Lies of the Dead Page 5

  Andi felt in her pockets for the shopping list. Damn, she must have left it on the kitchen counter.

  A man and his young daughter went through the entrance with a trolley. ‘Do you remember what Mummy told us to get?’ he asked the girl.

  ‘Yes, Daddy.’ The sigh was probably a copy of her mother’s.

  Andi pushed the trolley along the aisles, trying to remember what she needed. The checkout operator was the super-friendly type, and kept a running commentary on Andi’s purchases. ‘The broccoli’s good value at the moment. Haven’t tried this brand of muesli bars, are they any good?’

  ‘Don’t know. My daughters like them.’

  ‘Yeah, can’t keep up with the amount my son eats. Ah, using the lemons for the fish, are you?’ The checkout operator dropped the mesh container of yellow fruit into the supermarket bag.

  No, she put the lemon in her gin and tonic, but that was her business.

  Andi looked for the maroon car as she drove home. She had to stop this. It must be her imagination. She was busy at work, and stressed about Steven sharing custody of the girls. How stupid to think she’d been followed to the mall. If she ever told anyone, they’d assume she was losing it.

  After her usual Saturday chores, she had a leisurely bath and got ready to go to Erin and Jeff’s house. She put her favourite CD in the car player, and tried hard not to look for maroon cars.

  She was the first to arrive, and after Jeff poured her a glass of wine she went into the kitchen to see if she could help Erin.

  ‘I’ve made a platter of lobster medallions to start. Everything else is under control, so we don’t need to hang around in here.’

  ‘Who else have you invited?’

  ‘Jackie, a friend from work, and her husband Glen. You’ve met them before, haven’t you? And some people we play badminton with, Michelle and Nathan. They live around the corner. That should have been all.’ Erin looked embarrassed. ‘But Jeff invited a guy he knows from the gym. Nothing to do with me, honestly.’

  ‘I take it this guy doesn’t have a partner or girlfriend, or you wouldn’t look so guilty.’

  ‘You know what men are like.’ Erin raised her eyebrows and made a face at Jeff as she went into the living room. ‘He doesn’t know much about the guy. What’s his name?’

  ‘Vincent.’ Jeff grinned at Andi. ‘Don’t know what Erin is so het up about. He’s only just moved to Bristol, and he doesn’t know anyone. I thought introducing him to a few people would be the friendly thing to do.’

  ‘He only told me yesterday,’ said Erin.

  The bell rang and Jeff leapt up. There were voices in the hall, and a minute or so later Jackie and Glen came into the room. Andi had met them a few times at Erin’s and soon caught up with the latest gossip. When Jackie mentioned they’d picked up a heap of brochures from the travel agent, the talk turned to holidays.

  Holidays? She hadn’t given them a thought. She and Steven usually planned them together. This year would be different.

  Michelle and Nathan arrived at the same time as Vincent, and Jeff introduced everyone.

  Andi felt the heat in her cheeks as she spoke to Vincent. It seemed like such a set-up. He would think she had initiated it, rather than being an unwilling participant. He was as tall as Steven, dark hair; long enough to show a natural curl without making her think he needed a haircut, and light blue eyes. Attractive, but not as good looking as Steven. Where had that thought come from? As the conversation moved from holidays to the gym and trying to tone up for summer, she took a couple of surreptitious glances.

  He told them how he’d got lost on the move to his new apartment, and the removal company arriving long before him. Everyone laughed, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. She was making too much of it. He was probably nervous, trying to fit in and make friends, assuming they all knew each other well.

  Andi sat next to Jeff and opposite Vincent for dinner. She had known Erin and Jeff for a long time, and chatted easily with Jeff. Tonight he seemed especially talkative, as if to get rid of any notions she might have that he’d invited Vincent as a set-up.

  After the lobster medallions, Erin brought in dishes of vegetables and a roast beef filet. As Jeff sliced the beef, Vincent leaned across and asked about her work.

  Even with Jeff’s conversation, she was aware of Vincent in a way she hadn’t been conscious of a man for a long time. It wasn’t that she’d given up looking at men since she’d been married, but when she was attracted to someone and wondered what he would be like in bed, it was a casual thought, a blip in her head. This time she’d considered it as if it were a possibility.

  She shocked herself with that one, because trailing along behind it were all her insecurities, and her confusion over Steven. They were separated, but if she slept with someone else now, it would be for revenge.

  ‘I work in market research.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘I find out what information a company requires. It might be for a new product, or to assess what consumers think of an existing product or service. Then I work with the market researchers to design the most appropriate campaign. Once we have the information, I analyse it and report back to the company.’

  ‘You sound as though you enjoy your work.’

  ‘I do. No two days are the same, and the projects vary hugely.’

  Erin had made a light lemon tart for dessert, and they moved back to the living room with coffee and liqueurs. Andi shook her head when Jeff offered her a liqueur, and stuck with the coffee. She’d already drunk two glasses of wine, and didn’t want to leave her car and get a taxi.

  Jeff put the bottle back on the table. ‘So, if you could spend an hour with anyone, living or dead, who would it be and what would you talk about?’

  Andi stared at Jeff, wondering if he’d had a few too many glasses of wine. Erin gave him a poke in the ribs. ‘A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, and a mixture of Jeff and Google is lethal.’

  Jeff grinned at her. ‘You said not to get started on football.’

  ‘I’d want to talk to Alf Ramsey,’ said Glen, and he and Jeff laughed. ‘Manager of the England team that won the World Cup, in case anyone doesn’t know.’

  Vincent kept glancing at her, and Andi was annoyed at her blushes. Surely she’d out-grown blushing years ago.

  ‘So what’s on your bedside table?’ asked Jeff, when they’d exhausted his first question.

  ‘A lamp and a clock.’ Andi smiled, so they’d know she had deliberately misunderstood. ‘I’m sorry to break this up, but it’s late and time for me to go home.’

  Vincent said he should go, and everyone started looking around for bags and coats. They talked in the hallway for a few minutes, before Andi gave Erin and Jeff a hug goodnight. The group wandered down the driveway and called goodbye to each other. Michelle and Nathan strolled along the road towards their house, and Jackie and her husband got into their car.

  ‘Do you need a lift?’ Vincent asked Andi.

  ‘Thanks, but I drove. My car’s parked over there.’ Andi nodded towards her car.

  ‘Would you like to go out for dinner one night?’

  ‘This wasn’t a set-up, so don’t feel you have to ask.’

  ‘You don’t need anyone to set you up on a date.’

  Andi stared at him, looking for some cynicism in his face, or a smirk that would give lie to his words, but his smile was friendly. Was going out with him a good idea? She opened her mouth to say no thanks. Oh, what the hell. ‘That would be lovely.’ He probably wouldn’t ring her anyway.

  She crossed the road, pressing her remote to unlock the car. Just before she drove away, she glanced across the road. He watched her, the smile still there, and raised his hand in goodbye.

  When she got home, she realised he didn’t have her phone number or address, and they hadn’t made any arrangements about where to meet. As she lay in bed in the quiet house, she tossed the thought away. No doubt he’d acted impulsively. He could have his pick of y
ounger women, and would probably change his mind.

  Andi spent Monday morning with clients. When she checked her phone, she saw a message from Erin. Vincent had been in touch. Erin finished with a cheeky, ‘So do I give him your number?’

  Chapter 8

  Tom

  Tom picked up the local newspaper from the coffee table. It was full of the same non-news as usual: local politicians on the hunt for votes, fundraising activities, and the ubiquitous births, deaths and marriages. A few of the first, a whole column devoted to the second and a distinct lack of the latter. His mother had relished looking through the death notices.

  He couldn’t concentrate on anything, and wandered out to the garden. The grass needed a trim, but he decided to work on Kalina. Once on the boat, the lure of the waves and the saltwater tang in the air was too much. He took Kalina out of the harbour, and sailed along the coast towards St Ives. Gulls flew overhead, screeching at each other.

  Memories of his sailing trips with Liam crowded him: fishing, weekend excursions to Falmouth or occasionally sailing to the Scilly Isles, if Liam stayed long enough. They had talked about taking a week or two at the end of summer and sailing around the Channel Islands.

  Why would Liam kill himself?

  He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not even Andi, but he still thought of Liam alive and laughing, full of life. Logically, he knew the evidence pointed to suicide and everyone else accepted it, but he couldn’t believe his vibrant, optimistic and confident younger brother was dead.

  Nothing Liam did should surprise him, but this thing did.

  He thought of his fishing mates and the guys in the pub. If he tried to talk to any of them about this, they’d be embarrassed. They would slap him on the shoulder and buy him a drink, and think he should be over it by now. It being Liam. They were good men, but they wouldn’t want to know. They were happy as long as they talked about fishing, boats, football or cars. Feelings were something their wives had.

  He shivered in the sunshine.

  Back at the house, he picked up the paper and looked again at the personal advertisements. After the death notices there were a few remembrances. Before he could talk himself out of it, he picked up the phone and rang the number in the paper. He wasn’t sure what to put, but the woman who answered the phone made some suggestions, and finally he had a remembrance notice for Liam.

  *

  The weather warmed, but business was still slow. Tom thought about Janine. Without a surname, she was impossible to find. He didn’t even know if Janine was her real name. She must know something about Liam. He banged his fist on the kitchen counter, making a dull thud.

  The postman delivered the mail and Tom wandered into the hall, rubbing the side of his hand. A large envelope lay on the carpet, his name and address printed on a label.

  Tom skimmed the solicitor’s letter, before coming to a screeching halt when he saw Liam’s name.

  He started again and read more carefully. They apologised for any delay, but had only recently become aware that Liam Trethowan was dead. They had a sealed letter, with instructions to send it to Tom in the event of Liam’s death.

  A letter!

  The second envelope was addressed to him in Liam’s flowing handwriting. Goosebumps rose on his arms.

  He ripped open the envelope, and pulled out a single sheet of paper, torn from a notebook.

  Tom, I can’t explain everything in a letter, and it’s probably better you don’t know. If Janine gives you any trouble, see these people. Liam.

  He’d hoped for an answer to the eternal why. This was no answer. Why would Janine give them any trouble? He hadn’t heard from her since the day they met in Liam’s apartment. He didn’t know her full name, where she lived, or how to contact her.

  What kind of trouble?

  Tom looked at the piece of paper for a long time. Eventually he went into the spare room and opened Liam’s suitcase.

  He rummaged through the clothes, but all he found was an old dry-cleaning receipt in a jacket pocket. He pulled out the folders and went through all the papers. One contained some receipted bills, another email correspondence, but nothing that mentioned Janine. He read a few of the emails, but the jargon skipped over his head. He’d never really understood, or been interested in Liam’s work.

  Other than meeting Janine at the apartment and her phone message, he wouldn’t have known she existed. Until now. What did she know about Liam? The questions ran in a circle with no answers.

  He rang the number on the solicitor’s headed paper.

  ‘Can I speak to Greta Powell?’ he asked, checking the signature at the bottom of the letter.

  Greta Powell picked up at the first ring, and Tom wished he’d thought this through before making the call.

  ‘Hello, I’m Tom Trethowan. I’ve just received a letter from you.’

  ‘How can I help?’

  ‘Do you remember the letter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t mean your letter to me. I meant the one you enclosed. Do you remember the man who gave you the letter, and when?’

  ‘I do, but I’m afraid I can’t divulge that information.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘I understand what you said. I don’t understand why.’ Tom paced around his living room and into the kitchen.

  ‘My instructions were specific, and as a lawyer I must act for my client and follow their directions.’

  ‘My brother Liam sent the letter, and he’s dead.’ How dense was this woman? She’d sent the letter because Liam was dead.

  ‘I have to follow the instructions I’m given. I can’t make up my own mind about how I deal with things. If I did, why would anyone leave a will? There are legal requirements.’

  ‘But this isn’t a will.’ His voice increased in pitch and volume. He had to make her understand. Had to make her tell him what she knew.

  ‘Mr Trethowan, I realise this is a difficult time for you, but you have to appreciate my position. To begin with, I have no proof you are Tom Trethowan, and even if you are, it doesn’t change my client’s instructions.’

  ‘But Liam’s dead, and I need to know why. This note is the only thing I’ve got.’

  Greta Powell said nothing.

  Tom carried on, hoping she would change her mind. ‘He mentions a woman called Janine. I met her in Liam’s apartment, but I don’t know anything else about her. I need to get in touch with her.’

  ‘Mr Trethowan, as I said, I can’t help you.’

  Sweat prickled the back of his neck, although the day wasn’t hot. He felt the frustration growing in his chest. She must realise this was important. He thought he would burst with the effort. She had to tell him about Janine, and anything else she knew.

  He closed his lips on the angry words that wanted to spew out. ‘Do you know anything about her?’ His words now sounded clipped and terse. ‘Please tell me how to get in touch with her. I don’t have anything else.’

  Silence. Tom fought the urge to speak again. Please let her understand. She had to tell him something.

  ‘Mr Trethowan, I do understand how you feel.’

  How could she possibly know how he felt? How impotent.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.’

  The anger left him so suddenly, he slumped onto the sofa.

  Her calm voice continued. ‘You’re making the assumption Liam Trethowan is my client. You aren’t asking the right questions.’

  Chapter 9

  Andi

  Andi sat on her bed and contemplated the clothes in her wardrobe. She’d spent most of Monday considering Erin’s message, and whether she should go out with Vincent. When Erin had phoned that night, Andi still hadn’t decided. On impulse she told Erin to give Vincent her number.

  He had rung the following day, and they arranged to go out for dinner on Thursday. Vincent said he would pick her up, but Andi wanted to take her own car so she could leave if she wanted. Had she acted this
prickly before she got married? Of course not. She’d rushed headlong into everything and never considered the consequences.

  An image of Saul came to mind. She hadn’t thought of him in years. When she met him she’d been the same age as the twins were now. The circus tents were pitched in the fields beyond the village. The teenage Andi had thought nothing could be more exciting than travelling with a circus.

  What had happened to that girl?

  Marriage, twins and a mortgage had happened.

  With Kristen and Sophie at Steven’s, her thoughts were on a constant downward spiral. Then there was this date with Vincent. A date at her age! She could hardly call Vincent a boyfriend. What did people call boyfriends when they were in their thirties?

  She pushed the hangers along the rail. It was so easy for men. She didn’t want Vincent to think she was desperate and had spent hours getting ready, but the restaurant he’d chosen was classy, and she didn’t want to look too casual.

  Andi tried on a few things, before she chose a midnight blue cashmere dress and a light jacket. She found a parking space along the road from the restaurant, and tried not to hurry as she walked. If only she didn’t feel so nervous. Vincent stood at the bar, talking to the barman. She liked that he was tall, as she was almost five nine even without heels. He’d had a haircut since the dinner party, but it was still long enough to run her hands through.

  Stop thinking like that.

  He turned and smiled, giving her an appraising glance. At least she hoped it was appraising, and he didn’t regret his decision to meet her.

  When had she got this negative about herself? She thought of the teenage Andi who had hidden away in Saul’s caravan, positive he would be glad she was there. Even that rejection hadn’t dented her confidence. She had wanted to get away from home so much, anything was worth it.