The Last Party (DC Morgan #1)(111)

She looks around, but Tabby and Felicia must have gone back to Clemmie’s place. Clemmie hasn’t given up hope of one of them falling madly in love with Caleb, and spends a fair proportion of her lake swims contemplating a Northcote–Lloyd wedding. Sadly, Caleb seems to be more interested in Seren, who is a very sweet girl but who has turned up to tonight’s party dressed – there’s no way to put this nicely – like a prostitute. If Clemmie gets a chance, she’ll have a word with the girl. Woman to woman. Vet her for Caleb, at the same time, just in case the Tabby-or-Felicia thing doesn’t come off.

Any one of those girls would be lucky to have her son, Clemmie thinks, as she wanders off in search of a drink she really shouldn’t have but who’s counting? Caleb’s slowly growing back into the sweet, thoughtful boy he used to be, and it’s all thanks to The Shore. Clemmie’s quite evangelical about the changes in Caleb since they left London, and she feels a bolt of fear as she remembers Rhys’s insistence that she pay back the money he borrowed on her behalf. It’s so unfair – they had an agreement. Maybe not a legal one, but a – what’s it called? Clemmie hiccups. A gentleman’s agreement, that’s it.

‘Gentlewoman’s agreement,’ Clemmie says out loud. She snorts, somewhat louder than she’d intended. Rhys has finished his conversation with Jonty and is walking towards the main living area. Seren puts out a hand to speak to him, but he just stares at her – probably wondering what her parents were thinking, letting her out like that – and carries on. He looks a little worse for wear – too much of the old vino, Clemmie thinks, imagining it in Jonty’s voice, which makes her laugh and then hiccup again.

Champagne has made her bold. What if she talks to Rhys now, when he’s softened by alcohol? She’s not asking to be let off the loan – although obviously she wouldn’t say no. Imagine! She’s simply asking to stick to their original agreement. Their gentleman’s agreement.

‘Gentlewoman’s agree—’ Clemmie frowns. Has she made that joke already? She weaves unsteadily through the party. Rhys went out of the front door. This is good: they can talk in private. No one else knows about the loan, and Clemmie’s keen to keep it that way.

As she leaves the Charltons’ lodge, she sees Rhys at the other end of the drive. He bends over and throws up into the flowerbeds, then opens his front door. He’s clearly decided to call it a night. Clemmie scurries after him. He’s left the door open, and she doesn’t knock, just steps inside and calls, ‘Hello? Rhys?’ There’s no sign of him downstairs, so she pops up the stairs, tripping over her own toes in her effort to get upstairs before Rhys starts getting into his pyjamas. She hears a small sound – like someone swallowing – and she calls out again as she rounds the corner and takes the last few steps into the study.

‘It’s only me. Clemmie. I was hoping we could—’

Clemmie wonders momentarily if she’s hallucinating. She has drunk an awful lot. But then Glynis makes that sound again – a sort of strangled gurgle – and the blood rushes to Clemmie’s head. Rhys is lying face-down, a smear of blood on the wooden floor beneath his face. Next to him lies a golden trophy, its base a block of marble.

‘Oh, my God,’ Clemmie says. She drops to her knees beside Rhys, rolling him over and checking frantically for a pulse. A deep gash runs down the middle of his face, blood filling his mouth. He isn’t moving.

‘He made my husband write a will.’ Glynis speaks so quietly Clemmie can hardly hear her. She feels a strong pulse, beating fast and furious, then realises it’s her own and changes position. ‘Jac would never have left the land to Rhys if he’d been well.’

Clemmie doesn’t know what Glynis is talking about, but she has a terrible feeling she knows what it implies. She sits back on her heels for a second and stares at the older woman. ‘Did you do this deliberately?’

‘No!’

‘Well, thank goodness for—’ Clemmie resumes her search for a pulse.

‘I mean, not entirely.’

Clemmie looks at her, appalled by what she’s hearing.

‘I just saw red. I was so angry and . . .’ Glynis covers her face. ‘Oh, my God, what have I done?’

Clemmie’s heart is pounding. She fights to keep her breathing in check, trying to speak calmly. ‘We have to get rid of him.’

‘Rid of – what do you mean? We need to call an ambulance. Do you have a mobile? I don’t have one and there’s no landline here, I don’t know why they don’t—’

‘Glynis!’

She stops talking, her face ashen and her lips pinched with panic.

Clemmie speaks slowly. ‘They’ll arrest you, Glynis. You’ll go to prison.’

‘No, no, no. He’ll be okay, we just need to get him to a hospital.’

‘I’ll help you.’ Clemmie sounds stronger than she feels. ‘Protect you.’

‘I don’t understand.’ Glynis is crying.

‘It’s too late, Glynis.’ Clemmie’s fingers are slippery with blood. She presses them to Rhys’s neck again, even though she knows what she’ll find. ‘A doctor won’t be able to help him.’

Clemmie’s head is spinning. She came to Rhys’s lodge to talk to him about their loan agreement. An agreement no one else knows about. She knows this is awful, that Glynis is in shock – may never recover – but, inside, Clemmie’s heart is leaping. She thinks of the money she won’t have to pay back, and the future she can promise her son.