The Dead Wife. Sue FortinЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.
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