‘Does she know the Pillars of Sussex?’
‘She’s heard about them. Knows about the good work they do.’
‘That’s excellent. Kinesiology.’
Carole had not expected Sandra Hartson to be into alternative therapies. ‘Have you tried it?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘And it worked?’
‘For a while. I don’t know why I stopped going, really. I suppose it was when I moved on to reiki. Or maybe it was round the time I had the colonic irrigation . . .’
Carole was beginning to get a clearer image of Sandra Hartson’s personality. An alternative therapy junkie, constantly in search of a quick fix for all her problems. Carole wondered what pressures put Sandra in such permanent need of help, and whether being married to Bob Hartson was one of them.
‘Anyway, Carole, well done. That’s a terrific promise. I’ll certainly bid for the kinesiology session myself.’
Carole was struck again by an anomaly in the system of charity giving. Sandra Hartson must have been rich enough to buy as many kinesiology sessions as she wanted to at the going market rates, and yet she was prepared to pay way over the odds in the context of an auction of promises. Surely not just to show off to her friends? The Pillars of Sussex and their womenfolk must already have seen enough evidence of the Hartson wealth. Odd.
Still, Carole’s opening gambit had worked well. Time to use that platform to advance her investigation. ‘Incidentally, Sandra, you know you said your daughter Kerry probably wouldn’t be staying long at the hotel . . .’
‘Sorry?’ Their recent encounter seemed to have made little impression on Sandra Hartson.
‘Yes. When we were going to the car.’
‘Right.’ But she still didn’t sound as though she remembered.
‘Anyway, I heard through a friend of mine who works up at Hopwicke House that Kerry has left.’
‘Seemed a bit pointless for her to stay on in the circumstances.’
‘What circumstances?’
‘Well, I can’t see Kerry ever going back into the hotel business after what’s happened.’
‘I’m sorry? I’m a bit behind you, Sandra. What has happened?’
The mother’s voice took on a note of awestruck pride. ‘Kerry’s ambitions look as though they may be realized. She’s passed the audition. She’s going to be on Pop Crop.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘I rang to say congratulations.’
‘What for?’ Kerry Hartson sounded suspicious. Why was Jude, whom she only knew vaguely, ringing her again?
‘Congratulations on getting the Pop Crop audition.’
‘Oh, yeah, well, thanks. It’s a big opportunity for me, and I’m determined to do my absolute best. I’m really going for it.’
Instantly the girl had dropped into interview mode. Jude could picture her, sitting in her flat in Brighton, looking at the sea and indulging the fantasy of the television crew around her, the fawning presenter asking about her next single. She could even imagine Kerry tidying up her sitting room, in case the interviewers arrived unannounced. The prospect of fame could have a wonderful effect on the domestic habits of teenagers.
‘You heard from Suzy, I suppose?’ the girl went on.
Jude saw no reason to contradict her. ‘She said you were going to stop working at the hotel.’
‘Yeah, well, that was like only work experience, but I don’t reckon I’m going to end up in hotels. Obviously, now Pop Crop’s come up, well, I’ve got to, like, really go for it, haven’t I?’
Still in interview mode. Jude wondered whether Kerry would repeat herself as much in a real interview, and decided the answer was probably yes.
Time for a change of tack. Time to find out where Kerry really was on the night of Nigel Ackford’s death. When last asked the question, she had claimed to be drinking whisky in her father’s room. Bob Hartson had supported that, and had claimed Barry Stilwell as a witness. Somebody had been lying, though, and, determined to find out who, Jude spelled out to Kerry the inadequacy of her alibi.
The girl was thrown. ‘Look, why’re you on about this again? I’ll have to tell Dad you’ve been asking.’
If that was meant to be a threat, the words had no effect on Jude. ‘Fine. But you answer me first.’
‘I don’t have to.’ Archetypal adolescent defiance.
‘No, you don’t have to, but if you don’t, I will know for definite that you have something to hide.’
There was a silence while Kerry took in the logic of this. Then she asserted, ‘I haven’t got anything to hide. I did go up to Dad’s room, like I said, and drank a bit of whisky with him—’
‘Just the two of you?’
‘No,’ she snapped. ‘There was someone else there.’
‘Barry Stilwell says he was there, but he says you weren’t.’
‘Well, I wasn’t there all the time. I just had a drink and left them to it.’
‘So where did you go then?’
‘I went to bed.’
‘You weren’t in your room when I turned in round three.’
‘No, I was— It was later than that when I left Dad’s room.’
‘Your father said you left about two.’
‘Yes, well . . .’ She was really floundering now. ‘Dad’s never got a good sense of time, and when he’s been at the booze . . .’
‘That doesn’t sound very convincing to me, Kerry.’
‘It’s the truth. Ask that solicitor.’
‘Barry Stilwell? The one who first of all said he was with your dad, but you weren’t there, and then changed his tune and suddenly remembered you had been there? I don’t think he’s a very reliable witness. In fact, I’ve a feeling Barry Stilwell will say anything your father tells him to say.’
Kerry Hartson might have been expected to pick up on this criticism of her precious father, but she didn’t. Instead, she spoke as if new light had come flooding into her life. ‘Of course, I’ve got it. The reason we’re getting all mixed up over this.’
‘Oh?’ asked Jude cynically. ‘And what is that?’
‘It’s Dad.’ The girl chuckled. ‘He’s always had this dreadful thing with names – mixes people up. He said the solicitor was with us, right?’
‘Yes. Barry Stilwell.’
‘But that’s it, you see, it wasn’t Barry Stilwell in the room with us while we were drinking the whisky.’
‘Then who was it?’
‘Dad’s own solicitor. Mr Chew.’
‘Donald Chew?’
‘That’s right. Yes.’
Jude reckoned a long time had passed since she had heard quite such a preposterous lie, but she let it pass, thanked the girl for clearing the matter up, and moved on. ‘Going back to the Pop Crop thing.’
‘Yeah. Exciting, isn’t it?’ And then, as if the words hadn’t been said enough, ‘I’m really going to go for it.’
‘Good for you. And you got it by doing an audition in Brighton?’
‘Sure. There were a lot of people, but I thought if I, like, gave it my best shot – really went for it – well . . . And it turned out OK.’
‘And you were auditioned by Rick Hendry?’
‘Right.’ A note of caution had come into the girl’s voice.
‘Was that the first time you’d met him?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, was the audition the first time you met Rick Hendry? Or had you met him before up at the hotel?’
‘No,’ said Kerry Hartson. ‘First time I met him was at the audition.’
But she sounded as guilty as hell. Jude wondered how soon after putting the phone down on their call, Kerry would be ringing her stepfather.
‘Carole Seddon?’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s Brenda Chew.’