She stared at Connolly, her large eyes swimming, tears slipping over in an almost theatrical way; but it was not theatrical. There was a world of genuine pain, the real, gritty, unbearable sort that only happens in real life, not on the screen. ‘She wasn’t raped?’ she asked pathetically. ‘You promise me she wasn’t raped?’
‘The doctor said not.’
‘And he didn’t cut her? This maniac? He didn’t – disfigure her?’
Connolly shook her head. ‘No, nothing like that.’
‘But – the other thing,’ she went on. ‘The thing he did. You know.’ She didn’t want to say the words. ‘Strangling. Does it hurt? Did she suffer?’
Connolly made a helpless gesture. How do you answer a question like that? ‘Mrs Wilding . . .’
‘I want to see her,’ she said. ‘I’ll know if I see her. I have to know.’
‘You can see her, of course. And somebody will have to identify her – you know, formally. Either you or your husband could—’
‘It had better be me,’ she said, suddenly sounding strangely calm and capable. ‘He’d go to pieces. Him and his superior education! He’s never been able to cope. The divorce, Valerie – he never stood up to her, just gave her anything she asked for. It was me that was short-changed – having to settle for second best, while she got the big house and everything. And then when she died, it turns out she owned half his company, more than half. She left it all to the boys. They didn’t want it, of course – just wanted the money. So he had to sell. She’d poisoned their minds against him, of course. They took the money and ran. Alan’s in Canada and Ray’s in New Zealand. Good riddance, as far as I’m concerned. But he practically killed himself building up that firm and putting them through school and everything, and when he had to sell it – well . . .’ She shook her head. ‘It knocked the stuffing out of him. He’s never really been the same since. After that, the only thing he cared about was Zellah.’
‘And you,’ Connolly suggested.
Her eyes became bleak, and she said, in a different voice from any she’d yet used, a plain, sad, matter-of-fact voice, ‘No, I don’t think he ever really cared about me. He thought I’d trapped him into marriage, you see. Well, we both lost out. I don’t know which of us lost more. Until now.’ Her lips trembled. ‘My Zellah. You’ve got to find who did this. And then let me have ten minutes alone with him.’
Wilding had to take a few turns about the room to deal with his emotions before he could speak with a semblance of calmness.
‘I had two other children,’ he said at last. ‘Two boys. I don’t see them – haven’t seen them for years. The divorce was acrimonious, you see. Pam is my second wife.’ He stopped pacing and looked at Atherton, who nodded receptively. ‘You probably noticed she’s a lot younger than me.’ He gave a snort of non-laughter. ‘Well, I suppose I wasn’t the first fool to go that way and I won’t be the last. I threw away everything. I had my own engineering company, with a combined office and factory on the Brunel Estate.’
This was a small industrial park at the back side of East Acton, about half a mile from the Scrubs, in an otherwise unlovely area defined on all sides by railway lines and bisected by the Grand Union Canal. The Wildings’ lives had certainly been local, Atherton thought.
‘Pam came to work there,’ he went on. ‘She was young, beautiful – you’ve only got to look at Zellah to see how beautiful – and I . . . well, I don’t need to spell it out for you. It’s a common-enough story. There was a divorce, I lost my boys, my house; ultimately I lost my business, everything. You see me here with all I have left. How are the mighty fallen. I don’t blame anyone but myself. But it was a disappointment to Pam. She feels I let her down. She’s always cared more for the . . . the outward signs of success. If she spoke harshly just now – well, I wanted you to understand.’
‘Of course,’ Atherton said.
‘I think that’s why she wants Zellah to have those things – why she’s always trying to get her into a more exalted social set. Don’t mistake me; I want Zellah to have everything, too. She deserves it. But Zellah’s not just a beauty. She got Pam’s looks, but she inherited my brains. She could do anything, be anything. I don’t want her to think that marriage to some rich idiot is her only goal.’
‘What school does she go to?’ Atherton slipped it in.
‘St Margaret’s. You know it?’
It was the all-girls school at the far end of the Scrubs – next to where the fairground was presently set up. ‘I know it,’ Atherton said. ‘It has a good academic reputation.’
‘One of the best in the country,’ Wilding said. ‘It used to be a grammar school, but when the government abolished them it went private. But it’s also a church school – Anglo-Catholic. Fortunately we’re in the church’s catchment area. It’s one of the reasons I bought this house.’
‘You’re Anglo-Catholic?’
‘I am, and Pam was willing to be, in a good cause. We’ve brought Zellah up as one. I always had my eye on St Margaret’s for her because of the academic excellence, but you had to be regular communicants. We couldn’t have afforded the fees, but Zellah won a bursary, and it’s been wonderful for her. The standard of scholarship is as high as in any public school. The downside,’ his expression soured, ‘is the kind of girls she’s had to mix with. Empty-headed rich kids like Sophy Cooper-Hutchinson and Chloë Paulson, who poison her mind with trash and trivia – boys and make-up and pop music and all that rubbish.’
‘What school did Zellah go to?’ Connolly was asking upstairs.
‘St Margaret’s,’ Mrs Wilding said, and pulled a face. ‘All he cares about is exam results. He doesn’t give a damn about her getting on and meeting the right people. With her looks she could be anything – a model, an actress, anything. The sky’s the limit, but these days it all depends on having the right contacts. He just wants her to be a bookworm and ruin her eyes with reading and have no social life and end up a sour spinster with four cats. Fortunately, a lot of very nice girls go to St Margaret’s, so it’s sucks to him. Girls from well-off families, whose fathers can afford the fees,’ she added acidly. ‘Zellah’s clever, but she’s also got a bit of common sense. She wants to have fun, same as anyone else. She wants to be a normal girl, not a freak of nature.’
‘Does she have a boyfriend?’
‘He won’t allow it,’ she said, making another face. ‘Says she’s too young. Well, it’s hard for her when she can’t go out whenever she wants to, like the others. Never on a school night, and at weekends it’s questions, questions, questions, and where are you going and what time will you be back? I mean, the poor girl’s watched like a criminal. And she couldn’t bring a boy back here. There was one boy, Mike Carmichael, brought her home on his motorbike once, very good-looking lad, and the ructions! Derek caught them kissing in the porch. Made them come in and – well, talk about the Spanish inquisition! Poor Zellah was mortified. And nothing the boy could say would satisfy Derek. They ended up having a row, and Zellah was forbidden to see him any more. She was in floods. Well, so was I. I mean, how’s she ever going to get married if he chases off every boy that looks at her?’