Suzy chose not to drink alcohol. ‘I’ll wait for the one I grant myself at the end of the day. Never tastes so good if I’ve had one earlier. But don’t let me stop you.’
Jude didn’t. She consulted the wine list for half-bottles, but Suzy said it’d be simpler to order a bottle, and there was no demur from her guest. Jude didn’t have anything to do in the afternoon except return to Fethering, and a mild alcoholic haze was the best condition in which to ignore the third world discomforts of southbound trains from Victoria Station. She was slightly nervous about the forthcoming conversation, and thought a couple of glasses of the excellent New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc Suzy had ordered might relax her.
She was also encouraged by her hostess to use the menu to the full, so again she did, ordering a smoked duck’s breast salad, to be followed by monkfish with spinach and ginger. Suzy limited herself to a rare steak and green salad. She had never gone to the anorexic lengths of some models, but always ate sensibly. And Jude had known her far too long to feel any guilt about eating larger meals in her presence. Suzy Longthorne’s looks remained her fortune and her business equipment, so a proper diet was just another element in her ‘body maintenance’.
When they were both settled with a drink, the hazel eyes focused on Jude, and it became clear that Suzy had thought through exactly what she was going to say.
‘First, I owe you an apology. I’ve been less than honest with you, which I shouldn’t have been, because you’ve been my friend for a long time. I value your friendship, and I don’t want to do anything that threatens it. But there are other things I value too. I don’t have much choice about valuing the hotel; that’s my living, all my savings are tied up in it, and I can’t put it at risk.’
Jude might have said something at this point, but the pace of Suzy’s narrative did not allow her to. ‘But I gather, from things you’ve said, you believe there was something sinister about that young solicitor’s death. Can I ask what your basis is for thinking that?’
Jude realized this was the first time they had really discussed the events of that Tuesday night. Previously, Suzy had cut the conversation short; now she was prepared to listen.
‘All right. My thinking Nigel Ackford might have been murdered is based on things he said to me when I found him drunk and put him to bed. He was very optimistic, he seemed to think he’d turned a corner, both professionally and personally. He told me he was going to ask his girlfriend to marry him. And, all right, I know you’re about to say that he had a history of depression and that his mood swings were—’
‘Jude, I wasn’t about to say anything. I know nothing about him. He was simply a young man called Nigel Ackford who was inconsiderate enough to die in my hotel.’
‘Didn’t any of the Pillars of Sussex say anything to you about him?’
‘No. Nothing personal. They just agreed with me that his timing and choice of location couldn’t have been more unfortunate.’
‘And did they ask you to cover up?’
‘They didn’t have to ask, Jude. Every instinct within me wanted to cover up.’
‘So you’d be happy to cover up a murder?’
Jude stopped, as her duck breast salad was delivered by an impassively handsome young waiter.
After he’d gone, Suzy giggled, reminding Jude how much she loved her. ‘You’ve got a great sense of timing. Now he’s overheard that, I’ll probably be asked to leave the club.’
‘Sorry, Suzy.’ Jude too giggled at the notion.
The ice had been broken. Jude felt closer to Suzy than she had since the death had come between them. ‘Look, you know I want Hopwicke House to succeed for you. I’m not trying to do anything that’ll threaten your business.’
‘I know, Jude, but regardless of whether or not it’s your intention, what you’re doing could threaten my business.’ Suzy sighed. She wasn’t enjoying holding out on her friend. ‘Apart from anything else, logic is not on your side. All you’re basing your suspicions on is some drunken rambling from a young man who – you now tell me – had a history of depression and mood swings. If that’s all the evidence there is to support a murder verdict, I’m not surprised the police were happy with suicide.’
‘There is something else. You must remember.’
But the puzzlement with which Suzy shook her head suggested that she didn’t.
‘The letter. The death threat.’
She remembered it now. And her expression suggested she’d rather she hadn’t.
‘I know you told the police it didn’t exist, but you can’t say that to me. You and I saw it. And Kerry saw the letter too – she was the one who found it.’
Reluctantly, Suzy acknowledged this.
‘I haven’t talked to Kerry about it yet, but—’
‘Yet? Jude, what is all this “yet”? Are you telling me you are going to continue investigating this death?’
‘Yes. I’m afraid I am.’
Her friend sighed exhaustedly, and looked out over the vista of London. Though the roofs gleamed with April sunshine, to her everything looked bleak. ‘All right. I can’t stop you. I’ve known you long enough to know nobody can stop you when you’ve got a bee in your bonnet.’ The will to resist had gone out of her. ‘What do you want to ask me?’
‘Which room did Kerry find that note in?’
The answer came in a long exhalation of despair. ‘The four-poster room.’
‘And, in retrospect, Suzy, don’t you think that’s significant?’
‘Yes. It probably is.’
‘A note’s left in a room telling someone they’re not going to wake up the next morning, and the next morning the occupant of the room is dead . . . I think there’s more than a ‘probably’ in that.’
‘If you say so.’
‘Suzy –’ Jude’s brown eyes locked on to the famous hazel ones ‘– do you know what actually happened that night? Do you know how Nigel Ackford died?’
An impatient shake of the head. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘Well, I’m more convinced than ever that he was murdered.’
The waiter’s timing was immaculate. He just caught Jude’s words as he swept away her salad plate. The conversation in the kitchen must be fun, she thought.
‘If he was, I can guarantee you one thing, Jude. His death had nothing to do with anyone working at the hotel. He brought his trouble with him. He must have offended one of the Pillars of Sussex.’
‘So you’re admitting it’s possible he was murdered?’
‘Possible?’ Suzy Longthorne didn’t seem to have a lot of respect for the word. ‘Anything’s possible. It’s possible that Elvis Presley’s still alive. It’s possible that somewhere Lord Lucan is riding Shergar off into the sunset. Possible. But unlikely.’
‘If you just entertain the possibility, Suzy, then you can help me.’
There was a defeated shrug from the shapely shoulders. ‘All right, Jude. Against my better judgment. All I really want to do is let sleeping solicitors lie, but—’
‘Funny. That’s exactly the expression Rick used.’
‘Rick?’ Suddenly Suzy was alive again. And worried.
‘Rick Hendry. Your ex-husband.’
‘You’ve been in touch with Rick?’
‘He rang me.’
‘Why?’
‘Basically, to tell me what you’ve been trying to get me to do for the last week – lay off the investigation.’