After her shower, she pulled on jersey trousers, baggy from years of washing, and a soft, well-washed cotton jumper. Comfortable staying-at-home clothes. She stretched out on the sofa, finished the book she’d been reading, then switched on the TV and found a movie to watch, following it with another. When the doorbell rang, she checked the clock. Five minutes past four.
The doorbell had rung a second time as she struggled to her feet and made the journey to the front door.
‘You should check who it is before opening up,’ DI Fanshawe said, stepping into the hallway, his eyes sweeping over her. He pointed at the security chain. ‘You have one, why don’t you use it?’
Ignoring him, she led the way back to the living room and sat. ‘If you want tea or coffee,’ she said, ‘help yourself.’
‘We’re okay,’ the inspector said, taking a seat beside her while DS Carstairs sat opposite. ‘How’re you feeling, or is that a silly question?’
‘It’s a silly question,’ she said, then shook her head. ‘Sorry, you were being polite, and I was being rude. I feel pretty crap if you must know although the pain isn’t quite so bad.’ She could feel her eyes filling and rubbed them roughly. She would not cry.
‘Why don’t you tell me what it was you wanted to tell me,’ he said gently.
It was tempting to say, no, you go first, but her life had already descended into a farce, it didn’t need any more help from her. Slowly, she told him about Amelia’s visit, the tea she’d made for her, the weakness that had come over her shortly afterward and Amelia’s surprised reaction when she’d come downstairs.
‘You think she poisoned you?’
Molly rubbed her eyes again. ‘I was so sure last night but today…’ She looked at him. ‘I’ve lived a very ordinary life, Inspector, it didn’t equip me for coping with all that’s been thrown at me.’
He smiled. ‘You’re doing okay. It’s not surprising your mind is in a whirl and you’re second guessing yourself the whole time. You’ve done the right thing, you’ve told us.’
She nodded, pleased that he appeared to be taking her seriously. She brushed away the small part of her that had hoped he’d say she was being ridiculous. ‘You think I’m right, that she tried to poison me?’
He rubbed the back of his neck.
‘You look as if you need coffee,’ she said, and made to stand.
‘Stay,’ Fanshawe said. ‘DS Carstairs is a dab hand at making coffee.’
He was, as it turned out, and also an expert in finding where the biscuits were. He didn’t, she noticed, bring the out-of-date cake.
Once they had coffee in hand, Fanshawe explained what was happening in the investigation. ‘We spoke to Ms Lovell yesterday. She appeared shocked on hearing about your accident.’ He held a hand up when he saw Molly was going to interrupt. ‘Yes, I’m aware she could have been putting on an act, but I’m a very good detective. We’ve found no link between her and our friend Pleasant.’ Fanshawe gave her a sympathetic look. ‘It might be because there isn’t one there, Mrs Chatwell.’
Molly looked at him for a moment without speaking. ‘Maybe,’ she said, trying to make sense of the ideas swirling around her head, ‘maybe they were partners, and when he didn’t succeed with his blackmail attempt on me, she killed him and then, full of remorse, she tried to kill me as a kind of revenge.’
Colour rushed over her cheeks when she heard Carstairs chuckle. She threw him an angry look before concentrating on the inspector. ‘It could have happened like that, couldn’t it?’
Ignoring the repeated chuckle from the other side of the room, Fanshawe said, ‘It is hard for you to remain objective; you’ve been through a lot the last few days. Remember, we’ll be looking into every aspect.’
‘So what happens now?’
‘The investigation continues. We’ll keep digging and hopefully come up with a connection between you and Pleasant that makes sense. Until then, stay inside, safe.’ He stood. ‘As soon as we have anything concrete, we’ll be in touch.’
There was no point in telling him she was planning to go out the next day, to the very area where she’d been knocked down. He’d think she was crazy. Irresponsible. And he’d be right on both accounts. But she was worried about Jack. She had considered sending Stuart a message and asking him to come to Elystan Street. There was a time when she wouldn’t have thought twice about it but that was before Lucien Pleasant. Her judgement had been called into question; she wasn’t taking any more chances.
She insisted on getting up to show them out. ‘It’s good to keep moving around. Thank you for keeping me updated.’ Ignoring Carstairs, she held her hand out to Fanshawe. When he shook it briefly, she added a smile. ‘And thanks for listening to me.’
‘Part of my job,’ he said. ‘Stay safe.’
She watched them walk up the street before shutting the door and returning to the living room. She’d been pleasantly surprised about how forthcoming they were with information. Her previous experience with the police was courtesy of TV shows, where victims were normally kept in the dark.
No doubt there were things they weren’t telling her, just as she hadn’t told them she was going to Casper’s the next day.
She checked her watch. Five twenty. Jack would be home after six. She looked at the sofa. The pains and aches were starting to take over. If she sat, she wasn’t sure she could get up again. A medicinal glass of wine might do the trick.
Gathering anything she might need: her laptop, phone and the remote control, she placed them all on the coffee table before fetching a large glass of wine and settling down onto the sofa, lifting one leg after the other and resting her head back on the cushion.
She took a mouthful of wine before opening her laptop. There was no need to check the local time. If Freya or Remi were available, they’d answer her Skype call no matter what time it was. Freya answered almost immediately.
‘Maman!’
She was lying on her bed, her hair in a ponytail, looking wonderful. Molly’s heart leapt. ‘Hello darling,’ she said, ‘what time is it there?’
‘Il est dix neuf heures, Maman,’ Freya replied.
Molly had enough schoolgirl French to understand that it was seven o’clock but she would be quickly out of her depth if her daughter continued to show off her language ability. ‘Everything okay?’
Luckily, excitement required her daughter to revert to English in order to perfectly explain what an amazing time she was having. Finally, she paused. ‘You don’t look too hot, Mum.’
Luckily, Molly had prepared an answer should either of her children enquire. ‘I’ve the flu,’ she said, ‘almost over it, actually, so nothing to worry about.’
‘Oh, that’s okay then. Look after yourself.’ Freya spoke to someone out of sight before turning back to Molly. ‘I have to go, Mum, we’re heading out for dinner.’
‘Have a good time, don’t forget to send a message every day so we know you’re okay.’
‘Mais oui, Maman,’ her irrepressible daughter said before the screen went dead.
Molly sat back with a satisfied smile on her lips. Freya looked good, her eyes were bright, her mouth always ready to curve in a smile. She was one of nature’s happy people; Molly would have liked to coddle her, to protect her from a world that didn’t necessarily treat people well. Instead, both she and Jack had encouraged her to follow her dreams to the Sorbonne.
There was no answer from Remi. Scrunching up her eyes, Molly tried to remember what time it was in Boston. Five or six hours behind. He was probably in class. She left a message asking him to Skype when he was free, adding that she was home all day with the flu. It made it simpler to tell the same lie to both children.
Remi, she guessed, would send a quick message rather than Skype. It was enough.
She shut the laptop and slid it under the sofa, the movement causing her to wince. She was being stupid; she should take some damn painkillers. Instead, she reached for the wine. She switched on the TV, hoping to find something to divert her attention, pleased to find Thor. It was her guilty secret, she absolutely loved Marvel movies. She’d seen it before; they’d gone to Cape Town for a holiday and it had been one of five movies she’d watched on the twelve-hour flight while Jack snored quietly beside her.
It was complete escapism. She sipped her wine, relaxing for the first time. The police had her case in hand. The next day, she’d find out what Stuart had to say and hopefully, it would throw some light on Jack’s worries. Until then, she’d say nothing. Tonight, when he got home, she’d ask him to order a takeaway again and they could relax and watch TV together. There was no point in bringing anything up until she had some facts. And anyway, she didn’t have the energy. She’d find some before the morning.