerly gulped down the evidence.

She checked her watch for the fourth time. Surely the breakfast meeting Harry was attending with his mother and brothers was over by now. She looked at her phone in case she’d missed any messages from Harry, but there were none. Harry had said the meeting was primarily to discuss the sale of some land to a housing developer. The twenty-acre site on the edge of the estate was prime development land and, from what Harry had gleaned, outline planning permission for up to one hundred houses would be granted.

The land was worth in excess of 3.9 million pounds. Elizabeth couldn’t understand the hesitancy of her mother-in-law. Pru Sinclair wasn’t convinced about selling for any price, whereas both Harry and Dominic could see the potential. Naturally, pathetic little Mummy’s boy Owen had taken his mother’s side and the family were at an impasse. Elizabeth drummed her manicured fingernails on the bistro table. She hated being shut out of the business discussions like this.

‘Morning!’ came a voice.

Elizabeth turned her head and saw Natalie, Owen’s wife, coming along the terrace with her three children in tow – the twin boys, Max and Oscar, in their double buggy and three-year-old Tilly on the buggy-board. Great, just what Elizabeth needed, the next generation of the Sinclair dynasty squawking around her. Yes, they were Harry’s niece and nephews, and on the whole they were generally lovely and very cute, but that was when there were enough pairs of hands and the adults outnumbered the children with at least a 2:1 ratio. When the ratio was not in the adults’ favour, Elizabeth struggled to find her charity.

‘Hi, Natalie,’ she said, plastering on a smile. ‘And hello, Tilly. How are you?’

Tilly jumped off the buggy-board and headed towards Elizabeth, a sticky lolly positioned in her hand like a medieval jousting pole. ‘Cuddle!’

Elizabeth eyed the lolly and noted the sticky face. Deftly, she managed to catch Tilly’s wrists and avoid any direct contact with the sweet. God knows what Natalie was thinking, letting the child have a lolly this early in the day. Elizabeth managed the briefest of contacts before picking Tilly up and sitting her on the chair opposite.

‘Are they still in the meeting?’ asked Natalie, jiggling the buggy into place. One of the twins, Elizabeth couldn’t work out which one, began to grizzle. Natalie rummaged in the changing bag and produced a ready-made bottle of formula milk. She offered it to the child, who immediately stopped complaining but whose cries were replaced by his sibling’s.

‘Here, let me hold that,’ offered Elizabeth, feeling sorry for her sister-in-law as she struggled to fish out the other bottle.

‘That’s better,’ said Natalie once twin number two was catered for. ‘Thanks. I was hoping Owen would be out by now. We’re supposed to be going to my friend’s today.’

‘What, and missing Sunday lunch? How did you manage to get a pass for that?’ Getting out of a Sinclair Sunday dinner was equivalent to a Houdini escapology trick.

‘It’s my friend’s birthday,’ said Natalie with a wry smile.

‘They’ve been in there ages,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I didn’t think it would take this long.’

‘Do you know what the meeting is about?’

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow in her sister-in-law’s direction. Natalie was very sweet, but she either had no interest in the business side of things or, more likely, didn’t have the time. ‘It’s about the twenty acres that Carter Homes want to buy. Hasn’t Owen mentioned it?’

‘Oh, that! Yes, he did tell me, but I was only half listening. I think he said Harry and Dominic thought it was a good price and they should sell, but Pru didn’t agree and Owen backed her up. Is that it?’

‘Pretty much.’

Natalie was distracted by Tilly’s sticky hands and took a wet-wipe from the changing bag hanging on the back of the pushchair. ‘I don’t get too involved, but I think Owen wants to do something with the land; I’m not sure what though.’

‘Hopefully it will get sorted out today,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I mean, 3.9 million pounds … that’s nearly a million each.’

‘How much? Wow! I didn’t realise we were talking those kinds of figures.’

‘It’s not as if that part of the estate is used for much either, other than rambling or mountain biking. Even then, there are better trails on the south side of the estate. For the use it gets, plus the added costs of its upkeep, it’s not worth it. It doesn’t attract that much income per annum. Certainly not 3.9 million pounds’ worth.’

‘Gosh, you sound like you should be in the boardroom yourself.’

Elizabeth gave a small laugh. ‘Oh, I intend to be one day.’

It was Natalie’s turn to laugh. ‘Yeah, like Pru would ever let that happen.’

‘Don’t forget, it’s my background. I’ve come from the travel industry. I was head of PR. I do know my stuff,’ said Elizabeth, withdrawing the bottle from the now dozing baby’s mouth. ‘I do actually have an official role here as PR Officer. I think they all forget that sometimes.’

‘Ah, but not a shareholder. Not able to vote on anything,’ replied Natalie. ‘In effect, an employee.’

‘For now,’ said Elizabeth, unable to ignore the irritation she felt at Natalie’s accurate summary of her position. ‘Things do change, though, and, as frustrating as it may be, I simply have to be patient and bide my time until the opportunity arises. And it will.’

Chapter Seven
The White Swan, Arundel, Wednesday, 8 May, 11.50 a.m.

Steph stepped off the train at Arundel and was glad she’d only brought a lightweight jacket with her, the warmth of the May sunshine hinting at the imminent arrival of summer. She arrived first at the pub, found a seat near the window and placed her notebook on the table. Steph’s Twitter profile picture was a clear photograph of herself and it would be easy for Sonia to spot her.

Steph’s gaze trailed the people walking past the pub. Arundel was a popular place with tourists and the clement weather had drawn them out. A woman walking across the bridge towards the pub caught her attention. Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail and the red-framed glasses she wore looked stark against her pale complexion. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, a pair of lace-ups and a lilac fleece. Before the woman even appeared in the doorway, Steph was certain it was Sonia Lomas. The woman had an aura of sadness about her, and as she paused to scan the pub Steph could see the emptiness in her eyes, the slight droop in the shoulders of someone carrying the burden of grief. The woman met Steph’s gaze, nodded and approached the table.

‘Sonia Lomas?’ asked Steph, albeit needlessly, as she stood up to greet her.

‘Steph Durham?’

Steph held out her hand, which Sonia shook. ‘Nice to meet you.’ She gestured to the seat opposite. ‘Can I order you a coffee or a tea?’

‘Coffee, please. Black. No sugar,’ said Sonia.

Steph returned a few minutes later with the coffee and sat down opposite Sonia. ‘I’m glad you came,’ she said. ‘It’s much easier to speak face to face than over social media.’

‘I assume it was also to weigh me up,’ said Sonia. There was no malice in her voice. ‘Just to make sure I’m not some crazy woman who can’t accept the outcome of the police enquiry.’ The last words were spoken through gritted teeth.

‘I’m interested in the truth,’ said Steph. ‘Whatever that might be.’

Sonia looked across the rim of her coffee cup. ‘The truth is, my daughter was murdered.’

‘Mrs Lomas,’ began Steph. ‘Sonia …’ She looked at the older woman, waiting for approval at the use of her Christian name. Sonia Lomas offered no objection, so Steph continued. ‘Why do you think Elizabeth was murdered?’

Sonia placed her cup carefully down on the table. ‘She was frightened. Things weren’t working out with her husband. She wanted to leave but was too scared.’

‘She told you that?’

‘She left me a voicemail saying as much.’

‘Did you ever speak to her in person about it?’

‘I didn’t get the chance. I phoned her straight back but she said she couldn’t talk. I tried again the next day and the day after but each time she said it wasn’t a good time. Then she sent me a text message telling me not to worry, she knew what she was going to do and she’d be back home as soon as she could.’

‘Do you still have the voicemail?’

‘Of course,’ said Sonia, a touch of indignation in her tone. She fished in her handbag and retrieved her mobile phone. ‘Dial 121 and listen to saved messages.’

Steph took the phone and accessed the voice message. She listened to it twice. Elizabeth’s voice was younger-sounding than she had imagined and Steph tried to match it to the image she’d retrieved from the internet. ‘Hello, Mum, it’s me. Look, I’m sorry to call like this and leave a message. I really wanted to speak to you in person but … things aren’t too good here. I’ve got myself into something and it’s way above my head. I don’t like it. I have a bad feeling about it all. I need to come home. I’m going to leave this place. Leave Harry and come home. I’m not sure when, but it will be soon, just as soon as I’ve worked a few things out. Got to go. Speak soon.’

‘And you’ve no idea what this thing is that she said she’d got into?’

‘I assumed it was her marriage.’

‘Her marriage? I’m not sure that fits with what she’s saying.’

‘She shouldn’t have married into that family. They are way above her pay scale. All that money and property,’ said Sonia with a degree of disdain. ‘I’m just a working-class single mother. Elizabeth was born in a council flat. We never had much money and I worked two jobs to provide for us. I was and still am proud of my background but Elizabeth, she was ashamed of her roots.’ Sonia took a sip of her coffee. ‘She was ambitious, she wanted to better herself, make a name for herself, and I did everything I could to ensure she lived her dream. Only now, I wish I hadn’t.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with being ambitious,’ said Steph, gently.

‘If she’d never met that Harry Sinclair, then she’d still be alive today. I’m sure of that. I blame myself for telling her she could be anything she wanted to be.’ Sonia looked down at her hands. ‘I gave her permission to be ambitious. I empowered her but never did I think it would end in such a bad way. I sometimes think I should have encouraged her to be content with what she had.’

Steph paused for a few moments to allow Sonia to regain her composure. Personally, she thought empowerment and ambition were good things but it wasn’t the appropriate time to challenge Sonia on this. She still had the phone in her hand. ‘Did you let the police listen to this voicemail?’

‘They weren’t interested at all. Said it was just Elizabeth moaning about her husband and it neither proved nor disproved anything. You know, Harry Sinclair has stopped returning my calls. He stopped about six months after Elizabeth’s death. He actually blocked my number recently.’

‘You continued to phone him?’

‘Of course! Even when he moved to France. He can’t get away from what happened that easily. I’m not giving up.’

‘May I send a copy of this voicemail to my phone?’ asked Steph.

‘I don’t see why not. I play it sometimes, just to hear her voice.’ Sonia gave a small sniff and as she looked away from Steph two swollen globes of tears dropped onto her lap. She took a tissue from her pocket and wiped her eyes. ‘Sorry about that. It still gets me.’

Steph reached out and touched her arm. She felt a compassion for this woman who clearly loved her daughter, something Steph could never imagine her own mother displaying. ‘It’s bound to. Take a moment while I sort this voicemail out. Would you like me to get you another coffee?’

‘Thank you, that would be nice.’

It was certainly a strange message, but Steph wasn’t sure it was referring to Elizabeth’s marriage. However, she couldn’t deny her interest was piqued even further, but before she committed herself to anything she needed to ask Sonia some more questions. Returning to the table, she slid another cup of coffee towards her.

‘What was Elizabeth’s relationship with her husband like?’

Sonia let out a sigh. ‘On the face of it, they appeared happy, and they definitely were when they first got married, but once they were living up there at the Sinclair place things started to go wrong. I could tell from the way she spoke – she stopped telling me how wonderful Harry was and started complaining about him.’

‘In what way?’

‘Oh, just the usual. Working too hard. Never having time for her. They used to do quite a lot of things – holidays, weekends away, visiting friends – but that all fizzled out. I think Elizabeth was bored, to be honest. She had nothing to do and playing housewife all day really wasn’t her thing. You know, she was very clever. She had a good business brain and I think she hoped it would be put to use up there, but it wasn’t. All they did was give her a PR role, which basically meant updating the website and posting on social media.’

‘It doesn’t sound bad enough that someone would want to murder her though,’ said Steph. ‘I can’t help thinking there must be more. What exactly did she mean when she said she’d got herself into something?’ It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but Sonia answered anyway.

‘Like I said, the marriage. She’d got herself married and was in too deep just to walk away. I suppose she wasn’t able to support herself financially. She was scared of not having a future.’

Steph remained unconvinced. She placed the phone on the table. ‘Do you think there could possibly be anything else she was scared of?’

‘No. Oh, I don’t know. Maybe there was, but I have no idea what it could possibly be. Believe me, I’ve played out every single scenario in my mind and I keep coming back to that wretched family.’

‘I don’t mean to sound harsh, but for you just to think something isn’t enough. That’s probably why the police came to the conclusion they did.’ Now wasn’t the time to mention her mother had been the investigating officer, Steph decided. She’d only mention it if it became an issue if she decided to take this job on. And at the moment, that was a big if.

‘You see, I believe Elizabeth wanted a divorce and Harry was refusing to agree to one. Probably didn’t want to lose any money in a divorce settlement, unlike his brother, who had to pay his ex-wife a fortune.’

‘I know, but murder her? That’s a bit extreme.’ She saw the disappointment in Sonia’s eyes.

Sonia picked up the phone Steph had left on the table. She scrolled through and passed the phone back to Steph. ‘Listen to the next voicemail and you tell me you need more evidence.’ She sat back in the chair, her arms folded across her chest.

Steph put the mobile to her ear and listened. It was Elizabeth again; her words were almost a whisper and there was a slight slur to them. ‘It’s me. Your daughter. The one stranded in the fucking middle of nowhere. Not for much longer. I tell you, Mum, I’ve had enough of this lot. I’m totally fed up with Harry. God knows why I ever married him in the first place. Anyway, the shit is going to hit the fan now. I’m going to tell the sorry lot of them about the affair. I can’t wait to see the look on their faces. And then, I’m coming home.’

The message ended abruptly. Steph looked at Sonia. ‘Had she been drinking?’

‘Possibly. Probably, but it doesn’t matter. She wasn’t that drunk and she said she was going to tell the others about the affair. She sent me that message the night before she died.’

‘Why did Elizabeth leave voicemails? Why didn’t she speak to you herself?’

‘I was a care worker. I worked unsociable hours. Both times she left a message I was on a call-out. I can’t always answer my phone when I’m working.’

‘And she never discussed this with you in person?’

‘No. This all happened in the week leading up to her death. Like I said, every time I tried to call back to speak to her, she was busy.’

‘What about friends? Who were they? Is there anyone there who could back up your suspicions? Someone she would have confided in?’

Sonia gave a small shake of her head. ‘She didn’t really have any friends there. That was half the trouble. She was so bored. She had her sister-in-law, Natalie – she was married to the youngest of the brothers. But outside the family … no, I can’t remember her talking about anyone in particular. Well, I say that … there was someone she mentioned, someone called Camilla. I remember that because at the time I laughed and said what a posh name that was.’

‘Has anyone spoken to Camilla? Do you have a surname?’

‘I assume she was spoken to by the police – they did say they were speaking to everyone who knew her. I’m afraid I don’t know her surname. She was a relatively new friend.’

Steph beat down a sigh. There wasn’t much to go on at all. She passed the phone back to Sonia. ‘And you’ve shown this to the police?’

‘Yes, of course I did.’

‘And what did they say?’

‘That they’d look into it. I waited for nearly a week before I had to chase them. They said there was nothing to suggest anyone was having an affair, least of all Harry. They said that Elizabeth was clearly drunk and was probably referring to business matters. Harry seemed to think she was going to tell the rest of the family about him wanting to leave the business. She knew that would cause trouble. Elizabeth sent me an email telling me to ignore her voicemail. The police said it was proof Elizabeth hadn’t been serious.’

Steph’s throat felt dry and she took a swig of the remains of her coffee. ‘Do you know the name of the officer that dealt with this?’ She sat a little straighter and her body tensed as she waited for her mother’s name to be mentioned.

‘Won’t ever forget it. Right snotty cow, she was. She headed up the investigation into Elizabeth’s death. If you can call it an investigation. Took all of two days and that was that – they declared it an accident. DCI Wendy Lynch.’

Steph studied Sonia Lomas for any sign that she knew the connection. There seemed to be none, but was Sonia just good at acting? ‘Why have you asked me to look into this? Why not someone else?’

‘I would have thought that was obvious. You tweeted about Conmere. You’re a journalist. You’re going to be there on the inside, so to speak; you can ask questions the police didn’t, find things out they couldn’t. People are more likely to talk about it to someone other than a police officer. And now that a couple of years have gone by, people won’t be so on their guard.’

Steph wondered whether it was because of her connection to her mother, but if it was, Sonia didn’t let on. Steph wasn’t sure if maybe Sonia did know and this was the real reason why she had chosen her. Tentatively, she tested the water. ‘I’m sure the police have investigated this—’

Sonia cut her off. ‘They didn’t do their job properly. They didn’t want to upset the influential Sinclair family. The whole of the Cumbrian police force is crooked.’

Steph swallowed. She found it hard to believe that her mother could be crooked; it just wasn’t her style. Wendy had been dedicated to her job and had put it above all else, including her own family. However, Steph acknowledged the sweeping nature of Sonia’s comment and she may well have a point, no matter how paranoid it was making her sound. ‘That’s quite an accusation,’ she said, calmly.

Sonia gave a her a defiant yeah, I know look but didn’t pass further comment on the issue, instead changing tack. ‘There’s one more thing,’ she said. ‘The email Elizabeth sent me, the one telling me not to worry … I don’t believe it was from her. I think someone else sent that to stop me from worrying.’

A few taps on the screen and Sonia was pushing the phone back to Steph for her to read the email in question.

Hello Mum

Please don’t worry about me. Everything is fine. I was just feeling a bit fed up and had a little too much wine when I phoned you. Just ignore me. Will speak to you soon.

Love

Elizabeth

‘What’s the significance?’ asked Steph, rereading the message.

‘Because she signed her name Elizabeth. She never used her full name on emails or birthday cards to me. She always just put E.’

‘And you think someone sent this, pretending to be her?’

‘Yes. I think someone heard her on the phone to me, leaving me that voicemail. Whoever sent me that email is responsible for her death. They didn’t want the truth getting out.’

‘And you think that’s Harry Sinclair?’

‘Look, I’m not fooled by him. He comes across as the quiet one, the nice guy, the brother everyone loves, but you tell me, what other reason did he have to scoot off to France no sooner than Elizabeth was dead and set up some sort of design business over there?’ Sonia frowned and sighed. ‘Are you going to look into my daughter’s death or not?’

‘I’m not sure what I’ll be able to find out,’ began Steph, but then stopped herself. There was something about Sonia’s undeniable love for her daughter that resonated with Steph. Something that Steph felt was so lacking in her relationship with her own mum. An unbidden wish that Sonia was her mother took Steph by surprise. She brushed it away, feeling disloyal to Wendy, and yet at the same time a sense of deep disappointment settled inside her. What did Sonia and Elizabeth have as a mother and daughter that she and Wendy lacked? Or was it a case of not what they lacked but who lacked what? Steph couldn’t help feeling intrigued by Elizabeth – what was it about this woman that engendered this fierce belief and devotion from her mother? Steph couldn’t imagine igniting such a reaction in Wendy and, if she was honest, it made her a tiny bit jealous.

‘You’ll have access to the resort like no one else has had—you’ll be able to ask questions,’ Sonia continued, drawing Steph back to the conversation. ‘Please help me. Just think, if you force a new police investigation, then that’s going to help your career a lot. You could end up working for a national paper. You could make a name for yourself.’

It was a tempting proposition, Steph had to admit. She knew her position at Vacation Staycation wasn’t somewhere she wanted to be for the rest of her working days. She did have ambitions and Sonia was right, this could be an excellent opportunity to springboard her career. However, it would mean going back to where she’d grown up – not a place high on her wish list. It brought back too many sad memories, especially those of her father. Whenever she thought of Kendalton, the very next thought was of her father’s funeral. Coupled with the emotional desert of a relationship she had with her mother, Kendalton was not her happy place.

Steph looked at the woman across the table. ‘You and Elizabeth were obviously very close.’

Sonia looked slightly thrown by the statement but replied anyway. ‘Yes. We were. We stayed in touch with each other as she grew up and moved away. We might not have seen each other as much as we would have liked, but we spoke often.’ Sonia closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them, looking directly at Steph. ‘I miss her dreadfully. I can’t rest until I know she can rest in peace.’

Steph swallowed and blinked back her own tears. She couldn’t help not only envy the relationship Sonia had had with her daughter but also admire the love. She reached out and squeezed Sonia’s hand. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said softly and then added, ‘But I’m not making any promises. What I find is what I find, if I find anything at all.’

Chapter Eight
Conmere, Wednesday, 8 May, 2.15 p.m.

Harry dumped his bag onto his bed and, going through to the en-suite, splashed cold water over his face.

‘Shit.’ It was the only word he could think of to describe the past tortuous hour. One where he could barely look his mother in the eye yet could hardly stop looking at her. How could she be so ill and still look so elegant and well? Why wouldn’t she confide in him? He wasn’t sure he was going to be able to carry on as if he didn’t know the cancer had returned. He wasn’t exactly famed for Oscar-winning performances when it came to hiding his feelings.

Drying his face with the soft white towel, he went back through to the bedroom. It had been a hard decision to stay here in the lodge where he’d lived with Elizabeth or to stay at the main house, but in the end his desire to hide away from the painful memories was lost to his greater desire to face those ghosts. He hated the thought of anything having that sort of power or control over him. His mother had arranged for the lodge to be cleaned from top to bottom and, in her words, given a small makeover. Looking around the place, he saw that had meant new curtains, a new bedspread and some fresh cushions in the living room. Subtle changes, but they were enough to signify a new start. He appreciated his mother’s thoughtfulness on this occasion. He didn’t want to dwell on the past or the dark thoughts that inevitably followed.

He sat on the edge of the bed – his side of the bed – and stretched his hand out across the duck-egg blue duvet cover as he gave a small sigh. It wasn’t that he’d never slept in this bed alone and, indeed, had done so for several months after Elizabeth’s death, but being back here was stirring up more feelings than he had anticipated. A fleeting image of Elizabeth lying on the bed, propped up on one elbow, smiling at him while her fingers traced a path through the hairs on his chest came to mind. They hadn’t been married very long and those early days were such happy ones. He closed his eyes as her smiling face was eclipsed by one of anger and rage. One of their arguments where she had shouted and screamed at him and, in frustration, thrown her hairbrush at him. It had caught him perfectly above the eye. He touched his right eyebrow as he remembered that day and how he’d come up with a fake story of missing an intended catch after asking Elizabeth to chuck the hairbrush to him. God, she was fierce when she was angry.

Absently, Harry pulled open the drawer of the bedside table and paused as he saw a photo frame face down in the drawer. He reached in and picked it up, turning it over. It was of his and Elizabeth’s wedding day. They had been married in the grounds of the estate and this photo had been taken in the Rose Garden. Elizabeth’s blonde hair had been fixed in a neat French pleat and her elegance was equal to that of a royal princess. He had loved her so much then.

Harry replaced the photo frame and pushed the drawer closed. He could feel his mood dipping and the last thing he wanted was to become morose. He turned his attention to his holdall and spent the next few minutes unpacking his clothes. He didn’t have too much with him – he had only packed for a week – and living in rural France for the past eighteen months, where he only had to worry about himself, meant wearing a T-shirt twice wasn’t out of the ordinary. He doubted his mother would approve but what she didn’t know didn’t hurt her.

He had just finished putting his toiletries in the en suite when the sound of voices from somewhere outside filtered through the open window. He wandered over to take a look. About fifty metres or so from the boundary to Owen’s lodge, Dominic was standing by the entrance to the driveway, glaring at another man, who had his back to Harry. He could hear Dominic’s raised voice, although he couldn’t make out the words, but from the look on his face he was clearly angry about something. Harry didn’t need to see the face of the other man – he knew instinctively it was his younger brother, Owen.

What the hell was going on with those two?

Owen’s shoulders were slumped and his head bowed slightly as Dominic berated him. Then Dominic gave Owen a clip round the ear with the tips of his fingers and pushed him away along the track which led back to the resort.

It wasn’t quite how Harry expected to see his younger brother, but there was clearly some issue between first and third born. Dominic was a bit of a hothead and Owen very much the baby of the family. The scene reminded Harry of ones he had lived through himself as a youngster where he had been at the receiving end of his father’s wrath.

Whatever was going on between his brothers, he’d find out later. He felt a small pang of pity for Owen. He was never going to grow up if he was always treated as if he were ten years old. Harry wondered if Owen really was still sober these days. It wasn’t something he could just drop into conversation when he called his mother. Pru was a strong woman, but having an alcoholic son was not something she liked to dwell on.

Harry turned away from the window. They were all due to have dinner together tonight – the whole Sinclair family, including partners and children. Feeling restless and unable to settle, Harry decided to go for a walk around the grounds. He might even bump into Owen, who had appeared to be heading towards the stables. Owen loved the horses and was responsible for looking after the animals they used at the resort. Horse riding in small groups, hacking around the lake and surrounding countryside, was where his brother was at his happiest.

Harry made his way towards the house, which was at the centre of the resort, and, following the path, he headed across the courtyard to the stables. He went through to the yard, the distinct smell of manure wafting in the air as the stable lad mucked out one of the stables. He gave Harry a look and a polite nod.

‘Hi, is Owen around?’ asked Harry as he neared the stable lad.

‘He’s in the office, I think. Do you want me to get him?’

‘No. It’s OK, I’ll be fine. Thanks.’

Harry made his way along the row of stables, stopping as a big bay stuck his head out the half-opened door. ‘Hello, Billy.’ Harry rubbed the white blaze on the horse’s face. ‘Long time no see, eh? You’re not looking bad for an old boy.’

‘Same could be said for you,’ came a voice, and Harry looked up and grinned at his younger brother.

Owen wore a V-neck jumper, cords and a checked shirt, and his dark blonde hair flopped down into his eyes. ‘Unlike you, who looks like they’re just about to do a photo shoot for Horse & Hound.’ Harry strode over and shook Owen’s hand, before giving him a brief hug. He realised as he did so he had taken a moment to monitor for any smell of alcohol on his brother. Old habits die hard, he thought, but was relieved that today Owen only smelt of aftershave. ‘How are you, mate?’

‘I’m good, thanks. You? Or should that be, ça va?’ Owen said with a French flourish.

‘Very good – you’re practically bilingual.’ Harry followed his brother into the yard office.

‘Good to see you,’ said Owen, giving a small sniff as he took his seat and plucked a tissue from the pack on his desk.

‘You OK?’

‘Yeah, a bit of hay fever, that’s all.’ Owen wiped his nose and dropped the tissue into the bin. ‘Mum’s really been looking forward to you coming home.’

Harry pushed his hands into his pockets. ‘Yeah, so I hear. I’m not home though. This isn’t my home any more.’

‘You try telling Mum that.’ Owen moved a riding hat from the desk and picked up the diary. He spun it round so Harry could see. ‘Look, she even made me cross today’s rides out. HARRY COMING HOME. See, capital letters as well.’

‘I’m here for the week, then I need to get back. Things to do.’

‘Yeah, I know. Things to do.’ He didn’t want to alert Owen to the fact he was going to have to change his plan. ‘People to see. Money to make.’ Owen took out a pouch of tobacco from his pocket and began rolling himself a cigarette. ‘Isn’t that what the old man used to say?’

‘Something like that,’ said Harry, not missing his brother hurriedly poking a small plastic bag back into the pouch. ‘Along with, don’t answer me back, didn’t you hear what I said and all the time I’m alive we’ll do it my way.’

Owen gave a small rise of his eyebrows. ‘If you can’t say something nice …’

‘Jesus, you’re full of quotes today.’ Harry blew out a long breath. ‘Sorry, but that’s what being back here does to me. Makes me bloody miserable.’

‘Well, just keep up the pretence for the next seven days and that will keep Mum happy, eh? Then you can wave bon voyage and head off back across the Channel and not have to think about us for another six months. That’s how it works, isn’t it?’

Harry gave a shrug and turned to look out of the window at the stables. ‘How’s it all going with the yard?’

‘Good. Really good.’

‘Billy is still going strong, then.’

‘I think he’s a bloody donkey really. He’ll outlive us all,’ said Owen, standing up. ‘Fancy a stroll? I can smoke this once we’re out of the yard.’

‘Natalie and the kids OK?’ asked Harry as they walked across to the gardens at the back of the house.

‘Yeah, they’re all great. You’ll see them tonight.’

‘I’m looking forward to it,’ said Harry honestly. ‘Everything else OK? How’s things with Dominic?’

There was a notable pause before Owen answered. ‘How everything always is with Dominic,’ he said eventually. ‘He still treats me like I’m some junior employee. Really pisses me off at times. I want to get more involved with some of the other aspects of the business, but he keeps knocking me back. I don’t think he can bring himself to even say what I want to do is a good idea, let alone agree to it going ahead. I’ve got a great idea for this place.’

‘Like what?’

Owen lit his cigarette as they wandered around the formal gardens. ‘We’ve got the water sports pretty much sewn up. We’ve loads of things going on there but I think we’re missing a trick with the outward-bound things. Hiking and Nordic walking are both OK, but what about survival weekends? You know, proper boy-scout stuff for adults as well as kids. Spend a night out under the stars, learn how to start a fire, collect water and all that.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ said Harry. ‘But Dominic’s not interested, I take it?’

‘Not in the slightest. If it was his idea, it would be a different story, of course.’ Owen scrunched his nose up and sniffed again.

‘You want me to speak to him?’ offered Harry.

‘Would you? He’s more likely to listen to you, and if you think it’s a good idea then he can’t really say no.’

‘He probably could, but I’ll give it a try. What does Mum think to it?’

Owen drew hard on his cigarette. ‘She’s not sure. Said she’d have to think about it, look at insurances, et cetera. Basically, she just agrees with Dominic.’

‘If I get a chance, I’ll speak to him.’

‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’

‘It will cost you, though,’ said Harry, stopping and turning to face his brother.

‘What’s that?’

‘Stop putting that shit up your nose and I’ll back you one hundred per cent.’

Owen’s eyes widened and he took a step to the side, the back of his hand automatically going to his nose. ‘What? I …’

‘Don’t even try to deny it. I’m not stupid. I saw the little white packet in your baccy. And you’ve never in your life suffered from hay fever. The sniffles are from the coke.’ He shook his head. ‘You’re such a fucking idiot at times.’

‘It’s not what you think,’ said Owen, his eyes darting around. ‘It’s just now and again.’

‘What, just like the alcohol was now and again?’

‘Hey! That’s unfair.’ Owen looked embarrassed. ‘Seriously, it’s not really any of your business anyway. You don’t even live here any more and you’re only back because of Mum, so don’t pretend you care about my well-being or anything.’

Harry sighed. Owen’s sulky expression made him look like a kid again. He placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘You of all people shouldn’t underestimate me or how much I care. Just because I’m in France, it doesn’t mean I’m not here for you – if you need me, that is.’

Owen looked away and Harry gave him time to contemplate his response. Finally, Owen spoke. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just I’ve had Dominic on my back this morning already and now you. Look, I promise I’m not doing coke or anything like that. One of the guests left it in their lodge and one of the cleaners handed it in. Dom wasn’t about, so I took it. I meant to flush it down the toilet, but I forgot I’d put it in my baccy pouch. I didn’t want anyone to see it.’

Harry wasn’t entirely convinced by his brother’s story – after all, it wouldn’t be the first time Owen had lied about his habits.

‘OK, sorry if I jumped to conclusions,’ Harry said, making a mental note to keep an eye on Owen while he was in the UK. They began walking again. ‘What was the beef with Dominic?’

‘Oh, nothing really. Just Dominic being Dominic. I think he forgets that I don’t actually work for him and that we work with each other. You know, all equal.’ Owen kicked at the gravel path. ‘But going back to what we were saying – if you can speak to him about the survival-days idea, then I can get on with it and sort it all out. He doesn’t even have to get involved.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ said Harry, although he was pretty sure that wasn’t what his brothers had been arguing about earlier.

Chapter Nine
Two Years Earlier, Conmere, 19 August, 10.55 a.m.

‘Damn that bloody woman,’ said Elizabeth as she ended the call on her mobile. She was sitting in the coffee shop in the main shopping street of Kendalton, consoling herself with some retail therapy. Several boutique bags sat at her feet, but today the feeling of satisfaction wasn’t there. She didn’t really care for the £250 dress, the £300 boots or the £120 skirt she’d just acquired. It had been done out of spite, if she was honest. She’d used the credit card Harry had given her linked to his account which was supposed to be for emergencies, but Elizabeth had felt justified in using it today. After all, it was an emergency as far as she was concerned.

She’d come into town to get some legal advice on her position within the family business. She’d hoped there would be a loophole she could apply which would give her some sort of voting power or at least something she could use to apply pressure on the Sinclairs to allow her a vote on issues such as the sale of the land. As it turned out, there was nothing. It frustrated the hell out of her.

The call had been from Pru, asking her to be a darling and pick up her evening dress from the dry cleaners.’

Pick up her evening dress from the dry cleaners! Who the hell did Pru think she was talking to? Elizabeth wasn’t some sort of PA!

Elizabeth eyed the garment bag from Jones’ dry cleaners, which she had carefully laid over the chair next to her so as not to crease it. Pru wanted it for a dinner party she was attending that evening. Elizabeth drummed her acrylic nails on the table, and a small smile tipped the corners of her mouth. She sloshed some of her coffee into the saucer before reaching over and unzipping the garment bag. Taking the edge of the dress, she turned the pale blue fabric over and, making sure no one was paying her any attention, she dripped the coffee from the saucer onto the silk. The muddy-coloured latte bloomed to the size of an apple.

Elizabeth’s smile broadened. That would teach the old bag a lesson. Pru probably wouldn’t even notice it until she was getting dressed and turned to admire herself in the full-length mirror of her dressing room. The coffee would well and truly have dried by then and it would be too late for Pru to do anything about it.

Elizabeth would, of course, deny all knowledge and claim it must have happened at the dry cleaners. No one would suspect she’d do anything like that – why would they?

Zipping up the garment bag, Elizabeth returned to her coffee – God, that tasted even better now. A small victory, with the only downside being Elizabeth wouldn’t be there to see the look on her mother-in-law’s face when she eventually spotted the stain. It would, of course, be awful if she didn’t spot it until she was already out. Yes, that would be dreadful.

As she sat back smugly in her seat she cast a glance out of the window, absently watching the people of Kendalton go about their business. Something – or, rather, someone – on the other side of the street caught her attention. She sat up straighter and there, hurrying along, was Owen Sinclair. Tracking his path, she watched him enter the shop across the road – a bookmakers’.

‘Why, Owen, you are a naughty boy,’ she said quietly to herself. Harry had told her about Owen and his gambling habits, how Owen had promised he wouldn’t do it any more and had even taken counselling sessions to overcome his addiction. Clearly, they either didn’t work or Owen didn’t want them to work.

Elizabeth gathered up her bags and the dry cleaning and left the coffee shop. She could be jumping to conclusions. Maybe Owen had business in the bookmakers’ and it was legitimately to do with the stables or the horses. Although something told her that she was probably being quite naive in thinking that. She crossed the road and slowed her pace, before taking her phone out and pretending to look at messages, but in actual fact looking in through the window of the bookmakers’.

She couldn’t really get a clear view of Owen, but he was definitely at the back speaking to a cashier. Elizabeth opened the camera on her phone and took a couple of snaps. She wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do with the pictures but a vague idea was forming in the back of her mind. As she looked up she could see Owen turning to leave and she scooted into the shop next door so he wouldn’t spot her.

She waited patiently and a few moments later Owen walked past the window. She assumed he was heading back to wherever he’d parked his car.

Again, Elizabeth didn’t have time to reason out her actions, but she stepped out of the shop and from a safe distance followed him down the road. Fortunately, it was market day in the town and both locals and holidaymakers were out in force, making it easy for Elizabeth to follow Owen without being seen. She assumed Owen had left his car down one of the side roads but was once again surprised to see him pause outside a pub, where he had a quick look to his left and right, before entering.

‘You are being exceedingly naughty,’ said Elizabeth quietly. No wonder Owen had driven all the way out here. He probably thought he was on safe ground and no one he knew would be over this way. Well, he hadn’t banked on Elizabeth and her retail therapy, had he?

With the idea of what to do with this knowledge now taking a better shape, Elizabeth followed Owen into the pub. He was standing at the bar watching the barmaid pull him a pint of lager.

Excellent! This really was going rather well.

Elizabeth moved out of Owen’s peripheral vision and waited patiently as he paid for his pint and then took a long swig from the glass. She didn’t miss her opportunity and snapped him on her phone as he slugged the cold liquid.

As he put down the glass he rested his arm on the bar and half-turned to face the rest of the room. It was then he did an almost comedy double-take as he saw Elizabeth standing there. The expression of surprise was quickly replaced with guilt. He moved his body so that he shielded his pint and picked up the glass of orange juice which was sitting on the bar.

Elizabeth admired his tactic and foresight; it was just a shame the execution and delivery were poor. She smiled back at him and walked over. ‘Owen! What a surprise. I thought it was you coming in here.’ She air-kissed the side of his face. ‘What on earth are you doing in Kendalton?’

‘Hi … er … I had to come over on business,’ he said, not meeting her eye. ‘Can I get you a drink? I was just having an orange juice. Sore throat.’ He gave a small cough and patted his neck with his finger. ‘Think I’m getting a cold.’

Not a bad bit of acting, thought Elizabeth. She gave a sympathetic look. ‘There’s a lot of it going around at the moment. I’ll have a white wine, thanks.’

Owen caught the attention of the woman behind the bar and ordered his sister-in-law’s drink. ‘What are you doing over here?’ he asked as the glass of wine was placed on the bar.

With her forefinger Elizabeth traced a path through the condensation on the glass. ‘Had some shopping to do and needed to pick up your mum’s dry cleaning.’ She took a sip of her drink. ‘I was just having a cup of coffee when I saw you across the road.’

The uneasy look on Owen’s face returned. ‘Well, it’s a nice surprise. Are you on your own, then?’

‘Harry’s back at the resort sorting out the new booking system. I’m surprised you’re not there.’

Owen shrugged. ‘Need-to-know basis, apparently.’ He tried to look nonchalant, but Elizabeth could tell he wasn’t very happy about it.

‘It’s terrible that they don’t keep you in the loop with everything,’ she said. ‘It’s almost like they don’t value your opinion or input on anything.’

‘That’s exactly what it’s like.’

‘And, from what I can tell, you get outvoted on a lot of the decisions.’ A small tide of red rose up Owen’s neck. Elizabeth knew she was hitting all the right places with her comments. She continued. ‘I thought it was a ridiculous decision not to sell the land for development.’

‘It’s not really any of your business.’

‘I’m about to make it my business,’ said Elizabeth.

‘What are you on about?’

‘You need to protect yourself.’

Owen straightened up, his face full of suspicion. ‘Against what?’

Elizabeth cocked her head to one side and smiled sweetly at her brother-in-law. ‘Having your naughty little secrets exposed.’ She was loving the look on Owen’s face.

‘I still haven’t got any idea what you’re talking about.’

Elizabeth leaned round Owen and slid the pint along the bar, leaving it between them. ‘This,’ she said simply.

Elizabeth had to give Owen his due as he made a valiant effort to act surprised and then disinterested, as if he’d never seen the pint of lager before. ‘That’s not mine,’ he said.

Elizabeth gave a patronising chuckle. ‘Oh, dear, sweet Owen. You’re a really bad liar.’ She took her phone from her pocket and called up the photos, turning the screen so Owen could see. ‘There’s one of you definitely supping that pint. And here’s another one of you in the bookmakers’. Now, I’m sure neither Natalie, your mum or either of your brothers will want to see these pictures.’

‘Are you for real?’ Owen looked incredulously at her.

‘Very real indeed.’

‘Look, it’s no secret that I have a pint now and again. Am I supposed to be worried that you’ve caught me?’ He emphasised the last two words to underline how ridiculous she was. ‘What exactly do you want, Elizabeth?’

‘No wonder Dominic despairs of you at times. Do I really have to spell it out? You change your mind about the sale of the land and I don’t send the photos. It’s quite simple.’

‘You’re serious.’ He laughed in disbelief. ‘You’re really fucking serious.’

‘Deadly.’

Owen shook his head and defiantly took a swig of his pint. ‘You’re bluffing.’

‘Try me.’

‘You really expect me to agree to the sale of the land just because you have a couple of photos of me.’

Elizabeth smiled again. ‘Yep.’

‘You’re crazy, you know that?’ said Owen. ‘And you really think I’m that worried?’

‘I know that Dominic has threatened to cut your salary if he finds out you’re drinking again.’

‘Fuck off, Elizabeth. As I said, drinking isn’t a crime. Dominic doesn’t care as long as I’m not paralytic.’

‘I still don’t think they’d be happy to see you drinking during the day, in secret, which, to all intents and purposes, is what you’re doing. And then there’s the gambling. I know Harry is concerned enough about you to agree to your salary being cut.’

‘You’re some piece of work.’

Elizabeth was just about to thank him for the compliment when before she had time to react Owen snatched the phone from her hand and dropped it into his pint glass.

Elizabeth let out a screech and tried to grab the phone, but Owen was too quick and moved the glass out of reach, covering the top with his hand. She looked disbelievingly at the phone and could already see the screen had gone blank.

‘You bastard!’ She pulled his hand away and dipped her fingers into the glass, pulling out her phone, which dripped across the bar. Elizabeth wrapped it in a towelling beer mat. ‘You’ve ruined it!’

‘Oh, dear, that’s a shame. I guess the photos won’t be of any use now.’

Elizabeth rushed out to the toilets. Maybe she could dry it under the hand dryer before it did too much damage. ‘For God’s sake!’ There were only paper towels in the ladies’.

Owen was leaning casually against the bar when she came back out, an orange juice in his hand. ‘No joy?’

‘Fuck you.’ Elizabeth grabbed her bags and the dry cleaning. She could kick herself that she didn’t have automatic cloud storage for her photos.

‘Have a nice day, now,’ said Owen.

‘In case you didn’t hear me the first time,’ hissed Elizabeth, her face only inches away from his, ‘fuck. You.’ She spun round and marched out of the pub. He might think he was clever, and he might have got the better of her this time, but this only strengthened her resolve to get what she wanted. She’d think of another way, one that he couldn’t get out of. God help her, she’d die trying before giving up.

Chapter Ten
Conmere, Friday, 10 May, 1.00 p.m.

Steph chose to drive up to Cumbria. Her Fiat 500 didn’t miss a beat as she motored north, but all the same, it was with relief Steph saw the entrance to Conmere Resort Centre. She swung her car through the gates and followed the road, which filtered through trees and eventually opened up to reveal the imposing Edwardian building of Conmere House. Signs indicated that she was to follow the road past the main entrance and to a car park further along. There were already lots of cars in the car park and, looking at her watch, Steph realised she was cutting it fine to get to the welcome meeting.

The receptionist checked Steph in. ‘Leave your bags here and the concierge will take them to your lodge. If you go through to the main reception room there on the left, the welcome talk is just about to start. You’ll be given your room key at the end.’

‘Thank you,’ said Steph, now wishing she’d left just half an hour earlier. She hated the thought of being the last one to enter the room.

She was relieved to see it was a very informal affair in the reception room. There were probably another seventy-five to one hundred travel-agency PR people and reporters, all standing around in small groups chatting amiably and all with a drink in their hand. Steph was approached by a waiter with a tray of champagne and she gladly took a glass before making her way over to the buffet table and filling up her plate with as much food as was polite. She was starving and knew just one glass of alcohol on an empty stomach would be enough to make her want to curl up and sleep this afternoon. She had to make sure she paced herself and was able to write a full report. She also wanted to keep her wits about her so she didn’t miss an opportunity to find out more about Elizabeth.

The clinking of a spoon against a glass brought the chatter of the room to an end and all the guests turned to the front, where three men and a woman were standing – the Sinclairs.

‘Hello and welcome to Conmere Resort Centre,’ began one of the men. ‘It’s great to see so many of you here. My name’s Dominic Sinclair and this is my mother, Pru, and my brothers, Harry and Owen.’

Dominic was a natural speaker and came across as professional and charming. Steph tried to concentrate on what he was saying, but her mind kept drifting back to Sonia Lomas and her quest to find justice for her daughter. Steph looked at the Sinclairs – could one of them be a murderer, as Sonia had implied? Which one looked as if they could be capable of killing Elizabeth?

A round of applause from the other guests brought Steph back from her thoughts as Dominic invited everyone to enjoy the buffet and feel free to ask any questions as they mingled. The Sinclairs smiled at the guests, although Harry Sinclair’s contribution was rather more lacklustre than the rest of his family’s.

Steph finished her drink and exchanged the champagne flute for a bottle of sparkling water, making a show of examining the label as she surreptitiously kept an eye on her hosts. Pru was already engaged in conversation with one of the guests, standing slightly to one side, but her eyes every now and then scanned the room.

Dominic was holding court with a group of reporters; with his hands in his pockets, he looked at ease in their company, smiling and being particularly engaging, looking at the scale model of the resort in the centre of the room, identifying various points of interest. He was clearly in his element.

Aware that she should probably be speaking to at least one of the Sinclairs, Steph let her gaze seek out the remaining brothers. Owen was talking earnestly with two older men.

So that left Harry Sinclair – her person of interest. Not immediately seeing him, Steph casually wandered over to the centrepiece of the room, beside which Dominic was chatting. The model of the resort was under a glass case, labels showing the main attractions. The indoor swimming pool with jacuzzi, sauna and spa pool were at the heart of the park and fanning outwards were the other facilities with groups of lodges dotted around. It looked like a small town to Steph.

Something made her look up and on the far side of the room, standing almost in the shadows, was Harry Sinclair. They locked eyes for a moment. Steph’s heart bumped hard in her chest and, for a second, all she could hear was the pumping of blood in her ears at the power of his gaze. And then a beat later he broke the brief but intense moment, his eyes returning to his phone.

Steph exhaled a small but controlled breath as she continued to watch him and was pretty certain he was purposely making himself appear unavailable to speak to anyone. As soon as someone looked as if they were approaching him Harry would raise his phone to his ear and mouth an apology to the approaching guest, accompanied by a smile, before looking down as if in deep conversation. Steph witnessed him do this at least three times, and it was quite amusing to watch.

After deflecting a fourth approach with this ploy he looked up and, again, looked over at Steph, who gave a small shake of the head in admonishment. He offered a blank look in reply.

A small laugh escaped Steph’s mouth. This was too good an opportunity to miss. Milling her way through the guests, she headed straight for Harry Sinclair. As she neared him he looked up and put his phone towards his ear, with his by now well-practised don’t-bother-me look. Steph was undeterred and came to a halt in front of him.

‘That’s a ten for presentation, ten for technical ability and a nine for artistic impression.’

Slowly, Harry lowered the phone. ‘Only a nine for artistic impression? Where did I lose the point?’

‘Repetition, darling. Repetition,’ said Steph in a mock-showbiz voice. ‘You can’t pull the same stunt all the time – someone will get wise.’

‘Such an amateur mistake.’

‘I’d say.’ She leaned in conspiratorially. ‘However, your secret’s safe with me.’

‘Why do I get the feeling there’s a catch coming?’

‘Because I wouldn’t be doing my job as a travel reporter if there wasn’t.’

‘True. Fire away.’

‘Give me an exclusive on the resort and we’ll say no more.’

‘An exclusive? I’m not sure if I’ve anything exclusive to tell you.’

Steph knew she had to pace herself here and not get too carried away. ‘Oh, I don’t know, there must be power battles between three ambitious brothers such as yourselves. What really goes on in the boardroom?’

Harry gave a laugh, which Steph felt was forced. His eyes looked wary, although he tried to hide it. ‘You’ve come to the wrong place if you want any scandal.’ He paused and looked at Steph’s lanyard. ‘Ms Stephanie Durham.’

‘It’s Miss, just to clarify, and no one ever calls me Stephanie – it’s just Steph.’

‘Ah, fatal mistake,’ said Harry. ‘Never say you’re just someone – it’s so passive, which I suspect, with you, is a contradiction.’

‘Definitely not. Proactive, I’d say.’ Steph smiled broadly at him. He really did have the most sparkling eyes when he was joking. For a moment it hid the deep sadness that she sensed lay within. ‘If there’s no scandal, why don’t you give me a guided tour?’

‘There’s no scandal and there’s a guided tour in half an hour.’

Steph wasn’t giving up so easily. ‘What about if you show me your favourite part of the estate later? After I’ve been on the official guided tour?’

Something must have caught Harry’s attention. He looked over Steph’s shoulder and his expression darkened.

‘Shit,’ he muttered.

Steph turned to follow his gaze. ‘Shit,’ she heard herself echoing. Sonia Lomas was heading straight for them. What the hell was she doing here? Sonia had never mentioned to Steph that she was coming to the resort. How was this going to play out in front of Harry? She turned and looked for a reaction, but Harry’s gaze was fixed on his mother-in-law. Steph had a second to decide how to play this. She opted to say nothing and see how Sonia was going to react, but couldn’t help feeling irritated at the unexpected appearance. It could ruin everything.

Harry stepped forward. ‘Hello, Sonia,’ he said, his voice the epitome of professional politeness. ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’

‘I didn’t tell you, that’s why,’ replied Sonia. She looked at Steph and then back at Harry. ‘And who’s this? Your new girlfriend?’

Steph silently thanked Sonia for the coded message.

‘No. This is one of the guests.’

Steph held out her hand to Sonia. ‘Stephanie Durham. Vacation Staycation website and magazine. I’m here to cover the reopening of Conmere Resort Centre.’

Sonia shook Steph’s hand. ‘Sonia Lomas. My daughter was married to Harry.’

Steph feigned a thoughtful look, followed by what she hoped was one of realisation. ‘Oh, I see. Er … Elizabeth—’

Harry cut her off. ‘Nothing that needs discussing here.’ He turned to Sonia. ‘Would you like to go somewhere more private, where we can talk?’

Sonia raised her eyebrows. ‘No. I wouldn’t actually. I’m quite happy to talk right here.’

Steph looked from one to the other. She had no idea what Sonia’s game was. As far as Steph was concerned, she was supposed to be here to make discreet enquiries, but now Sonia had turned up it was clearly putting Harry on his guard. She felt she should excuse herself, but the professional side of her knew she should stay rooted to the spot to glean as much info as possible.

‘I’d sooner we didn’t,’ said Harry, and then he turned to Steph. ‘Would you mind excusing us?’

‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said Steph, although it was the last thing she wanted to do.

‘Why don’t you stay?’ said Sonia. ‘I’d prefer to have someone else here.’

Harry leaned closer to Sonia and said something in low tones that Steph couldn’t make out above the buzz of the room. Sonia listened for a moment, her face hardening before she took a step back. ‘Please, Sonia,’ said Harry. ‘Not here. Not today.’

‘What? Are you worried I’m going to cause a scene? I don’t suppose you want me to start reminding everyone about what happened here two years ago, do you?’

Steph looked at Sonia, who swayed on her feet, and she and Harry simultaneously put a hand out to keep the older woman from stumbling. It was then Steph got the whiff of alcohol from Sonia’s breath.

‘Get off me,’ said Sonia, her voice rising enough to make the guests nearby turn around. There were tears in her eyes. ‘Don’t you care, Harry? Don’t you care what happened to your wife?’

Before Harry could answer Dominic appeared, his manner rather more abrupt than his brother’s. Steph could see the anger blazing in his blue eyes. ‘What the fuck is she doing here?’ Dominic hissed and then, noticing Steph, made a clear effort to regain his composure. ‘Mrs Lomas, this afternoon is strictly for the press. I’m afraid you can’t stay.’

‘That’s what you think,’ said Sonia.

Dominic turned his head and wrinkled up his nose. ‘Jesus. You’re drunk,’ he said. ‘Honestly, Harry, you need to get her out of here before I call Security.’

‘Go easy,’ said Harry, eyeing his brother. ‘I don’t think we need Security.’

Dominic looked at Steph. ‘And don’t even think about reporting this,’ he said. ‘You do what you’re here for. OK?’

Steph was rather taken aback at Dominic’s aggression. She was about to pull him up for it, but Harry spoke first.

‘No need for that.’ He turned to Steph. ‘Apologies; my brother didn’t mean to sound so rude. Did you, Dom?’

Dominic took a moment to collect himself. ‘No. Sorry. Very sorry. Please, let me get you a drink while Harry sees to his mother-in-law.’

Steph was pretty sure Dominic was anything other than sorry, but she accepted his apology all the same. However, she wasn’t about to be bought off with a drink. Fortunately, Sonia started up again.

‘Look, you two, don’t try to silence me like you did my daughter. I’m not scared of either of you. Any of you.’

‘No one wants you to be scared,’ reassured Harry. ‘Let’s talk about this – somewhere else. Please, Sonia.’

Steph watched Harry put a hand on her arm and offer a sympathetic smile. He seemed genuinely concerned about Sonia. He had a kind and calming way about him. Hardly the reaction of someone who might have murdered his wife.

‘Don’t touch me,’ snapped Sonia, clearly not ready to accept the olive branch.

Steph moved towards Sonia. ‘Why don’t you come outside with me?’ She smiled warmly at the other woman. ‘There’s no need to cause a big fuss here. If you want to be taken seriously, there are better ways to do it.’ She willed Sonia to agree to come with her.

‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea,’ said Dominic.

‘It bloody well is if you want me to leave quietly, and just because I’m going it doesn’t mean you’ve heard the last of me,’ said Sonia. She linked her arm through Steph’s. ‘I’d like to leave now. With you. No one else.’ Sonia looked defiantly at the older Sinclair brother.

‘Just get her out of here,’ said Dominic, glancing around the room. ‘Quietly. There’s a room directly across the hall. She can sober up in there. I’ll get someone to bring in some coffee.’

‘Thank you,’ said Sonia as she staggered slightly on the turn and allowed Steph to lead her towards the door.

Steph glanced over her shoulder at Harry, whose eyes she was sure had tracked them the whole way across the room. She could see the brothers muttering to each other and then Harry give a slight nod in her direction.

Across the hall and in the sitting room, Steph sat Sonia down on the sofa. ‘What are you doing here?’ she whispered. ‘I thought you were going to leave this to me.’

‘I changed my mind,’ said Sonia. She flopped back on the sofa and closed her eyes. ‘I’m not drunk, by the way.’

‘I’m not so sure about that.’

‘I’ve had a couple of drinks, but that’s all. A bit of Dutch courage.’

‘I still don’t understand what you’re doing here though.’ Steph was anxious to find out but Sonia was being vague. ‘Look, if you want me to investigate your daughter’s death, you’ve got to let me do it. You can’t come gatecrashing. All that’s going to do is put the Sinclairs on edge. I don’t need them getting suspicious and giving them any clue that I might be working with you.’ Sonia’s eyes remained closed. ‘Do you even understand what I’m saying?’

Sonia opened her eyes and looked at Steph. ‘Truth be told, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I don’t really know what I was hoping to achieve. I thought maybe I could cause a bit of a stir and get people talking about Elizabeth again.’

‘You need to leave it to me,’ said Steph. She could see the pain in Sonia’s eyes and a surge of sympathy welled up in Steph’s chest. ‘Please, let me find out things my way. If you go for a full-on attack, they are only going to close ranks. I need to win their confidence, not put them on their guard.’

Before Sonia could answer, the door opened and Harry walked in carrying a tray with two cups of coffee on it. ‘Thought you might like one too,’ he said to Steph.

‘Thanks.’ Steph looked at Sonia, whose eyes were once again closed. She could only assume Sonia was acting but she decided to play along with her for now.

‘How is she?’ Harry placed the tray on the side table and looked down at his mother-in-law.

Steph shrugged. ‘Sleeping it off, I guess.’

Harry let out a long sigh. ‘She never used to drink but I think what happened to Elizabeth has pushed her over the edge.’

‘It’s hardly surprising.’

‘You obviously know about what happened to my wife?’

‘Yes, and I’m sorry for your loss. I researched your family prior to coming here.’

‘Well, looks like you’ve got yourself a nice, juicy story. One for the gutter press. Get a couple of photos and you can probably make yourself a few pounds.’

Steph inwardly winced at the remark. Despite how accurate it may be, the way Harry said it made it sound callous and uncaring and she found herself challenging his assumption. ‘What makes you so sure I’m going to run a story on this?’

‘I thought that’s what all journalists did.’

‘We’re not all hacks. Some of us have integrity and, technically speaking, I’m here for PR and advertising, not scandal,’ said Steph, inwardly blanching at her contradiction. She, of course, had a hidden agenda but she wasn’t going to let Harry know that. She ignored the voice of conscience in the back of her mind.

Harry gave her a sideways look. ‘I’ll happily be proved wrong,’ he said.

Sonia let out a small groan and opened her eyes. Steph admired her acting ability as she took a moment to focus and take in her surroundings. Her gaze rested on the cup of coffee. ‘I suppose that’s for me.’

Harry passed her the cup. ‘Black, no sugar and a splash of cold water. Just as you like it.’

Steph noted that Harry still remembered how Sonia liked her coffee and realised that he was more thoughtful than she would have expected.

‘Thank you.’ Sonia sipped at the warm liquid.

‘How did you get here?’ asked Harry.

‘Taxi from the station. I’d heard about the reopening and I found myself catching a train. I’m not sure why.’ She dipped her head but not before Steph saw the tears welling up in the older woman’s eyes.

Steph rummaged in her bag and pulled out a tissue, passing it to Sonia, who mopped at her eyes. Taking an audible breath in and releasing it slowly, Sonia placed the cup on the table and stood up. ‘I need to go.’

‘Where are you staying?’ asked Steph. ‘I could drive you back.’

‘I’m not staying anywhere. I’m getting the train home.’

‘Not in that state you’re not,’ said Harry. ‘You need to sober up first.’

‘I’m not drunk. I’ve had two drinks, that’s all. God knows why I came here. It was a stupid idea. Might have known I’d hit a brick wall with you. I can’t believe how uncaring and cold-hearted you are about my daughter. I thought you loved her but you clearly didn’t.’

Sonia pushed past Harry and headed for the door. He looked shell-shocked and perhaps not without reason, Steph thought. He had been anything but uncaring and cold-hearted with Sonia since she’d turned up, but right now this wasn’t Steph’s main concern. She rushed after her and caught her up in the hall. ‘Let me drive you, please.’

‘No. I’ve got a cab waiting. I just wanted to say my bit and leave,’ said Sonia as she strode towards the main entrance.

Steph followed her out. ‘I will get to the truth,’ she said. ‘But, like I said before, I can’t promise it will be what you want to hear.’

Sonia paused and eyed Steph intently. ‘Just don’t be taken in by them,’ she said eventually.

‘I’ve been around long enough not to do that.’ Steph was slightly affronted that someone would think she was gullible. ‘I’ll find the truth even if it kills me.’

‘Let’s hope not,’ said Sonia as she climbed into a waiting taxi. Her eyes never left Steph as the driver started the engine and the car pulled away.

Steph turned to go back inside but hesitated when she saw Dominic Sinclair standing at the top of the steps, his hands in his pockets, watching her. Despite the warmth of the afternoon, she gave a small shiver. His eyes were as cold as ice and his face unsmiling. She forced herself forward and smiled. ‘She’s going home now. Won’t be bothering you again.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Dominic. ‘Sorry, what did you say your name was again?’

Steph held up the tag on her lanyard. ‘Stephanie Durham. Vacation Staycation.’

Dominic frowned. ‘Durham. Stephanie Durham. Have we met before?’

Steph smiled, hoping to disguise the unease she was feeling. ‘No, we haven’t. I’ve just got one of those faces that everyone thinks they recognise.’

Dominic smiled back. ‘I’m usually good with faces but even the best of us get it wrong sometimes.’

‘Right, better get back to the reception,’ said Steph, injecting false cheer into her voice. Her stomach gave an anxious roll. Something about Dominic Sinclair scared her and there was an undercurrent of danger to him that was unnerving. In Steph’s profession this made someone particularly interesting, although she sensed she would have to be very careful around him.

Chapter Eleven
Conmere, Friday, 10 May, 1.50 p.m.

Harry sighed. Sonia Lomas turning up had been the last thing he had expected and the last he needed. He wasn’t quite sure what she was hoping to achieve by her visit, but that wasn’t what troubled him the most.

It wasn’t the first time Sonia had appeared to remind him of Elizabeth’s death and to imply it had been anything other than an accident. Actually, she never implied anything; she wasn’t that subtle. No, Sonia said exactly what she thought – that Elizabeth had been murdered. But what had troubled him most today was that it had all played out in front of the reviewer from Vacation Staycation. Despite the lowly job title, she was still part of the press and Harry knew from past experience what they could be like. He’d better go and see that this Steph had managed to persuade Sonia to leave.

He stepped out into the hall and could see Dominic standing on the front steps of the house, just as the woman was coming back inside. He noted the small exchange between them and observed that Steph looked flustered as she came through the front door, unaware he was there.

‘Fuck,’ she muttered, not quite enough under her breath. She looked up and was obviously startled to see him standing in the middle of the tiled hallway by the centrepiece flower arrangement. ‘You frightened me.’

Harry gave an apologetic smile. ‘I was just coming out to check Sonia was OK.’

‘Don’t you mean, to check Sonia had left?’

‘Both, actually. You, on the other hand, don’t seem too OK.’ He nodded in the direction of Dominic, who was still standing outside, taking the opportunity to smoke a cigarette.

She straightened up and smoothed out her hair. ‘I’m fine. And you’ll be pleased to hear, your mother-in-law is on her way back home.’

He could tell by the look she gave that she was less than impressed with the way things had been handled. ‘I’m not as heartless as you think,’ he found himself explaining. ‘I used to have a very good relationship with Sonia, but she’s taken her daughter’s death – my wife’s death – very badly. I’m in a position where I can no longer help her. She needs professional help and that’s way out of my comfort zone.’

‘When I was told I was coming here for the weekend and did my research, I was surprised that you were going to be here. It must be difficult for you too.’

Harry didn’t answer immediately. He was surprised by his reaction to this journalist’s questions. Normally, if anyone outside the family spoke about Elizabeth and her death he felt compelled to end the conversation there and then. Yet here he was, having to quell the urge to open up to her. Before he could form a response, the closing of the main door and footsteps on the tiled floor caught his attention. He looked beyond the journalist to see Dominic walking towards them, one hand casually in his trouser pocket, the other tucking his phone into his breast pocket.

‘Sorry, am I interrupting anything?’ said Dominic, a faux smile on his face. ‘I hope you’re not giving this young lady an exclusive.’ Dominic gave a tight smile in an effort to hide his annoyance, but Harry wasn’t fooled and, judging by the expression on Steph’s face, neither was she.

She gave a quick smile at Harry. ‘I’d better get back. I need to get one of those info packs before they all go.’ She glanced at Dominic and then disappeared back through the double doors and into the hubbub of the reception.

‘That was a bit unnecessary,’ Harry said. ‘I was just thanking her for seeing to Sonia.’ OK, that wasn’t quite the truth, but he didn’t need to share everything with his brother.

‘Do you know her?’

‘No. I spoke to her for the first time about ten minutes ago. Why, what’s up?’

Dominic gave a shrug. ‘Nothing, probably. I just thought she looked familiar. Stephanie Durham from Vacation Staycation?’ He looked at his brother.

‘Nope. Still doesn’t mean anything. Other than the Vacation Staycation site. They’ve got a good social-media presence – maybe you’ve seen her on Twitter or something.’

‘Maybe,’ said Dominic, not sounding convinced. ‘I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something about her that’s bugging me. I might do a bit of investigating myself.’

Harry wasn’t sure he liked the tone in his brother’s voice or what might follow. ‘I really don’t think you need to worry about her,’ said Harry, surprised at his reaction. ‘She’s just a feature writer, a reviewer, that’s all.’

‘Still a journalist, and I don’t want anyone poking around looking for a story that’s not there.’

‘I think you’re overreacting. No one is interested in what happened to Elizabeth.’ He swallowed to relieve the dryness in his throat and took a breath. ‘It’s old news.’

‘Don’t underestimate anyone,’ said Dominic. ‘Especially not a pretty female.’

‘You really think there’s something to worry about?’ The thought of Elizabeth’s death being dragged into the limelight again was like a black cloud looming on the horizon. Too many bad memories of their marriage, too much doubt and too much grief for him to want to face it all over again.

‘I don’t know and I don’t like not knowing, so I intend to find out. Keep your eye on her.’

Harry suppressed the sigh that was threatening to escape. He’d forgotten what it was like to be around Dominic for any length of time. The intensity, the brooding, the second-guessing and the need to be in control was tiring.

‘Hey, what’s going on?’ Owen joined them in the hallway. He looked from one to the other and settled on Harry. ‘Was that Elizabeth’s mother I saw with you just now?’

Harry nodded. ‘She’s gone now.’

‘What was she doing here? I don’t remember anyone inviting her.’

‘Of course no one invited her,’ snapped Dominic. ‘Why the fuck would anyone do that?’

Harry couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable for his younger brother’s embarrassment at being reprimanded by Dominic. ‘Hey, it doesn’t really matter; she’s gone now and that’s that. Just forget about it.’

‘Let’s hope she doesn’t come back,’ said Dominic, his annoyance still apparent. He turned to Owen. ‘Do you know that bird from Vacation Staycation?’

Owen looked blank and shook his head. ‘What bird, as you so nicely put it?’

‘That one who took Sonia out just now.’

‘I didn’t see her. What’s her name?’

‘Stephanie Durham,’ replied Dominic. ‘Blonde hair. Wearing black trousers and a short-sleeved top.’

‘Doesn’t exactly narrow it down,’ said Owen. ‘But the name doesn’t mean anything to me. Why?’

‘It’s nothing,’ interjected Harry. ‘Dominic thinks he knows her, that’s all.’

‘Probably some bird you had a one-night stand with,’ said Owen, mimicking his brother’s expression with a degree of disdain.

‘Fuck off,’ said Dominic impatiently.

‘Gladly,’ replied Owen. ‘I don’t know about you two, but I’m going back in. Mum will have a fit if she realises we’re all out here.’

Harry stood by Dominic’s side as they watched Owen go back towards the reception room. ‘He has a point,’ Harry said.

‘Yeah, but he’s a little prick at times.’

‘Go easy on him, Dom. You don’t give him enough credit at times.’

‘Well, he is a little prick. It’s all right for you, you don’t have to see him practically every day of your life. You don’t always have to be looking out for him, making sure he’s not fucking things up.’

‘Is that why you won’t give him any more responsibility?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Like let him go ahead with the outdoor-adventure thing he wants to do.’

‘Jesus! You’ve only been back a couple of days and he’s already been getting at you about that.’

‘We were just talking, that’s all. I asked him what he was up to and he told me about his idea. I personally think it sounds a great idea and will definitely draw a different demographic of guests in. One we’ve possibly not explored before. People want adventure but they want it in a safe environment. It would be good for Owen too – you know, give him something else to keep him busy.’

Dominic pursed his lips before speaking. ‘Look, it’s a great idea and I think it would work, but Owen isn’t up to it.’

Harry winced. He had a feeling he knew what was coming next but he obliged with the question, ‘Why’s that?’

‘He’s not clean. He may have given up the booze, the gambling, the fags, but you know Owen, always got to have some vice. I wasn’t going to say anything, what with you being in France, and I haven’t, of course, said anything to Mum, but he’s been doing drugs. Coke, to be exact.’

Harry blew out a long breath, resting his hands on his hips. ‘You sure about that?’ He had wanted to believe Owen when he said the drugs in his baccy pouch weren’t his, but it wouldn’t be the first time his younger brother had lied about his addictions.

‘I caught him doing it. In the stables.’

‘What an idiot. Kind of makes the gambling seem small-fry now.’

‘Doesn’t it just? That’s the reason I won’t agree to the outward-bound thing. He’s got to get his head together, and fast. I can’t keep it from Mum forever but, with the way things are for her health-wise, I don’t want that little shit upsetting her.’

‘You need to tell him about Mum.’

‘No. I don’t. I can’t trust him. He won’t be able to cope and he’ll be no good to Mum.’

‘But giving him an incentive might make him sort himself out.’

‘Are you for real? He’s got an addiction. He can’t sort himself out. If it’s not coke it will be something else.’

‘Then let it be something else. Something not so harmful. Get him the help he needs.’

‘I’m through with babysitting him all the time. Making excuses. Taking responsibility for him. That’s why he’s like he is. He’s a baby. Never grown up. Always got someone else digging him out of shit.’

‘But giving him responsibility might be the making of him. Instead of treating him like the baby of the family, treat him like an equal.’

‘He’s got the stables. It’s not as if he has nothing to do.’

‘And he makes a good job of that. Let him take on more.’

‘Just shows how out of touch you are, Harry. I have to double-check everything he does over there. He doesn’t know but I’m always checking up on him, making sure he’s got the staff rota sorted, the hours covered, timesheets in, up-to-date with the vets and everything else that goes with running a stable. I can’t trust him. He needs to prove to me he can be trusted.’

‘Not that you’re a control freak or anything.’ Harry knew his brother liked to be in charge, but even by Dominic’s standards this seemed a little over the top.

‘I’m not just talking about work, though. That’s just the tip of it. What I mean is, the sooner he takes responsibility for himself, the sooner he’ll make something of himself. And don’t look at me like that; you’re just as bad as Mum. He needs tough love.’

‘You sound like Dad.’

‘Maybe that’s not such a bad thing at times.’ With that Dominic strode off back into the reception room, leaving Harry brooding over the predicament. He knew Dominic was right about a lot of things but he didn’t agree that leaving Owen to fend for himself and shutting him out of stuff was the way to go about it. And as for Dominic’s assertion that being like their father wasn’t a bad thing, well, Harry certainly didn’t agree with that.

Dominic halted at the doorway and came back over to Harry. ‘You must have a short memory. Remember the shitstorm he caused before?’

Harry’s chest tightened as he looked his brother in the eye. How could anyone forget that? Although Dominic was being rather magnanimous, as it had been Elizabeth who had been the catalyst of that shitstorm with her scheming to try to get what she wanted. All the same, he was taken aback that Dominic would bring it up. It was an unwritten agreement in the Sinclair household. No one spoke about that. Until now, it seemed. ‘Why bring that up now?’ Harry managed to say with a degree of control.

‘Because Owen is a liability and I need to make sure he doesn’t get out of control again. I know you don’t like talking about it, but what Elizabeth did to him just goes to show how susceptible he is. He’s a weak man and no one, least of all you, wants that episode dragged up again. So, when I say keep an eye on that journalist and keep Owen under control, it’s with good reason. It may not be so easy this time to keep our personal business out of the spotlight.’

Harry felt the old familiar feeling of irritation wash over him. Dominic could be dogmatic at times. Once he got an idea into his head, it was hard to get him to see it any other way. Now he had a bee in his bonnet about Steph and was trying to manipulate Harry’s thinking by dragging up the past. Harry sighed. This time he didn’t have the luxury of France for an escape.

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