‘So why did she appear at the house on Saturday?’
‘Because she’d changed her mind. Whatever she’d said on the Friday evening, on the Saturday she no longer wanted to sell the house. She could have told me on the phone but, being Jonquil, no, of course she had to do it in person. She knew I’d be there, so she decided to give me the latest in a long, long line of shocks.’ He sounded infinitely weary. ‘The fact that she found you there when she arrived was . . . I don’t know, whatever the opposite of “serendipity” is. Shit, probably.’
‘And what did she say after I’d left?’
‘Basically that she’d never agree to our selling the house. And a whole lot of other stuff.’
‘Like?’
‘Old stuff, infinitely recycled recriminations. Believe me, Jude, you really don’t want to know.’
She really did want to know, but there’d be time enough in the future to ask those questions. Jude rose from her draped armchair, went across the room and kissed Piers gently on the forehead.
‘Now,’ she said, ‘how about a drink?’
‘Do you know what I’m going to do?’ said Piers Targett drowsily, after their emotional rapprochement had been followed by a physical rapprochement. He turned over in the bed and looked down at Jude. Her blonde hair was spread in beautiful disarray over the pillow.
‘Tell me,’ she murmured.
‘I’m going to fix for you to have a real tennis lesson with George Hazlitt.’
‘Really? Do you think you should?’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, I wonder if I put a jinx on that tennis court. Remember what happened last time I went there.’
‘Hm.’ He was silent for a moment, reminded of his old friend’s death. ‘Incidentally, Reggie’s funeral is on Thursday.’
‘Yes, I heard from Oenone.’
‘Jude . . .’
‘Hm?’
‘I’d very much like it if you would come with me to the funeral. I think it’s going to be an emotional strain for me. I’d feel better if you were there.’
‘Well, if that’s what you want I’d be very glad to come.’ But even in the peacefulness of love the small idea formed in her mind that she would see a lot of the Lockleigh House tennis court members at the funeral and might be able to advance her investigation a little.
‘Anyway, this lesson of yours with George. I’ll set it up and let you know when.’
‘All right,’ said Jude softly. ‘Though I don’t think I’ll ever understand that business of chases . . .’
‘It’s very simple,’ Piers protested. ‘The chase lines are marked in yards parallel with the back wall both ends of the court. If the ball lands nearer the back wall than the chase, you say it’s better than whatever number the chase is. If it lands further away from the back wall you say it’s worse than the . . .’
Jude was already asleep.
TWENTY
As Donna Grodsky had suggested, Carole didn’t have any difficulty in finding information about Iain Holland online. He had his own website and there were lots of reports about him from local newspapers. He could also be contacted or followed through LinkedIn, Facebook and Twitter, though these were not avenues she was likely to go down. The day that someone as secretive and paranoid as Carole Seddon might expose secrets of her life to all and sundry over the Internet was the day when hell had not only frozen over but was also hosting the Winter Olympics.
It was clear from all the references that Iain Holland was a Conservative local councillor for one of the Brighton wards. It was also clear that he was an expert at self-promotion. From the amount of events he managed to attend and be photographed at, he must have handed over the day-to-day running of his stationery empire to managers. Fêtes, prize-givings, openings of new buildings, protests, demonstrations, hundredth-birthday cake-cuttings in old people’s home, Iain Holland’s smiling face was seen at all of them.
And his CV was everywhere. The story of how he had been educated through the state system, with the help of long after-school hours spent in his local library: how he’d rejected the possibility of university because he ‘wanted to get straight into the business of making a living’; how he’d borrowed from his parents to buy a stationery shop that was about to go belly-up; how by dint of sheer hard work and entrepreneurial flair he’d built up that business and gradually added others until he was in charge of one of the country’s most recognizable stationery brands.
His devotion as a family man was also stressed. Any photo opportunity that could include his wife and two children was seized upon. It was because of Iain Holland’s respect for ‘old-fashioned family values’ that he had naturally gravitated towards the Conservative Party. He had ‘been lucky’ in his own business career, and it was now his ambition to ‘iron out the inequalities in our society and improve the lot of those to whom life had been less generous.’
There was no doubt that the personality of Iain Holland combined the best qualities of Jesus Christ, Mother Theresa and Margaret Thatcher.
Of his first marriage there was no mention. Susan and Marina had been completely airbrushed out of Iain Holland’s history.
Carole Seddon was thoughtful. There was certainly not going to be a problem contacting her quarry. His website seemed to be crying out for everyone in the world to get in touch with his saintly figure. They had only to do that for their problems to be at an end . . . assuming, that is, that their problems concerned his particular ward in Brighton. But the implication in all his self-aggrandizing self-advertisement was that local politics for Iain Holland would only be a stepping stone to greater things. He was on the right committees within the Conservative national organization. He was a coming man. It appeared to be only a matter of time before he would be standing for some constituency as a prospective MP.
This information – or rather implied information – prompted two thoughts in Carole. One, that Iain Holland had a lot to lose if anything were to come out that might tarnish his squeaky-clean image. And two, that he would be aware of that and would guard himself against indiscretions, being careful about whom he had contact with. If she was going to take the obvious next step in her investigation, she was going to have to be very circumspect.
Her approach to Iain Holland needed a lot of thought. Gulliver was delighted to get the bonus of another walk on Fethering while his mistress worked through her problem.
Jude felt a little nervous when Piers dropped her from the E-Type at Lockleigh House tennis court on the Wednesday morning. Not about their relationship. They’d done a lot of talking on the Tuesday when they’d had a Fethering day, walking on the beach, having lunch at the Crown and Anchor, dinner at the local Chinese. It felt more like being a couple and, if anything, their rift over the weekend and subsequent making up had strengthened the feelings they shared.
Piers had even talked about how he made his money, which was chiefly by investing in small companies in Britain and the rest of Europe (hence his trip to Paris). His early career had been in PR. He’d built up his own agency and sold it, clearly for a great deal of money, some five years previously.
He talked about Jonquil’s financial affairs too. She had inherited a substantial amount when her parents died, which was why the half-share she’d get from the sale of the Goffham house wasn’t of great importance to her.