39
That fence looked pretty high. Ruth looked down at her knee-length dress and her wholly impractical heels. Not exactly ideal mountaineering gear, she thought, slipping off her shoes and hitching up her skirt.
‘Here goes nothing,’ she muttered to herself, wedging a stockinged foot in the crossbar of the fence and hoisting herself up. She had tried ringing Lana’s bell, of course; she wasn’t entirely crazy. She’d knocked on the door and shouted through the letterbox too. She hadn’t really expected the woman to be in, but then it wasn’t the lovely Mrs Goddard-Price she wanted to talk to today. Stepping back into the street, Ruth had happened to look up toward the second floor – and had seen a curtain twitch.
That – and a certain amount of desperation, if she was honest – was what had led her to be climbing over the Goddard-Prices’ fence and into their back garden.
‘Dammit!’ she hissed as her tights snagged on an overhanging bush. They came away with a small ripping sound. Great, that’ll look professional, she thought. Not that scrambling over six-foot railings and a thorny bush was something they taught at journalism school along with shorthand and interview technique.
Scratched and grazed, Ruth finally thumped down on the patio on the other side, tugging her bag to get it free.
After all that, this better work, she thought. Back at Scott’s restaurant, her theory about Lana being connected to Nick Beddingfield had felt watertight. But, trespassing on Lana Goddard-Price’s property, she realised how spurious her thinking actually was. There was only one person she was going to end up putting in jail the way she was carrying on, and that person was going to be herself.
Ruth looked up at the windows with their drawn curtains. The whole place looked quiet and shut up, neglected almost. Presumably Lana Goddard-Price was in no rush to leave the South of France; why would she? If she really was mixed up with Nick Beddingfield, she would have wanted as much distance between them as possible. And Fox had told her that Simon was still in Geneva. But Ruth wanted to speak to Cherry, the housekeeper.
She walked across the patio, skirting around some large terracotta planters, and peered in through the French windows, cupping her hands around her face to get a better view. It looked like a posh living room with white sofas and . . .
She stepped back with a cry as a face loomed up in front of her. She turned her ankle over and stumbled backwards, landing painfully on one knee. She was busy swearing and rubbing her injured parts when the door opened and Lana’s Filipino maid appeared, waving a broom.
‘Cherry. Just who I wanted to talk to . . .’
The woman replied with a stream of rapid-fire Tagalog, most of which Ruth suspected was swearing.
‘You get out,’ she finished, jabbing at Ruth with the broom. ‘I call the police.’
‘No,’ said Ruth, staggering to her feet. ‘I came here to speak to you, ask you a few more questions.’
‘No speak,’ Cherry said angrily. ‘You go! Now!’
Behind Cherry, Ruth could see another figure enter the room. A man, about forty; he had his shirt open and was holding a wine glass. The housekeeper followed her gaze and tried to close the door, but it was too late.
‘I see,’ smiled Ruth. ‘Using your employer’s house as a love nest when she’s out of the country? She won’t like that.’
Cherry looked trapped.
‘Is my boyfriend,’ she said.
‘It doesn’t make it right,’ quipped Ruth. ‘I think Mrs Goddard-Price will probably agree with me.’
‘You not tell her, please!’ said Cherry, knowing she was beaten.
‘Not if you answer a few more questions,’ said Ruth, pushing past her into the house.
The housekeeper looked pained.
‘Mrs G, she tell me not to speak to no one.’
I bet she did, thought Ruth, opening her bag.
‘All I want to do is show you a couple of pictures,’ she said, pulling out a file. ‘That’s all, then I’ll go.’
Dammit, why didn’t I prepare for this? thought Ruth, fumbling with the pile of photographs. She’d just grabbed her research folder on the way out, and hadn’t sorted out the picture she needed. She put them on the tabletop and flicked through them until she found the right one. It was the head-and-shoulders shot of Nick Beddingfield the police had released when the Riverton murder was first announced.
‘Remember when I was here before and you said another man used to visit Mrs Goddard-Price? Is this the man?’
The maid took the photo and examined it, then handed it back. ‘No,’ she said.
‘Are you sure?’ pressed Ruth. ‘He isn’t the one who used to come when Mr Goddard-Price was away on business?’
‘No.’
Ruth felt her heart sinking. She had felt sure this was the connection she had been looking for.
‘It was him,’ said Cherry, pointing down at the table. Ruth’s eyes opened wide. The housekeeper’s finger was on a picture of Peter Ellis, from the Ellis family snapshot that Julia had given her that day she had visited her at Wade House.
‘This man? You’re certain?’
Ruth felt goose pimples run up her arms. Could it be true? Lana was having an affair with Peter Ellis?
‘Yes, certain. Once, twice, he come here.’ She made a circle with her thumb and forefinger and pushed her other forefinger through the hole, in and out to signify sex.
Ruth stifled a frown. It was another connection. But still she was no closer to putting Lana with Nick.
‘Sophie’s room. Could I just have one quick look?’
‘Top floor. Two minutes,’ frowned Cherry, knowing that Ruth had leverage.
Ruth ran up the sweeping staircase, two stairs at a time. Instead of going all the way to the top, she darted into the master suite.
This had to be Lana’s, she thought, admiring the sumptuous bedroom with white drapes and walnut furniture. She opened both bedside cabinets and the dressing table drawer, looking for a diary, a notebook, anything that might connect Lana to Nick, but there was nothing; only boxes of thank-you cards, and glossy magazines and piles of cosmetics.
She turned as she heard a noise behind her. Cherry was standing in the doorway looking furious. Ruth cursed silently.
‘You go now,’ hissed Cherry.
Ruth acted as if there was nothing wrong with finding a random journalist ferreting around the mistress of the house’s bedroom.
‘If Mrs G comes back home, I want you to contact me immediately.’ She rooted around her purse, but she had given her last business card to Mike at the gym. There was a biro on the cabinet top. She took it and scribbled her contact details on a page she ripped out of her notebook.
Cherry looked wary.
‘I promise I won’t tell Lana about your boyfriend being here, but you must co-operate with me, okay?’
‘Please, go,’ said the housekeeper, almost wailing.
Ruth nodded. She knew she was beaten. For now. But she wasn’t finished looking into Lana Goddard-Price.