again. We reached the Embankment. I was just debating what to do short of locking her on my houseboat when I saw a figure hurrying towards me. Thank goodness, it was Scarlett.
‘Mum, I’ve been searching everywhere for you.’ She took her mother’s arm and gently led her forward to their houseboat.
‘She was at the back of Bembridge House. It’s where I used to live.’
‘I know.’
‘She says my mother was pushed down the stairs. Is there any truth in that?’
‘She’s got Alzheimer’s.’
Ruby suddenly piped up. ‘I hid in Teddy’s room. I thought he might do the same to me, only he didn’t come back.’
My heart quickened. Teddy had been my grandfather. Ruby had got the geography of Bembridge House correct but my grandfather had been dead for sixty-seven years.
‘Do you know anyone called Hugo?’ I addressed Scarlett.
‘No.’
‘What did he look like, Ruby?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘I need to get Mum to bed.’
And that was it. It was clear Scarlett didn’t approve of me. Well that was her problem not mine. I had enough on my mind without worrying about an old lady with dementia and a hostile daughter.
I told myself that Ruby’s picture of the past had become confused with the present. Yet, as I made my way to Portsmouth the next morning to keep my appointment with Joe’s secretary, I knew I was kidding myself. If I had needed another reason to destroy Andover this was it. If Andover had killed my mother then I was going to make him suffer for it.
CHAPTER 5
Joy Hardiman wasn’t what I had expected. She was tall as me and I’m six one in my stocking feet. She wore two-inch heels. I wore loafers.
Her handshake was perfunctory but firm. She was older than I had expected, in her late forties, with cropped auburn hair, freckles on a small round face and lively green eyes. I hadn’t expected anyone so elegantly dressed either, in smart tailored chocolate-brown trousers, and an oatmeal polo neck jumper, under a brown leather jacket. But then Joe hadn’t exactly been what you might call your typical private eye, all shabby suits, dandruff and scruffy hair. Instead he had sported a crewcut of greying hair and had always been very neatly turned out in a well tailored suit and tie, or at least he had when he’d visited me in prison. This was twice, before I’d been moved from Brixton to the Isle of Wight.
‘Coffee?’
‘I’ve got one,’ she said.
‘I’ll just fetch myself one then.’
I scanned the small café on the ground floor.
A group of four young people, two girls and two boys, sat hunched over their mobile phones; a scruffy-looking middle-aged man, the frayed ends of his trousers hanging over his scuffed shoes, was reading the Independent ; a large man, the colour of coal, wearing sunglasses that were too small for his bullet-shaped head, was listening to music on his headphones, and two women in colourful saris were chattering nineteen to the dozen, whilst their four children played at their feet. Then there was Joy who didn’t live up to her name as she stared down into her coffee cup.
‘It’s good of you to meet me.’ I placed my coffee on the table and took the seat opposite her.
‘Miles said it was important. That it might have something to do with Joe’s … death.’
‘I’m sorry about Joe,’ I said gently. ‘You must be very upset.’
She took a deep breath. ‘I shall miss him.’ She spoke with a slight lisp but her voice though sad was steady and I recognised a sensible woman when I saw one.
‘Was Joe working on something connected to me?’
‘The police asked me that.’
I felt a tightening in my gut but was confident that my expression hadn’t betrayed my tension.
Prison had taught me how to hide or disguise emotion. ‘A well built man with a Homburg and huge macintosh?’
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘Yesterday morning.’
So the fat man was on to me even before I arrived at Clipton’s funeral. ‘What did you tell him?’
‘The
‘Mum, I’ve been searching everywhere for you.’ She took her mother’s arm and gently led her forward to their houseboat.
‘She was at the back of Bembridge House. It’s where I used to live.’
‘I know.’
‘She says my mother was pushed down the stairs. Is there any truth in that?’
‘She’s got Alzheimer’s.’
Ruby suddenly piped up. ‘I hid in Teddy’s room. I thought he might do the same to me, only he didn’t come back.’
My heart quickened. Teddy had been my grandfather. Ruby had got the geography of Bembridge House correct but my grandfather had been dead for sixty-seven years.
‘Do you know anyone called Hugo?’ I addressed Scarlett.
‘No.’
‘What did he look like, Ruby?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘I need to get Mum to bed.’
And that was it. It was clear Scarlett didn’t approve of me. Well that was her problem not mine. I had enough on my mind without worrying about an old lady with dementia and a hostile daughter.
I told myself that Ruby’s picture of the past had become confused with the present. Yet, as I made my way to Portsmouth the next morning to keep my appointment with Joe’s secretary, I knew I was kidding myself. If I had needed another reason to destroy Andover this was it. If Andover had killed my mother then I was going to make him suffer for it.
CHAPTER 5
Joy Hardiman wasn’t what I had expected. She was tall as me and I’m six one in my stocking feet. She wore two-inch heels. I wore loafers.
Her handshake was perfunctory but firm. She was older than I had expected, in her late forties, with cropped auburn hair, freckles on a small round face and lively green eyes. I hadn’t expected anyone so elegantly dressed either, in smart tailored chocolate-brown trousers, and an oatmeal polo neck jumper, under a brown leather jacket. But then Joe hadn’t exactly been what you might call your typical private eye, all shabby suits, dandruff and scruffy hair. Instead he had sported a crewcut of greying hair and had always been very neatly turned out in a well tailored suit and tie, or at least he had when he’d visited me in prison. This was twice, before I’d been moved from Brixton to the Isle of Wight.
‘Coffee?’
‘I’ve got one,’ she said.
‘I’ll just fetch myself one then.’
I scanned the small café on the ground floor.
A group of four young people, two girls and two boys, sat hunched over their mobile phones; a scruffy-looking middle-aged man, the frayed ends of his trousers hanging over his scuffed shoes, was reading the Independent ; a large man, the colour of coal, wearing sunglasses that were too small for his bullet-shaped head, was listening to music on his headphones, and two women in colourful saris were chattering nineteen to the dozen, whilst their four children played at their feet. Then there was Joy who didn’t live up to her name as she stared down into her coffee cup.
‘It’s good of you to meet me.’ I placed my coffee on the table and took the seat opposite her.
‘Miles said it was important. That it might have something to do with Joe’s … death.’
‘I’m sorry about Joe,’ I said gently. ‘You must be very upset.’
She took a deep breath. ‘I shall miss him.’ She spoke with a slight lisp but her voice though sad was steady and I recognised a sensible woman when I saw one.
‘Was Joe working on something connected to me?’
‘The police asked me that.’
I felt a tightening in my gut but was confident that my expression hadn’t betrayed my tension.
Prison had taught me how to hide or disguise emotion. ‘A well built man with a Homburg and huge macintosh?’
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘Yesterday morning.’
So the fat man was on to me even before I arrived at Clipton’s funeral. ‘What did you tell him?’
‘The
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