‘They must have them all the time in Australia,’ I said. ‘I suppose you get accustomed to what you’re used to.’
‘Will you still have roast turkey for Christmas lunch?’ Faye asked.
‘I have no idea. In fact, I have no idea of anything about this trip except that I have to be at Luton Airport at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.’
‘Luton?’ Faye said. ‘I’d have thought it would’ve been Heathrow.’
‘So did I,’ I said, ‘but, apparently, our flight departs from Luton. I just hope there’s decent legroom. It’s a long way.’
‘When are you back?’ Faye asked.
‘January the third,’ I said. ‘We leave on the second and fly back overnight.’
‘I do hope you have a lovely time,’ Faye said warmly.
‘I feel rather guilty at leaving you,’ I said.
‘Don’t be silly. Q and I will be fine. Kenneth is coming here for lunch on Christmas Day itself, so that will be great fun.’
Quentin didn’t look like he thought it would be any fun at all, but I couldn’t worry about that. I was so excited at the prospect of spending the next eleven days with Henri that I could hardly sit still during dinner.
27
I was outside Luton Airport Parkway railway station in good time at ten minutes to eight on Wednesday morning when my phone rang.
I thought it was going to be Henri but it was Detective Sergeant Jagger.
‘Having spoken to the jockey Bill McKenzie, and having checked his phone records, we have now arrested Leslie Morris, on suspicion of blackmail.’
‘Great,’ I said. ‘Thank you for letting me know.’
‘My superior officer, DCI Owens, now heads the inquiry into the death of Mr David Swinton. He wants to interview you himself concerning the events in Lambourn on the morning that Mr Swinton died.’
‘When?’ I asked with some trepidation.
‘As soon as possible. Can you come to Reading today?’
‘I’m afraid that’s out of the question. I’m currently at the airport and am flying to the Cayman Islands for Christmas.’
‘Hmm.’ He didn’t sound very happy at that news. ‘When are you back?’
‘Not until the third of January,’ I said. That didn’t seem to please him much either. ‘But I have nothing more to add than I have already given you in my statements. Are you charging Morris with Dave Swinton’s murder?’
‘At present he is being interviewed only concerning the blackmail of Mr William McKenzie.’
‘Well, if I were you, I’d also ask him about the blackmail of Dave Swinton and Willy Mitchell.’
‘All in due course, Mr Hinkley. All in due course. One doesn’t need to rush these things.’
I wondered if it gave them more time to hold Morris in custody if they arrested him for each offence in turn.
‘Have you searched Morris’s house?’ I asked.
‘Not yet, but it will be done later today.’
‘See if you can find a small red notebook,’ I said. ‘It contains the records of all his bets on the dubious race at Sandown, and that should be enough to prove Morris knew beforehand that McKenzie wouldn’t win.’
A large black Range Rover drew up in front of the station with Henri waving at me through the back window. I waved back.
‘Look,’ I said to DS Jagger. ‘I’ve got to go now. I’ll call you from the Cayman Islands tomorrow. I can speak to Chief Inspector Owens then, if he wants.’
A smartly dressed chauffeur climbed out of the driver’s seat and loaded my suitcase into the Range Rover’s boot. I meanwhile climbed in the back next to Henri.
There were two other people already in the vehicle.
Sir Richard Reynard was sitting in the front seat and there was another woman in the back with Henri.
‘This is my aunt Mary,’ Henri said.
‘I’m so pleased to meet you,’ I said, shaking her hand.
‘Me too. I’ve heard much about you from my husband.’
The driver climbed back in and drove off, but we didn’t go to the regular passenger terminal. Instead, we went to the other side of the airport to the private aviation centre where a Reynard Shipping liveried twin-engined jet aircraft awaited us. We even drove out in the Range Rover, across the concrete apron, to the base of the aircraft steps.
It suddenly dawned on me that we were going to the Cayman Islands, not on a knees-to-your-chest charter flight, but on a private jet.
No wonder I hadn’t had to book my own ticket.
Henri grinned like a Cheshire cat. ‘I didn’t think you knew.’
‘But why only one suitcase?’ I asked.
‘Uncle Richard and Aunt Mary always have at least two each but lesser mortals like us can have only one. There’s not that much room in the hold and, if the aircraft’s too heavy, we have to make two fuel stops instead of one.’
‘Where?’ I asked.
‘Last time it was Bermuda but I think it depends on the winds.’
‘Who else is coming?’
‘Martin and Theresa were meant to be with us but Martin had to go on ahead, over a week ago. I don’t know if Theresa will be coming.’
We found out soon enough as another vehicle drew up beside the Range Rover and Theresa Reynard got out of one side while Bentley Robertson, the creepy, lecherous lawyer, got out of the other.
‘Oh God!’ Henri said. ‘What’s he doing here?’
Travelling with us, it seemed, as we watched his single bag being loaded into the luggage hold alongside ours. Henri was not at all pleased, and I could tell from Bentley’s unfriendly stare that he was just as unhappy about my presence as I was about his.
‘Please keep him away from me,’ she said.
‘I’ll do my best.’
We went on board the jet.
The interior was laid out with no luxury spared. There were ten passenger seats in total, each of them cream leather armchairs that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a stately home.
‘How the other half live,’ I said quietly to myself.
The ten seats were laid out in three distinct sections with one either side at the front, then a group of four — two each side of a table facing one another — and then four more at the back in coach style.
Henri went straight to the very back and sat in the seat nearest the window while beckoning me to quickly take the one next to her. I knew why. In this way she was protecting herself from having to sit next to or opposite Bentley Robertson.
She needn’t have worried.
Bentley came on board and immediately sat in one of the seats at the table. He spread out papers from his briefcase and concentrated only on them.
Theresa Reynard boarded next and sat down next to Bentley. My suspicious mind went into overdrive, wondering if there was a sexual rapport between the two of them. There was just something about their body language that shouted ‘lovers’ at me.
‘Do you think Martin and Theresa’s marriage is OK?’ I asked Henri.
‘Yeah, I think so,’ she said. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I just wondered why Martin went on ahead and Theresa didn’t go with him.’
‘I expect she was too busy Christmas shopping,’ she said, smiling.
Sir Richard and Lady Mary Reynard came on board and sat in the two seats at the very front. And then we waited. There seemed to be no urgency to close the cabin door and get going.
The reason became obvious after about ten minutes when a chauffeur-driven limousine pulled up at the steps. I watched through the window as Derrick and Gay Smith climbed out of the vehicle and came on board as their copious luggage was shoehorned into the aircraft’s hold. Clearly, no one had informed them of the one-bag limit.
Gay and Derrick greeted Sir Richard and Lady Mary with polite kisses, and then came along the cabin to the two seats in front of Henri and myself.