Daniel stared. ‘You’re not suggesting she had anything to do with his death?’
Arlo paused before saying, ‘Heavens, no. I mean, guilty about having flirted with another man when her husband didn’t have long to live.’
‘Was the fire an accident?’
‘Rumours are flying around that it was started deliberately.’
‘By Saffell himself? An insurance scam that got out of hand?’
‘He didn’t need the money. Wanda told me he sold his business at the top of the market. Maybe someone wanted him dead. When I met him, he seemed a decent sort, but he was an estate agent, after all, and they aren’t universally popular.’
‘You don’t kill someone because they messed up your house move.’
Arlo gave a mischievous grin, and Daniel guessed that when it came to murder cases, he was as much of a voyeur as Thomas De Quincey. ‘Who knows what people may do when driven to extremes? Anyway, I’m sorry Wanda interrupted my conversation with Louise. Such a glamorous lady.’
Daniel never thought of Louise as glamorous. She was his sister and he always pigeonholed her as a starchy lawyer.
‘She mentioned that she’d met you.’
‘I hadn’t realised that she and Stuart Wagg…’
‘They got to know each other at a legal seminar. She teaches corporate law.’
‘Whirlwind romance, by the sound of it. Stuart’s a very successful lawyer, the sort of man you want on your side.’
‘How do you mean?’
Arlo lowered his voice, as if afraid of eavesdroppers. ‘He has a reputation for ruthlessness. A good friend, and a bad enemy, or so people say. Personally, I find him very civilised. It’s wonderful that his firm is sponsoring the Festival. They’ve even printed a brochure, Lawyers for Literature. Of course, Stuart’s crazy about books, he collects them with a passion.’
‘Like George Saffell.’
‘Funny, in other respects you couldn’t find two more different characters. George was reserved, nothing like as charismatic as Stuart. Of course, Stuart is younger.’
The phone rang and Daniel reached for the receiver.
‘Is that you, Daniel?’
‘Louise?’
Her voice was barely recognisable. It wasn’t just that she was out of breath. She sounded frightened. He squeezed the receiver tight in hand, as Arlo Denstone leant forward in his chair, alerted by Daniel’s anxious question to the fact that something was amiss.
‘I’m in a lay-by near Windermere. Thank God you’re at home. Can I come to the cottage right now?’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s Stuart.’
‘What about him?’
Daniel shot Arlo a glance. He was trying to conceal his inquisitiveness, but his ears were flapping, no mistake.
‘We’ve had a terrible row. It’s like nothing I’ve-’
‘What sort of row?’
‘Daniel.’ He could hear her starting to cry. ‘He’s-’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s over.’ She stifled a sob. ‘Dead.’
CHAPTER NINE
‘You’d better get over here right away,’ Daniel said.
Louise was gasping at the other end of the phone. She’d run out of words.
‘Did you hear me? Right away.’
He was determined not to panic. Trouble was, he’d never heard Louise sound so desperate. Not cool and collected Louise. Her frosty moods and ice-axe tongue had destroyed half a dozen relationships. He disliked Stuart Wagg, and it wasn’t the end of their affair that spooked him, but the fear in his sister’s voice. As if something terrible had happened, something she dared neither describe nor explain.
‘All…all right.’
The line went dead.
‘A problem?’ Arlo Denstone’s dark eyes glinted with curiosity.
Daniel took a breath. ‘My sister, she’s…’
‘Yes?’
‘A little upset.’
Lame, but what else could he say? Arlo evidently relished gossip, preferably laced with scandal. Daniel didn’t want Louise becoming the talk of the Lakes.
‘Of course, you must look after your sister. Believe me, you’re so lucky to have her.’ Arlo consulted his watch. ‘If she is coming here, I’d better get out of your hair. So much to do back at the office, it’s all go. Our timetable is tight; let’s speak again the moment you finish the Festival paper.’
‘Sorry about-’
Arlo extended his hand. ‘Nothing to apologise for. I hope Louise isn’t in any difficulty. She’s a sweet person. I’d like to help. If there’s anything I can do, you will let me know?’
‘Thanks, but I’m sure everything will be fine.’
As the door closed behind his visitor, Daniel hurried up to the guest bedroom and flung open the window. Rain pounded outside, but the room needed airing. What had happened between Louise and Stuart Wagg? Arlo Denstone’s phrase flitted through his mind: He has a reputation for ruthlessness.
Not the most tactful message to give to the brother of Wagg’s latest squeeze, but perhaps Arlo thought Daniel needed to know. Or did he have an ulterior motive? The faintly camp manner didn’t count for much. Arlo might have taken a shine to Louise himself. He hadn’t long been back in the UK, and, despite rebuffing Wanda Saffell, he might hanker after female company. Someone intelligent, attractive, self-sufficient.
Such a glamorous lady.
He slammed the cupboard door. Louise’s life was difficult enough right now. She didn’t need Arlo Denstone making it any more complicated.
The phone trilled.
Jesus, what now? He sped downstairs.
‘Is that Daniel Kind?’
He didn’t recognise the caller’s voice. A slow-speaking man. Elderly, well-educated, Irish accent.
‘Speaking.’
‘It’s about your sister.’
Daniel checked the screen. The number of the caller’s phone was familiar. It was Louise’s mobile.
Fear clutched his throat. When he spoke, his own voice sounded scratchy and unfamiliar.
‘Who are you?’
‘My name’s O’Brien, but that doesn’t matter. I’m calling about your sister.’
‘Is she all right?’
‘She’s had an accident, but-’
‘For God’s sake!’
He had to force himself not to scream. Impossible for Louise to die. He couldn’t cope without her. In that instant, he realised how much she meant to him, even though he’d never acknowledged it, even to himself. But he’d lost his father, and later his mother. Then Aimee. Even bloody Miranda had left him, but Louise was always there. Intense and prickly, yet the one person he could trust. The one person who understood him.
‘Keep your hair on. She’s alive and kicking, thank goodness. She asked me to let you know. Car’s a write-off, I’m afraid. The police are here and a couple of paramedics, but-’
‘Where are you?’
‘On the Brack Road, half a mile from the village.’
‘I’m on my way.’
‘We all had a lucky escape, if you ask me. A very lucky escape.’
O’Brien was a talkative Dubliner in his early sixties. He and his wife, a tiny woman with dyed red hair who sat knitting in the passenger seat of their ancient Vauxhall and kept her thoughts to herself, probably the result of long marital experience, had been spending the New Year with their daughter and son-in-law at their bungalow in Brack. They were driving off to the Holyhead ferry when Louise’s Mercedes skidded as it raced round a bend and finished up on the wrong side of the road. Steering into the skid at the last moment, she had caught the Vauxhall’s front bumper a glancing blow before finishing up in a shallow ditch.
‘Too right.’
It was a miracle that she was still in one piece. The front of the car was crumpled like a used tissue, but she’d clambered out with no more than a twinge in her shoulder and a bruised elbow. O’Brien had been driving at a sedate twenty-five miles an hour and had kept his car on the road. The damage looked superficial and neither he nor his wife seemed to have suffered whiplash. The paramedics had checked Louise and the O’Briens, and they all briskly declined the offer of a more thorough examination at A amp;E in Westmorland General.