‘Naughty boy,’ Fern said. ‘But I like him.’
‘Keep your hands off,’ Hannah said. ‘He should carry a health warning, everyone tells me he’s bad news.’
‘But a good detective, I hear. Don’t worry, I’m not into cradle-snatching. He’s closer to your age than mine.’
‘Only by two or three years. And you must be joking if you think I’d ever take a shine to him.’
‘So, how is Marc?’
‘Fine, we spent Christmas with his family.’
‘And you’re still speaking to him? The last Christmas I spent with my in-laws nearly turned me into a spree killer. Go on, then. Any chance Marc will make an honest woman of you this year now you’ve bought that posh new house?’
‘Leave it, Fern.’ Hannah snapped a corner off the burnt slice of toast and chewed it furiously. ‘I want to hear about your prime suspect.’
‘Wanda? She met George after her firm won the PR account for Saffell Properties. Her maiden name was-’
‘Smith.’
Fern raised her eyebrows. ‘Actually, that was the name of her first husband. Her maiden name was Hart. Someone who knew her at school told me she was known as Cold Hart. No change there, then. How come you knew she was called Smith — doing a bit of moonlighting away from Cold Cases, are you?’
‘I’ll fill you in after you’ve told me about her life with Saffell.’
‘Once she spotted her chance of a lifestyle of conspicuous consumption, old George didn’t have a chance. Creating positive PR for estate agents must be a challenge, but she rose to it. They hired Wray Castle for a huge wedding. The photo shoot was all over Lake District Life. Big mistake. Like the celebrities who give gushing interviews to Hello about their undying love and then start clawing at each other’s throats within the year.’
‘Whatever happened to fairy-tale romance, eh?’
‘Trust me, kid. Most relationships are nothing like yours and Marc’s.’
Hannah fiddled with the stained gingham tablecloth.
‘I missed out on the glitzy wedding, remember?’
‘You wouldn’t want it,’ Fern assured her. ‘Not your style, kid. Don’t get in a huff, he’s a gorgeous feller. Most women would scratch your eyes out if they thought they could get their shoes under his bed. Me included.’
Hannah couldn’t help laughing. Fern was, in her way, as provocative as Greg Wharf.
‘There’s no room under his sodding bed because of all those musty old books. You’d hate it.’
‘I’d cope.’ Fern leered as she polished off her baked beans. ‘Any road, George plus Wanda didn’t equal a match made in Heaven. She isn’t cut out for the role of dutiful little woman, small-talking her way through golf dinners and cocktail parties. Her first husband was a drummer in a band. Not a very successful band, but it must have attracted a few groupies, because he ran off with one of them years ago. No kids, she doesn’t seem the maternal type.’
‘Is there a maternal type?’
‘You know perfectly well what I mean. Once Wanda was married, she threw up her job and started this little printing press. She turns out arty-farty stuff — poetry and something called belles-lettres. A lifelong ambition, she told me. Huh, takes all sorts.’
‘And kindly old George helped her to realise her dream.’
‘For him, the cost of setting up the business was small change. A price worth paying, to get inside her knickers. His staff were loyal and mostly discreet, but he had a reputation for a roving eye. You know the sort of thing. Patting the office juniors’ bums and peering down the secretaries’ tops. Middle-aged man’s syndrome. One girl said that she only had to undo an extra blouse button or two to have his tongue hanging out like a roller blind.’
‘Any complaints?’
‘One or two girls left in a hurry, but no formal grievances were lodged, let alone any sexual harassment claims. The women who worked there seemed to feel sorry for him. I’d guess some were disappointed when Wanda snared him. I’ve visited their house, it’s fabulous. Then there was the converted boathouse at Ullswater. Plus half a dozen refurbished terraced houses with long-term tenants. For good measure, there’s a villa in Spain, but so far I haven’t managed to wangle a trip out there to hunt for clues.’
‘You’re slipping.’ Fern’s ability to persuade the top brass that trips overseas were vital to her latest investigation was the stuff of legend. ‘How about New Zealand, for a word with the daughter? They say it’s a beautiful country.’
‘Lynsey came back to England for the funeral.’ Fern pouted. ‘We talked, but she wasn’t able to shed much light. She hadn’t been back since George and Wanda tied the knot. The Saffells visited four years ago, but she and Wanda had nothing in common. She didn’t even seem that heartbroken about her dad’s demise. They were never that close, and she wasn’t pining for an inheritance. Her husband is loaded, he’s a stockbroker in Christchurch.’
‘The money motive, then. Any other sizeable legacies apart from Wanda?’
‘The National Trust does very nicely, but I think it’s against their rules to murder people to raise funds.’
‘How much does the grieving widow inherit?’
‘Not as much as you’d expect. She has the right to live in the house unless and until she remarries. And she gets the proceeds of his insurance. The lawyers are sorting out George’s estate at their usual snail’s pace. They say it’s complicated, with a rich deceased and properties overseas. Meanwhile, the insurers haven’t paid out a penny as yet.’
‘Praying they can rely on a sneaky get-out in the small print of the policy?’
‘Like insurers the world over. When I talked to head office, they seemed resigned to coughing up. They’d be thrilled if we could prove that Wanda murdered George, but the way it looks today, I’ll never conjure up evidence to satisfy the CPS, let alone a jury. Wanda is playing a good hand. So far she hasn’t chased for payment.’
‘She doesn’t need the cash in a hurry, surely?’
‘Sooner or later, she’ll need a few bob. Her printing press loses money hand over fist — but she won’t want to look like a gold-digger.’
‘Bit late for that. Does she care much about appearances?’
Fern speared the last piece of black pudding, and contemplated the blood oozing out of it.
‘She’s a funny mix. Part ice maiden, part drama queen.’
‘And you think she’s also part murderer?’
Fern devoured the black pudding with a cannibalistic relish and then banged down her knife and fork.
‘Between you and me, Hannah, doubts are creeping in. I thought I had this one figured. But if she’s guilty, God knows how I’ll prove it.’
‘Which firm of lawyers is handling George’s estate? Stuart Wagg’s outfit?’
‘Now, what makes you ask that?’ Fern said softly.
‘Just wondered.’
‘Yeah? Actually, the executors are two partners in a big outfit called Boycott Duff. As for Wagg’s firm, he and George were book-collecting rivals. They did plenty of business together over the years, but were never close. What I don’t know is whether George knew that Wanda consulted Stuart’s firm about a divorce.’
Hannah sat up in her chair. ‘She did?’
‘Three weeks before he died, she saw a partner called Raj Doshi.’
‘I know the name.’
Doshi, yes, the gallant knight who had taken Wanda home after she poured wine over Arlo Denstone. Hannah didn’t know they were already acquainted.
‘Good-looking feller. How good a lawyer he is, I’ve no idea. Wanda says she didn’t find his advice encouraging. The bottom line was that she’d be worse off if she left George than if they stayed married.’
‘Because they’d only been married for a few years?’
Fern nodded. ‘I checked with Doshi. He hummed and hawed about client confidentiality to salve his lawyer’s conscience, but Wanda had authorised him to disclose his advice. Disappointingly, he backed up everything she’d told us.’
‘Had she primed him? Did he admit to anything more than a solicitor-client relationship?’