The Dead Wife. Sue Fortin

and sighed. ‘Are you going to look into my daughter’s death or not?’

      ‘I’m not sure what I’ll be able to find out,’ began Steph, but then stopped herself. There was something about Sonia’s undeniable love for her daughter that resonated with Steph. Something that Steph felt was so lacking in her relationship with her own mum. An unbidden wish that Sonia was her mother took Steph by surprise. She brushed it away, feeling disloyal to Wendy, and yet at the same time a sense of deep disappointment settled inside her. What did Sonia and Elizabeth have as a mother and daughter that she and Wendy lacked? Or was it a case of not what they lacked but who lacked what? Steph couldn’t help feeling intrigued by Elizabeth – what was it about this woman that engendered this fierce belief and devotion from her mother? Steph couldn’t imagine igniting such a reaction in Wendy and, if she was honest, it made her a tiny bit jealous.

      ‘You’ll have access to the resort like no one else has had—you’ll be able to ask questions,’ Sonia continued, drawing Steph back to the conversation. ‘Please help me. Just think, if you force a new police investigation, then that’s going to help your career a lot. You could end up working for a national paper. You could make a name for yourself.’

      It was a tempting proposition, Steph had to admit. She knew her position at Vacation Staycation wasn’t somewhere she wanted to be for the rest of her working days. She did have ambitions and Sonia was right, this could be an excellent opportunity to springboard her career. However, it would mean going back to where she’d grown up – not a place high on her wish list. It brought back too many sad memories, especially those of her father. Whenever she thought of Kendalton, the very next thought was of her father’s funeral. Coupled with the emotional desert of a relationship she had with her mother, Kendalton was not her happy place.

      Steph looked at the woman across the table. ‘You and Elizabeth were obviously very close.’

      Sonia looked slightly thrown by the statement but replied anyway. ‘Yes. We were. We stayed in touch with each other as she grew up and moved away. We might not have seen each other as much as we would have liked, but we spoke often.’ Sonia closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them, looking directly at Steph. ‘I miss her dreadfully. I can’t rest until I know she can rest in peace.’

      Steph swallowed and blinked back her own tears. She couldn’t help not only envy the relationship Sonia had had with her daughter but also admire the love. She reached out and squeezed Sonia’s hand. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said softly and then added, ‘But I’m not making any promises. What I find is what I find, if I find anything at all.’

       Chapter Eight

       Conmere, Wednesday, 8 May, 2.15 p.m.

      Harry dumped his bag onto his bed and, going through to the en-suite, splashed cold water over his face.

      ‘Shit.’ It was the only word he could think of to describe the past tortuous hour. One where he could barely look his mother in the eye yet could hardly stop looking at her. How could she be so ill and still look so elegant and well? Why wouldn’t she confide in him? He wasn’t sure he was going to be able to carry on as if he didn’t know the cancer had returned. He wasn’t exactly famed for Oscar-winning performances when it came to hiding his feelings.

      Drying his face with the soft white towel, he went back through to the bedroom. It had been a hard decision to stay here in the lodge where he’d lived with Elizabeth or to stay at the main house, but in the end his desire to hide away from the painful memories was lost to his greater desire to face those ghosts. He hated the thought of anything having that sort of power or control over him. His mother had arranged for the lodge to be cleaned from top to bottom and, in her words, given a small makeover. Looking around the place, he saw that had meant new curtains, a new bedspread and some fresh cushions in the living room. Subtle changes, but they were enough to signify a new start. He appreciated his mother’s thoughtfulness on this occasion. He didn’t want to dwell on the past or the dark thoughts that inevitably followed.

      He sat on the edge of the bed – his side of the bed – and stretched his hand out across the duck-egg blue duvet cover as he gave a small sigh. It wasn’t that he’d never slept in this bed alone and, indeed, had done so for several months after Elizabeth’s death, but being back here was stirring up more feelings than he had anticipated. A fleeting image of Elizabeth lying on the bed, propped up on one elbow, smiling at him while her fingers traced a path through the hairs on his chest came to mind. They hadn’t been married very long and those early days were such happy ones. He closed his eyes as her smiling face was eclipsed by one of anger and rage. One of their arguments where she had shouted and screamed at him and, in frustration, thrown her hairbrush at him. It had caught him perfectly above the eye. He touched his right eyebrow as he remembered that day and how he’d come up with a fake story of missing an intended catch after asking Elizabeth to chuck the hairbrush to him. God, she was fierce when she was angry.

      Absently, Harry pulled open the drawer of the bedside table and paused as he saw a photo frame face down in the drawer. He reached in and picked it up, turning it over. It was of his and Elizabeth’s wedding day. They had been married in the grounds of the estate and this photo had been taken in the Rose Garden. Elizabeth’s blonde hair had been fixed in a neat French pleat and her elegance was equal to that of a royal princess. He had loved her so much then.

      Harry replaced the photo frame and pushed the drawer closed. He could feel his mood dipping and the last thing he wanted was to become morose. He turned his attention to his holdall and spent the next few minutes unpacking his clothes. He didn’t have too much with him – he had only packed for a week – and living in rural France for the past eighteen months, where he only had to worry about himself, meant wearing a T-shirt twice wasn’t out of the ordinary. He doubted his mother would approve but what she didn’t know didn’t hurt her.

      He had just finished putting his toiletries in the en suite when the sound of voices from somewhere outside filtered through the open window. He wandered over to take a look. About fifty metres or so from the boundary to Owen’s lodge, Dominic was standing by the entrance to the driveway, glaring at another man, who had his back to Harry. He could hear Dominic’s raised voice, although he couldn’t make out the words, but from the look on his face he was clearly angry about something. Harry didn’t need to see the face of the other man – he knew instinctively it was his younger brother, Owen.

      What the hell was going on with those two?

      Owen’s shoulders were slumped and his head bowed slightly as Dominic berated him. Then Dominic gave Owen a clip round the ear with the tips of his fingers and pushed him away along the track which led back to the resort.

      It wasn’t quite how Harry expected to see his younger brother, but there was clearly some issue between first and third born. Dominic was a bit of a hothead and Owen very much the baby of the family. The scene reminded Harry of ones he had lived through himself as a youngster where he had been at the receiving end of his father’s wrath.

      Whatever was going on between his brothers, he’d find out later. He felt a small pang of pity for Owen. He was never going to grow up if he was always treated as if he were ten years old. Harry wondered if Owen really was still sober these days. It wasn’t something he could just drop into conversation when he called his mother. Pru was a strong woman, but having an alcoholic son was not something she liked to dwell on.

      Harry turned away from the window. They were all due to have dinner together tonight – the whole Sinclair family, including partners and children. Feeling restless and unable to settle, Harry decided to go for a walk around the grounds. He might even bump into Owen, who had appeared to be heading towards the stables. Owen loved the horses and was responsible for looking after the animals they used at the resort. Horse riding in small groups, hacking around the lake and surrounding countryside, was where his brother was at his happiest.

      Harry made his way towards the house, which was at the centre of the resort, and, following the path, he