Tuesday, 18 April, 8 p.m.
Unsurprisingly, as Martha had already marked Ivor Donaldson down as a man with no manners, she arrived at The Granary first. He was ten minutes late. And the ten minutes passed surprisingly slowly. She felt like a sad woman who’d been stood up. Maybe she had. Maybe the ‘date’ had been a tease. Maybe £50,000 hadn’t been enough of a temptation. She sat at a table for two, tonic water in a tall glass with ice and a slice.
But eventually he breezed in, in a dark suit, rings flashing, ostentatiously glancing at the Rolex on his wrist.
OK, she wanted to say, I’ve noticed it. Now tuck it away.
‘Sorry, love,’ he said as he sat down. And it was that epithet that increased her dislike of him tenfold.
‘That’s OK,’ she answered sweetly and put a bite in the tail. ‘The wallpaper’s interesting.’
He did a double blink, apparently unsure whether she was being ironic. Then he gave a loud laugh full of capped teeth. ‘Wasn’t sure,’ he began, and Martha saw he still wasn’t. Good. She wanted him on the hop, unable to put a finger on what she was up to. And she didn’t want him to find out either.
‘So,’ he said when he’d ordered a whisky, ‘you want to make some investments.’ He could not disguise the little gleam in his eye at the thought of money – more money. And yet more money.
‘I’ve got fifty grand – well, actually I want to invest more – but I want a high return. The interest rate is hopeless these days.’
She was watching him, trying to gauge his interest.
‘Pooh.’ Donaldson blew out his cheeks. ‘Interest rates. Tell me about it.’ He wafted a plump little hand, Rolex still exposed. ‘I can get you a lot more than that, Mrs Gunn.’ He’d taken a quick glance at her ring finger. ‘And tax-free.’
She put her elbows on the table in spite of hearing her mother’s staccato ‘tut tut’ quite distinctly in her ear. ‘What are your charges, Mr Donaldson?’
He wasn’t in the least bit fazed by her bluntness. ‘Ten, twelve per cent,’ he said quickly, eyeing her to gauge her reaction. ‘Depends.’
She nodded. ‘Over?’
‘Three years minimum.’
‘And if I need access to funds?’
All the time she was trying to imagine Gina Marconi dealing with this guy. How had he fixed a hold over her? How had he put her in a position where she would choose death knowing what legacy her decision would leave behind? Wounds that would never heal.
And then she caught a whiff of it, in the way Donaldson was eyeing her up. Speculatively, greedily. Not because he wanted sex with her but because he wanted her money. She had hinted at fifty K but let him think there was plenty more where that had come from. He was a man who would always want something out of a woman.
When he had looked at Gina, what had he wanted? Oh, Mr Donaldson, she thought. You are giving yourself away.
But the question was stubborn. How had he done it, gained control over a woman with such experience of criminals? Or had it been that very experience that had let her down, tripped her up? Had she thought she could handle it without realizing how deep the waters were? Had she paddled right out of her depth?
She met Donaldson’s dark gaze and felt he was being just as speculative as she was. ‘Why are you really here, Martha Gunn?’ His voice was oily smooth, menacing.
That was when two things happened simultaneously. The door to the restaurant swung open and Simon Pendlebury walked in, but just before that she had felt a chilling, paralysing fear. Donaldson was on to her and she had no defence. Except …
Simon was leaning against the bar, pretending not to know her or see her. Instead he was ordering a drink and flirting with the waitress.
His very presence gave Martha confidence. She decided to play it straight. ‘You knew Gina Marconi.’
The look he tossed back at her was mocking. ‘I didn’t realize a coroner’s remit was so broad or so detailed.’
So, the gloves were off.
‘My remit,’ she said, deliberately averting her eyes from Simon, ‘is to find out why a beautiful, clever young woman with everything to live for gets up in the middle of the night, puts her clothes on, leaves her mobile phone by the side of the bed and drives into a wall at speed, destroying her life and the lives of those who loved her.’
His response was unfazed, mocking and chilling. ‘Who knows?’
She didn’t answer.
He regarded her steadily and then gave a little smirk. ‘An interesting evening,’ he said and stood up. ‘I’ll pay the bill on the way out,’ he said. ‘Thank you so much.’
Martha simply smiled. It was stupid but she felt she had one over on him because he might know who she was but he hadn’t realized Simon was keeping an eye on her. Or had he? He’d left pretty abruptly and soon after Simon had arrived.
Simon wandered across, mischief in his eyes. ‘Abandoned, Martha?’
‘Oh, shut up,’ she said. ‘He was right on to me and I’ve learnt nothing.’
‘Haven’t you?’
‘He’s learnt more about me,’ she said. ‘He knew exactly who I was and what I was after.’
‘But you’ve rattled him?’
‘I’d like to think so but I very much doubt it.’
Outside the restaurant they heard a car rev up and speed away.