58
VICTORIA
I wake on Monday morning feeling curiously serene. The only rational explanation is that the storm I’ve been subconsciously dreading for months has finally broken, and while it has inevitably caused damage, it’s nothing I can’t repair in time.
I finally called Grace Chambers, Chairman of the Trustees of The Anchorway Trust, last night. Grace was brusque and to the point.
‘If we don’t receive your letter of resignation within the next twenty-four hours, you’ll be getting your P45. There’s no way I’m letting the charity go down for your mistake.’
I recognised a lost cause when I saw one. I sent the letter.
I’m beginning to think it might even be a blessing in disguise. I’ve been stressed out, juggling so many balls: my job, the sale of Number Twelve, the children, the au pair. It’ll give me back some much-needed me-time. I can join the tennis club or the gym. Start looking after myself more. Everyone knows muscle mass starts to deteriorate in your forties. I could even train for one of those things people are obsessed with at the moment. LikeIt’s a Knockout, only without the rubber suits and the Belgians. Hyrox, that’s it.
Yes, maybe in time I’ll come to see that my online stalker has actually done me a favour.
There’s a gentle knock at the door and Maria pops her head round.
‘Sorry to bother you, Mrs Wyndham, but Detective Lieutenant Demetriou has asked to see you and Mr Wyndham in Mr Pearson’s office.’
This surprises me. I assumed Demetriou would want to talk to us separately. But this isn’tLine of Duty. No doubt the Greek police have their own way of doing things.
‘Thank you, Maria. We’ll be right down.’
The housekeeper nods and scuttles away. I rap on the door of the en suite. ‘Barney! Are you done in there? The police want to talk to us again.’
He emerges from the bathroom a couple of minutes later, one towel round his flabby waist, another slung round his neck and a tiny square of loo roll stuck to a cut on his chin. The whole effect is not a pretty sight and I avert my eyes, trying hard not to show my distaste. Like it or not, Barney is my husband and, as of last night, my sole source of income. I made a vow all those years ago to honour and obey, for richer or poorer. And even if Barney doesn’t earn as much as I’d like, I’d be a bloody sight poorer without him.
‘You know I told Demetriou yesterday that we walked back from the taverna together?’ I say, handing him a checked, short-sleeved shirt from the built-in wardrobe.
‘You said. Thank you.’
Barney has been unusually deferential since Felix’s death and I find I rather like it. Fawning would annoy me, but biddable is good. When I admitted my role in the whole Claremont Crescent debacle and showed him the story in theDaily Tribune, he gave me a rare hug and told me no one believed anything they read in the papers anyway.
Still, I hold his gaze as I ask him, ‘There’s nothing you need to tell me before we talk to Demetriou again, is there, Barney?’
A muscle twitches in his jaw, and I give an involuntary shiver as an unwelcome thought occurs to me. He’s not about to admit that he was behind the anonymous texts, is he? That would be unthinkable. But no, my imagination is running away with me. Of course he isn’t. Still, it’s plain he’s hiding something.
‘What is it, Barney? On second thoughts, tell me when you’re dressed. I can’t take you seriously looking like that.’ I hold out a pair of chinos, neatly pressed by Maria. ‘And for God’s sake, take that piece of loo roll off your chin.’
While he dresses, I run a brush through my hair and apply my favourite Charlotte Tilbury lipstick. I’ll have to switch brands now, I suppose, though I draw the line at No7. I meet Barney’s eye in the mirror.
‘Well?’ I demand.
He shakes his head, pointing at the door. ‘We’d better not keep Demetriou waiting. It’ll keep.’
* * *
The Greek detective stands and gives his trademark small bow as we walk in.
‘Mr and Mrs Wyndham. Please,’ he says. ‘Take a seat.’
The Met could take a leaf out of his book, I think, as I arrange myself on the two-seater sofa, my hands in my lap and my legs crossed demurely at the ankles. What was the saying? Manners maketh the man. I smile politely. ‘How is your investigation going, Inspector?’
‘We are making progress, which is one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you both this morning. Let me take you back to Thursday, if I may. Do you remember what you did that day?’
I glance at Barney, who gives an imperceptible shrug.
‘Barney and Amber caught the sea taxi to Thalassia and I stayed here with the others. We spent the day at Kalypso Bay.’
