Death Comes First by Hilary Bonner

before blurting out the real purpose of the meeting:
    ‘Stephen, I know that something was worrying Charlie before he died, something to do with the business and my family. And I want you to tell me what it was.’
    He looked up at her in alarm. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about, Joyce.’
    ‘I think you have, Stephen,’ said Joyce, calling his bluff. ‘You were Charlie’s best and oldest friend. You workedtogether. In any case, Charlie made it clear in his letter that something was troubling him and that you knew all about it.’
    She saw his eyes flicker, she was sure of it.
    ‘Well, there you have the advantage of me, Joyce,’ he said. ‘I have no idea what was in Charlie’s letter. And I find it hard to believe that he had any worries about the business. Charlie was a happy and successful man. He enjoyed his work. He had you and the kids. And he had all this.’
    Stephen waved both arms as if trying to encompass the whole of Charlie Mildmay’s world.
    ‘You must have noticed his moods, for God’s sake,’ said Joyce.
    ‘Well, yes, he had black days, but don’t we all,’ said Stephen. ‘Pressure of work and all that.’
    ‘You seriously expect me to believe it was nothing more than that?’ asked Joyce.
    Stephen shrugged. ‘What else could there be? Charlie had everything. He loved his family. He had no financial worries. He had a great life.’
    ‘Yes, and all of it provided by my father,’ Joyce said bitterly. ‘Perhaps it all came with a price tag, and the price was more than Charlie could stomach.’
    Stephen looked even more alarmed.
    ‘Joyce dear, it’s understandable that you’re upset. But I think you’re imagining things.’
    ‘Don’t you dare patronize me!’ Joyce snapped. ‘I have a letter from my dead husband which makes it clear that I’m not imagining anything. It’s more a case of my eyes having been closed until now, isn’t it?’
    ‘Joyce, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Look, why don’t you show me the letter? Then perhaps I can help. I’m totally in the dark here.’
    ‘Are you sure you need to be shown the letter?’ said Joyce. ‘Are you sure you haven’t read it already?’
    ‘Joyce, what sort of a man do you think I am?’ asked Stephen, aghast. ‘Do you really think I would read a personal letter between a man – and not any man but, as you say, my best friend – and his wife? Do you think I would do that?’
    ‘You were prepared to shag his wife though, weren’t you?’
    ‘His widow,’ countered Stephen, his brows puckered into a hurt frown. ‘I would never have acted upon my feelings for you while Charlie was alive, even though I never stopped wanting—’
    ‘Shut up, Stephen!’ Joyce was aware that she was being hard on him. It wasn’t as if he’d forced himself on her. If anything, she’d been the one who made the first move. But she somehow couldn’t stop herself venting her anger at him.
    ‘I want to know about the letter,’ she persisted. ‘Why did it take six months to get to me. Why was that?’
    ‘Oh, Joyce, it got misfiled, that’s all. It should have been in with our copy of the will but it got put somewhere else. Janet’s a first-rate PA, but even she makes mistakes sometimes. When she found the letter she sent it off straight away. It was human error.’
    ‘Maybe.’
    ‘Well, do I get to see it?’
    She carried on staring at him, but Stephen had one of those faces that gave nothing away. Unless he wanted it to.
    ‘The letter was personal,’ she said coldly. ‘I think I’ll keep it to myself.’
    ‘As you wish.’
    ‘Oh, and I’ve changed my mind about all that financial stuff.’ She waved a hand dismissively at the papers spread across the kitchen table. ‘I mean, it’s not as if it matters adamn whether I understand it or not, does it? No doubt you and my father will only ever show me what you want me to see. And you two will still control everything, whatever I think or do.’
    ‘Joyce,