Page 135 of Wife After Wife
“Look, Terri. You’re an investigative journalist. And you were herfriend, right? She called you Cruella at first, but she really respected you.”
Cruella. The sudden memory was like a dart piercing her heart. Ana had confessed to the nickname after she’d left Rose. They’d had a good laugh about it.
“You might want to check out how unusual that cause of death is, especially for a healthy young woman.” He dropped his voice, looked around him. “And you might want to bear in mind that, according to Cranwell, Harry had some pretty dodgy associates at the time. His major investor, who was also a good friend, was a Russian.”
Terri let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, so now we’re in James Bond Land? Fuck off, Percy. Don’t be ridiculous.”
He went red and looked around him again. He tried to reiterate his theory, but she cut him off and stood up to leave. This was a stupid conversation, and one she didn’t need to have.
Putting aside that it was the crazy ramblings of a bitter man, she just didn’t want to prod the wound. Getting over Ana was still a work in progress. There had been no one since.
But now, in the quiet of her office, Terri allowed a chink to open in her mind. She indulged in a spot of what Harry irritatingly called “blue-sky thinking.” Baskin-Robbins, who always got her scoop, argued with Terri Robbins-More, friend and unrequited lover of Ana.
She mulled over Percy’s description of how Harry had removed him from the scene. What if he was capable of something even darker? Since losing Janette, he’d been moody, liable to lash out at staff in a way he never used to. The atmosphere on the top floor had changed. She’d put the moods down to his recent loss, plus she suspected his leg still pained him.
This new, unpredictable version of Harry Rose was a far cry from the charming man Ana had finally fallen for. But had he been there all along, hidden behind the dazzle?
She pulled her notebook toward her and scribbled:Ana—coroner/inquest. Percy’s conspiracy theory was out there, but on one thing he wasright—she was an investigative journalist, and she owed it to Ana to make sure a crazy theory was all it was.
Harry
City’s uneasy,” said Charles as he sat with Harry on the terrace at Celtic Mists Wellness Retreat. “The Yanks have bollocked around with subprime mortgages and it could all blow up in their faces anytime.”
“Won’t affect you, though?”
“Everyone’s nervous. We’ve started quietly unloading some of our high-risk stuff.”
“Talking business? Nuh-uh,” said Megan, putting a bottle of champagne and three glasses on the rustic wooden table. She was looking pretty in a simple pale blue dress with a beaded cardigan.
It was Katie’s fiftieth birthday celebration, and Eliza had begged Harry to accept the invitation. There weren’t many things he refused her, and while he’d protested at first, giving only “Wales” as an excuse, the arm-twisting had eventually worked, especially when Harry had learned Megan and Charles would be going.
Maria, Milly, and Arabella were here, along with a number of relatives and friends Harry hadn’t seen in years. He’d brought Lisa along to look after Eddie, who was now staggering around like a little drunken person, hanging on to the legs of chairs and people—he didn’t seem to differentiate between the two.
Cassandra wafted about like a cult leader, leaving inspirational quotes in her wake. Harry was finding the sympathetic smiles she kept bestowing on him increasingly irritating. Her partner, Matthew, of brown beard and sinewy limbs, was equally annoying. His whole attitude toward Harry implied,You may be rich and powerful, but have you achieved inner calm?Tosser. He kept referring to Cassandra’s “old life” as if it had been one huge mistake.
“How do you like Matthew?” said Megan mischievously.
“Feeling a certain affront that I should be succeeded by someone so... organic,” said Charles.
“From banker to wanker,” said Harry.
“Careful, Harry. Such negative energy won’t help you achieve inner happiness,” said Megan.
“Nice spot, though,” said Charles, looking out across the green hills, where inwardly happy sheep were grazing quietly.
“Katie wants a word, Harry,” said Megan.
He picked up his glass and went over to where she was standing with Milly and Arabella.
“Eros03!” said Milly, poking him in the ribs.
He grinned. “Hello, Things.”
“Eros?” said Katie.
“Don’t worry, Hazza, your secret’s safe with us,” said Arabella, giggling.
“Let’s go somewhere more private,” said Katie.
