“I suspect you know what I’ve come to talk about, Cassandra. We found some intimate photographs of you while conducting a search of Victor’s home and possessions.”
She looked down at her hands and Ryan felt no better than the ungentlemanly cad he’d played in The Mysterious Case of the Disappearing Duchess. It was unchivalrous to question a lady’s private affairs, especially when the lady in question was old enough to be his grandmother.
Unfortunately, his work was peppered with uncomfortable moments like these.
“Oh?” Her voice quivered. “What kind of photographs?”
“Cassandra,” his voice held a warning, now. “Lying to the police is a serious matter. Remember, I was aware of these photographs two days ago but I’m only asking you about them now because they may have some bearing on our investigation.”
She realised she had underestimated him.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I hadn’t realised.”
“Unless the evidence pertains to an investigation, it isn’t any of my business.”
“Thank you,” she said again. “If I tell you what happened, will you tell my husband?”
Sticky ground, he thought.
“Unless the information you give me will require you to give evidence at trial, I see no need for your husband to become aware of it.” He paused and waited until she looked him in the eye. “This is an informal discussion but please understand that whatever you do tell me may later be used in evidence.”
He recited the standard caution.
“I understand,” she nodded, clearly gathering her courage. “You—you know I married Lionel back in 1998. I was a widow after my husband died and left me with two children. It was a struggle for many years,” she remembered, looking down at the glistening jewels on her fingers and feeling nauseous.
“I managed to bring the kids up and give them a decent life,” she continued. “You’re too young to know what it’s like when your children leave home and start their own families, but you feel bereft. It’s a lonely life, if you haven’t anybody to share it with. In my early sixties, it was getting so bad, I took a part-time job at a golf club because I thought it would help to fill the time. That’s where I met Lionel.”
Ryan said nothing and his face betrayed no emotion but she read his thoughts all the same.
“I know how it looks,” she said. “Lionel can be overbearing. He’s spent a lifetime being in charge and he finds it difficult to let go, especially now his health is failing. But believe me, inspector, he can be charming when he wants to be.”
“But?”
She smiled slightly.
“You’re a perceptive one, aren’t you? Lionel spoiled me and he’s been so good to my children, considering his usual outlook toward people wanting a ‘free ride’. I’ll always be grateful to him for that. But there’s never been any physical chemistry between us; we married for companionship.”
“It often happens.”
“Yes,” she nodded. “We get along very well and always have. I’m used to his moods and, I suppose, he’s used to mine. But I’m still a woman and, especially back then, I still had needs.”
She looked up, as if she were expecting him to comment, but Ryan merely listened.
“Victor was Lionel’s valet long before he met me. Victor had been with him for years. I don’t know how it happened, really, but we became friends. Gradually, that developed into…more than friends,” she finished, lamely.
“And he took photographs of your, ah, time together?”
“Yes,” she nodded miserably. “You must think me a very stupid woman.”
“I think nothing of the kind,” Ryan assured her.
All he saw seated before him was a nice, lonely woman who had been taken in by a man who made her feel desirable. It happened every day and the roles might just as easily have been reversed.
“Anyway, this was years ago and at one time I was even thinking of leaving Lionel to run away with Victor.” She laughed briefly at the folly of her younger self. “Then I found out that Lionel had cancer. It looked very bad—stage three bowel cancer. He needed an operation, chemotherapy, a lot of care and he wears a colostomy bag now. I couldn’t leave him, so I called it all off.”
“Victor took it badly?”
“At first, but he recovered soon enough,” she said bitterly. “Within a couple of months, he was threatening to tell Lionel everything unless I gave him some money. I thought the stress might have killed Lionel, so I paid him off.”
“When was this?”
“Over ten years ago,” she said. “I’ve been paying him ever since. Lionel loves me, you see, and it would break his heart.”
There were tears in her eyes now and her shoulders began to shake. Without a word, Ryan covered the distance and crouched down beside her chair.
“Did you tell anyone, Cassandra?”
She looked up at him with misery etched into the lines of her face.
“Who would I tell? It would devastate and embarrass everyone concerned. I’ve carried it all these years, having to see him every day and be reminded that he was slowly bleeding me dry.”
Ryan took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze.
“Do you think Lionel knows?”
She looked startled.
“I—well, I paid Victor in cash from my own account. Lionel gives me a very generous allowance and never asks where I spend the money. He trusts me,” she finished, guiltily. “I don’t see how he could have found out, unless Victor told him, but I don’t think he ever did.”
“I suppose you felt relieved when Victor died.”
She thought of telling a polite lie but one look at Ryan’s face convinced her otherwise.
“I couldn’t help but feel relieved. It felt like I could sleep soundly for the first time in over ten years, without the sword of Damocles hanging over my head.”
Ryan nodded. It was natural enough.
“I’d like you to give me copies of your bank accounts, if you have them. I will apply for them through the formal channels but you would save me and the investigation an awful lot of time if you would agree to hand them over.”
She gave a small shrug.
“What does it matter now? I’ve told you everything. Come with me and I’ll see what I can do.”
They headed upstairs toward one of the smaller studies where she kept her paperwork and Ryan asked another question.
“Cassandra, who handles the finances? I mean, the daily running of the estate.”
“Oh, it’s quite complicated,” she said. “Lionel still keeps a tight rein on everything. Martin manages the estate and he has access to a sort of ‘kitty’ account to pay for things that crop up, but anything over a certain amount and he has to ask Lionel for approval.”
She tapped her finger against her lip as she thought.
“Maggie has access to a separate account for domestic expenses, so she can pay the cleaning company, the window cleaners and laundry services. I used to manage all of that, until it became too much for me and, since we travel quite a bit, it made sense to employ a housekeeper.”
“Of course,” Ryan agreed, looking meaningfully around the gallery as they made their way to her study. “There must be an awful lot to manage. When did Maggie join you here?”