Page 105 of Marble Hall Murders

‘Are you talking about Charles Clover?’

‘That was his name. Yes.’ He paused. ‘I should tell you that even before we left Marble Hall, Eliot and I had fallen out. He was such a wilful child, always looking for someone to blame. And it only got worse after Miriam died. I don’t know why. I thought that once we were free, we would come together as a family, but the complete opposite happened. Anyway, Charles Clover stepped in and to be fair to him, he was very kind to Eliot. The two of them spent a lot of time together and if Eliot had any secrets – imagined or otherwise – he wanted to share with anyone, I suppose it could well have been with him. But before you ask, you won’t be able to meet him. At least, it won’t be easy. He’s in prison.’

That was the moment when the fog cleared and Edward Crace finally realised who I was. ‘Wait a minute,’ he said. ‘Susan Ryeland! You were responsible …!’

‘Charles Clover tried to kill me—’ I began.

‘You burned down the office! You destroyed his life.’

‘It wasn’t quite like that.’

‘I can’t believe you’ve come here like this. Lying to me and pretending you were trying to help Eliot. If it wasn’t for you, he would never have started this bloody book.’

‘I didn’t ask him to write it. I tried to protect him.’

‘You seem to bring death and misery wherever you go. Please will you leave?’

There was no point arguing. I felt hollowed out by the way the conversation had turned and close to tears myself. I got up. ‘I just need the notes,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘Eliot’s pages. The work we were doing together. Somebody killed him, Edward. They may have the answer.’

He might have let me look for them. Or he might have grabbed me and dragged me out into the street. I never found out because just then, I heard someone unlock the front door and, a moment later, Roland Crace came into the room. He didn’t notice me to begin with. I had my back to him and his eyes were fixed on his father.

‘Dad! What are you doing here?’

‘Roland …’

‘I need to see Gillian. Where is she?’

Edward Crace was staring at me, exasperated that I was still there, and that was when Roland saw me. ‘Susan!’

‘I came to see Gillian too,’ I explained hastily.

‘Why?’

‘I was worried about her.’

‘She wants Eliot’s notes.’ Edward had been in tears just moments ago. Now he was utterly cold. ‘That’s why she came here.’

Roland frowned. ‘Is that true?’

‘I want to know who killed Eliot.’

‘Eliot was knocked down by a hit-and-run driver. The police are looking for them now.’ He came to a decision. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

‘I was just going anyway.’ The whole thing had been a disaster. They weren’t going to give me anything Eliot had written.

Roland came with me to the door. As he opened it, he was apologetic. ‘Susan … I’m sorry about what’s happened.It’s all been horrible. I really wish I didn’t have to say this, but I’ve spoken to my uncle Jon and he’d much prefer it if you stayed away from now on. The Atticus Pünd book isn’t going to happen. You ought to know that. I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time.’

I took a breath. ‘It was you, wasn’t it,’ I said. ‘You’re the father of Gillian’s child.’

He stared at me and the colour drained out of his face. That’s not hyperbole, a line written for effect. It really did.

How did I know? Well, his arrival at the house should have told me: the desperation in his voice, the fact that he had a key to the front door. But there had been other clues. Roland had been the hero of Marble Hall and the best man at his brother’s wedding, but then something had happened and the two of them hadn’t just fallen out, they were no longer speaking. Even so, when I’d first met him, Roland had known all about Eliot’s state of mind – he’d mentioned that Gillian had texted him. That should have told me they were close. More than that, she had been afraid, terrified even, to tell Elaine and me the name of her lover. She knew how we’d react. And finally, there was her behaviour now, pretending that Eliot was the true father. She was confident that the baby would have a family resemblance.

Roland didn’t deny it. He must have known it was too late. ‘Just go …’ he said, and for all his good looks there was an extraordinary ugliness in his face.

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