Behind Closed Doors(75)

‘Mrs Angel?’ he says again.

‘Yes?’ There’s a trace of anxiousness in my voice.

‘My name is Alastair Strachan. I’m from the British Embassy.’ He turns, and I see a young woman standing behind him. ‘And this is Vivienne Dashmoor. I wonder if we could have a word?’

I jump to my feet. ‘Is it to do with Jack, have you managed to find him?’

‘Yes—or rather, the police in England have.’

Relief floods my face. ‘Thank goodness for that! Where is he? Why wasn’t he answering his phone? Is he on his way here?’

‘Perhaps we could go and sit down?’ the young woman suggests.

‘Of course,’ I say, ushering them through to the sitting room. I sit down on the sofa and they take the armchairs. ‘So where is he?’ I ask. ‘I mean, is he on his way here?’

Mr Strachan clears his throat. ‘I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs Angel, but I’m afraid that Mr Angel has been found dead.’

I stare at him, my eyes wide with shock. Confusion floods my face. ‘I don’t understand,’ I stammer.

He shifts uncomfortably. ‘I’m afraid your husband has been found dead, Mrs Angel.’

I shake my head vigorously. ‘No, he can’t be, he’s coming here, to join me, he said he would. Where is he?’ My voice trembles with emotion. ‘I want to know where he is. Why isn’t he here?’

‘Mrs Angel, I know this is very difficult for you, but we need to ask you some questions,’ the young lady says. ‘Would you like us to fetch someone—your friend, perhaps?’

‘Yes, yes.’ I nod. ‘Can you get Margaret, please?’

Mr Strachan goes to the door. I hear the murmur of voices and Margaret comes in. I see the shock on her face and I begin shaking uncontrollably. ‘They’re saying that Jack’s dead,’ I say. ‘But he can’t be, he can’t be.’

‘It’s all right,’ she murmurs, sitting down next to me and putting her arm around me. ‘It’s all right.’

‘Perhaps we could have some tea brought up,’ the young woman says, getting to her feet. She goes over to the phone and speaks to someone in reception.

‘Did he have a car crash?’ I ask Margaret, sounding bewildered. ‘Is that’s what happened? Did Jack have a car crash on the way to the airport? Is that why he’s not here?’

‘I don’t know,’ she says quietly.

‘He must have,’ I go on, nodding with conviction. ‘He must have been rushing to catch the flight, he must have left the house late and was driving too fast and had a crash. That’s what happened, isn’t it?’

Margaret glances at Mr Strachan. ‘I don’t know, I’m afraid.’

My teeth begin chattering. ‘I’m cold.’

She jumps to her feet, glad of something to do. ‘Would you like a jumper? Is there one in your wardrobe?’

‘Yes, I think so, not a jumper, a cardigan, maybe. The bathrobe, can I have the bathrobe?’

‘Yes, of course.’ She goes into the bathroom, finds the bathrobe, comes back and puts it around my shoulders.

‘Thank you,’ I murmur gratefully.

‘Is that better?’ she asks.

‘Yes. But Jack can’t be dead, it must be a mistake, it has to be.’

She’s saved from saying anything by a knock at the door. The young woman opens it and Mr Ho comes in, followed by a girl pushing a laden tea trolley.

‘If I can be of further assistance, please let me know,’ Mr Ho says quietly. I sense him looking at me as he leaves the room, but I keep my head bowed.

The young woman busies herself with the tea and asks me if I would like sugar.

‘No, thank you.’

She places a cup and saucer in front of me and I pick up the cup, but I’m shaking so much some of the tea slops over the side and onto my hand. Scalded, I clatter the cup back down onto the saucer.

‘Sorry,’ I say. Tears fill my eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s all right,’ says Margaret hurriedly, taking a paper napkin and mopping my hand.

I make an effort to pull myself together. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,’ I say to Mr Strachan.

‘Alastair Strachan.’

‘Mr Strachan, you say that my husband is dead.’ I look at him for confirmation.

‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

‘Then can you please tell me how he died? I mean, was it quick, was anyone else hurt in the accident, where did it happen? I need to know, I need to know how it happened.’

‘It wasn’t a car accident, Mrs Angel.’

‘Not a car accident?’ I falter. ‘Then how did he die?’

Mr Strachan looks uncomfortable. ‘I’m afraid there’s no easy way of saying this, Mrs Angel, but it seems that your husband took his own life.’

And I burst into tears.





PAST


Once I’d realised that I could get away with murder, I spent the rest of the night working out the details, thinking of ways to get Jack exactly where I needed him to be when the time came. Because my plan hinged on him losing the Tomasin case, I took a leaf out of his book and planned for every eventuality. I thought very carefully about what I would do if he won and, in the end, I decided that if he did I would drug him anyway and, while he was unconscious, phone the police. If I showed them the room in the basement, and the room where he kept me, maybe they would believe what I told them. In the event that I didn’t manage to drug him before we left for the airport, I would somehow get the pills into him on the plane and try to get help once we arrived in Thailand. Neither solution was brilliant, but I didn’t have any other options. Unless he lost. And, even then, there was no guarantee that he would bring up a glass of whisky to commiserate.