On Friday Nick called Constance and told her the police had asked him to attend at the police station again and intimated he was going to be charged with something serious. The man could hardly get the words out and she was forced to wait patiently for the message to be delivered, in between gulps and gasps. After she had provided as much reassurance as she could, she cleared some space in her diary and made an appointment to visit Diana Percival, Brett Ingram’s PA. She wanted to see Diana before her memories faded, and to find out as much as possible about who was at the Tanners’ Hall meeting and why.
Heart Foods’ head office, where they agreed to meet, turned out to be a sprawling, unassuming building, just off the Hanger Lane gyratory system. Given Brett’s reputation for innovation, Constance had expected a modern design, or displays more obviously associated with food. The only indication that the company had any food connection at all was in the reception area: a series of posters hung on the wall behind the receptionist’s head, each displaying the motto ‘food with heart’ above an appetising image of a food group (fruit, nuts, bread and pastries, fish) arranged in the shape of a heart.
Then, in the lift, as she headed up to the fourth-floor meeting rooms, a strong scent of freshly baked bread with no obvious source filled her nostrils. Perhaps she was just above the canteen, she thought, although the smell persisted as she continued along the corridor to meet Diana.
Brett’s assistant turned out to be an inordinately tall woman, hardly short of six feet. Diana’s hands shook as she poured them both tea, adding a lump of sugar to her own cup. Constance sat down on the nearest chair, pulling it in towards the table. Then she dug out her laptop and lifted the lid, but paused when she saw Diana watching her.
‘I’d like to make some notes, if that’s all right,’ she said. ‘Or we could just talk and I can record us on my phone. Whatever’s easier.’
‘I’m not sure what I can tell you,’ Diana said, sitting down opposite Constance and stirring her tea. ‘It all happened so quickly. Brett was up there introducing everyone, then he was dead.’
‘It must have been an awful shock.’
‘It was.’
‘Was there no warning? Mr Ingram wasn’t ill?’
‘Look, this is what I told the police,’ Diana said. ‘Not long after we arrived at the hall, he started to feel ill. He disappeared off to the men’s room a couple of times. I asked him if we should call the meeting off, but it had been such a bugger to organise, he said he was fine. He drank some water, said he felt better. Look. I don’t want a recording. You asked to talk. That’s what I’m offering.’
‘Of course,’ Constance said, closing her laptop and reaching for her own cup of tea. She would have preferred to have an accurate record of their conversation, but she could make a note as soon as she got back to the office. ‘You know the police believe it was something Mr Ingram ate?’
‘It didn’t come from the police,’ Diana said. ‘When he collapsed, we all thought it was a heart attack, including the paramedics.’
‘Because it was so sudden?’
‘And he was breathless. Then I started to think about how he’d felt ill earlier. And then, well, when they were examining him, one of the ambulance men said he had a rash on his chest. I looked it up on my phone. I wanted to do something useful, with Brett just lying there. And then I read what it said – that it could be linked to his allergy.’
‘His allergy?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought the police said it was food poisoning.’
‘Brett has…had an allergy – shellfish. I’d told the caterer. When Brett wasn’t feeling well, I went into the kitchen, checked all the food. There wasn’t even any fish; no prawns or anything. So I didn’t make the connection. Just when I saw the rash, I thought… I don’t know. I’m just telling you what I told the ambulance men and the police.’
‘The police didn’t say anything about an allergy and I haven’t seen the results of the post-mortem.’
‘Why should a healthy man die just like that? I keep asking myself that question.’
Diana covered her eyes with both hands and her shoulders heaved up and down. Then she looked at Constance again.
‘Is there anything else you want to know?’ she said.
‘I’d like to know a little about Mr Ingram, what kind of man he was?’
‘He was a man who knew what he wanted from life and how to get it.’ Diana stirred her tea some more and stared out of the window. ‘That’s how he managed to build this business in only twelve years. We’re up there with the most well-established household names: Heinz, Bird’s Eye, Premier Foods. Brett is…was the youngest CEO of any UK-based top 100 company.’
‘You’re saying he was ruthless?’
‘Not ruthless. That makes him sound evil. He was focused, very focused. And extremely hard-working. No down time. Everything he read or watched or wrote was about food. And quality was important to him; not price – quality.’
Constance noted that this approach had clearly engendered considerable loyalty in Diana. ‘Does he have a successor?’
‘The board will decide. He didn’t have anyone lined up. At forty-one you wouldn’t usually, would you?’
‘And the meeting, what was that about?’ Constance asked.
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘Is it usual for food companies to organise events like that?’
‘Brett liked to be different.’
Constance nodded. ‘All right. But why these particular guests?’
‘He liked to know what was going on in the world of food, so he invited speakers on all different topics. It was the first of a series of similar events he was planning across the country.’
‘Why a public meeting, if he just wanted to be informed?’
‘Gosh.’ Diana frowned and tapped her teaspoon against the side of her cup. ‘You really are asking a lot of questions.’
‘I…I’m sorry. If you don’t want to answer, that’s fine.’
‘No,’ Diana said. ‘Look, Brett knew what these people were like: a blogger, a radio star, a TV chef.’
‘You mean they wanted publicity?’
‘Exactly. They were not prepared to give up their time to explain their philosophy on life to him, even though… Well, even the other two – the insect woman and the farmer. All interested in promoting their products, their processes, but isn’t everyone these days? So, he gave them a platform. Or he would have done, if he hadn’t died.’
‘And the camera?’
‘Depending on what they said and how it turned out, Brett wanted to make a film, something informative, about the future of farming and food. I told you. He had big ideas.’
‘And you were the one who arranged the meeting for Mr Ingram?’
‘Can you stop calling him Mr Ingram? It makes him sound like someone’s grandfather,’ Diana snapped, before taking another deep breath. ‘I arranged the meeting, yes. Just like I did everything for him – and I mean everything: diary, meetings, hospitality, travel, events, gifts for family and clients, even laundry and dry cleaning. But he trusted me with more than arranging things; he asked for and valued my input.’
‘What was your role at the meeting?’
‘I booked the hall, liaised with June, the curator, and Mr Demetriou. On the day, I was there to ensure everything ran smoothly. Brett had decided to get the panel in for lunch before the event, kind of breaking the ice – he worried that some of the personalities might clash, and he thought he might get some useful intelligence too. He always believed that people give more away in informal settings.’
‘What time did everyone arrive?’
‘The panellists came from twelve onwards, the public at two.’
‘And what was the atmosphere like?’
‘It was fine. I mean, apart from the scientist – she was pretty quiet – the rest of them were all busy talking, expressing their opinions.’
‘What were you doing?’
‘I was mingling and listening out for anything interesting, and making sure they all got fed.’
Constance paused before continuing. It was a trick Judith had taught her. Sometimes, people gave things away during a silence. But Diana just sipped at her tea and stared at the carpet.
‘Did you talk to Mr Demetriou?’ Constance asked, eventually.
‘Of course – when we first arrived, then I returned to the kitchen a couple of times to chase food and, like I said, to check there was no shellfish. And he stood at the back of the hall when the panel went on stage. I think he wanted to hear what they had to say too.’
‘Was he helpful?’
‘I…he was…nervous. I thought maybe it was me. I can be a bit pushy, people have told me. And I had given him lots of dos and don’ts, but, you know, he was fine. The food was passable. What did I expect? It wasn’t Nobu.’
‘Where was the food kept?’
‘There was a big metal table in the centre of the kitchen. Some food was laid out there on trays when we arrived and some had already been carried through to the main hall ahead of the guests arriving.’
‘The kitchen was clean?’
‘It looked clean to me. There was a waitress, wearing gloves, hair tied back, that kind of thing. Nothing stood out as worrying.’
‘What did Brett eat?’
This time Diana’s shoulders rose up to meet her ears and she pursed her lips.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I can’t remember. Those scientists carving him up will tell us though, won’t they?’
‘You didn’t ask him, when he said he felt unwell?’
‘I didn’t make the link then – not till after.’
‘And you? What did you eat?’
‘Oh, I never eat lunch. Especially not when I’m working.’
Constance had a few more things to ask – Diana had been informative, despite her apparent reticence – but better to leave without overstaying her welcome. That way she could return more easily another time. She drank her tea and placed her cup and saucer down on the table.
‘Is that it?’ Diana said.
‘Yes, except...’
‘What?’
‘This will sound a bit strange, but I thought I smelt bread in the lift, but now it’s in here too. Is there a bakery on site?’
‘Mondays it’s bread, Tuesdays coffee, Wednesday lemons, and so on.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That was Brett all over. He read an article on an aeroplane which said that when we smell bread, we’re kinder to strangers. He has it coming in via the air con.’
‘I can see that the coffee smell might perk you up,’ Constance said, ‘but lemons?’
‘I can’t remember now. If it’s important, I can look for the memo he sent around?’
‘No,’ Constance said. ‘It’s not important. Just my own curiosity, that’s all.’