The homes on Falcon Ridge, perched high above the river, faced westward. One could look out across the valley and the rooftops of the town to the forested hills of Radnor rising in the distance, shimmering like a mirage in the heat of the afternoon. It was a gorgeous view, thought Claire as she drove along the ridge. Kevin must be doing very well indeed to afford to move up here. She glanced at the piece of paper on the seat beside her. Number 1035.
‘Fifth house from the end,’ Stephanie had told her on the phone. ‘Right-hand side. Driveway’s a bit steep, so make sure you set your brake.’
And there it was. Stone pillars on either side of the gate, and a low stone wall and iron railings along the front of the property. Claire glanced in her rear-view mirror, then swung across the road and entered the driveway. There were cars parked all the way down the drive, but she managed to squeeze in behind a Ford Fiesta hatchback she recognized as David’s.
The house wasn’t large compared to some of the adjoining properties, but all things are relative, and some of the older homes were very large indeed. But it looked solid and comfortably settled into the hillside as if it belonged there. Brick, two storeys, gable-ended roof, and large bay windows on the ground floor to make the most of the panoramic view, and the rhododendron hedges shielding the house from its neighbours looked as if they had been there forever.
‘Very nice,’ Claire murmured to herself as she made her way up the steps and rang the bell. Kevin and Stephanie must be doing well. But then, Stephanie did have her own business, which she ran from home, and they had no children, but even so . . . Claire turned to look at the view once more, and wondered about the size of the mortgage. Probably Stephanie’s father had . . .
‘Claire! So glad you could come.’ The door had opened silently, and Stephanie Taylor stood there, arms spread wide in a welcoming gesture. ‘Come in, come in and join the others.’ Trim and tanned, Stephanie literally radiated energy. Her short, blonde hair, styled in what she liked to call her wash-and-wear cut, gleamed like a halo above wide-set blue eyes, short nose, and radiant smile. In her open-necked shirt and summer shorts, she wouldn’t have looked out of place on a magazine cover. Claire, in blouse and calf-length skirt, suddenly felt overdressed.
Claire paused in the doorway to look back. ‘Gorgeous view you have from here, Steph,’ she said, ‘and a lovely setting.’
‘It is nice, isn’t it?’ said Stephanie perfunctorily as she closed the door. ‘But then, Dad always did have a good eye for property, and with the market the way it is, and the previous owner anxious to sell, Dad says it will be a good investment.’
Good investment. Was that all it meant to Steph, Claire wondered? On the other hand, it hardly came as a surprise to find that Steph’s father had had a hand in the move. Claire wondered how Kevin felt about it. She knew how much he’d liked the house on Oak Street. It was an old house, but it had a certain charm, and it was close to everything. Best of all, it was paid for. But hardly the right neighbourhood for an up-and-coming young lawyer. At least, that’s the way Steph’s father, Ed Bradshaw, would look at it.
‘Yes, I suppose that’s true,’ she said as she handed a gift-wrapped box to Stephanie. ‘Just a little something for the new home,’ she said. ‘I hope you like it.’
‘Oh, Claire, really, there was no need, but thank you very much. I’m sure I’ll love it. But would you mind very much if I wait till later to open it when I have time to enjoy it? I’m a bit rushed at the moment.’
‘Of course not,’ Claire told her, ‘but it’s not very much, really.’ In fact it was very much, but one didn’t buy cheap gifts for Stephanie.
‘I’m sure I shall be delighted,’ Stephanie said firmly. ‘Now, I know you’re dying to see the rest of the house – you must see the indoor pool – but I thought we’d do the grand tour later when everyone is here. I think you know everybody, well, perhaps not some of our new neighbours, but I’m sure someone will introduce you. So I’ll take you along to join them, then pop back to the kitchen to check on a few things. Dad insisted on having the caterers in, and I’m sure they know what they’re doing, but I do like to check on that sort of thing myself.’
With a gentle but firm grip on Claire’s arm, Stephanie propelled her down a hallway towards an open door. ‘Go on in,’ she said, ‘and do remind Kevin to mingle. You’ll probably find Dad’s got him stuck in a corner talking shop. And tell him I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.’
Claire paused in the doorway before going in. She enjoyed meeting people on a one-on-one basis, or even in small groups, but she had never been comfortable meeting new people en masse, so she was pleased to see that Steph had been right; and there were a fair number of familiar faces in the crowd.
She didn’t see Kevin, but she spotted Ed Bradshaw working his way through the crowded room. He paused to speak to a woman Claire didn’t recognize, then disappeared through a doorway into another room. Lucille, David’s ex-wife, looking as chic and elegant as ever, was there with her new husband, Ray Fisher, while John Chadwell and his wife, Amy, stood at the window, drinks in hand, apparently admiring the view. Claire liked Amy, although she didn’t know her well, but she wasn’t too keen on John, one of Broadminster’s town planners. Heavy-set and somewhat overbearing, he’d always struck Claire as a bit of a bully, and she’d never understood how Amy, a rather gentle soul, had come to marry him.
Roger Corbett, portly and only slightly less rumpled than usual, was talking earnestly to Irene Sinclair. Irene and Claire had been at school together, but they had lost touch with each other as children do when the family moved to Inverness. So Claire had barely recognized Irene when they had bumped into each other on the street some years ago.
She’d come back, Irene told Claire, because she had always thought of Broadminster as her true home, despite the fact that she had been born in Hong Kong, and had spent the first five years of her life there. Her father was a Scot, her mother was Chinese, and the mix was reflected in Irene’s features. She was a striking woman, with her rich auburn hair framing an oval face with a distinctly oriental cast. But what Claire had found strangest of all, was that Irene had picked up a Scottish accent during her stay north of the border. Irene was an actress – or actor as one was supposed to say these days, Claire reminded herself – and director at the local theatre. She also had a small business designing web pages, and was doing quite well with it.
As for Roger, Claire wondered what he was doing for a living now; the man had changed jobs so many times in the last few years, that she’d lost count. Estate agent was the last she’d heard, but you never knew with Roger.
Claire looked around for Lisa, Roger’s wife. Lisa was one of Claire’s favourite people. Small, dark and vivacious, Lisa Corbett was a ballroom dancing instructor, and full of life. There was another odd couple, thought Claire. How the two of them had ever got together was one of life’s deeper mysteries. But Lisa didn’t seem to be there.
Roger turned and saw her. He waved, then said something to Irene, who also waved, but remained where she was as Roger came over to talk to Claire. ‘Good to see you, Claire,’ he said, perfunctorily, then leaned closer and lowered his voice. ‘As a matter of fact I was going to come round to see you next week, because someone told me that you’ve inherited the old Grant house, and I was wondering if you were thinking of selling?’
‘Why? Were you thinking of buying it, Roger?’ Claire asked mischievously. ‘That’s a beautiful house you have now, and I can’t see Lisa giving that up.’
‘No, no, I didn’t mean for us,’ he said, taking her seriously. ‘It’s just that, being in the business, I thought . . . well, you know, if you were thinking of selling, I’d be happy to handle it for you.’
‘I’m sure you would, Roger,’ Claire said with a smile, ‘but I have no idea what I’m going to do with it yet, and I expect it will take me a while to sort things out, but I’ll keep you in mind.’ Even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. Roger was probably the last person she would go to if she did decide to sell. ‘And speaking of Lisa, where is she today?’ Claire asked, anxious to change the subject.
‘Oh, she’s gone off to Scarborough with her Brazilian gigolo to some competition or other,’ he replied airily. ‘Won’t be back until Tuesday. They’re probably doing the light fantastic or some such thing right now. In fact Lisa said it would be on telly sometime this afternoon.’
‘And you’re not going to watch it? Shame on you, Roger; Lisa is a beautiful dancer; you should be proud of her.’
Roger made a face and shrugged. ‘She’ll be bringing back a DVD to study every move they made, as well as those of the other couples in the competition,’ he said, ‘so I’ll get to watch it whether I like it or not. I wouldn’t mind so much if it was only Lisa, but I can’t take much more of that partner of hers, Ramon, as he calls himself. Real name’s Ray Short, if you please, and I doubt if he could find Brazil on a map. She thinks he’s bloody marvellous, and all I’ll hear for weeks is, “See that, Roger?” he mimicked. “See how smooth that was? See what Ramon did there? It was like floating on air; it was wonderful”. Makes you sick! You watch any of that stuff, do you, Claire? Have you seen him?’
‘The last time I saw Lisa was last winter, when she and her partner came in fourth. Was that him? Tall, slim, and quite dark, and a beautiful dancer.’
Roger groaned. ‘God! You women are all the same,’ he said. ‘That’s him, and you sound just like Lisa. Anyway, that’s enough of that. I need a drink! Give me a bell if you decide to put the house up.’
The last thing Roger needed was another drink, thought Claire as she watched him weave his way across the room to speak to Irene before they both moved off into another room.
Someone waved. It was Peter Anderson, an old school chum of Kevin’s. She didn’t know him well, so she was surprised by the wave, until she realized that a middle-aged woman she had never seen before had him backed into a corner and he was seeking help.
Claire was about to go and rescue him when she saw Kevin. He was talking to Graham Williams, an old classmate of hers. Thin and gangly, Graham had been a ‘brain’ at school, and had been more or less ostracized because of it. As a result, he’d fought back, literally, by taking boxing lessons, and had done quite well as an amateur while in his teens. Now, a successful accountant, he worked from home, and rarely came out to social functions, so she was a little surprised to see him there.
Kevin saw her at the same time. He lifted a hand, then broke off his conversation with Williams and pushed his way through the crowd. ‘Claire!’ he greeted her. ‘So glad you could come. Welcome to our new home. Come in and join the party.’
Unlike his brother, who was more than a little casual when it came to dress, Kevin was always smartly turned out. Even now, in the relaxed setting of his own home and in what for him was casual attire – open-neck shirt, cream-coloured slacks with socks to match, and trendy sandals – he looked more like an actor dressed for the part. Not fair, Claire chided herself silently. It wasn’t as if Kevin did it deliberately; that was just the way he was, and he looked very smart. And not just smart in appearance, she reminded herself. According to David, Kevin would become a full partner in the firm at the end of the year. Claire didn’t doubt it. With Stephanie behind him, and her father head of the firm, Kevin was definitely on his way.
‘I was about to,’ she replied to his question. ‘And thank you for asking me.’
‘Our pleasure,’ he said, ‘but I should warn you, Steph will want to pick your brains for ideas about the decor. Promise me you won’t suggest anything too expensive.’ He frowned as he glanced into the hall behind her. ‘Where is Steph, anyway?’
‘She’s gone to check up on things in the kitchen. She said she would only be a few minutes, and I was to remind you to mingle with your guests.’
Kevin’s eyes flicked towards heaven as he shook his head. ‘Probably out there counting the spoons to make sure no one’s run off with them,’ he muttered, then grinned to show he didn’t really mean it. ‘Come on in and let me get you a drink. What will you have?’
‘Whatever it is, I’m afraid it will have to be non-alcoholic,’ Claire told him. ‘Sorry, Kevin, but I have to leave in an hour to see a client. He’s leaving for South Africa first thing in the morning, and wants to have everything sorted out before he goes. I really am sorry I can’t stay longer, but perhaps you could give me a quick private tour of the house before I go. From what I’ve seen so far, I think it’s lovely. And the view from up here is magnificent.’
He grimaced. ‘God knows it should be for the price.’ The words were spoken lightly, but Claire thought she detected a hint of bitterness in his voice, and wondered once again how he and Stephanie had managed to make the leap from Oak Street in the Old Town to Falcon Ridge.
It was as if he sensed her thoughts. ‘Of course, we couldn’t possibly have done it without the help of Steph’s father,’ he said. ‘He made it possible.’
Claire said, ‘I’m sure you’ll both enjoy it, but I thought you both liked where you were living before. It had a lot of character, and I remember you telling me about the plans you had to renovate, so I was surprised when David said you were moving up here.’
‘Oh, we did like it,’ Kevin agreed. ‘At least, I liked it, and to tell you the truth I was looking forward to the challenge of whipping it into shape, but Steph wasn’t quite as keen. She thought it was all right while we were getting on our feet, but she was always on the lookout for something more . . . upmarket, if you know what I mean. So, when this place came up for sale, and Ed said he was prepared to help us buy it, Steph jumped at the chance.’
Kevin went on to explain that there had always been a strong bond between Steph and her father. ‘You probably know that her mother died when she was quite young,’ he went on, ‘and Ed brought her up on his own. He lives just down the road, so when this house came up for sale, and Ed broached the idea of us moving up here close to him, it was like a gift from the gods as far as Steph was concerned.’
He made a face and lowered his voice. ‘A damned expensive gift, nevertheless,’ he confided quietly, then smiled to show once again that he wasn’t really serious. ‘Not that I really mind, of course,’ he went on. ‘It’s just that it takes a bit of getting used to, that’s all, and I’m sure we will be very happy here once we’re settled in. Anyway, that’s quite enough of that. Come with me and we’ll see about that drink.
‘The bar’s in the next room,’ he explained as he led the way. ‘And if my father-in-law tells you he’s been called to the bar, pretend you haven’t heard it a dozen times before, and smile. It’s his favourite pun.’
‘As a matter of fact, I haven’t heard it before,’ Claire told him, ‘but I will smile.’
The two of them made their way across the room, pausing every now and then to say ‘hello’ or exchange a few words before they reached the bar. It was, Kevin explained, a self-contained bar on wheels, complete with a miniature sink, refrigerator, and its own supply of water. ‘Belongs to Ed,’ he said, sotto voce, as they approached. ‘I’d intended to simply have a drinks table, but he insisted on bringing it over and setting it up last night. You have met Ed, haven’t you, Claire?’
‘No, not really,’ she confessed. ‘I mean I know who he is, and I saw him at your wedding, of course, but I’ve never actually met him.’
‘In that case, let me introduce you.’ He waited until the man behind the bar had finished serving the wife of one of the lawyers in his firm before bringing Claire forward.
‘Claire Hammond?’ Ed Bradshaw repeated slowly. ‘I believe I knew your father. Not well, but I met him a few times. Insurance, wasn’t it? Moved south somewhere?’
‘That’s right, Mr Bradshaw. Southampton.’
‘Call me Ed. Everyone else does. Now, as you can see, I’ve been called to the bar, so what will you have?’
Claire smiled dutifully, and asked for an orange juice.
Ed Bradshaw was a small, energetic man who seemed to be on springs. He was never still. Fit and trim, much like his daughter, Ed played squash three times a week, jogged virtually every day, walked almost everywhere, and made sure everyone knew it.
‘No orange juice, I’m afraid,’ he said, ‘but I do have lemonade. Brought it along in case someone was foolish enough to bring a youngster. It’s either that or soda water.’
‘Lemonade will do very well, thank you,’ Claire told him.
‘Chock full of sugar, of course,’ he couldn’t resist saying as he poured the drink, ‘but I don’t suppose one glass will hurt you.’
‘Hello, Claire,’ said a familiar voice behind her.
She turned to face the speaker and said, ‘Hello, David. I saw your car outside, and I was wondering where you’d got to.’
‘Been hiding out in the kitchen until Steph chased me out,’ he told her. ‘Got tired of listening to a bunch of lawyers talking shop, so I went out there. At least I could understand what they were talking about.’
‘He’s just being boorish, as usual,’ said Stephanie, who had followed him in. ‘Give him a drink, Dad. Perhaps that will loosen him up a bit. And give me one as well.’
David drew Claire to one side as more people drifted in to refresh their drinks. ‘I could have picked you up if you’d told me you were coming here today,’ he said. ‘You didn’t mention it the other night.’
‘As I recall, I didn’t have much chance,’ she said more sharply than she’d intended.
‘Yes, well, I’ve been meaning to call you about that,’ he said. ‘I suppose I was a bit short with you, and I’m sorry. Your policeman friend came round to see me yesterday, and I can see now how he could take a perfectly innocent remark and make something out of it that was never intended.’
‘I wish you’d stop referring to him as “my policeman friend”,’ Claire said irritably. ‘Why? What did he say?’
‘It wasn’t so much what he actually said, but he left me with the impression that he thought I wasn’t being quite straight with him, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see him back again with more questions.’
Claire grimaced sympathetically. ‘As a matter of fact, I had a visit from Chief Inspector Paget and Superintendent Alcott yesterday afternoon. They wanted to look at Barry’s room and the shed where Barry died.’
Although he seemed to be absorbed in what he was doing behind the bar, Ed Bradshaw pricked up his ears. ‘Alcott?’ he asked sharply. ‘Superintendent Alcott? What have you been up to, young lady?’ He smiled to soften his words. ‘Must be something serious to attract the attention of the Superintendent. If you need a solicitor . . .?’
‘Is there a problem, Claire?’ asked Stephanie.
‘Good Lord, no! It’s just . . .’ Claire stopped, not quite knowing what to say.
‘It’s nothing to do with Claire, really,’ David said. ‘It’s just that when Jane Grant died, she left a letter saying that young Barry Grant – you remember him, don’t you, Kevin? – was one of the people involved in the robbery when Dad was killed.’
The murmur of conversation around the bar died.
Stephanie drew in her breath and looked at Kevin. ‘Oh, my God!’ she whispered. ‘Your father, Kevin. After all this time.’ She looked at Claire. ‘Are you saying it was Barry Grant who killed Kevin’s father?’
‘No, that’s not what I’m saying, Steph,’ Claire said. ‘It was—’
‘It’s a bit more complicated than that,’ David broke in. ‘It seems that Barry left some notes behind when he died. He admitted to being one of the people involved in the robberies. He said he drove the van they used, but he wasn’t inside the shop when . . . when it happened.’
Kevin was staring hard at his brother. ‘He claims he was one of the people involved?’ he echoed, his voice rising, ‘and you didn’t bother to tell me?’
David Taylor made a calming motion with his hands. ‘I was going to tell you, Kevin, but I didn’t want to spoil your party.’ Conscious of the people listening, he lowered his voice. ‘I’ll tell you all about it later on. The police have it in hand. They’ve reopened the inves—’
‘I don’t want to wait till later on,’ Kevin cut in angrily. ‘I want to know now!’
‘Kevin . . .’ Stephanie laid a hand on his arm, but he shook it off.
‘He was my father, too,’ David reminded him, ‘and I’m just as anxious to know who killed him as you are. But all I know at the moment is what I’ve told you. The police came round to ask me what I could tell them about Barry, which wasn’t much, and Claire tells me they went to Jane Grant’s house to look at his old room and the shed where he killed himself. That’s it. That’s all we know.’
Everyone turned their attention to Claire.
‘I don’t know any more,’ she said. ‘Really.’
Ed came out from behind the bar. ‘Looking at his room?’ he scoffed. ‘That’s a bit feeble, even for the police, isn’t it? What did they expect to find after all these years?’
Claire shook her head. ‘I’m not sure they expected to find anything,’ she told him, ‘but they’re coming back again on Monday to look for anything in the house that might tell them who Barry’s friends were back then, some of whom may have been members of the gang. Photographs, letters, things like that.’
Bradshaw seemed suddenly to realize that others were listening, and turned to face them. ‘Sorry if we’re holding you up,’ he said with false heartiness. ‘Let’s get those glasses filled, shall we? Give me a hand, Kevin; we have a bunch of thirsty people here.’ He moved back behind the bar. ‘Now then, Roger,’ he said to the first man in line, ‘what’s it going to be?’