The perfect treat for fans of Downton Abbey, Poldark and Dilly Court - discover the third novel in a heart-warming new series set in the 1920s in a glamorous hotel on the Cornish Riviera . . .
1930, Liverpool. Reformed con-artist Leah Marshall has long yearned for the thrills of her former life. Now she has the chance to relive it all as an exciting new 'game' beckons, but she soon discovers the rules have changed. One slip-up and she could lose everything . . . including her life.
Back home in Cornwall, the Foxes are making their own difficult decisions. An old agreement has turned sour, putting the hotel at risk once more, and the children have grown and are embarking on their own, sometimes perilous, paths. Matriarch Helen Fox knows she must take charge of her own future now, or be left alone while her family and home splinter around her. Should she hold on a little longer, or let go and move on?
But when a new and deadly danger steps through the revolving doors of Fox Bay Hotel, Helen finds it might not be her choice to make after all . . .
Praise for the Fox Bay Saga:
'A brilliant read' RoNA award-winning, bestselling novelist Tania Crosse
'Love, loss and old rivalries are skilfully woven against an atmospheric coastal backdrop holding a promise of new beginnings. A five star page turner from the start' Kay Brellend, author of A Workhouse Christmas
'Terri Nixon has created a captivating backdrop for the Fox Bay Hotel, and the Fox family who run it. I guarantee their story will stay with you long after you have finished reading this beautifully written book' Lynne Francis, author of A Maid's Ruin
'A moving story of tragedy, deception and one woman's determination to protect her family. I couldn't put it down!' Charlotte Betts, author of The Light Within Us
Release date:
December 2, 2021
Publisher:
Little, Brown Book Group
Print pages:
432
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Leah Marshall didn’t dare stop in the doorway, in case she changed her mind. This is it, no going back now …
The lobby of the Empire Park was like the set of a Conrad–Wishart movie. Soaring frescos, painted on the multi-levelled ceilings; glittering glass chandeliers and highly polished silver; so many mirrors it must take an army of cleaners to work on those alone; and a wide staircase, with a deep blue carpet dotted with silver stars … Leah half-expected Daisy Conrad herself to appear at the top of those stairs, swathed in winter-white fur and with a handsome, tuxedoed man on each arm.
The music drifting from the piano in the corner was soft but not slow, giving the atmosphere a lightly charged feeling, a sense that one must keep moving, talking, circulating, or be left behind. Unlike Fox Bay, the Empire Park was not a residents-only hotel, and the numbers were clearly swelled tonight; beautifully dressed, loudly chattering guests regularly spilled out of the main ballroom and spread to the three different bars. The party was in full swing, but where was the host?
Leah stood straighter and reminded herself that she was dressed appropriately for a huge event like this, but she still felt a little like a cabaret artiste in her figure-hugging, green halter-neck gown. Her gloves itched, and she peeled them off now that she was in the dense warmth of the hotel, feeling the rings on her wedding finger like lead weights. She forced herself not to look at them; after all, why would she do that? She was used to them. They were nothing new, and certainly nothing to twist around her finger as her nerves reached snapping point.
She gave her coat to the attendant and moved through the lobby, keeping her head up, and with a sense of purpose in her manner that she didn’t feel. It wouldn’t do to seem aimless, not here. Not tonight. She avoided the myriad mirrors with an effort, except to ensure her pageboy was perfectly in place after her short walk from the taxi to the front door, and to hastily adjust the silk rose at her shoulder, crushed flat by her coat.
‘Mrs Scripps!’
She turned towards the voice, hiding her relief behind a mask of pleased surprise, and pulled Millicent’s American accent from her wide repertoire. ‘Mr Freeman, so good to see you again.’
The bearded, bespectacled man beamed and gestured her over to his group. ‘I’m so glad you could make it after all,’ he called out, causing heads to turn. His Cockney accent was more subdued than she’d become used to, but still distinct from most of the other voices she could hear around her.
‘Thank you so much for inviting me,’ she said, joining the group. ‘I do hope your host won’t mind?’
A man of medium height and bland, forgettable features inclined his head towards her, and she guessed him to be the man in question. Mr Freeman drew her closer, one hand at her bare back in a too-familiar gesture. She would have strong words for him later on.
‘Here, let me introduce you,’ Freeman said. ‘Leonard, this is the lady I was telling you about, Mrs Millicent Scripps. I was fortunate enough to receive the point of her umbrella in the small of my back, at Ma Egerton’s earlier today.’
‘I’m so sorry about that,’ Leah began, but he brushed it away.
‘We’d never have got talking otherwise, would we? Mrs Scripps, this is Mr Leonard Neville, well known philanthropist, and the generous host of this magnificent party.’
He went on to name the others in the group, but Neville was the only one of interest. Leah kept her greeting brief, then stood silent while Mr Freeman held forth at great length about his latest investment.
‘America is where the clever money’s going,’ he said. ‘RKO, Good Boy, Paramount, you know. Since the depression hit they’re desperate for overseas investors, they’ll snatch our hands off.’
‘Of course,’ one woman broke in, ‘with you being American, Mrs Scripps, you’d know a lot about the movie industry wouldn’t you?’
‘Oh!’ Leah shook her head. ‘I’m not from California. I live … lived,’ she broke off, and now she allowed herself to twist the huge engagement ring, just once, ‘in New York with my husband.’
‘Oh … ’ The woman looked uncomfortable. ‘And now?’
‘I moved away after he died late last year.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ the woman murmured, and when Leah only smiled sadly at her she turned back to her companion and allowed Mr Freeman to continue his story.
Eventually the others drifted away and left only Leah, Mr Freeman and Mr Neville.
‘Do please call me Leonard,’ Neville invited, deftly lifting a drink from the tray of a passing waiter and handing it to her.
‘Thank you. It’s very gracious of you to allow me to come along tonight. I’m afraid I’m quite adrift in town. Or I was, until Mr Freeman kindly took me under his wing.’
‘It’s my pleasure.’ Mr Freeman’s hand was on her back again, this time lower, and she stepped smoothly away under the pretence of examining one of the glossy-leaved ferns in a pot nearby.
‘I do hope you enjoy the party,’ Mr Neville said. ‘Perhaps, if you’re still at a loose end tomorrow you might join me for lunch? Both of you, of course,’ he added.
‘Oh! That’d be so nice, thank you.’
‘Well I understand from Mr Freeman here that you have a little … difficulty you’d like help with?’
Leah shot a scowl at Mr Freeman, who recoiled slightly. ‘I spoke to you in confidence, during a difficult moment. I don’t appreciate you discussing what I told you with a perfect stranger.’ She turned back to Neville. ‘I’m so sorry, Mr … Leonard, I wouldn’t dream of imposing on your good will and your time.’
‘It’s no imposition, I assure you. I’d talk tonight, but as you can see,’ he gestured with his cigar and no small amount of satisfaction, ‘I have rather a lot of circulating to do.’
‘Nevertheless, I’m afraid Mr Freeman here spoke out of turn, and—’
‘Please, Mrs Scripps.’ Neville took her hand, his eyes grazing the ring before returning to meet hers. ‘I’d be delighted to help if I can. Shall we say here, at twelve-thirty? If you choose not to confide in me, then we’ll simply call it lunch, and an introduction to Liverpool.’
Leah hesitated, then nodded and smiled shyly. ‘In that case, thank you, and I’d be delighted.’
‘Ask for me at reception. Now,’ Neville was already getting a faraway look on his face, ‘I must mingle. Do enjoy the rest of the party, won’t you?’
‘I’m sure I shall.’
But ten minutes later Leah was shivering on the steps as she waited for the car to pull around. What a waste of a wonderful dress and two hours with a curling iron. Although perhaps not a waste exactly, given the lunch invitation, just a shame to have to cut the evening so short. She wondered idly if Mr Neville would be looking for her as the number of guests dwindled, and decided that even if he did he would assume she was too annoyed with “Mr Freeman” to want to stay.
The car she was waiting for eventually pulled up, and the driver waved away the commissionaire who stepped forward to greet him. Leah pulled her coat closer and hurried down to slip into the passenger seat.
‘Where were you? I’m freezing.’
‘I couldn’t just leave at the same time as you,’ he pointed out reasonably, the East End now back in his voice in full strength. He pulled his glasses off and threw them irritably into the back seat. ‘Those things were driving me mad. Home, then?’
‘If you can call it that.’ Leah shrank down into the seat, crossing her arms over her chest to keep warm. ‘What’s Glynn been doing while we’ve been wangling lunch invitations from dodgy philanthropists?’
‘Sorting it from his end.’ The man Neville knew as Freeman, but who Glynn had introduced to her as Wilf Stanley, negotiated the late evening traffic towards the ferry terminal. Leah neither liked nor trusted him, but Glynn had assured her he was perfect for the job. Besides, the whole thing had been his idea, conceived when the two men had shared a cell in Cardiff Prison, so she couldn’t exactly refuse to work with him. But her skin crawled when his hand brushed it, as it did far too often, and she knew it wouldn’t be too long before she gave him short shrift for doing so. In the meantime it was best to keep his temper sweet.
The trip back across the Mersey to Birkenhead passed in silence, and Wilf dropped her off outside the West Bank boarding house before ten o’clock. It might be hours yet before Glynn returned, and Wilf looked at her with a hopeful expression as she climbed out of the car, clearly expecting an invitation for a nightcap.
She smiled brightly, pretending not to notice. ‘See you at the hotel tomorrow then. Twelve-thirty.’
He didn’t reply at first, and Leah steeled herself for a firmer farewell, but eventually he nodded.
‘Twelve-thirty then, darlin’. Dress smart.’
The cheek of him. ‘Don’t forget your glasses,’ she fired back, ‘they make you look clever.’
She waited for him to drive off before pushing open the door to the dingy little boarding house, and climbing the three storeys to the room she and Glynn shared. Such a far cry from the place she’d just left; she felt as if she’d been plucked out of a fairy tale and dropped straight into a Dickens novel.
She hung the dress carefully on one of the few rickety hangers in the wardrobe, and, shivering in the cold, she quickly pulled her robe over her rayon slip before going through the belongings that had come over from Fox Bay. They’d been delivered to the nurses’ home at Pembroke Place, and once she’d safely intercepted them Leah had written to Helen to give West Bank as her new address, thankful her friend would never see this hovel for herself. She’d be appalled.
She carefully selected tomorrow’s outfit. Lunch at the Empire Park, particularly in the company of Leonard Neville, would place her at the heart of much scrutiny and analysis, and she wanted to appear bright and personable, but not overly so, in light of her recent widowhood. It was a tricky balance, but she eventually selected a handkerchief-hemmed dress in royal blue, and laid aside the matching hat and light scarf to tone down the open neckline. She had just found the perfect watermelon tourmaline brooch to pin to her shoulder when she heard the downstairs door open, and a man’s voice murmuring to the landlady. There weren’t many guests at this time of year, so Leah was reasonably certain it would be Glynn, but she still tensed when she heard a heavy tread on the creaky boards outside their door; the last thing she wanted was a late-night visit from Wilf Stanley. She relaxed as the door opened and Glynn came in, looking dapper in a well-cut suit, his hat dark with rain.
‘Everything go alright?’ he asked, dropping his coat onto the bed.
Leah tutted and picked it up before the damp could transfer onto the sheets. ‘Perfectly. Wilf’s done his background well, Neville seems to have accepted him as Freeman.’
‘Excellent. And?’
‘And we’re having lunch tomorrow, at the hotel.’
‘Good.’ He caught her from behind, as she moved to the dressing table to begin brushing out the smooth waves she’d spent so long creating. ‘You looked beautiful tonight, it’s no wonder he’s so keen to help.’
‘We don’t know that he will be, yet,’ she pointed out. ‘Just because he wants to hear what I have to say doesn’t mean he’ll fall for any of it. He’s no fool, I’m sure of that.’
‘He doesn’t need to be a fool. Just needs to be greedy, and we know he’s that at least.’
‘Why him, anyway?’ Leah put down her brush and turned to face him, effectively breaking his embrace. ‘I half-expected some monster. What’s Wilf got against him that he cooked this whole thing up even before he got out of jail?’
‘No idea.’ Glynn moved away to begin undressing. ‘Didn’t ask, doesn’t matter. We’ll get enough out of it to start our new life.’
‘You’re still keen to go to America then?’
‘Aren’t you? Just think how well we’d do out there. I could get a job anywhere, with a new identity, and you could teach actors how to speak with different accents, just like that producer bloke said you might.’
‘Rex Kelly? Helen tells me Dangerous Ladies isn’t going to be made after all, so my name won’t be on any credit roll.’
‘Still, there’s work there if you want it, I’m sure of it.’ Glynn pulled on his pyjamas and picked up his washbag. ‘I won’t be long.’ His gaze drifted across her robed body, and she could tell what he was thinking, but deep down she knew it still wasn’t time. They had been back together only a little over a month, and she couldn’t surrender to his touch without feeling a surge of longing for that idiot Adam Coleridge.
As soon as Glynn had gone down the hall to the bathroom Leah used the bowl and ewer in their room to complete her own ablutions and climbed into the lumpy bed before he returned. She didn’t bother to feign sleep, but managed to convey by her posture that tonight wasn’t the night, and, to her relief, he didn’t try to persuade her. Instead they talked over Leah’s role for tomorrow until they both drifted off, to the comforting sound of the rain on the window.
The following morning Glynn left early, and Leah took her time dressing and, after another disappointing breakfast, readying herself for her lunch appointment. Then she put her smart shoes into her bag and walked to the ferry, once again wishing they could have stayed somewhere brighter, and closer to the Empire Park. But the cash Glynn had won from his final card game in Bude was fast disappearing, and maintaining the impression of wealth was eating into it alarmingly fast.
As always, Leah’s mood lowered as she thought of that game, and how he had brushed off her questions about the bruise on his face with how it had simply “got out of hand”. She was as certain as she could be that he had been one of those who had attacked Jory Nancarrow, and taken the money he’d been paid for pawning Bertie’s engagement ring. The thought that she was even now living off those ill-acquired gains had almost made her turn tail more than once. But what would have been the use? She couldn’t return to Fox Bay, not after having lied to everyone, and continuing to add to those lies with every letter she sent. A new life in America was all that was left to her now.
The ferry docked at Pier Head, and Leah turned up her coat collar against the biting cold and waved down a taxi. During the short ride to the hotel she slipped off her comfortable Mary Janes, donned a pair of low-heeled satin pumps, and went over her story yet again – this wasn’t like those days at Fox Bay, when Millicent had merely been a diversion from the emptiness of her life without Daniel. The adoption of a lively, confident alter-ego had helped her, then, to suppress the memory of the man she had loved, and lost to the war, and knowing someone might rumble her little game at any moment had made it even more of a distraction. But here there could be no slip-ups; Glynn had made it perfectly clear that, despite his outward charm, Leonard Neville was not a man to be crossed. If he discovered what they were doing, things could get very sticky indeed.
The hotel was much quieter today, even for a Saturday lunchtime, and Leah, now fully immersed in her Mrs Scripps persona, marched confidently across the gold and brown carpet, and gave the reception bell a single, imperious tap.
‘I’m here to see Mr Leonard Neville. Tell him it’s Mrs Scripps.’
‘I’ll call up to his room for you now, madam.’
Wilf appeared, his hand outstretched. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Scripps. So good to see you again. Might I buy you a drink?’
‘No, thank you, Mr Freeman, I’ll wait for lunch.’
They didn’t have to wait long. Leonard Neville came out of the lift within a few minutes, pulling at his shirt cuffs to expose square-cut silver cufflinks with an inset that might have been either ebony or onyx.
Despite the obvious wealth that draped him like a silk cloak, he still seemed as forgettable as yesterday’s rice pudding, and Leah tried to put a finger on how that could be; he was distinguished-looking, with immaculate grey wings brushed back from the temple, and the smile he gave her was perfectly pleasant as he extended his hand, but his eyes were a rather ordinary mid-brown, his eyebrows neither bushy nor thin, his moustache neat but plain … She might have passed him four times in a day and not recognised him.
They exchanged pleasantries, and he showed them into the dining room. After Fox Bay, Leah had thought she knew what to expect, but the Empire Park had overtaken Fox Bay’s quiet elegance and then covered it in glitter and gold, so much so that it actually made her wince and long for the fresh, clean decor she knew and loved. The food, however, was delicious, and since Mr Neville had not yet brought up the reason for inviting them she took the time to enjoy every mouthful. After West Bank’s limp bacon and watery scrambled egg it was hard not to wolf everything down and exclaim at every bite.
But she made herself stop eating long before she had finished her main course, and pushed her plate away. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said in a low, embarrassed voice. ‘This is so kind of you, but my appetite … ’ She let the words trail off, and took a sip of water. ‘I hope I haven’t put you to any inconvenience.’
‘Not at all. Mr Freeman here said you were looking for some advice. Is that the case?’
She frowned at Wilf, before returning her attention to Neville. ‘I really don’t want to put you to any trouble.’
‘It’s no trouble. Tell me what you need.’
Leah looked over her shoulder, then at the waiter, hovering nearby, and lowered her voice. ‘I have a substantial sum of money to invest, and I’m looking for somewhere … safe.’
‘Safe?’
‘I can’t run the risk of losing it. It’s too … the cost was too high.’
‘All investment is a risk, Mrs Scripps,’ Neville pointed out gently. ‘What do you mean, the cost was too high?’
‘My husband, my late husband,’ she amended with a little hitch in her voice, ‘had all his money tied up in Blue Chip stocks. He was told to get out, by a, a friend who warned him the market was unstable, especially after the London crash, but he paid no attention. When Wall Street went down he thought he’d lost everything, and he couldn’t stand it. He took his … I’m sorry!’ She stifled a sob in her napkin, and felt a warm hand on her shoulder.
‘Please, Mrs Scripps, don’t upset yourself. Would you prefer to take this conversation somewhere quieter?’
She gave Neville a grateful look. ‘Perhaps, if it’s not too much trouble.’
‘Not at all. The lounge has booths that offer more privacy.’
Once settled, Neville ordered drinks and prompted Leah to begin her tale again. ‘You said your husband thought he’d lost everything,’ he said. ‘Can I take this to mean you were in fact able to cash in his stocks without him realising? How was that possible?’
Leah didn’t answer right away. She picked up her drink and took a generous slug, glad she’d at least eaten something; there was a great deal more gin in it than she’d expected. ‘The friend who tried to convince him, well, it was his stockbroker.’
Neville sat forward, his expression sharpening. ‘Are you talking about insider dealing?’
‘I couldn’t say.’ But Leah made sure her lowered eyes said it for her, and heard Neville utter a little oath under his breath.
‘This is extremely serious,’ he said aloud. ‘Mrs Scripps, this man could go to prison.’
For a moment Leah wondered if they had misjudged him, but she ploughed on regardless. ‘George’s entire savings, our house, everything was tied up, and our accountant tried to save it! In the end, between us we … ’ Leah broke off again and rose. ‘I’m sorry, I should never have come to you—’
‘Please sit down, Mrs Scripps. Mr Freeman, did you know about this?’
‘Certainly not! When Mrs Scripps and I met in Ma Egerton’s she told me she had a sum of money to invest. I’d mentioned I was an investor, you see.’
‘But you didn’t tell her your specialism is the film industry.’
‘It was just conversation, I didn’t see the need.’
‘I misunderstood,’ Leah confessed. ‘It’s all so confusing to me.’
‘An easy mistake, my dear,’ Wilf said, taking the opportunity to pat her on the knee. She was just able to stop herself pulling her leg out of the way.
‘And why aren’t you interested in putting your money into that industry?’ Neville wanted to know. ‘It’s a flourishing business, I’m given to understand. You heard what Mr Freeman was saying last night.’
Leah lowered her face, plucking at a button on her dress. ‘I would prefer to take my money out of America just now, I’m sure you understand that.’
Neville gave a short laugh. ‘I do. Especially given what you’ve just told me.’
‘Mr Freeman was kind enough to suggest that you yourself might have some advice for me.’
‘Why are you here? As opposed to London.’
‘Because the Samaria runs here from New York,’ she said, sounding puzzled at the sharp question, but sending silent thanks to Glynn for his thorough research. ‘I’ll be moving on soon.’
Neville pursed his lips. ‘How soon?’
‘I don’t know. I hadn’t planned to stay long though, I have family back home who don’t really understand why I’ve come away so soon after … you know. Obviously I couldn’t tell them the truth.’ Leah gave him a hopeful look. ‘Do you? Have any advice, I mean.’
‘About your money? Perhaps. How much is it?’
Leah took a deep breath. ‘A little under fifty thousand dollars. Minus the cost of travelling here, and my hotel.’
‘A not inconsiderable sum,’ Neville conceded. He cast a slow glance around as much of the room as they could see from their booth. ‘Leave it with me, I’ll talk it through with some colleagues. In the meantime I’d very much like to meet the man who gave your husband such good advice.’
Leah’s heart leapt. ‘Meet him? I, I don’t think that would be possible.’
‘I take it he’s still in America then?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, he is.’
‘How soon could he travel here?’
Leah lifted her hands helplessly. ‘He’s so busy. It would take a real long time to organise, and then there’s the voyage—’
‘I agree with Mrs Scripps,’ Wilf put in. ‘A very bad notion, Mr Neville, if you don’t mind my saying so. You’d be putting your own reputation at some risk, were it to come out later what … what this man has done.’
A tense silence fell over the little group, while Wilf nursed his drink and Leah’s fingers went white twisting around each other.
‘When did he get your husband’s money out?’ Neville asked mildly, after a few minutes had passed. ‘The exact date, I mean.’
‘October twenty-third.’ It didn’t seem enough, and she went on, ‘When it was just coming up to close of trading, we finally accepted that George wasn’t going to take his advice, and things were already starting to slip badly … as you’ll know,’ she added, ‘being an investor yourself. I gave the word to go ahead and just sell everything, right there and then.’ She wondered if she’d committed the liar’s sin of explaining too much; he’d only asked for the date, after all.
Neville shifted on his banquette, then leaned forward and closed his hand on Leah’s. She gasped as his fingers tightened, grinding her knuckles against the rings she wore. His eyes dropped to them, and his smile was thin as he released her.
‘I don’t believe you, Mrs Scripps.’
‘I don’t understand,’ she whimpered, her eyes filling with tears that weren’t altogether false; that had hurt, and the sudden change in his demeanour was chilling. She rubbed at her hand, resisting the urge to look around to see if anyone else had seen what he’d done. But he was subtle; it would have looked like nothing more than a friendly gesture. ‘You don’t believe what?’
‘That, risking everything for you, this man is only your husband’s stockbroker. Admit it, Mrs Scripps, you and he are having an affair, aren’t you?’ He smiled again, though it was anything but friendly. ‘And it wouldn’t surprise me either, to learn that you’d realised poor old George would be unable to live with losing everything, especially after being warned. After all, you neglected to tell him his money was safe. It was deliberate, wasn’t it?’
‘No!’ Leah breathed. ‘My husband never came home, I didn’t have time to tell him before the markets opened—’
‘But your so-called broker is here in England.’
It wasn’t a question, and there was no sense arguing further. ‘Alright, yes. He was worried, with me bringing such a large sum in cash, so he escorted me here. He’s not in town,’ she hurried on, ‘I decided to break my journey for a few days, but he travelled ahead to London, to investigate various other options.’
‘Then, as I said, I’d like to meet him.’
‘But—’
‘Mrs Scripps.’ Neville leaned forward again, his nondescript features suddenly iron-hard, and Leah instinctively jerked her hand out of his reach. ‘You have freely admitted, to both myself and my friend Mr Freeman, that you have come by your wealth through nefarious means. You have broken the law, and your husband’s stockbroker mightn’t be the only one going to jail when, if, it becomes known how you’ve benefited from this.’
Wilf spoke up, sounding horribly nervous too. ‘Surely, Leonard old thing, we don’t want to get—’
‘She’s played you for a fool too,’ Neville reminded him, and Freeman sank back into his seat, looking admirably dismayed.
‘Well now, you’re probably right, at that.’
‘She has her uses, at least,’ Neville said. ‘Arrange things please, Mrs Scripps.’ Now his face relaxed into its former easy smile. ‘I’m sure you’d prefer to share your lover’s expertise than your own wealth, after all.’
Leah forced herself to meet those mid-brown eyes for a moment longer than was comfortable, and nodded. ‘I’ll try.’
‘And I’ll do some asking around in the meantime.’
‘A … asking around?’ Her voice trembled.
‘To see what’s up and coming, in the line of legitimate businesses looking for cash injections, of course.’
‘Oh. Of course. When should we meet you?’
‘Not you. If and when your broker friend proves himself genuine, and useful to me, I’ll be back in touch. If he doesn’t, or if he doesn’t agree to meet me, you’d better watch your back. Before you go,’ he added, as she rose, ‘you’d better give me his name.’
For a heart-stopping moment her mind went blank, then she dragged a name from the shadows. ‘Jacob Bitterson.’
‘Have you heard of him?’ Neville asked Wilf, who frowned.
‘Maybe. I can ask around for you.’
‘Good.’ Neville turned back to Leah. ‘Tell him to call the hotel as soon as he arrives in town, we’ll arrange a meeting.’
‘Is this really necessary?’
‘Absolutely. If you wish to avoid a nasty court case, that is. Wait behind if you would, Mr Freeman, I’d like to talk to you.’
Wilf paused, half-standing, then sat back down again without looking at Leah. ‘Of course.’
Leah left, hugely relieved to be away from him, though part of her wished she could have stayed to listen to the ensuing conversation, but there was a car waiting around the corner and she hurried to climb in.
Glynn started the Lancia and nosed out into the traffic, and when she said nothing, he glanced at her, his eyebrow raised. ‘Well?’
She blew out her pent-up breath and let her head fall back against the head rest. ‘Well, I hope you’ve been busy, because the game is afoot.’ She gave him a slow, triumphant smile. ‘He wants to meet you, Mr Bitterson.’
Truro
The office was in a side street off Lemon Quay. The area was pretty enough, but the building didn’t exactly foster a sense of professionalism or success, and Adam checked the piece of paper in his hand against the mottled brass number on the wall, hoping he was wrong. On the other hand, the day was marching on, and his car headlights had developed a fault lately; they were sure to blink out on him on the way home if he didn’t get back to Trethkellis before dark. It was the right building.
The door was unlatched, and he stepped into a short hall and saw a set of uneven wooden stairs ahead of him, with a paper-thin carpet tacked only to the very centre. The woodworm holes either side were mildly concerning, and Adam winced as the first stair he stepped on made a loud, groaning protest, but he climbed them swiftly until he reached the office door. The sign on the door was small and plain.
Samuel Douglas. Private Investigations Undertaken.
His knock was answered by a friendly-sounding voice, and when he went into the office he was surprised and relieved to see a stark contrast with the semi-darkness of the stairwell, and the general lack of upkeep from outside. The window offered a generous view across Lemon Quay towards the river, and let in a spill of natural, late afternoon light that illuminated the neat but sparsely furnished room and the paintings that hung on the walls. A tidy desk sat in the centre, and the man behind it rose and offered his
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