Bones Under The Beach Hut

'How will I recognize you?'

'I'm blond and plump, my friend Carole is thin and grey-haired with glasses. You'll recognize us. We'll rather stand out in a City wine bar. We're in our fifties.'

To their surprise, Carole and Jude did not stand out in Sec as much as they had expected to. The time of year and its relative proximity to St Paul's, the Bank of England and other London sights, meant that the wine bar had more than its fair share of tourists that June evening. And though there were a few young, lean besuited slickers quaffing champagne, there were at least as many men and women of ample American proportions. And in fact Carole and Jude identified Nuala Cullan, rather than the other way round.

It wasn't difficult. They remembered Philly Rose's description and when, shortly after seven, a tall slender woman in a pinstriped trouser suit and pointy black shoes entered, they knew it had to be her. She was beautifully groomed, and the long black hair contrasted with the piercing blue of her eyes. But for the sharpness of her features and a slight discontent in her expression, Nuala Cullan would have been beautiful.

Jude crossed the bar and introduced herself, asking what Nuala would like to drink. She and Carole, straying from their usual Chilean Chardonnay, were on the Sauvignon Blanc.

'I'll just have a mineral water, thank you.' So much for the hard-drinking image that Philly had put across. 'I'm on antibiotics,' continued Nuala, explaining her abstinence.

'This is my friend Carole.'

'Oh?' Nuala Cullan stretched out a long cool hand and shook Carole's.

'Grab a seat and I'll get your drink.'

Nuala subsided elegantly into a chair and gave the woman opposite her a hard, appraising look. 'So you know Mark too, do you?'

Carole was flustered. She wished she and Jude had discussed a cover story to answer such a question, but her neighbour was never very keen on preparation for this kind of encounter. She always felt confident the right words would come when required. Well, they might, to Jude. Carole couldn't think of anything very convincing to say.

'I haven't actually met him, but I've heard a lot about him from Philly.'

'Ah, so you've only had her version. In which he no doubt appears like a cross between Mother Theresa and the Angel Gabriel.'

'Well—'

'Do you know where he is at this minute? Do you have an address for him?'

'Well

Carole's discomfiture was fortunately then reprieved by a bleep from Nuala Cullan's handbag. She pulled out an iPhone and deftly answered a text message. By the time she had finished Jude was back from the bar with Nuala's mineral water.

'Right, what is all this?' Nuala asked peremptorily.

'Have the police been in touch with you?' asked Jude.

'What the hell should the police be in touch with me about?'

'You heard about the discovery of human remains on Smalting Beach?'

'There was something in the news, yes, and I remember thinking, "Well, there you go — Mark's moved out of the wicked City and into his seaside love nest and suddenly it's down there that all the crimes are happening.'"

'But the police haven't been in touch with you about it?'

'No.' She looked faintly nauseated by the idea. 'Why on earth should they be?'

'The beach hut under which the remains were found was rented by Mark and Philly.'

'Was it?' This seemed to amuse her. 'Sounds like their life was even further away from the perfect country idyll.'

'And,' Jude went on, 'we were wondering whether the police might have been in touch with you as they tried to track down Mark.'

'Well, I suppose they might have been.' She shrugged. 'But they haven't. So it seems like everyone's looking for Mark, doesn't it?' A sudden thought shocked her. 'You're not suggesting the remains are of Mark, are you?'

'No, no, there's no suggestion of that,' replied Carole. 'When did you last see him, Nuala?'

'I don't know. Some time in May, I suppose.'

'After he'd walked out on Philly?'

'What?' Nuala's fine brow wrinkled in puzzlement. 'He's walked out on her?'

'Didn't you know?'

'Of course I didn't.' But as she took in the idea she started to chuckle. 'So domestic bliss in Smalting didn't work out, did it?'

Jude looked at the cool, self-possessed executive in front of her and wondered for a moment whether this could also be the vengeful hysteric, the emotional blackmailer whom Philly had described. And her knowledge of human nature told her that it all too easily could.

'Mark walked out on Philly at the beginning of May,' said Carole, 'and she hasn't seen him since.'

'Oh, well, I have the advantage of Little Miss Perfect then, don't I?'

'Philly thought he might have moved back in with you.'

'Did she?' This seemed to Nuala another funny idea. She laughed openly as she said, 'I'm not sure that I could cope with that.'

'I believe,' Carole went on, 'that Mark had made some kind of financial arrangement with you . . . that he paid you a monthly amount to let him get on with his life?'

'Well, don't make it sound so shabby. I am his wife, you know, still his wife. And that does give me some rights. Bloody Mark can't just abandon me and start spending all his money on some other woman.'

'I understand he hasn't got much money now.'

'That's not my problem, is it? Look, if my husband wants to act like he's divorced, then I ought to get something from him, something like I would get if we were actually divorced.'

'Do you want a divorce?'

Nuala Cullan smiled slyly. 'I might think about it. But I am a Catholic, you know, and however lax I have been in observing Catholic rules of behaviour, my Church still does not approve of divorce. So I'm in no hurry to make Mark's life any easier for him.'

Carole and Jude both now realized exactly how manipulative the woman in front of them could be. She would never let Mark Dennis go, never let him find real freedom. Nuala Cullan was trouble. They could understand how readily Philly Rose had entertained the idea that Mark might have murdered her. And from the way he spoke on the phone, Cyrus Maxton sounded as if he wouldn't have minded topping her as well.

'Have you had any money from Mark recently?'

'No.' She pouted with annoyance. 'That's why I want to find out where the bastard is. Last payment I had from him was in May. When I do track him down, he's going to be paying interest on those arrears.'

'So when exactly did you last see him?' asked Carole.

'May. I said.'

'When in May?'

Her forehead wrinkled as she tried to remember. The tracery of lines on her face showed through the expert make-up. She wasn't as young as she had first appeared. Well over forty. Getting to an age when she might not be able to rely on her looks quite as much as she used to, to get what she wanted. Getting to an age when she might well be wanting to safeguard her future.

'I think it was the eighth,' Nuala replied eventually. 'Mark said he wanted to meet up and talk. He took me to the Oxo Tower, one of our regular haunts ... in happier times.'

'And he didn't mention that he'd left Philly?'

'I've told you, this evening is the first I've heard of it. He just told me that he couldn't afford to continue paying anything to me.'

'He told you this at the Oxo Tower?'

'I'd booked the venue.' She smiled at the memory of another small triumph over her husband. 'And I told him, no way, Jose. I told him he could take the idea of stopping payments to me and put it where the sun don't shine.'

'But surely,' said Carole, 'if he chose to stop paying you, there was nothing you could have done about it.'

'I could have sued him.'

'You mean it was more than a verbal agreement?'

'You bet it was. I'm not stupid. I got a schedule of payments drawn up by my lawyer.'

'And Mark signed it?'

'Of course he did. All neatly tied up with pink ribbon it was. So when I said he owed me arrears, I meant just that. He is legally in default of those payments.'