‘Listen, Jude.’ Rick Hendry let his voice deepen, as he focused the full beam of his charm on her. ‘I still care about Suze. She’s built that hotel up from nothing. She’s done it all, it’s her baby, and the whole set-up’s pretty dodgy at the moment, from the financial point of view. Bad publicity she doesn’t need. I’m not asking this for myself, Jude. I’m asking it for Suze. And I’m asking you, as her friend, just to let this thing rest – OK? Now, Jude, will you promise me you’ll do that?’
‘I’ll think about it.’
She thought about a lot after she had put the phone down, but not about giving up her quest to find Nigel Ackford’s murderer. If anything, the call to Rick Hendry had strengthened her resolve.
The list of people who wanted to cover up the truth of that night at Hopwicke House was getting longer by the minute. And why was Rick Hendry suddenly so solicitous for the ex-wife from whom he’d parted with such acrimony? He said Suzy hadn’t needed bad publicity, but he needed it even less – particularly at a time when the Daily Mail was running damaging stories about him. What was Rick Hendry’s connection with Hopwicke Country House Hotel? Or with the young man who had died there?
The fact that she’d had the call from Rick so soon after reading about him neither troubled Jude nor surprised her. She had never had a problem believing in synchronicity.
Chapter Nineteen
The call came through to High Tor in the middle of the Tuesday morning. ‘It’s all right. I’m calling from the office.’
Which meant that Barry was out of earshot of the threatening Pomme, so why did he still have to whisper?
‘It was very lovely to see you at lunchtime yesterday.’
Carole couldn’t bring herself to reciprocate the sentiment, but she did manage to thank him for the meal.
‘And I’m sorry you didn’t feel ready to come and see the new office with me.’ He made the words sound like a euphemism for something really disgusting.
‘It wasn’t a matter of “feeling ready” or not; it was a matter of not wanting to,’ she snapped. Jude would disapprove of her threatening the continuance of Barry Stilwell as a contact within the Pillars of Sussex, but Carole had had enough of his sly insinuations, and she thought she’d probably exhausted his stock of relevant information anyway.
He seemed impervious to her put-downs. ‘Don’t worry, Carole, I’m prepared to wait for as long as it takes.’ How about till hell freezes over and they hold the Winter Olympics there? ‘You’ll come round,’ Barry went on. ‘You know there’s something between us.’
Loathing, on my side, thought Carole. Whatever Jude’s views, the situation could not be tolerated much longer. The moment was fast coming when Barry Stilwell must be given a massive, unequivocal brush-off.
But he didn’t let her get to that moment. ‘There was one thing I thought I ought to make clear, Carole darling’ – Darling – yeuch! ‘about yesterday. I may have given you the wrong impression . . .’
No, I think the impression you gave me was exactly the one you intended to. The wrong impression was the one you seemed to take away of my reactions to your advances.
‘It was my own fault. None of us are entirely responsible in our cups.’
‘Oh, come on, you didn’t have that much to drink.’
‘I wasn’t talking about yesterday. I was talking about the week before, after the Pillars of Sussex dinner at Hopwicke House.’
‘Ah.’
‘As I say, it’s my own fault. I like whisky, but it doesn’t like me. And I’m afraid it was the whisky that rather blurred my recollections of the end of the evening . . .’ He paused, but Carole didn’t give him any help. ‘The fact is, I think I told you that I was up in Bob Hartson’s room drinking whisky, and there were just the two of us.’
‘That’s what you said, yes.’
‘Well, the point is, I’d completely forgotten . . . but his daughter was with us too . . . stepdaughter, that is. Kerry. Don’t know if you know her?’
‘I saw her briefly when I went to the hotel.’
‘Right. Well, she was there – that night – so it was the three of us drinking whisky.’
‘I see. And who finished first?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Who was the first one to stop drinking whisky and go back to their own room?’
‘Oh. Kerry. Yes. Kerry’s not much of a whisky drinker. She just had a small one and tootled off to her bed. And then, a bit later, I rolled off to mine.’ He chuckled at the folly of his alcoholic excess. ‘Had a bit of a head in the morning, I can tell you.’
‘Hm. And on the way back to your bed in the middle of the night . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘You didn’t happen to see Nigel Ackford, did you?’
‘No, good heavens, no. Of course I didn’t.’ Having expressed his shock at the mere idea, Barry moved back into seductive mode. ‘Do you know something, Carole?’
Yes, she thought. I know Bob Hartson has been on the phone, giving you a three-line whip to toe the party line.
Jude knew she ought to talk to Suzy directly; they had been friends for long enough. In the past there had never been any subjects that were off-limits between them, but suddenly there were. In their last two conversations, Suzy had clammed up on her. And now the ex-husband was putting in his two penn’orth as well. Neither of them wanted any further investigation into the death of Nigel Ackford.
The Pillars of Sussex seemed equally against the idea. Nor did the police apparently have any trouble with the suicide verdict.
Jude might by this stage have started to think she was over-reacting. There was a lot of logic against the idea of Nigel Ackford having been murdered, and she might reluctantly have come round to the majority view. But two recent events made her more convinced than ever that something strange had happened that night at Hopwicke House. The conversation she had had with Rick Hendry was one of them. Why on earth should he suddenly be concerning himself with the affairs of the hotel?
The other anomaly had arisen from Carole’s phone conversation with Barry Stilwell, which she had, needless to say, reported verbatim to Jude. The clumsiness with which the solicitor had supported Bob Hartson’s alibi left no doubt that somebody was lying.
So, on one side, Suzy and Rick; on the other, the Pillars of Sussex . . . and possibly Kerry. Both groups had something to cover up. Or – unlikely though it might seem – were they working together to cover up the same thing?
Jude decided, before another direct confrontation with Suzy, she should try a more oblique approach. Someone else had been around Hopwicke Country House Hotel on the night of Nigel Ackford’s death; and so far as Jude knew, he hadn’t yet been a part of any cover-up. She had his mobile number; he’d given it to her once when there had been a crisis about a potential double booking in the restaurant. Jude rang Max Townley.
She decided there’d be no harm in a direct approach. It was as likely to work as any other. ‘Wondered if we could just meet for a chat? Wanted to talk about that night at the hotel, when Nigel Ackford died.’
‘Oh yeah. And I got a bit too deep into the vodka, because of what had happened with that bloody production company. I thought my television prospects were totally buggered.’
‘That’s right. Well, I’ve been, sort of, putting two and two together about things, and there are just a couple of ideas I’d like to run by you.’
Max sounded surprisingly enthusiastic. ‘Sure, I’d be game for that.’
He was currently at the hotel, doing the morning preparations. He’d finish those round one, then be off duty until he came back about five-thirty to ready himself for the evening’s dinners. His home was in Worthing – chef’s hours necessitated living either on the premises or very near by – and he’d be happy to meet up with Jude for a cup of coffee.