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“I called both hospitals and inquired after both Roxanne and Michael.”
Alexia looked at him hopefully.
“No change, I’m afraid.”
Her face fell.
Sir Edward Manning thought: She seems vulnerable this morning. Fragile. If only voters and colleagues could see this side to her. The side that cares more about her children and her husband than the fact that she’s about to end her political career.
Still, it was too late now. Alexia had lost her political career. And Sir Edward Manning was about to get his life back.
Angus Grey, QC’s office reeked of power and privilege the way a racehorse reeks of sweat. From the oak-paneled walls, to the Oxford University Boat Club photographs on the wall, to the signed pictures of Angus with various Tory Party grandees that littered the desk, it was a room that reflected its owner’s elite, establishment background to a T.
Angus Grey himself was a fit, still-attractive man in his early sixties with gunmetal-gray hair, a light tan from a recent week’s break on the Italian Riviera, and a pair of intense blue eyes, which he focused now wholly on Alexia.
“My dear girl. You look tired. How are the ribs?”
“Fine,” Alexia said truthfully. With so much else going on, her brain seemed to have tuned out the pain from her bullet wound.
“Good. Well, you must keep up your strength. Joan, bring Mrs. De Vere some tea, would you? And a slice of Battenburg.”
Alexia sank down into a leather chesterfield sofa and closed her eyes for a moment.
“Sir Edward Manning tells me you’ve resigned.” Angus had known Alexia a long time. He could afford to be direct.
She nodded. “They’ll announce it tomorrow morning. Although if you listen closely, you can probably hear the trade and industry secretary rubbing his hands together with glee as we speak.”
Angus smiled.
“I can’t go on. I’m finished politically. And even if I weren’t, too much is happening at home.”
“I quite understand.”
“First Michael, now this. Andrew Beesley, dead. Just when I thought he couldn’t cause my family any more heartache! Roxanne’s in utter pieces, blaming me. What on earth’s happening, Angus? The world’s gone mad. My world anyway.”
“Best to tackle these things one at a time,” Angus Grey said sensibly. “Let’s talk about Teddy.”
“Yes. Why haven’t they released him yet? No one will tell me anything.”
“I don’t think there’s anything fundamental to worry about. I was with him until eleven last night, and again this morning for two hours of questions. He admitted to offering the boy money to go back to Australia all those years ago, so your stories dovetail completely.”
“That’s because they aren’t stories,” said Alexia. “Is he a suspect?”
“Yes,” the QC said bluntly. “Have you heard from Roxanne?”
Alexia slumped down in her chair, defeated. “No. They won’t let me see her. What am I going to do, Angus? I feel completely lost.”
Angus Grey leaned across the desk. “Try not to panic. Look at this rationally. Roxanne’s in a safe place, getting the help she needs. As for Teddy, this isn’t pleasant, but it’s par for the course. The boy was murdered, okay? And he was buried on your land. By your own admission, you and Teddy wanted rid of him. It’s only natural that the police would focus their suspicions on your family first.”
“It may be natural, Angus. It just happens to be wrong.”
“What about Michael?”
Alexia stiffened. “What about him?”
“He didn’t approve of this boy Andrew either, did he? Is it possible the two of them met to discuss things and got into a fight? They might have been drinking. Things could have got out of hand.”
“Andrew was killed with a shotgun, Angus. At least that’s what the police told Teddy and me. Two bullets to the back of the head. That’s not a ‘fight that got out of hand.’ That’s an execution.”
