Chapter Nineteen

Nate didn’t have to go anywhere the following day, so he suggested I should take some time out in town. As I left the house Maggie Cook was still uppermost in my mind. Twice I was on the point of admitting what I’d kept from Nate, but knowing he’d send me straight to the police held me back. That, and the idea of explaining why I hadn’t been honest in the first place.

Instead I tried to distract myself by looking round the shops. I still hadn’t been back to Saxwell, so I was pretty short of clothes, and even though I was trying not to spend too much, I could afford the odd T-shirt to tide me over.

It was in the Market Square, standing next to a stall selling tie-dye stuff, that I saw Daisy Buchanan. She must have clocked me first. By the time I looked up she was nudging the leggy brunette next to her, and looking in my direction, laughing. I turned away, feeling heat rush up my neck. I moved quickly along the row of stalls, not taking in what was in front of me. It was a couple of minutes later when I realised one of Daisy’s gang had come over to join me.

‘Daisy says your Luke won’t leave her alone. She wonders if you’d have a word with him. It’s – like – getting a bit heavy now.’

I didn’t answer her. I could feel hot tears of fury and humiliation welling up in my eyes. In the middle of the sodding Market Square. Great. I stumbled away blindly, past WHSmiths and Fat Face, keeping my head down, letting my hair fall forward over my eyes.

It was a warm day and the tourists were out in full force. Outside Boots a man in a purple shirt, green waistcoat and trousers was singing Mozart arias. A crowd had gathered and the hat he had laid on the ground was full of coins.

A man and woman walked past me, he in flip-flops, T-shirt and surf shorts, she in a black vest top and sarong. They were eating ice creams.

A carefree summer’s day in Cambridge. There were probably tramps as well, begging for money, but I didn’t see them. Didn’t want to. Didn’t want company in my misery. Instead I looked at a hundred happy people, flitting before my eyes, and rubbed salt into my own wounds.

I’d got past Emmanuel and the bus station when I realised someone was staring at me. Well, hey, probably loads of people were staring at me, but – oh the luck – this was someone I knew.

I should have thought how close I’d wandered to St Audrey’s. ‘My goodness!’ Paul Mathewson said. ‘What on earth’s happened?’

I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, welling up afresh at his concern. ‘It’s not a great time to be honest. I’m not in a brilliant state.’

I tried to carry on walking up the pavement, but he put an arm round my shoulders. ‘So I gather, but you don’t have to walk through town like this.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I live in college. You can come in and get yourself together. I’ll make you a drink, and then, when you’re in a fit state, I can walk you back to River House.’

I looked at the crowded street, and swiped at the tears cascading down my cheeks, but more arrived to replace them.

‘Come on,’ Paul said, steering me round, away from the road, and under a stone archway. ‘Give yourself a break. You’ve had so much to deal with.’

‘I’m sorry. I just don’t feel like talking.’

He walked me across a court, to the bottom of a flight of uncarpeted wooden spiral stairs. ‘Don’t then,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we just sit for a bit and take it one step at a time?’

It was the very last thing I wanted. I could feel him using his counselling experience on me, switching into responsible adult mode, taking care of the vulnerable, befriending the unfortunate. It made me squirm with embarrassment.

At the same time I knew he’d been going through a crisis of confidence about his dealings with Emily, and I couldn’t think of a tactful way to reject his offer. And in any case, it was true: I didn’t want to parade my misery for all the town to see. Who knew, I might bump into Daisy and her mates again.

He unlocked an oak door and ushered me into his rooms. Then I sat in an easy chair, next to a mullioned window, and he went to the sink to make me a cool glass of lemon squash. Outside, I could see the college gardens, awash with colour – roses, lavender and honeysuckle. How ironic that I should be spending such a beautiful afternoon in this way. I would just have to endure it until he felt he’d done his bit. Then I could go home again, and find something indestructible to kick for light relief.

We did sit in silence at first, but then we graduated to stilted small talk. I had a feeling I needed to move to this stage, so that Paul would feel I’d ‘opened up’. He was probably used to formal college dinners where he had to be polite to strangers for hours. He had no problem coming up with neutral topics to keep us going.

I told him all about how I’d stayed in Cambridge as a child, but I was careful not to stray into genuinely personal territory. Before long I was able to turn the conversation.

‘What about you?’ I said. ‘Where were you brought up?’

‘I lived in Barnsley until I was ten,’ he said.

I was surprised. ‘You’d never guess it, from your accent.’

‘My parents had to move down here, and then I got a scholarship to an independent, co-ed school on Huntingdon Road. I lost the accent pretty damned quick. Self-preservation, weakness, call it what you will. Some of the staff thought I was a curiosity; the kids were worse. It singled me out for attention,’ he said, pausing for a second, ‘one way or another … But I got past all that eventually, and by that time I’d got a taste for the city. I stayed here to study for my first degree.’

‘I don’t even know your subject.’

‘I read politics, psychology and sociology here at Cambridge, and followed that up with a PhD in social anthropology at Yale. Then I came back here again as a post doc.’

‘You really do love Cambridge?’

‘I thought it would do me good to leave …’ He let the sentence trail for a moment, his eyes far away. ‘But it was a mistake.’

‘You didn’t like Yale?’

‘Oh, it was great,’ he said. ‘I met some fantastic people, and I loved New Haven as a place, but I, well, I just love Cambridge more. Warts and all. Once I knew I wanted to stay I applied for a lectureship, and settled here at St Audrey’s last year.’

When we’d exhausted our upbringings I asked about Fi and Emily, and Paul quizzed me about my interview with the police, and about Damien himself.

‘Such an incredible thing,’ he said. ‘Not what you think you’re going to have to deal with. Obviously, I’d got a pretty poor impression of what Newbold was like after Emily’s dealings with him, but to attract that much hatred …’ He looked at me. ‘It must have been hard for you, living in his house. Did you get any inkling that he might have engendered those sorts of feelings?’

I sighed. ‘To be honest, the more I’ve seen, the more I’ve been able to imagine any one of a number of people wanting to finish him off.’

Paul nodded, as though it confirmed what he’d already thought, and I sipped my squash.

‘God, I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘That was an awful thing to say.’

‘It can’t be awful to speak the truth,’ Paul said. ‘And at least …’

‘At least?’

‘Well, obviously, it’s always appalling when anyone dies before their time, but I suppose – being brutally honest once again – it has to be less appalling if it turns out the person concerned spent their life hurting others.’

‘In terms of it being less hard for everyone left behind to bear?’ I said, clarifying what he was saying in my own mind. ‘Yes, that has to be true, really.’

He picked up the squash he’d made for himself. ‘When I saw you were upset,’ he said, ‘I guessed it must be to do with this business. I wondered whether it was something that woman who called last night had said.’

‘Maggie Cook?’

‘Was that her?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘I didn’t recognise her. She seems to be a tartar. I think Emily had a run-in with her over the Damien Newbold business.’

‘I shouldn’t imagine she’s the sort to take kindly to a potential rival.’ I remembered Emily mentioning something about Maggie having been in touch, and that she was ‘telling lies’.

‘Might she be on the list of murder suspects, do you think?’

‘One of the many, I’d guess. But it wasn’t she who upset me.’

And at the thought of Daisy, the floodgates opened again. I don’t suppose Paul knew what had hit him. I hated myself for letting go, but once I’d started I found I couldn’t stop.

‘Just tell me,’ he said. ‘You’ll feel much better, and it won’t go any further.’

And between sobs I found myself reeling off the whole sorry story of Daisy and Luke. Even down to the fact that Luke and I had been trying for a baby. All the pent up anger and sorrow just exploded out of me. I think it was from having bottled it up for so long.

Paul’s face fell, and there was real pain in his eyes. ‘That’s unspeakably awful, Ruby. I’m so sorry.’ He put a hand on my arm and gave it a squeeze. ‘Has he been in touch?’

I let out an undignified snort. ‘Oh yes.’ I found myself taking the letter Luke had written out of my handbag, and pulling it from its envelope. ‘This is his idea of an apology. He just doesn’t see what he’s done, either in terms of betraying me, or the effect it might have on Daisy. See for yourself. I can’t go back to him.’

Paul took the letter out and studied it for some time, frowning, and then looked up. ‘Counsellors aren’t supposed to pass comment, but I think you’re right. There’s no way you should try to patch things up.’ He folded the paper, slipped it back into the envelope and passed it to me again. ‘I’m glad you’ve told me. You’ve had a lot to cope with recently. Do you feel a bit better for having shared?’

I nodded. And I did, even though opening up went totally against the grain.

‘I’ll walk you home then, shall I?’

‘It’s okay. I’ll be fine.’

He shook his head. ‘I insist. It would be a pleasure.’

Nate was in the kitchen when he saw Ruby walk back along Midsummer Passage. She wasn’t alone. A guy he hadn’t seen before – rather formally dressed in a brown suit – was with her. They seemed to be deep in conversation. Outside the student place next door – Oswald House – they stopped, and Nate wondered if this was the tutor guy Ruby had said was looking after Emily Amos. Maybe they’d bumped into each other in Midsummer Lane. But then Mr Suit put a hand on Ruby’s shoulder and drew her in to give her a hug. What was that all about?

Nate stood in the kitchen doorway as she let herself into the hall.

‘Nice time in town?’

She raised an eyebrow. She looked – dishevelled somehow. Her eyes were in shadow so it was hard to read her expression.

‘I spotted you out there.’ He nodded towards the window. ‘That was the tutor guy?’

She nodded. ‘Paul Mathewson. I ran into him in town.’ There was a pause. ‘He, er, he wanted to talk about Emily. He was, well, he was just sympathising because of what we’ve all being going through.’ She turned and went upstairs.

Sympathising, huh? It had looked like a bit more than that when he’d seen the expression on Mathewson’s face. Well, it wasn’t any of his business anyway.

And Nate kept telling himself that for the next hour and a half as he caught up with some business admin at the kitchen table.

I couldn’t bring myself to admit to Nate that I’d told Paul all about Luke. I was already seriously regretting my weakness on that score. No doubt Nate knew most of it already, thanks to Steph, but having to refer to it myself was another matter – plus he’d think it odd that I’d been washing my dirty linen in public. The fact was, Paul was a good listener and, because he was one step removed, I’d found it easier to unburden myself in his presence.

I didn’t feel hungry at suppertime, so I excused myself, had a slice of toast and went up to my room. All I could think of was Daisy and her friends, and how it seemed I was now expected to talk some sense into Luke. What’s more, even though his letter of ‘apology’ hadn’t done the trick, I had at least believed him when he’d said he knew he’d made a mistake. But if what Daisy’s friend had said was true, he was still pestering her. Talk about hedging his bets. Either way, someone was lying. So once again, I lay there in the attic, sleepless. After an hour or so had slipped by, I decided to get up. I went and looked out of the velux that faced north. It gave me a good view of the Common, the river glinting in the light from the boathouses opposite, shadowy narrow boats lining the water’s edge. Badly lit cyclists flitted across the dark expanse like outsized bats, presumably on their way back from clubs or parties.

I wanted to do something productive that would take my mind off Luke, so I set myself the task of finding out about the fourth woman on Damien Newbold’s bedroom wall: Elizabeth Edmunds.

I went down to the study, intending to start with the only mention of her I’d come across in the house. But the address book had gone. Of course, the police must have taken it away the day after Damien’s death. After a moment, my mind managed to drag up the fact that she’d been based in Newmarket. And Newmarket was where Samson lived too, of course, and where Maggie and Damien had bumped into him at the races. Was that relevant? And then, all of a sudden, Maggie’s words came back to me: ‘Damien was in an exceptionally good mood, and he’d really dressed up for the occasion too’ – as though it was something out of the ordinary. Had it really been a coincidence that they’d met Samson there, or had Damien somehow known he was likely to see his brother? After all, he was local. Maggie had talked about Damien being especially affectionate and demonstrative, and not at all put out by the chance meeting. That was something to think about. Had he simply been pleased at the opportunity to rub Samson’s nose in his success with women? Even if he hadn’t engineered the meeting in advance, as soon as Damien spotted Samson in the crowds he might have seen his chance to make mischief.

I needed to focus on Samson. From what I knew of him, he was probably the sort to make up to any woman that crossed his path. Perhaps Damien had guessed that leaving him alone with Maggie would create exactly the scene that had occurred, and had relished the idea of her turning him down flat. I got out my laptop, and sat at the study desk, shoving the stuff the police hadn’t removed to one side.

At that moment, I heard a sound: a tiny creak outside in the hall. I held my breath, and stayed absolutely still. As I watched, the study door started to move, slowly and quietly on its hinges.

And then Nate appeared. He was in jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt, as though he’d given up on the night as much as I had. He took in my face. Probably noticed my shoulders were so tensed they almost touched my ears. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. I couldn’t sleep.’

I let out the breath I’d been holding. ‘Same.’

‘What are you up to?’ He walked over to the desk, and I explained. ‘That’s interesting,’ he said, when I passed on my theory about Damien setting up a confrontation with his brother. ‘Seems to fit with his MO.’

I nodded. ‘I was just about to Google Elizabeth Edmunds.’

‘Imagine you’ll get a lot of results.’

He was right. Facebook and LinkedIn filled my page; it was going to be like looking for the proverbial needle. I didn’t think it would work, but I added ‘Newmarket’ into the search terms and tried again.

‘Good thought,’ Nate said, leaning over my shoulder. He was clearly caught up in the search. I had been too, but I couldn’t help being conscious of his nearness; I could feel the warmth of him. It took me a second to click on the first hit, which was for Newmarket Racecourses. I hoped he hadn’t registered the delay.

The page told me Elizabeth Edmunds was part of the racecourse’s hospitality team. Her photograph beamed out of my computer screen.

‘I wonder how far back her affair with Damien Newbold went,’ Nate said. ‘It was clearly ongoing when he died, and he surely wouldn’t have had the painting done the moment he’d met her.’

‘Then again …’

‘Yeah, you’re right. We can’t assume anything from such a screw-up. But assuming for a minute that I’m right, it suggests he must have already been involved with her when he took Maggie to the races.’

‘You’re right. And I agree that’s most likely. I wonder if Elizabeth Edmunds saw them together at Newmarket.’

‘Damien must have known it was a risk. Either he didn’t care what she thought, or he was keen to make her jealous.’

‘My guess is the latter.’ I explained what Tilly Blake had said about the painting of Maggie Cook Damien kept on his bedroom wall even when they were at the height of their affair. ‘He told her she shouldn’t object to a thing of beauty.’

‘God, he was a shit.’

I looked at him. ‘No arguments there.’

‘Would you like a drink?’

I paused for a second.

‘Brandy?’

‘Go on then. Sounds good.’

He was back from the kitchen in a couple of minutes.

‘Even if Elizabeth did see Damien and Maggie,’ I said, taking a fiery sip, ‘it obviously didn’t put her off letting him stay in her cottage, or indeed agreeing to visit him on the night he died.’ As the drink snaked its way down to my stomach, that led to another thought. ‘Unless she had a different reason for wanting him somewhere nice and accessible.’

‘Yes,’ Nate said. He’d drawn a second chair up to the study desk. ‘Just what was going through my mind too.’

We looked again at the photograph of Elizabeth Edmunds, and I remembered her painting on Damien’s wall. I’d been thinking of her as the shy one. Could she have killed Damien?

‘You can’t always tell what a person’s capable of from their looks,’ Nate said. It was as though he’d read my mind.

Nate hadn’t had the chance to share a case like this since he’d learnt his trade with Jack. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed it. And Ruby didn’t have a paunch and thinning grey hair, which was the icing on the cake. Shame she seemed to be rebounding with the tutor guy. Not that he could complain. There was no way he could approach her again. And anyway, it wouldn’t be safe.

Suddenly, she turned to him. ‘Do you want me to let you in on my dark secret?’

He was pretty sure she was keeping several. ‘Which one?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Come on through to the drawing room.’

He followed her, and she crouched down by a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, and heaved out some photo albums. ‘I thought these might help me to understand more of Damien Newbold’s background, once I realised the fourth nude on his wall was his mother.’

They sat on Newbold’s spindly sofa, which was definitely not created for someone of Nate’s size. He heard it creak ominously as he leant back and Ruby opened the first album.

He could see why she’d become absorbed. She explained all the images in the context of what she’d found out online, blushing when she came to the albums she’d explored with the aid of a kitchen knife.

‘You’re thorough, I’ll give you that. Possibly not cut out for regular house-sitting work though. Clients hate it when you vandalise their belongings.’

‘How narrow-minded of them.’

Nate shifted and the sofa creaked again, as though it was reminding him not to push his luck. He stood up. ‘Think I might be safer on the floor.’ It was a shame that Newbold, like most people, didn’t have more up-to-date photo albums. They might have told them something. As it was, the police had seized his computer, where he no doubt stored his jpg files. Then again, he might have kept backups somewhere the police hadn’t searched. Nate got up. ‘Just thought of something I might check.’

‘Okay.’ Ruby was still on the sofa, looking at one of the albums. She’d drawn her feet under her, and was leaning on a silk cushion, her dark hair fanned out against its lemon yellow.

Nate spent some time looking through the drawers in the study, and checking on the shelves. Nothing doing. Then it occurred to him that Newbold could have put backup disks alongside the regular music cds, which were down in the basement. But he was empty-handed when he returned to the drawing room. He opened his mouth to explain what he’d been searching for, but then shut it again. Ruby had fallen asleep.

I was confused when I woke up. Where the hell was I? Then gradually the memories of the evening gathered as I came to more fully. I was still on the sofa. The album I’d been looking at had been put on a side table, and I was covered with a blanket. The feeling of warmth intensified as I put those facts together. My empty brandy glass was next to the album. The drink had sent me off all right. I glanced at my watch. A quarter past two. Time to go to bed proper.

I got up slowly and began to fold the blanket. It was then that an unfamiliar noise caught my attention. I moved towards the hallway, and stood there, listening. For half a second, I thought maybe Nate was still downstairs, but gut instinct told me the truth was less reassuring. There was a faint scraping, like a knife on a plate, but it was coming from the study. I kept absolutely still as I tried to make sense of what I was hearing. The sound went on, still very quiet, with the occasional squeak as though something was pushing and then slipping on a smooth surface.

I felt my scalp prickle. I didn’t know what to do. I hadn’t got my mobile with me, and panic made me slow.

And then I realised something else was different.

It was cooler. The air was shifting, drifting through the study door towards me. I knew what the sound had been now, and felt my legs wobble underneath me. Someone had been at work, easing out a pane of glass, ready to make their entrance.

I moved forward on tiptoe, so that I could look across the hall. Ahead of me I could see enough to tell that the study curtains were drawn back. The beam of a torch swung over the room’s walls.

I remembered reading an article in Saxwell’s neighbourhood watch magazine about approaching burglars when they’re in your house. The author had said it was crucial not to make them feel cornered. If you let them feel trapped they were likely to lash out. Heroics aside, I was quite keen not to be lashed out at. Of course, Nate was upstairs. I could try to sneak up there and warn him, but realistically, I was sure they’d hear me. If they just made a run for it that would be fine. But they might manage to grab the odd valuable item before they went. If I wanted to make myself useful in the role I’d been hired for, I needed to do something more immediate.

As I tried to think I heard a faint gasp, then a soft thud as something weighty hit the floorboards. Someone had squeezed their way in.

It was hardly heroics, but bluffing my way out of trouble seemed like the best approach.

‘I know you’re there,’ I called out. ‘And the police are on their way. I’m not coming in, but you might like to leave right now.’

Surely the person holding the torch wouldn’t believe me. I sounded as phoney as hell. My voice had been shaking when I’d said the police were on their way. The intruders would probably come straight through to shut me up, and then get on with the job.

But almost immediately someone swore. ‘Thought you said the ground floor was clear! I might have known.’ And then came a cracking sound – perhaps part of the window frame giving way as he exited more hastily than he’d come in.

I ran through to the kitchen to try to get a look at them as they left. As the second one exited the back gate, I saw Nate hurtle out of the back door, and disappear in the same direction.

After five minutes, he was back, shaking his head. ‘No good. They had a car waiting. I didn’t even get their number.’

We went through to the study. It was a bit of a mess.

‘I don’t think they got anything,’ I said. ‘The thin guy had only just got inside when I called out.’

Nate nodded. ‘You certainly achieved an instant response. I dashed down as soon as I heard you shout.’

‘You hadn’t gone to bed?’ He was still in his jeans.

He grinned for a moment. ‘No. Just as well or I’d have been chasing them down the street in my boxers.’

‘I never thought they’d give up so easily.’

‘Opportunists perhaps, rather than professionals.’

‘Hell. Samson’s not going to like this.’

He put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze, overriding the previous source of adrenaline. ‘Nonsense. Bottom line is, you stopped them in their tracks. Samson will be forever in your debt.’

‘Hmm. I think that’s almost more worrying than him being cross with me.’

Nate smiled for a second. ‘Yes, I see your point.’