Sarah closed the door, walked into the room and looked around to make sure there was nobody else in here. Checked the bathroom.
But the place was empty.
Apart from Townes, perched on the bed, looking like he’d been punched in the stomach.
His case stood half-packed on a stool under the window. A laptop open on the desk.
And, next to it, a small jewellery box. Sarah walked over, picked it up. Printed in gold on the lid, the words “Time Flies. Swindon”.
She flipped it open. Inside — a Rolex watch on a little velvet stand. The metal strap tarnished and scuffed.
She didn’t have to take the wristband off to know that it was — the Rolex.
“Amazing how they can still work after so long buried in the ground — isn’t it?” she said.
“How the hell …?”
She turned to see him watching her. Then he leaned forward, his head in his hands.
“What a bloody mess,” said Lionel.She took the chair from behind the desk and spun it round and sat, so she faced him — just a few feet away. Wanting to hold this mood of despair, keep his focus — knowing that he was ready to talk.
“It is a mess, Lionel,” said Sarah. “And it’s not going to go away. In fact — it’s been getting worse — hasn’t it?”
He looked up, his eyes wet.
“What with your friend Tim gone. And now Bruno in hospital.”
The names seemed to catch him short.
“Tim went to M—”
Sarah shot up a hand. “We know that’s not true, Lionel. Tim Simpson never went to Morocco.”
Time to reveal the full charge book …
“And then of course there’s the money. Not only the fifty grand you were searching for at Tim’s house when my friend Jack found you. But the money you just gave Karin Carter for the watch, I’m guessing. The special deal you arranged on the villa in Spain for Brian Larwood.”
Lionel looked up, his eyes, probably laser-like when it came to financial finagling, now misted over.
“Oh God.”
Trapped. Scared.
“Lot of money. Even for someone like you, someone who works in the City, a captain of finance.”
That made Lionel stand up. And for a moment Sarah thought she’d gone too far, scared him too much.
“Look, I don’t have to sit here, and answer your questions, your sleazy accusations. Whoever the hell you are, I can call my lawyer, and—”
“You could do all that. Or — if you have done nothing, and to avoid the scandal — we can talk. I imagine you know that with doubts being raised, in any legal system, things can happen, you know? Things go wrong. Innocent people do get hurt.”
Lionel waited.
Then slowly …
“What do you want?”
“The truth.”
The man seemed to be weighing the offer.
Then she added, more softly. “Lionel. You know what happened all those years ago — don’t you?”
A nod. And yes, a visible gulp.
“You have to talk.”
Lionel was not exactly made of the sternest stuff.
Then, as if presented with a contract that must be signed, he opened his mouth, forming his one word with precision.
The dance was over.
“Okay.”
And Sarah didn’t even bring out her notebook, since she had no doubt she’d remember every single word that Lionel would say.
***
“It was August. Summer of ’98. I was working as Harry’s agent — he’d just been elected earlier in the year. Exciting times — so I was up and down from London most weeks.”
Lionel looked away, as if back there.
Happier days, for sure.
“Used to stay at Todwell House. With him and Amanda. She wasn’t up at Oxford — but I’d, um, got to know her over the years. Liked her. Really liked her. She was fun.”
Sarah guessed — another secret being revealed here.
Lionel, Amanda ….
“Anyway — that summer I’d hardly seen Harry. He and Amanda had gone out to their place in Spain during recess. You know, when parliament wasn’t sitting. Not much for me to do, so I was in London setting up some investments. Then I heard on the grapevine that Harry and Amanda had had another of their big rows.”
“That happen often?”
“God. All the time. Anyway, I heard she’d buggered off to the States to go and help out on some big charity dinner or something. Don’t remember what — that was what she did, you know. Her work. So Harry was out in Spain on his own in the villa. I did think maybe I could get out to join him — bloody nice place it was. Big pool, up in the hills above Sitges. Private. Very private.”
“But you didn’t go?”
“Too busy. If I had — well — none of this would have happened, would it?”
Sarah just watched Lionel, not interrupting, letting it just flow, holding back questions.
She thought: I’m about to hear what really happened. Amazing.
“Who knows? So there I am down at the Ship in Wandsworth one night, having a few pints — when Harry rings. He’s in a dreadful state. Says I’ve got to come now. Don’t tell anyone, he says. Come now! Big trouble! So I say, ‘Bloody hell — to Spain?’ And he says, ‘No — Cherringham’. Then he puts down the phone. So I get in the car and off I go. Good three hours it takes me. Anyway I get to the house and the whole place is dark but I can hear voices, so I go round the back and everybody’s there on the terrace and there’s a full-on bloody argument going on.”
“Who’s everybody?” said Sarah. “Who was there?”
“What?”
“On the terrace. Who was there?”
“Oh right. Well, Harry, obviously. Amanda. Karin. Bruno. Tim.”
“Tim Simpson?”
“Well yes — of course. You know, Harry and Tim.”
Sarah saw Lionel look at her as if she was somehow stupid for not knowing the full line-up that night.
Harry and Tim? What did that mean?
She nodded to him to keep going …
“Everyone’s shouting, crying, grabbing hold of each other, all in the dark, mind, and then I notice there’s a wheelbarrow off to one side and next to it there’s something under a blanket, like somebody lying down.”
Lionel took a breath as if fortifying himself.
“A-and I go over to it and I pull the blanket back and—”
Lionel swallowed hard.
The memory now clearly so real.
He’s never told this story, Sarah suddenly realised. No wonder it’s pouring out like this.
“The shape — somebody lying down. A young man. But … God. He’s not lying down. He’s dead. Just there. Looking up. His eyes …”
“You must have been very shocked.”
“Of course! Shocked? God! I didn’t understand what was happening. So I get hold of Harry who’s standing there like a zombie and I start shaking him, trying to get him to tell me what the hell has happened. But no, he’s in too much of a state. He can hardly talk. So Amanda takes me to one side and explains.”
Lionel looked up at Sarah — and she could see he was having trouble holding it together.
She got up, went to the bathroom and poured a glass of water — came back and handed it to him. He drank, then continued.
“Here’s the thing. You need to understand this. You see Harry and Amanda are married. But Harry’s always been … well you know? He’s gay … These days no big deal, is it? But back then? Enough to kill an MP’s career stone dead.”
“So Amanda and Harry’s marriage was just a convenience?”
“Pretty much. I mean — sure they’re fond of each other. And Amanda certainly loved the house and the car. But in bed? Zilch.”
“So Harry had partners?”
“One-offs mostly. Kept it pretty quiet.”
Sarah suddenly realised …
“Like Tim Simpson?”
Lionel nodded. “That’s right. Harry met him in Oxford — had a bit of a soft spot for him. Invited him to stay. Put him up in the old boathouse that summer. Think Tim — quiet sort — had a crush on him too.”
“Did people around Harry know his secret?”
“Family. Close friends, I imagine. Sure.”
“So, what did Amanda say to you that night?”
Lionel took another sip of water.
“Yeah. Right. So, turns out when she left Harry out in Spain that week, he got bored one night, went down to the centre of town — you know Sitges, right?”
Sarah nodded. The bars had quite a reputation.
“And he picks up this young lad — not underage mind, don’t get me wrong, just a young guy in his twenties — they go back to the villa, and the guy stays the night, then the next night, then the next. Ends up staying over a week. Harry falls for him big time, you see. And the guy — name of Jordi — feels the same way.”
“Wait — then Harry goes to Barcelona, buys Jordi a Rolex? To show how much he cares?”
“The watch. Yeah. Well, I was coming to that — see, that’s the pay-off, isn’t it? Harry knows he’s going to have to come home one day. Every party has to finish some time. Reality dawns. Can’t be an MP and have a gay Spanish lover, can you? So, Harry gives him the watch, and goodbye Jordi. Does the big farewell at the airport, all hugs and tears, and flies home to forget about it.”
Sarah nodded. She could see where this was going.
“Let me guess — Jordi doesn’t play by the same rules. Doesn’t forget about it.”
“Spot on. Week later — and remember, Amanda’s still in the States, so this is the spiel Harry gave her and she gave me — Harry’s on his own in Todwell House one Friday night when the doorbell goes. And guess who’s on the doorstep?”
“Jordi.”
“Bag over his shoulder, Rolex on his wrist, big grin on his face, I imagine. And Harry — throwing caution to the wind — can’t keep his hands off him.”
“But he must have known it was too dangerous?”
“Affairs of the heart, hmm? Men and their libidos, you know. He told me later — he thought it would just be a final fling, no big deal …”
“But for Jordi it was more than that.”
“Big time. Not sure he understood Harry’s position. The risk. Course I don’t know what would have happened if Amanda hadn’t come home unexpectedly from New York that very weekend. In fact — that very day that Harry called me.”
We’re catching up to that body in the wheelbarrow, Sarah thought.
Lionel looked away again.
As if he was there once more, on that terrible night.