Faith - Lesley Pearse [160]
‘I like wide open spaces,’ he said. ‘I always envy people who live in remote houses. I saw one out there that I really loved. It was called Brodie Farm – do you know it?’
Her face tightened. ‘It’s my sister’s place,’ she said.
‘Really!’ David exclaimed, determined not to be put off by her frosty expression. ‘What a lucky woman – it’s beautiful. Does she do bed and breakfast too? It looked to me as if the stables had been converted for that. My wife and children would love to stay there. I went up and knocked on the door to ask, but there was no one there.’
‘There wouldn’t be. My sister is dead,’ Belle replied; her voice had an edge of cold steel. ‘I’m taking care of it.’
‘I’m so sorry. How tactless of me,’ David said quickly. ‘I have an unholy knack of putting my foot in it. Please forgive me.’
She just looked at him. He half expected her to ask him to leave. But she shrugged. ‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ she said. ‘You weren’t to know. Would you like a glass of wine? I’ve just opened a bottle.’
David gulped hard. He’d thought he’d blown it. ‘That’s very kind of you. But I don’t want to hold you up if you are preparing your dinner.’
She smirked. ‘I don’t cook when my husband is playing golf. I’ve wasted too many dinners in the past when he hasn’t turned up. And I’d be glad of your company.’
David remembered Stuart had claimed she was a maneater and wondered if it was wise to take her up on her offer while her husband was out. But it was a heaven-sent opportunity to get to know her better, and it might be the only one he’d get.
He was still in Belle’s kitchen at eight, for she’d no sooner downed another glass of wine than she began to pour out the story of her sister’s murder. David found it fascinating – not the story of course, he knew that as well as she did – but the way she portrayed it. There was very little about the actual crime, or indeed her devastation at losing her sister in such a terrible way, but a great deal about her court appearance as a witness, and how the murder had blighted her life.
It was almost as if she thought of herself as the true victim. Her life had been torn apart, the neighbours gossiped about her, and her business had suffered too. She also seemed very angry at being expected to look after Brodie Farm as well.
David wondered if she’d always been this self-centred, or if she was actually suffering from depression.
Fortunately he wasn’t called on to make any comment. Belle seemed satisfied with the odd exclamation of horror and nods of sympathy.
By the time she was on her third glass of wine she vented her spleen on Laura. ‘I thought of her as a sister, I did so much for her over the years, and yet she repaid me like that,’ she said, growing red in the face with anger.
Her tirade went on and on: how Laura had fooled Jackie into believing she was her true friend and that she had given her money which she spent on drugs.
‘You probably won’t believe this, no one would credit anyone could be this heartless, but after her little boy was killed in a road accident she skipped off to Italy for a long holiday. I think he was better off dead than being brought up by a mother like that.’
David certainly didn’t think Laura was whiter than white. There had been times since he joined up with Stuart when he’d doubted her innocence. But he knew for certain that she hadn’t gone to Italy until a year after Barney’s death, and it wasn’t for a holiday, only to work. While he knew grief did strange things to people, he hadn’t expected such malice.
He wondered if Belle told all her guests about her sister’s death. He thought it would be very offputting for holidaymakers, for her intensity was enough to frighten anyone. He knew that if he and Julia had turned up here without knowing about it in advance, they’d probably have backed out the door double quick.
He found himself watching her rather than just listening. She lit up cigarette after cigarette, and she drummed her long pink fingernails on the table. Then she’d get up and pace the room, straighten china on the