Page 58 of Marble Hall Murders

‘I never thought of him as my boss. We were partners.’

‘I was sorry to hear about what happened.’ I waited for what was coming next and Jonathan didn’t disappoint me. ‘I find it quite hard to believe the accusations that were made against him.’

‘They weren’t accusations, Jonathan. Charles killed Alan Conway and tried to kill me. He left me unconscious in his office, which he then set on fire. I’m lucky to be alive.’

‘Nothing like the man I knew! I’m lost for words.’

‘I’m glad he helped with the books, though,’ I said.

We were interrupted – at exactly the right time – by the return of Olivia with a tray and a porcelain cup of coffee. She had also brought a plate with two iced gingerbread figures that must have come from the same tin as the ones served at Marble Hall. These ones were both cut in the shape of Little Biscuits, the dog.

‘So, how is Eliot?’ Jonathan asked after the assistant had left. He already sounded wary, as if the very mention of Eliot’s name was enough to spoil his day.

‘When did you last see him?’ I countered.

‘I don’t see him as often as I would like, although I’m hoping he’ll be at the party next week. Tuesday the twenty-seventh.’

The date obviously meant something, but it was lost on me.

‘It’s the anniversary of my mother’s death. We have a tradition. The whole family gets together – or as many of us as are in the country. We also invite business partners and friends. This anniversary is important because it’s been exactly twenty years. I’ll ask my assistant to send you an invitation.’

‘Thank you.’ I kicked myself for missing the significance.

‘I’ll be glad to catch up with Eliot,’ he went on. ‘As you can imagine, I have quite a full-time job here, keeping things afloat, and he never lifts a finger to help the family. I did of course know about this book he was writing. I feared the worst from the start.’ He paused. ‘Why did you lie to Frederick Turner?’

He had spoken in a way that was quite matter-of-fact, but he could hardly have been more provocative. An invitation one minute, this the next. It was the good-cop-bad-cop routine but played by the same person. I took a sip of my coffee. ‘Was he the one who called you?’ I asked.

‘I’ve spoken to Frederick and to Dr Lambert. It seems that you deceived both of them. You said you were trying to protect Eliot when all you were doing was digging for dirt. As for Eliot, I’ve reached out to him, but he’s not returning my messages. I’m sure it won’t surprise you, Susan, that I take this matter extremely seriously. You come blundering into this family, repeating the most ludicrous – andunsubstantiated – accusations made by a young man with a history of mental illness and substance abuse. If you had any sense of propriety, you would have come straight to me so that we could discuss all this civilly, instead of which you go sneaking into Marble Hall—’

‘Marble Hall is open to the public,’ I reminded him. ‘I had every right to go there.’

‘To visit, yes. But not to go in undercover, like a spy. You tell Fred one thing and Lambert another, but the bottom line is that you seem to think there was something suspicious about my mother’s death. And what’s all this business about a stolen bottle of cough medicine? Are you seriously suggesting that Eliot was involved in some sort of conspiracy to commit murder? He was twelve years old, for heaven’s sake!’

‘It was Dr Lambert who told me about that,’ I said. ‘And as for Eliot, it was because he was twelve years old that your mother was able to terrify him.’

‘I resent that interpretation.’

‘It’s irrelevant, anyway. Eliot is writing a whodunnit set in France in the 1950s. Have you heard of Atticus Pünd? It’s a continuation novel that’s got nothing to do with Marble Hall.’

‘That’s not what I’ve heard.’ Jonathan examined me with something close to distaste. ‘From what I understand, there are characters in this book that are clearly taken from real life …’

‘Eliot has a right to draw inspiration from his childhood.’

‘He can write whatever he wants, but if he – or you – is going to make trouble for the estate, I think I should warn you that I spend a fortune on lawyers and you could both be making a very expensive mistake.’

It was remarkable how he had managed to say all this with a straight face – which is to say, he had shown no emotion at all. He hadn’t raised his voice. He seemed completely relaxed as he sat at the table, perfectly convinced of his superiority over me.

‘Would you really sue your own nephew?’ I asked. ‘You talk about the estate, but isn’t he a part of it? And to be honest, I don’t think it would be a very good look for you to take him to court. You must be aware that he’s had difficulties throughout his life—’

‘Most of them inhaled up his nose, from what I understand.’

‘I would say that’s a rather cold-blooded point of view, Jonathan. I’ve spent some time with Eliot and I’d say most of his problems began at Marble Hall – but you were there, so you probably know that already.’

‘There was nothing wrong with Marble Hall. It was a lovely place, a miniature paradise in some of the most beautiful countryside in England, and most children would have been happy to grow up there.’

He was about to go on, but just then the door opened and Roland Crace came in.

I knew at once it was him, and would have known even if Jonathan hadn’t told me he was joining us. He was physically similar to Eliot but better-looking, more toned, more comfortable in his own skin. He dressed, moved and smiled like someone who took care of themselves and knew that their efforts had paid off. I was struck by his hair, which was darker than his brother’s, thick and well groomed, by the whiteness of his teeth, by his skin, which positively glowed with good health. In his polished shoes and made-to-measure suit, hecould have stepped out of the pages of an expensive fashion magazine. I wondered if I was going to like him. He was, after all, working for Jonathan Crace and if he was anything like his uncle, perhaps I should be making my excuses and heading for the door.

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