‘Sounds iffy to me,’ Tanvi said as Shilpa spooned the crushed meringue and buttercream onto the sponge. ‘Can I have the bowl when you’ve finished?’ she asked like a child, wanting to lick it clean.
‘Caroline’s husband made me feel so awkward.’
‘Maybe he did it,’ Tanvi said. ‘He killed Roy thinking they would inherit the lot and he could retire early. As a bonus, he wouldn’t have to put up with snarky comments from his wife’s father.’
‘Except Caroline knew that her father had changed the will before Roy fell over the edge.’
‘But Caroline only found out at the party, so chances are she hadn’t had time to tell her husband before the fall. Although, it sounds like Jack had motive to kill Roy regardless of the money, if what you’ve heard about how Roy treated him is true.’
Shilpa was silent as she considered Tanvi’s latest theory. ‘Caroline hasn’t told her husband about the party today. So something’s happened between them. They seemed quite happy together at Roy Arden’s eightieth. I saw them whispering to each other some time before the fall. Both of them seemed so content.’
‘They were whispering about how they were going to push poor Roy off the cliff. That’s why they were happy. They were both going to be free of that man. Caroline coming to you is a cry for help. She feels guilty.’
‘So, why the hostility between them now?’ Shilpa asked.
Tanvi made a face. ‘Maybe they weren’t in it together. Caroline figured out that her husband killed her father. She’s punishing him for what he did, or at least giving him space while she figures out her next move. You don’t want to upset a murderer. This case has an air of a Greek tragedy about it, don’t you think?’
‘Don’t all the characters die at the end of a Greek tragedy?’ Shilpa asked.
‘There’s still time,’ Tanvi said, taking the bowl from Shilpa and sticking her finger in it.
Martin checked his watch. Caroline would be arriving any moment now to talk about the wretched diary.
It was something Martin could have done without. His family were here to celebrate his birthday and somehow Roy, despite being dead, had still managed to ruin it. Martin shook the thought away and instead reflected on his recent conversation with Isabella. Just yesterday his daughter and her boys were over for lunch.
‘Isabella,’ Martin had said, his arms outstretched as she came over to him. She was the person who had kept him going. The person who had made him want to live again. Her flight had got in two days ago, and she had rented her family a cottage close to his house. Martin had considered asking Annabel if they could all stay at Arden Copse. There was certainly enough room, but then he thought better of it. He hardly knew Annabel, and he didn’t want any favours from her. Even though thirty per cent of Arden Copse should have been his daughter’s.
‘Hey, Dad,’ Isabella had said, embracing him. ‘How you holding up? They finalised a date for the funeral?’
Martin had let go of his daughter. He put an arm around her shoulders as they walked to the edge of the garden. It was blustery but sunny. The wind was whipping up the water below, and the large tractor that ferried people from the beach to Burgh Island stood stationary on the sand, waiting patiently for the tide to go out. ‘You loved that when you were a kid,’ Martin had said, pointing to the large machine.
‘I remember,’ Isabella had said.
‘You loved Arden Copse too.’
‘It was a long time ago, and we stopped going after a while,’ Isabella had said.
‘You used to chase Caroline through the copse, and you had fun in the pool. I should have put one in here, but we didn’t really have the space.’
‘I like our house the way it is. We didn’t need a pool; we had the sea on our doorstep. The kids love it as well. They’re in the kitchen with Mum.’
‘And it’s good you’re all here for the funeral. It’s next week now that the inquest has been concluded.’ Father and daughter turned back towards the house. Martin was glad that his daughter was home. For the first time in decades, he felt free. Roy was no longer around to criticise him with his long stares and knowing smiles. A weight had been lifted off his shoulders. It was a terrible thought, but his brother should have died years ago.
Martin’s grandchildren hadn’t known their uncle well, and it was by his design. Roy hadn’t softened with age. Instead his remarks had become more sinister, more pointed. ‘Doesn’t your mother take you to the hairdressers?’ he had asked a four-year-old Tom. The little boy didn’t know what to say. Isabella had bristled next to him while Roy had looked from Tom to her and smiled with that ‘just joking’ smirk he always gave when he knew he had hurt someone’s feelings. There was never a hint of remorse in it. Martin didn’t want his grandchildren exposed to that. He had lived with Roy’s continual jibes about everything from his appearance to his personality while they lived under the same roof, and he wasn’t going to subject Tom and Aiden to it.
‘A percentage of that house should have gone to you. I trusted your…’ Martin had started to say, trying to apologise for being so inadequate as a father, but he couldn’t find the words to continue.
‘Never mind, Dad,’ Isabella had said, putting a reassuring hand on his arm. ‘We’ll always have Bigbury, and that’s enough for us when we are here. We’re pretty settled in Australia now. I don’t think we’ll be moving back anytime soon. Perhaps you and Mum need to think about retiring in Oz.’
After his daughter had left, Martin wondered if she had meant what she said. A change of country might be just the thing they needed. He had asked Julia to order a takeaway, and they had opened a bottle of his favourite Chilean white. Martin had felt good for the first time in years. But then Caroline had called and his blood had run cold as she told him what she had discovered.
Caroline had found Roy’s journal that he had kept as a boy. Martin recalled the brilliant blue diary as it was then. Being the loyal brother that he was, he never went near it. He should have; for years he had wondered what Roy had written about the day of the incident, but after a while he forgot about it and hadn’t thought of it till now. All those years later and Roy had kept it. It was surprising. Roy wasn’t the sentimental type, but he was the sort to blackmail, and as he had discovered the day of Roy’s party, the man was a sadist. Martin shuddered at the thought.
Caroline wanted to speak to him about what she had read in his brother’s diary, and she was coming over before the party. He had heard a click on the line just before he disconnected and realised that Julia had been listening in on his call. Why was she so paranoid lately?
As he walked to the kitchen, ready to confront his wife, the answers to the questions he had asked himself came to him. Julia was mistrusting because she loved him. That was her only flaw – she loved him too much, and she was only trying to prevent him from going to that dark place again. Martin had taken a deep breath. He would have to explain it all to Julia to make her understand. Perhaps not the full story, but he’d have to give her something.