The Word Is Murder(36)

‘I’m Grace,’ she said. ‘And this is Ashleigh. Are you going to say hello, Ashleigh?’ The child said nothing. ‘Has Damian offered you coffee?’

‘We’re OK, thank you.’

‘Are you here about Diana?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘He’s totally destroyed by this although you probably won’t have seen it. Damian is very good at hiding his feelings.’

I wondered why she felt the need to defend him.

‘He was devastated when he heard the news,’ she went on. ‘He adored his mum.’

‘He mentioned you were with her last Christmas.’

‘Yes. We did spend some time together although she was more interested in Ashleigh than me.’ She took a carton of juice out of the fridge, poured some into a plastic cup and handed it to the child. ‘I suppose that’s understandable. The first-grandchild thing.’

‘Are you an actor too?’ I asked.

‘Yes. Well, I was. That’s how we met. We were at RADA together. He played Hamlet. It was a fantastic production. They still talk about it years later. Everyone knew he was going to be a star. I was Ophelia.’

‘You’ve been together for a while, then.’

‘No. After RADA, he got picked up by the RSC and went off to Stratford-upon-Avon. I did a whole load of TV … Holby City, Jonathan Creek, Queer as Folk … that sort of thing. We actually met up again a few years ago. It was a first-night party at the National. We got together – and then Ashleigh came along.’

‘It must be difficult for you,’ I said. ‘Having to stay at home.’

‘Not really. It’s my choice.’

I didn’t believe her. There was a nervousness in her eyes. I’d seen it when she held out the telephone for Damian. She’d been afraid he was going to snatch it from her. In fact, she was probably afraid of Damian. I had no doubt that success had made him a very different man from the one she had met at drama school.

Damian had finished the call and came back into the room. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘They’re all going crazy out there. We start shooting next week.’

‘What did he want?’ Grace asked.

‘He wants to know when I’m coming back. Jesus! He’s such an arsehole. I’ve only just arrived.’ He looked at his watch, a great chunk of steel with several dials. ‘It’s five o’clock in the morning in LA and he’s already on his treadmill. I could hear it as he talked.’

‘When will you go back?’ Hawthorne asked.

‘The funeral’s Friday. We’ll go back the day after.’

‘Oh.’ Grace’s face fell. ‘I hoped we could stay longer.’

‘I’m meant to be rehearsing. You know that.’

‘I wanted to spend a bit of time with Mum and Dad.’

‘You’ve already had a week with them, babe.’

That word – ‘babe’ – sounded both patronising and faintly menacing. ‘Is there anything else you need?’ he asked us, his mind clearly elsewhere. ‘I don’t see how I can really help you. I told everything I know to the police and, to be honest with you, their investigation seems to be moving in a completely different direction. Losing Mum is bad enough but having to go over what happened in Deal really sucks.’

Hawthorne grimaced, as if it genuinely upset him to continue with this line of enquiry. It didn’t stop him though. ‘Did you know your mother had planned her funeral?’ he demanded.

‘No. She didn’t tell me.’

‘Do you have any idea why she might have decided to do that?’

‘Not really. She was someone who was very organised. That was part of her character. The funeral, the will, all of that …’

‘You know about the will?’

When Damian was angry, two little pinpricks of red, almost like light bulbs, appeared in his cheeks. ‘I’ve always known about the will,’ he said. ‘But I’m not going to discuss it with you.’

‘I imagine she left everything to you.’

‘As I said, that’s private.’

Hawthorne stood up. ‘I’ll see you at the funeral. I understand you’re going to be performing.’

‘Actually, that’s not what I’d call it. Mum left instructions for me to say a few words. And Grace is going to read a poem.’

‘Sylvia Plath,’ Grace said.

‘I didn’t know she liked Plath. But I had a call from the undertaker, a woman called Irene Laws. Apparently, everything was written down.’

‘You don’t think it’s a bit strange that she made all these arrangements the same day she died?’

The question seemed to annoy him. ‘I think it was a coincidence.’

‘A funny coincidence.’

‘I don’t see anything funny in it at all.’ Damian walked over to the front door and opened it for us. ‘It’s been nice meeting you,’ he said.

He hadn’t even tried to make that sound sincere. We left and went down the single flight of stairs and out into the busy street.

Once we got there, Hawthorne stopped. He looked back, deep in thought. ‘I missed something,’ he said.

‘What?’