‘I was there! I was there, Glen. I saw it with my own eyes. They were walking back up the drive. I was there, I was hiding from view, well screened by trees on the edge of the golf course. I saw Mum with Richard Hughes-Webb, arm in arm like young lovers. I saw the altercation with Hector Wallace, and if Tom hadn’t arrived to break it up I do believe Hughes-Webb could have … killed someone. His eyes were bulging like saucers. It wasn’t just that he was angry. He was demonic!’ Grant’s voice trailed off.
This was the conversation he was going to have with his younger brother, Glen. This was the conversation he had never had. For a long time Grant had been haunted by these terrible thoughts. He had never got out of his head the memory of his mother walking arm in arm with Richard Hughes-Webb at the end of the long drive, as they went back to the hotel that night. He had never admitted to anyone he was actually there. It was like a jittery speckled old film clip ingrained in his mind. But as if that wasn’t traumatic enough, what had really burnt into his memory cells was the fact that the aggravated altercation between Hughes-Webb and Hector Wallace that ensued had involved Tom the night porter. Both Tom and Hector were to suffer serious and ultimately fatal mishaps shortly afterwards.
His mother’s involvement in that scene and the witness statement – her alibi – to the police had protected Hughes-Webb from further investigation at the time of the poisoning; she confirmed that they had gone for a drive after getting the Sunday papers from Zennor. The veracity or otherwise of his mother’s statement was what he knew really drove him to try to establish what really took place. Was she an innocent bystander, or was she implicated in some way? Was she involved in attempted murder? He had never come close to admitting this awful fear to anyone; it was the ghost that had driven him so hard, compelling him to establish the truth. He had never even hinted to Brigit or his brother, Glen, that this had become his real raison de faire.
Perhaps now he should – perhaps it might save his marriage – but his feelings for Brigit were caught up in a fair ground of thoughts, of emotions from the highs and lows of the big dipper to crashing in bumper cars. He didn’t think he could tell her while he was on such an emotional roller-coaster, particularly with the content of the amateur film footage still unknown. He knew deep down that she was still on his side, but he also knew he needed time away to attempt ‘closure’, as she had put it. He also now understood why she needed some space as well, and for the first time he felt some guilt at the singlemindedness of his pursuit. He also knew she was genuinely worried about his physical safety, and he had ignored her concerns.
The discovery of the existence of the film footage gave his investigation its next dramatic focus, but viewing it was an uncertain journey he had yet to make. What would it show? Would his mother be absolved from blame? Grant felt it was all ‘on the nail’, impossible to predict, like a sports fixture no forecaster could call. One thing for sure was that it would include incriminating activities of one sort or another.
In truth, he was desperate to view the cine film and terrified as to what it might reveal. What further dark secrets might emerge concerning Paul Galvin, and why was Suzie so protective of her father? Grant knew he should meet the cinematographer, Henry Wilson, after he had viewed the footage. He was aching to know whether Henry had shot any scenes in the Office, and, if so, was he there that fateful last night of Hector Wallace’s life? Would such footage – if it existed at all – show Trevor Mullings truly hammered and collapsed under the table, or would it show him staggering out towards the beach with Hector? Was Trevor’s role far more sinister than had been previously assumed? There were many questions to which the film footage had to provide answers.
Grant kept thinking about his mother walking back up the drive with Richard Hughes-Webb. All he could picture was his mother’s smiling face, her dimples embedded firmly in her cheeks; that face his father used to know and love but which had been withdrawn from view as their marriage deteriorated and Hughes-Webb replaced him in her affections.
His mother had died in 1995. He always thought she had never been quite the same after that last Cornish holiday, which had also proved to be the last holiday Grant and Glen ever had with their parents. He regretted this deeply, particularly in relation to Glen, who had been just fifteen at the time.
In her youth his mother had been a vivacious air-hostess with BOAC; she had met Grant’s father, Dennis, on one of her flights. Subsequently she had devoted her life to her husband’s career as he ascended the ranks to become chief executive of a FTSE 250 engineering company. Rose became an accomplished hostess at their home in Highgate. Grant would get home from school in the late afternoon to be greeted with a ‘Hi, darling. Hope you’ve had a good day. Can you and Glen fend for yourselves this evening? Daddy’s got clients in town and we need to entertain. You know, put on a show.’
The year 1971 had brought the devastating news that Grant’s father had been diagnosed with cancer. It had started in his gall bladder and within a few years spread to his liver. That last holiday in 1972 had seen him in remission, but that winter another tumour was discovered. It was around a group of major blood vessels, which effectively ruled out any chance of surgical removal.
The brothers were totally distraught when he died early in 1974. By that time Grant was pretty sure his mother’s affair with Richard Hughes-Webb had ended, but he remained bitter that it had been going on after his father had first been diagnosed. He shuddered as he remembered that he had challenged his mother about it shortly after his father died. He had been very accusatory and hadn’t given his mother a chance to defend herself. Angry as he was at that time, he regretted his approach. Their relationship was never the same again.
Grant was snapped out of his reverie by a letter he was reading. ‘She’s dead.’
‘What? Who?’
‘Aunt Gina. Gone from this world,’ Grant announced with some satisfaction as he read his mail one Saturday morning.
Brigit looked at him disapprovingly. ‘Bit callous. Not very nice referring to the passing of your aunt like that.’
The fact was that after his mother’s death in 1995 Grant had started thinking more and more about the incident involving Tom Youlen back in 1972. He had been reluctant to do anything about it while his mother’s twin sister Gina was still alive for fear of upsetting her, but after she died in 2012 he started to become fixated with the mystery, as he finally felt free to investigate properly. His legal training had taught him to assimilate all the facts before drawing any conclusions, and this was what he now intended to do.
‘Can I persuade you to take a short break with me to Cornwall, B?’
It wasn’t long before he finally revealed all to Brigit, when they revisited the scene of his distress – the white hotel on the hill that resembled an imposing castle.
Grant now knew he had developed an obsession, as the events in 1972 were constantly permeating his thoughts in many of his waking hours and, as he would discover in Zennor, some of his sleeping ones as well. His hope was that Brigit would not become fed up with his preoccupation with the past. He became fretful. He started to worry that a number of their close friends had split up, often when their children had left home to go to university or start careers. They were now at this watershed stage themselves, and there was no doubt it was very different from having a vibrant, noisy household at home. He knew he had to tread carefully, but events were taking over.