Page 36 of Don't Believe A Word

‘No damage done,’ Cristy hastily assured her, ‘and there’s nothing more to discuss. It was just an FYI.’

‘But aren’t we hoping he’ll give us some insight into the aunts’ financials?’ Jackson asked worriedly.

‘I’m sure he’ll still come through, and I’ll leave it to you to chase him. That way he’ll know you’re taking on that aspect of the case.’

She watched both researchers look to Connor, as if seeking further explanation or guidance. Since this wasn’t news to him, he simply shrugged and said, ‘So, who wants to hear about the call I received earlier? The answer is, you all do, so fasten your seatbelts.’

Smiling, Cristy sank into her chair and automatically opened her inbox, not to see if there was anything from David – there obviously wouldn’t be – just because it was a habit she’d formed at the start of the working day.

Seeing Marley’s name on the list she quickly closed the screen. Her ex-husband’s crazy wife was someone she really didn’t need to deal with today – or any other, come to that.

‘Are you listening?’ Connor demanded testily.

‘All yours,’ she assured him.

‘OK, so when we go to Exmoor tomorrow we’re not only meeting with the old housekeeper, Gita Brinkley. We’re also meeting with her son, Robert, who got in touch this morning.’

Immediately interested, Cristy said, ‘Does he remember the aunts? How old is he?’

Dryly, Connor said, ‘Funnily enough, I didn’t ask his age, but he does remember them – he called them “the sisters” – and he thought it might be useful if he sat in on our chat with his mother.’

Cristy was frowning. ‘Did he sound controlling? As if he might try toeditor manage what she tells us?’

‘Actually, he came across as a pretty regular sort of bloke,’Connor replied. ‘He’s got a bit of an accent – I’d say Aussie, maybe Kiwi, can’t tell the difference. Kind of cultured anyway, and definitely friendly. Apparently his mother loves to go out, so he’s taken the liberty of booking us into the Notley Arms for lunch before, or while we talk.’

Cristy lit up. ‘I hope you told him that’s fine by us,’ she responded, already picturing the warm and welcoming village pub where they’d always stopped for a meal when filming on Exmoor during their TV days. ‘God, we haven’t been there in too long,’ she sighed, choosing not to recall the times she’d stayed there with Matthew. Memories of him always complicated the picture, much as the reality of him made her head spin in ways too annoying to analyse.

‘… so I’ve contacted Simon and Caroline,’ Connor was saying, referring to the Notley’s owners, ‘and they’ve said they’ll put the heating on in the garden room just in case we want some privacy to record.’

‘They’re the best,’ she declared. ‘I take it you asked … What was the son’s name again?’

‘Robert.’

‘Robert, if … What’s her name again?’

‘Gita. She’s definitely of Indian origin, as mentioned in Lottie’s writings – and Harry’s already afraid she might be one of Meena’s family …’

Cristy laughed.

‘She’s been in this country for over fifty years and is more English than bacon.’

‘Which is mostly Danish,’ Jacks pointed out.

‘Semantics,’ Connor retorted. ‘Anyway, she told me that her husband, Robert’s father, was from Exmoor, which was how the family came to be living near Minehead at the time the sisters were renting their summer house, as Gita called it.’

‘Hang on, I thought you were speaking to the son,’ Jacks queried.

‘I was, but she kept calling out from the background. She also told me that they, the Brinkleys, lived in London before they moved back to the father’s roots in Somerset, but I didn’t get into where in London, or why they decamped when they did.’

‘Well, the story’s not about them, so why would you?’ Clover pointed out. ‘Did either of them say anything about a child called Sadie who was “living” with the sisters?’

‘They already know it’s what we want to discuss, and Robert says he can probably be of more help to us than his mother, which is why he’s going to join us.’

Cristy’s eyes rounded with intrigue, and grew even wider a second later as Iz waltzed in through the door, looking not unlike Noddy in a bright blue conical hat and crimson fluffy duffle coat. ‘I thought you were in London,’ she commented.

‘Sorry, am I interrupting something?’ Iz asked worriedly and seemed as though she might tiptoe out again.

‘No, not at all,’ Cristy assured her. ‘I just heard that you were …’

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