chapter forty

 

Guernsey 2011

 

For the rest of the morning, Fiona moped around, feeling deflated and weepy. She knew it was natural after the heightened emotions of the funeral and the excitement of Duncan’s arrest, but it didn’t help her mood one jot. After lunch, she forced herself to clean the house, and it kept her fully engaged until she walked into Nigel’s bedroom.

His presence was still there, in his pictures, the photos on his desk, his laptop and other paraphernalia. She opened his wardrobe and smelt the scent of him lingering on his clothes. It wasn’t his aftershave so much as the smell of his skin. Fiona pulled out a jacket, burying her face in it and the tears fell. Falling onto the bed, she pulled the jacket around her and curled into a ball.

‘I miss you so much, darling brother, it hurts,’ she said to the empty room, half-hoping Nigel would appear with words of comfort. But the room remained silent and in her heart, she knew he was gone. Gone to whatever place dead people went to. Brushing away her tears she hung the jacket on its hanger and left the room. It was too soon to think about clearing out his clothes. It could wait until after her stay at La Folie. If she was still going. A big part of her wanted to hide away and not be among other people. She would phone Louisa later and tell her.

Dragging the vacuum cleaner behind her, Fiona entered the guest bedroom, hit by a blast of Michael’s aftershave. Going into the en suite, she saw a broken bottle of Chanel Pour Monsieur in the waste bin. He must have forgotten to tell her. Not that it mattered, she thought, leaving the bin on the landing to take downstairs. She went back and opened the window before stripping the bed, trying not to imagine Michael lying between the sheets still impregnated with his smell. Different to Nigel’s but, she realised with a shock, just as evocative. She was in love with him! The realisation hit her like a physical blow and Fiona crumpled to the floor, her back resting against the bed. Of course, she’d known she fancied him, but in love? The kiss – both kisses – had stirred something she couldn’t ignore. Her emotions were all over the place, and it seemed almost obscene to fall in love when Nigel had died so horribly. Was she confusing love with grief? The thoughts circled her head making her dizzy. With an exasperated sigh, she stood and, grabbing the dirty bedlinen and the bin went downstairs to the utility room. Once the washing machine was on and the broken bottle safely wrapped in newspaper, Fiona poured herself a glass of wine before going outside. Flopping onto a lounger, she had taken a large swallow when her phone rang.

‘Hi, it’s me. Just calling to say I’m back home. How are you?’

Fiona took another sip before replying, trying to calm the thumping in her chest. How could she talk to him now? After what she’d just discovered?’

‘Oh, okay, thanks.’

‘You don’t sound okay, what’s the matter?’

If only he knew! Her hands shook, and she had to put the glass down.

‘Nothing, just, you know, it’s been a bit odd.’

‘I see. Have you been out? Done anything?’

‘Been busy cleaning the house–’

‘Oh, sorry, I forgot to tell you about the bottle I dropped. Did you find it?’

‘I smelt it first, but no worries, it’s now safely in the bin.’ She could still smell his aftershave, pervading the house as if to remind her of him. Clearing her throat, she asked, ‘Have you spoken to your family?’

‘Yes, they’re fine. Ma has taken on a part-time carer to help with Grandmama, and they both said to remind you to come and visit when you feel up to it.’

‘Thank them for me, please. Are you working on the commission again?’

Michael told her he was and chatted for another minute before signing off. Fiona was left unsettled and picked up her wine and took a large swallow. It had been difficult to be at ease with him, even on the phone. And she couldn’t contemplate spending time with him at the family home in Suffolk, much as she’d like to see Teresa again. Deciding the best course of action was to forget it all and get hammered, she topped up her glass.

 

Fiona must have nodded off because the strident melody of her phone woke her. As she pulled herself upright, her head pounded in protest.

‘Hello.’

‘Fiona, it’s Louisa. Are you okay? You sound a bit odd.’

She cleared her throat. ‘I…I fell asleep in the garden after a glass of wine.’ Looking at the bottle, it was more like four or five glasses, and she stifled a groan.

‘Right. We’ve all done it!’ Louisa chuckled. ‘I wanted to check how you were. Assume Michael got off okay?’

‘Yes, he rang me a while ago to say he was home.’ Fiona hesitated. ‘Actually, I’m glad you rang as I was thinking of maybe not coming to La Folie. I’m not sure I could cope with being around people.’

She heard Louisa sigh.

‘I was afraid you’d say that, but are you sure you can cope on your own? To be honest, girl, you don’t sound as if you are. How much did you really drink?’ Louisa’s voice was soft.

‘’Bout half a bottle or so. Just wanted to blot it all out. I’ll be fine.’ Fiona didn’t believe it but didn’t want her friend worrying.

‘Eventually, sure, but what about over the next week or so? I went completely to pieces after Mum’s funeral, and that’s why we thought being cared for at the centre would do you good. You don’t have to mix with the other guests if you don’t want to. Simply enjoy good food, uplifting therapies and no need to lift a finger. Come on, what’s not to like?’

She had to agree; it did sound more inviting than sitting around wallowing in misery with a permanent hangover.

‘Okay, you win. Sorry, I’m being such a pain.’

‘Don’t be silly. You’re grieving, which is horrid, especially on your own. Now, promise me you’ll keep it together until Thursday? Easy on the ol’ vino?’

‘I promise. Thanks, Louisa, you’re a star.’

‘No problem. I’ll ring tomorrow for an update, and we’ll expect you at La Folie about ten on Thursday. Bye.’

Fiona weaved her way into the kitchen and drank a large glass of water. Time to get a grip and make some supper.

 

Fiona was in the middle of catching up on her emails on Wednesday morning when the phone rang.

‘Good morning, Miss Torode, Inspector Woods. At last, I have some good news…’ he broke off overtaken by a coughing fit. Fiona tapped her fingers on the desk, impatient to hear more. Recovered, he continued, ‘Sorry about that. Yes, we’ve got the DNA results back, and Domaille’s DNA matches that found on the belt and the business card. We’ve got him by the…I mean, the evidence is conclusive, and I’ve charged him with the murder of your brother as well as the assault on yourself.’ His voice rose in triumph.

She punched the air, silently crying, ‘Yes!’

‘Brilliant, Inspector. Thank you for believing me against the odds.’

‘It’s me who should be thanking you. After all, if it hadn’t been for you and John’s detective work, we’d never have nailed him, and that would have been a gross injustice. The trial’s set for two months’ time, and as yet Domaille hasn’t entered a plea. Faced with the evidence, I’m hopeful he’ll plead guilty and save everyone a load of trouble. His advocate’s meeting with him later to tell him the good news.’ He chuckled, and Fiona smiled.

‘Will I need to be a witness?’

‘Only if he pleads not guilty, so don’t worry for the moment. Your friend Mr Collins will be needed, too. Will keep you posted. Bye for now.’

‘I’ve got you justice, Nigel,’ she whispered to the empty room. ‘Now you can truly rest in peace.’

 

♦♦♦

 

Michael frowned. There was something not quite right about the bit he was working on. He stood back to gain a better perspective and eyed the contorted twists of metal critically. What was it? His phone rang, disturbing his concentration and he swore. Tempted to ignore it, he glanced at the screen and saw her name.

‘Hi, Fiona. How’re you doing? Sleep well last night?’ All worries about the sculpture dissolved, replaced by the pleasure of hearing her voice, even though they’d only spoken the previous evening.

‘I’m fine, thanks and had a good night. And I’ve heard from the inspector…’ She told him about the DNA results, and he heard the relief in her voice.

‘Great news, I’m pleased. So now you can go off on your retreat and forget about it, and come back a new woman.’

‘Don’t know about that, but I am looking forward to switching off. Which reminds me, mobiles are frowned on, as are laptops, so I’ll be under the radar for the week.’

‘Right, let’s catch up when you’re back. Look forward to hearing all about it.’

After switching off his phone, he propped himself on the edge of his desk, gazing unseeingly at the sculpture of the giant sunflower. Fiona. She’d hardly been off his mind since he left Guernsey. No-one had had this effect on him since…and that was years ago. Which meant he must be falling for her – in a big way. It was madness; he’d only met her two weeks ago. But they’d shared so much in such a short time, including the potentially life-threatening encounter with that thug Duncan. Had that heightened his feelings towards her? Running his hands through his hair, he didn’t know the answer. Although he’d miss talking to her for the next week, it might give him a chance to stand back, get a clearer take on what he felt. His eyes finally registered the sculpture, and he saw what was wrong. Two strips of metal needed moving down a bit. Smiling, he took up his tools and began work.

 

♦♦♦

 

By Thursday morning Fiona was looking forward to getting away from the house and felt almost cheerful as she loaded her case in the car before setting off to Torteval. Soft white clouds dotted the sky and the day promised to be warm. She’d packed her bathers ready to use the indoor pool which also had a sliding roof for fine days. Louisa had shown her around soon after they met and Fiona had been envious of the guests strolling around looking relaxed and carefree. And now it was her turn.

Half an hour later Fiona stood in the beautiful room which was to be hers for the week, gazing at a sublime view of the gardens leading to the cliffs and beyond the sea. Breathtaking. All the rooms had names rather than numbers, and hers was Serenity. She could certainly do with some of that, she thought, admiring the golden maple wood furniture and soft-toned polished plaster walls. A room as serene as its name. The silk-draped four-poster looked deeply inviting, and the en suite oozed luxury, complete with a walk-in power shower. Fiona sighed. She would have been mad to turn this week down.

She met Paul in his office later to discuss treatments, including an aromatherapy massage each day as well as sessions of yoga or Pilates, all aimed at ultimate relaxation. He also suggested counselling by their therapist Molly, and she agreed to try it.

The days slid by in a sybaritic haze and by the end of the week, Fiona felt lighter; mentally, emotionally and physically. She had found the counselling painful at first, but Molly had drawn her gently through the grieving process, allowing her to know it was okay to cry at times but not to let it take over completely.

In the last few days, Fiona managed to join with other guests in the dining room, enjoying normal conversations about work and partners, or, in her case, the lack of them. She couldn’t help think about Michael, but was he a possible partner? Or simply a kind, caring man who wanted to help her cope with grief. The thoughts unsettled her, and she had to push them away, or she’d go mad.

It was good to laugh again, and Fiona promised to stay in touch with a couple of the women she met based in London. The city had figured large in their chats, and it brought home to her how much she missed it. On her last full day, Fiona wrote a list of changes she wanted to make in her life and resolved to make a start once she was home.

‘It’s been wonderful! I can’t thank you and the staff enough, Paul. I’m almost reluctant to leave,’ she said, smiling. They were in the entrance hall, her case by her side.

‘That’s what I like to hear. You’re looking so much better, Fiona, and I think you’re on the right path now. But you know you can talk to Louisa or me anytime, right?’ He gripped her shoulders; his amazing eyes focused on hers.

‘Yes. I’d like to thank Malcolm for his generosity, but what do you give a multi-millionaire?’ She laughed.

‘Did you know he’s set up a charity for children in India, to help with their education? I’m sure a donation would be much appreciated. Here’s the web address if you want to go ahead.’ He grabbed a piece of paper from the desk and wrote it down.

‘Perfect, I’ll do that. Would you two like to come for supper at the weekend? I owe you both big time.’

‘Love to. I’ll check with the boss lady and get back to you.’ He gave her a goodbye hug, and she left, finally ready to face living on her own again.