The girl was only a little late. She wore a blue suit over a patterned blue-and-red shirt. Though better tailored than building society uniforms used to be, the ensemble still expressed little personality. Short dark hair with a reddish colouring and heavy make-up, which should have made her stand out, somehow seemed to have the opposite effect. They provided a mask, a perverse kind of anonymity.
Wendy Fullerton recognized Jude from the description given over the phone. All she wanted to drink was still mineral water. She sat impassively by while Jude fetched a bottle and glass from the counter. There was no expression behind the mascara or the perfectly outlined metallic claret lips. Wendy’s hands, nails varnished in the same colour as the lips, lay still on her lap. She was giving nothing away; any effort would have to be made by Jude.
After another sip of cappuccino, Jude embarked on her mission. ‘As I said, I was working up at Hopwicke House the night Nigel Ackford died.’
‘Doing what?’ asked Wendy Fullerton.
‘Waitressing.’
The girl nodded, as if this were significant information.
Quickly, and without sounding judgmental, Jude told her how she had found Nigel drunk in the corridor in the small hours.
‘He always drank a lot when he was nervous,’ Wendy volunteered, almost as if this were a justification. ‘And he was very worried about that Pillars of Sussex meeting.’
‘You imply you knew he was going to it.’
‘Yes.’
‘I had heard your relationship ended four months ago.’
‘We stopped living together then. It just didn’t work, so he went back to his place.’
‘How long did you live together?’
Jude’s questions were so gentle that it didn’t feel like an interrogation. The girl answered fluently, ‘Only about nine weeks.’
‘But you’d known each other for some time?’
‘Oh yes, we’d been knocking around together for four years – longer – on and off.’
‘And then he moved in?’
‘Mm. But like I say, it didn’t work. Nigel was too intense, too moody for me.’
‘So was that the complete end, when he moved out?’
‘No. We stayed in touch. Lots of phone calls, texting each other. Met for the odd meal, but it wasn’t really working.’
‘Because of his moods?’
The doll-like head nodded. ‘Yes. And I was sort of thinking, time’s moving on. I’m twenty-eight next birthday, and Nigel was, like, drifting. Still living in a rented flat. He wasn’t looking ahead. He didn’t really have any ambition.’
Jude could see it all. Perhaps too young to be worrying about her biological clock, Wendy was worried about her aspirational clock. No doubt she had contemporaries who were getting married, contemporaries with impressive boyfriends carving out careers for themselves. Nigel Ackford wasn’t providing her with that kind of prospect. Her work probably didn’t help either. Building societies are magnets for young couples, full of plans to set up home together, to get their stake in the booming property market, to mortgage their lives away. Wendy would be dealing with people like that every day. And Nigel was still living in a rented flat. If the relationship wasn’t going to go the distance to the destination of fitted kitchens, integral garages and babies, then Wendy had thrown away four years of her life, and had better move on quickly to find an alternative prospective partner.
‘But Nigel was doing well, wasn’t he?’ Jude suggested.
Before the girl could answer, she was interrupted by the trill of a mobile phone. She took it out of her pocket, checked the number calling and pressed a button.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll take it later. Just seeing if it was for me.’
‘Sorry?’
‘My phone got stolen. While I was waiting for a replacement, Nigel lent me his. Well, he gave it to me, said he was going to get another . . . so I have to check whether a call’s for me rather than him.’ This thought was too forceful a reminder of her boyfriend’s absence, so she drove it away. ‘You were saying, about Nigel doing well?’
‘Yes. Well, I would have thought . . . qualified solicitor, good job at Renton and Chew. I actually heard him start to tell the Pillars of Sussex his life history that night. Sounded as if he was doing fine.’
A grimace spoiled the perfect outline of Wendy Ful-lerton’s mouth. ‘In some moods he was. He must’ve already had a lot to drink to be so positive that night. Other times, he – well, he had no self-confidence at all.’
‘He got depressed?’
The girl nodded, a little flicking movement that seemed both to acknowledge and to dismiss the idea at the same time.
‘Do you think he got depressed enough to kill himself?’
‘He talked about it,’ she admitted. ‘I never took that literally. I knew he got low, but I never thought he’d actually do it.’ A tremor ran through Wendy Fullerton’s body, and Jude realized the immense effort that was required to maintain her impassivity.
‘Shows how wrong I was,’ the girl said eventually.
‘Did you know any of the people involved in the Pillars of Sussex?’ A negative flick of the head. ‘He didn’t talk to you about them?’
‘He may have mentioned the odd name. I didn’t really take it in.’
‘But he was excited about being invited to the dinner?’
‘Oh yes. He saw it as something very positive, like, perhaps his luck was changing. He was very young to be invited to something like that, even just as a guest.’
‘Did you know his host for that evening? Bob Hartson?’
‘Used to know him. We lived quite close, before he started making a lot of money and moved upmarket. I sometimes used to baby-sit for them, make a bit of pocket money while I was still at school.’
‘Would that be for Kerry? Or did they have other children?’
‘No, Kerry’s the only one. She’s not his daughter. His wife’s. How come you know her?’
‘She works up at Hopwicke Country House Hotel as well.’
‘Does she?’ The idea seemed to surprise Wendy. ‘I can’t imagine her working anywhere.’
‘Why not? Most people have to.’
‘Yes, but I thought, with Daddy’s money . . .’ She couldn’t disguise the envy in her voice. ‘I heard he’d set her up in a flat in Brighton – and she can’t be much more than sixteen. Not even that, actually. I remember, it’s her birthday quite soon. She’s still only fifteen – and got her own flat. No mortgage, nothing – lucky little bugger. Surprised to hear she’s working. I suppose I’d always seen Kerry as a kind of trust-fund kid.’
‘She’s doing work experience up at Hopwicke House, with a view to learning hotel management.’
A short, cynical chuckle. ‘And then no doubt Daddy’ll buy her her own hotel to play with.’
‘Maybe. Do you still see her?’
‘Might bump into her in the street, say hello, that’s it.’
‘And what was she like as a child?’
‘Spoilt little madam. Only had to ask for something and she got it. I think her new Daddy was buying her affection in the old traditional manner.’ Again, undisguised resentment.
‘How did Nigel come to know Bob Hartson?’
‘Through work. Renton and Chew handle all Bob Hartson’s legal stuff. He’s very in with the senior partner there, Donald Chew. Nigel was very impressed that Bob Hartson seemed to be, sort of, taking him under his wing as well.’
‘Yes.’ Jude was thoughtful for a moment. What was it the property developer had hoped to get from the young solicitor? Why had he bolstered the young man, even suggested he might become a member of the Pillars – which, from what Barry Stilwell had told Carole, was extraordinarily unlikely. Oh well, worth asking. ‘Apparently, Wendy, Hartson was even suggesting that he might put Nigel up for membership of the Pillars of Sussex.’