paper, and had appeared in acouple of the tabloids the next day too. Since then there hadn’t been very much, which might have been more of a blessing were she not so afraid that it was just a lull as the eye of the storm passed over.
She’d taken a taxi here, hidden behind dark glasses and a large straw hat, which was OK since it was the middle of June. She was wearing a long, pale blue linen dress, loosely belted at the waist, with a matching overshirt and brown leather sandals. She hadn’t been sure whether to carry a briefcase or her usual roomy shoulder bag. Beth Ashby had never had much use for a briefcase, but maybe Ava Montgomery did. She wasn’t sure, because she didn’t know much about Ava yet. In the end she’d opted for both, though the briefcase was empty.
She was in the small reception area of a third-floor office suite in one of the large Regency buildings, just off Piccadilly. The shelves were stuffed full of books, brand-new glossy editions of the latest in commercial and literary fiction, travel and sports. A few were propped up on the coffee table, with an assortment of catalogues and magazines. She could hear the traffic outside, while along the hall telephones buzzed and disembodied voices answered. The receptionists, just a few feet away, behind their horseshoe desk, were trying not to stare. Were they wondering if it was really her, or did they already know? She considered doing something outrageous, like picking up a couple of the books and stuffing them into her briefcase; or launching into a tango with an imaginary partner. Instead, she crossed one leg over the other and sat primly waiting. She’d never had the courage to beextreme or eccentric, though she and Colin had frequently made each other laugh with those kinds of absurd imaginings.
These past three weeks had been the most peculiar time of her life. Nothing had ever affected her like this, not even the loss of her babies. There was so much that she no longer understood. It was as though she’d stepped outside of her normal self into a confusion of persecution and paranoia – and endless, persistent questions from Bruce, Giles Parker and the police. What had really happened in Sophie Long’s flat that day? Why was Colin denying the murder when even he couldn’t argue with the facts? They were convinced he was holding something back, and if she knew what it was, she must tell them. But what reason would he have to hold anything back? Surely if there was anything that might clear his name he wouldn’t even hesitate to tell.
The police were leaving her alone now, but Bruce and Giles Parker had increased the pressure. They didn’t seem to hear her answers. Why would she hold back anything that would help him, she’d asked them. He was her husband, she loved him, and she’d give anything in her power to turn back the clock. They kept asking her why he was refusing to see her, or speak to her, when they should have been asking him. Bruce still hadn’t brought home even so much as a message, and no visiting order had been issued either. If Colin had any idea what his silence was doing to her, he either didn’t care or it was what he intended. But why would he want to torment her like this? What reason could he have for pulling away when hesurely needed her more now than he ever had? Since Bruce was asking her the same questions she was inclined to believe him when he claimed not to know why Colin was behaving this way.
‘He just says it’s for the best,’ he told her each time she asked why Colin didn’t call or let her visit. ‘He won’t discuss it any further than that.’
So now, in an effort to deal with a rejection that actually felt worse than all the others, Beth was trying to detach herself too. In the past, whenever she’d tried to move forward alone, her resolve would crumble the instant she saw him. But now she must consider only the extraordinary coincidence, and indeed blessing, of how Ava Montgomery’s
She’d taken a taxi here, hidden behind dark glasses and a large straw hat, which was OK since it was the middle of June. She was wearing a long, pale blue linen dress, loosely belted at the waist, with a matching overshirt and brown leather sandals. She hadn’t been sure whether to carry a briefcase or her usual roomy shoulder bag. Beth Ashby had never had much use for a briefcase, but maybe Ava Montgomery did. She wasn’t sure, because she didn’t know much about Ava yet. In the end she’d opted for both, though the briefcase was empty.
She was in the small reception area of a third-floor office suite in one of the large Regency buildings, just off Piccadilly. The shelves were stuffed full of books, brand-new glossy editions of the latest in commercial and literary fiction, travel and sports. A few were propped up on the coffee table, with an assortment of catalogues and magazines. She could hear the traffic outside, while along the hall telephones buzzed and disembodied voices answered. The receptionists, just a few feet away, behind their horseshoe desk, were trying not to stare. Were they wondering if it was really her, or did they already know? She considered doing something outrageous, like picking up a couple of the books and stuffing them into her briefcase; or launching into a tango with an imaginary partner. Instead, she crossed one leg over the other and sat primly waiting. She’d never had the courage to beextreme or eccentric, though she and Colin had frequently made each other laugh with those kinds of absurd imaginings.
These past three weeks had been the most peculiar time of her life. Nothing had ever affected her like this, not even the loss of her babies. There was so much that she no longer understood. It was as though she’d stepped outside of her normal self into a confusion of persecution and paranoia – and endless, persistent questions from Bruce, Giles Parker and the police. What had really happened in Sophie Long’s flat that day? Why was Colin denying the murder when even he couldn’t argue with the facts? They were convinced he was holding something back, and if she knew what it was, she must tell them. But what reason would he have to hold anything back? Surely if there was anything that might clear his name he wouldn’t even hesitate to tell.
The police were leaving her alone now, but Bruce and Giles Parker had increased the pressure. They didn’t seem to hear her answers. Why would she hold back anything that would help him, she’d asked them. He was her husband, she loved him, and she’d give anything in her power to turn back the clock. They kept asking her why he was refusing to see her, or speak to her, when they should have been asking him. Bruce still hadn’t brought home even so much as a message, and no visiting order had been issued either. If Colin had any idea what his silence was doing to her, he either didn’t care or it was what he intended. But why would he want to torment her like this? What reason could he have for pulling away when hesurely needed her more now than he ever had? Since Bruce was asking her the same questions she was inclined to believe him when he claimed not to know why Colin was behaving this way.
‘He just says it’s for the best,’ he told her each time she asked why Colin didn’t call or let her visit. ‘He won’t discuss it any further than that.’
So now, in an effort to deal with a rejection that actually felt worse than all the others, Beth was trying to detach herself too. In the past, whenever she’d tried to move forward alone, her resolve would crumble the instant she saw him. But now she must consider only the extraordinary coincidence, and indeed blessing, of how Ava Montgomery’s
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