The last thing Marcy had expected when she’d moved to Kesterly was to find herself becoming involved with a man, especially one who was, if not in looks then in character, so like her husband of over thirty years. However, it was happening, and there was no resisting it, for Henry Matthews was as charming as the stars and as kind and entertaining as any man she’d ever known. She was even prepared to admit, but only to herself, that when she wasn’t enjoying his company she spent a good deal of the time looking forward to seeing him again.
They worked well together at the community center, organizing all sorts of activities from special outings for deprived children, right through to tea dances and old movie nights for those of their own age and over. They’d joined the same poetry group—neither of them could write it, but they enjoyed listening and having it explained—and the dreaded golf lessons were actually going quite well. She’d even managed to get him onto the selection committee for the spring concert she was sponsoring mostly as a showcase for Jasmine, but also to help promote local musicians.
And now here they were meeting for dinner at the Crustacean, one of the town’s fanciest restaurants, before Henry left for Hereford in the morning to spend Christmas with his son and daughter-in-law. The place was aglow with seasonal lights and carols were playing softly on the music system, creating such an infectious sense of goodwill that as Marcy looked into Henry’s humorous brown eyes, she was finding it hard to stop smiling. She liked this man, she really did, and why wouldn’t she? His easygoing nature, effortless integrity, and sixty-five-year-old laughter lines were an irresistible combination.
“Thank you for coming,” he said, his words imbued with their habitual hint of irony.
“Did you think I wouldn’t?” she countered.
“Let’s just say I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t, but do you realize this is the first time we’ve actually been out on a date, just the two of us?”
She feigned shock. “This is a date?” she whispered, pressing a hand to her heart as she glanced around to see if anyone was listening.
Staging his own pretense, he said, “Are we supposed to call it something else? An audition for the concert?”
With a laugh she said, “Just as well neither of us is trying out for that. I don’t know which one of us is more embarrassing with our nonexistent knowledge of current sounds.”
“Thank goodness we have your granddaughter and her musically gifted friends to mask our shame.” He signaled the waiter to top up their glasses. “Speaking of whom, how are rehearsals going for her school Christmas concert tomorrow?”
Marcy rolled her eyes and sighed. “Let’s just say that she’s so wound up about it that we’re afraid to talk to her, although she can’t talk about anything else.”
“Does she always get like that during the run-up to a performance?”
With a shake of her head, Marcy said, “She never used to, but she was younger then and this is the first time since we’ve been here that she’s committed to playing a solo.” Jasmine used to love nothing more than performing in front of an audience before Marcus had stopped it, she was thinking; now, not surprisingly, it was taking time for her to get her confidence back. “I think she’s just nervous about being up there in front of so many of her friends,” she continued airily. “You know the way teens are—much more self-conscious than during their earlier years.” She smiled fondly. “She’ll be fine once she’s underway and lost in the music.”
“I’m sure she will,” he agreed, “and I’m very sorry to be missing it. I’ve heard from her coach that she’s an outstanding student. One of the best he’s had.”
“You know Anton,” she said in surprise. “Oh no, don’t tell me, he was once one of your clients?”
“He was, but he’s also a good friend going back over many years, and he taught my son the violin before it became evident we were wasting our money. Now tell me what your plans are for Christmas, so I can imagine where you are and what you’re doing.”
Pleased by his interest, she sipped her wine as she said, “Well, tomorrow night, Christmas Eve, we have the concert, of course. Then we’re planning to get up early in the morning to open presents before going to the shelter to serve hot meals for the homeless. Leanne and her mother organized it, so there are several of us going. After, we were expecting to return home for a roast turkey, just the three of us, but Andee and Graeme have invited us to join them and we’ve accepted.”
His eyes lit up. “Marvelous!” he declared approvingly. “Two of my favorite people. And will any of their children be there?”
“Apparently Andee’s daughter has already flown to South Africa to be with her brother.”
He nodded. “And Graeme’s sons?”
“I’m told they alternate between their mother and father and this year they’re with their mother, but coming to Kesterly on Boxing Day. When are you back, by the way?”
“On the twenty-eighth, so I’m hoping I can claim you for the New Year?”
Loving the idea, she said teasingly, “That might depend on what you have in mind.”
With playfully narrowed eyes he said, “You’ll find out when you open the Christmas gift I have for you,” and to her surprise he reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope.
Taking it, she glanced at him curiously, and realizing he was hoping she’d open it now, she did so. When she saw what was inside her eyes lit up with amazement. “Tickets to see Les Misérables,” she declared joyfully. “How did you know that I’ve never seen it?”
“I heard you telling someone a while ago,” he replied, “so I hoped it would be a welcome surprise.”
“It is,” she assured him with feeling. “This is such a lovely gift. So thoughtful and . . . generous.”
He was watching her intently, seeming to wait for her to notice something else. In the end he cautioned, “It’s not a matinée.”
She located the start time and her heart tripped as she processed what it could mean. “It probably won’t finish until ten or even eleven o’clock,” she said, looking at him.
He nodded agreement.
“Too late for a last train?”
“Not quite, but do we really want to see the New Year in a Great Western carriage?”
Enjoying this a lot, but managing to sound serious, Marcy said, “No, I don’t think we do. So, should we stay over?”
“Wow! That sounds like a good idea.”
Daring to go further, she said, “Hotels are very expensive in the West End, so perhaps we should . . . share a room?”
He looked amazed, as if the thought had never occurred to him, and as she laughed, he sat back to allow their seafood starters to be served.
Though she couldn’t have been more thrilled with her Christmas present, she soon began worrying about how Claudia was going to react when she found out. They hadn’t talked about Henry much; she’d sensed that Claudia didn’t want to, so Marcy hadn’t pushed it. However, she obviously couldn’t just take off for New Year’s without saying where she was going and who with, nor could she feel happy about leaving her daughter to spend the time alone. Jasmine would almost certainly be seeing friends, although if she thought her mother was going to be lonely she might well cancel. So, if she, Marcy, accepted Henry’s wonderful gift she could be spoiling the New Year for her family.
“You’re looking troubled,” he told her as the waiters left the table.
With a sigh, she picked up a fork and said, “I am. I promise, it’s not that I don’t want to come with you . . .”
“. . . you just don’t want to leave Claudia.”
Her expression showed how right he was and how wretched she felt. “I know you’re going to say that she’s old enough to take care of herself, and of course you’re right, she is, but . . . She’s been through a lot, a heck of a lot . . . It’s why we came here, so that she and Jasmine could start again, put it all behind them. I could say I felt it was my duty to come too, but it wasn’t a duty. They’re my family and they need me, so of course I want to be with them.”
“And you don’t think Claudia’s ready yet to stand on her own two feet?”
She realized how preposterous it must seem when Claudia was doing so well with her business—since finishing the show house she’d received several more commissions, and she was doing wonderful things with the coach house. Apparently, it could be ready as early as February or March, and Marcy suspected that if it wasn’t, they’d move in anyway. “When she’s working,” she said softly, “she is a much stronger and more capable person, but inside she’s still damaged by what happened to her.”
He looked concerned and curious as he waited for her to continue.
With a regretful sigh she said, “There are things I really can’t tell you. Not because I don’t trust you, but because Claudia wouldn’t want me to.”
“It’s OK, I understand, and I’m not trying to make you. I’m simply going to say that I don’t think she’d want to stop you having a life of your own.”
Marcy’s eyes went down as she considered that. “No, I don’t suppose she would,” she murmured, certain that on some level it was true, “but what I’d really like to see is her having one too.” After a moment she added, “I know I’ve mentioned this before, how she won’t see Dan unless others are around . . . He’s asked her several times now to meet him for lunch, or coffee, but she won’t. I know that in her heart she wants to, but she still hasn’t regained enough confidence to take what she sees as a risk.”
He nodded slowly. “I guess I’m not allowed to ask who made her like this?”
She wanted to tell him, she really did, but she simply couldn’t when she knew that Claudia would never forgive her. “I’m sorry,” she said, meeting his gentle eyes, “it’s not my story to tell, so I can’t. Do you mind?”
Holding her gaze, he allowed his own to twinkle as he said, “Of course not, as long as there are no dead bodies buried anywhere.”
She started to laugh, but as she glanced across the restaurant her face suddenly froze.
“What is it?” Henry asked, looking over his shoulder.
Marcy watched the woman who’d just come in and was now handing her coat to the maître d’. Her back was turned, but the glimpse Marcy had gotten of her face, her stocky stature, the shoulder-length brown hair . . .
“Who is it?” Henry asked, following the direction of her eyes.
The woman turned around and Marcy almost gasped as she found herself breathing again. It wasn’t Eugena. Thank God, thank God. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, her heart still pounding. “I thought . . . The woman who just came in reminded me of someone, but it’s not her.” She looked at him and seeing his confusion she made herself smile. “It’s OK,” she assured him. “It just gave me a bit of a start. Ghosts from the past, strange timing, and all that. Now, what were we saying?”
His eyebrows arched as he said dryly, “Well, I was asking about dead bodies, and you suddenly looked as though there might be some.”
She managed a laugh. “I know, we were talking about Claudia and New Year’s Eve and how much I’d love to come with you.”
Apparently pleased with this, he said, “Talk to her. Tell her you want to see the show and spend a little time with me, and perhaps she’ll find someone else to celebrate with.”
“WELL, OF COURSE you have to go,” Claudia insisted as she and her mother had breakfast together the next morning. “It’ll be a lovely way to see in the New Year.”
“But what will you do?” Marcy asked, reaching for the toast.
Claudia shrugged. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”
“I just don’t want to think of you being here on your own.”
Claudia looked around as Jasmine came through from her bedroom like a whirlwind, snatched up bag, violin, toast, and a vacuum mug of coffee and declared, “I have to go,” as if they hadn’t already gathered that. “I don’t want to be late. I’ll see you at school tonight, OK?”
“OK,” Claudia promised.
“Are you coming, Nana?”
“Of course. You surely can’t think I’d miss it.”
“No, I didn’t. I just . . . I don’t know what I thought. How was your date by the way?”
Marcy smiled. “Lovely, thank you.”
“Henry’s invited her to spend New Year’s with him in London,” Claudia told her.
Jasmine’s eyes rounded. “Cool. Wicked.”
As Marcy laughed, Jasmine planted a kiss on her forehead, followed by another on her mother’s cheek, and ran for the door.
“You really don’t mind if I go?” Marcy asked, as Claudia began clearing the table.
“What concerns me more is what you’ll do if he proposes, or suggests you move in with him . . .”
“You’re way ahead of the game here,” Marcy scolded. “We’re just friends . . . OK, some benefits are going to be involved quite soon—I know I’m your mother but you don’t have to look quite so grossed out. The point is, nothing is going to change my plans to move into the coach house with you and Jasmine.”
“Great, then there’s nothing to worry about,” Claudia said sweetly, and taking a loaded tray to the kitchen, she began filling the dishwasher.
After watching her for a while and listening to her humming “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,” Marcy asked, “Am I missing something?”
Surprised, Claudia glanced over her shoulder. “Why do you say that?”
Marcy shrugged. “I guess because you seem much more relaxed about things than I’d expected you to be.”
Claudia threw out her hands. “I’m in a good mood, if that’s allowed. It’s Christmas and there’s a lot to look forward to. Jasmine’s giving her first public performance this evening, we’re going to spend tomorrow with friends who we’ve really come to like, and when I think of where I was this time last year . . . Actually, I try not to think of it. Will you pass your mug if you’ve finished?”
Taking it to the kitchen, Marcy folded her arms and leaned against a countertop. “Do you know that Dan is going to be at Andee and Graeme’s tomorrow?” she asked carefully.
Claudia paused, but only slightly. “Yes, I do, and why do you mention it?”
“I just wondered if that’s what’s putting you in a good mood?”
Turning around, Claudia said, “You know your trouble, you think everything’s about sex.”
“Isn’t it?”
Claudia laughed. “I need to run,” she said, checking the time. “There are a few more presents to wrap in my bedroom, would you mind?”
“If I can be trusted.”
“I’ll do the finishing touches when I get back.”
“Where are you going?”
“To deliver gifts to my fabulous team, then I’ve got a meeting with a new client in Uley village. And when I’ve finished there, I’m hoping to see the electricians at the coach house before they clock off for the holiday.”
“So busy,” Marcy sighed, although she was thrilled to see Claudia so upbeat. And when she heard the front door bang closed a few minutes later she was glad of her decision not to say anything about the shock she’d had last night, when she’d thought it was Eugena Huxley-Browne coming into the restaurant. Just the mention of the name would have thrown Claudia back into the paranoia of a few months ago; it might even have proved difficult for Marcy to convince her that it really hadn’t been Marcus’s sister.
It hadn’t, Marcy was certain about that, and now that she was over the shock of it she realized how foolish she’d been to think Eugena would come looking herself. She’d have people to do it for her, which was so far from being a comforting thought that she pushed it straight out of her mind. Much better to focus on Henry and how much she was already looking forward to New Year’s Eve.
AS CLAUDIA RAN down the steps at the front of the villa, where she and Jasmine had strung bright star lights a week ago, she came to a sudden stop as a man she thought she recognized walked into the front area. He wore a heavy dark raincoat and a charcoal-gray scarf. Her heart gave an uneasy beat as she tried to place him.
“Mrs. Winters. Leo Johnson,” he reminded her, and though she didn’t relax exactly, she no longer felt poised to run. It was the young detective who’d come to visit with DI Phillips all those months ago. Why was he here? What had happened? So many awful scenarios flashed through her mind, all involving Marcus, that she barely heard herself say, “Are you here to see me?”
He reached inside his coat and drew out a handful of envelopes, some white, probably Christmas cards, others brown and official-looking. “These arrived for you from London,” he explained, holding them out to her.
Alarmed, Claudia backed away. “I don’t want them,” she protested. “Who sent them?”
“They came to me via DI Phillips,” he explained.
“He should have just thrown them away.”
Johnson glanced at them himself. “There could be something here that you want,” he said, apparently believing this sounded reasonable. To him it probably did.
“There isn’t,” she assured him. She didn’t want anything from her old life.
He continued to stand there looking faintly perplexed, but not yet ready to leave. “The thing is,” he said, “it would be an offense for us to throw your post away when it’s addressed to you.”
“I’m not that person anymore,” she reminded him shrilly.
He looked pained, but before he could speak a familiar voice claimed their attention.
“Claudia, great, I caught you. Would you mind taking . . .” Andee stopped as she clocked Johnson. “Leo, I didn’t realize it was you.” She smiled affectionately. “What on earth are you doing here?”
Claudia frantically tried to think of an explanation, something that would sound remotely plausible, and it was apparent that Leo was trying too, but all that happened was a clumsy sort of stammering that amounted to nothing more than confusion.
Moving smoothly past it, Andee said, “Well, it’s lovely to see you, as always. I’ve just stopped by to ask you, Claudia, if you’d mind taking a few things over to Cassie for me? You are still going there this morning?”
“I’m just on my way,” Claudia replied, and reached for the bag Andee was holding out. To Leo she said, “My mother’s inside if you’d like to talk to her.”
“Uh, yes, that would be great,” he replied. “Lovely to see you too,” he said to Andee. “Merry Christmas to you and yours.”
“Same to you and yours,” she responded, and with a friendly little wave she walked back to her car.
“I really have to go,” Claudia said, as Johnson tried again to give her the post, and brushing past him she opened her boot to drop everything inside.
As she drove away she quickly connected to her mother to let her know what had just happened, but Marcy’s line was busy and she knew that by the time she got hold of her she’d probably already have let Leo Johnson into the flat.
It didn’t matter. Her mother would find a way of dealing with it, which would probably be simply to take the mail to the nearest shredder as soon as Johnson had gone. She should have done that herself, and would have if she’d had more time to think, but he’d thrown her, turning up out of the blue like that.
He must have understood her reaction, but heaven only knew what Andee was thinking now. She didn’t even want to imagine it. She could only think about the glimpse of what might have been a prison letter. Pulling over, she sent a quick text to her mother and willed her to reply quickly. Thankfully, she did.
Don’t worry, I’ll destroy them all.
AS ANDEE DROVE up to the new builds on Westleigh Heights she was mulling over the scene between Claudia and Leo Johnson, wondering what it had really been about, although the handful of mail had been a clue. Had Leo brought it from Claudia’s previous address? If he had, it would confirm that the police here in town knew who Claudia really was, presumably because someone at the Met had tipped them off.
She considered calling her old boss DCI Gould to find out what he was prepared to tell her, but then asked herself why she would do that. She already knew who Claudia was hiding from, and had a fair idea of why, so what was the point of trying to get it confirmed when it was actually none of her business? Claudia had done nothing to harm anyone, quite the reverse in fact, and as long as she wasn’t in any difficulty or danger, which she didn’t seem to be, it was no one’s place to go around asking questions about her just for the sake of it.
So no, she wasn’t going to call Gould, nor was she going to tell Graeme or Dan what she’d witnessed just now. She wouldn’t even mention it to Claudia when she saw her at the concert later, for the last thing she wanted was to make her feel as though she had to explain herself.