Murder in Hampstead, Sabina Manea [best way to read ebooks .txt] 📗

sureness that hadn’t been there before. The house was hers to rule as she pleased, but it wasn’t arrogance or entitlement – it was the knowledge of being settled. She wore a blue Liberty patterned dress, tightly cinched at the waist, and strands of her hair still glistening with the remnants of the old auburn shade fell softly on the shoulders. She looked younger, prettier, more like the photo Lucia had glimpsed in her room.

Inside, Lucia worked until she could no longer bear the stifling heat that permeated the fabric of the building despite the open windows. She went downstairs for a break and found that most of the garden was mercifully sheltered from the sun. She could hear Margaret’s voice on the other side of the fence. The only plausible explanation for the continued clattering and scraping was that they were having work done to the house. Lucia decided to investigate.

‘Margaret, hi,’ she shouted over the fence.

‘Oh, hi, Lucia. Sorry for the noise. The removal people are here, and it’s total pandemonium. Come round the front.’

Intrigued, Lucia did as she was told. The bay outside the Walkers’ front door was occupied by a lorry that was methodically swallowing up their worldly possessions. Margaret stood in the doorway, hair tied up, apron on, issuing instructions.

‘You’re leaving?’ exclaimed Lucia. Clearly, Beatrice Hall wasn’t the only place in the neighbourhood where major change was underfoot.

Margaret grinned with tired eyes. ‘Yes, moving on to bigger and better things. Or at least out of here. Come in, Lucia. I’ll tell you all about it over a cuppa.’

The kitchen chairs had already been packed up, so they sat, somewhat awkwardly, on the floor. There was nothing left of the Walkers’ home, as the off-white walls waited patiently for another family’s life.

‘I meant to call, but… well, you can see for yourself.’ Margaret smiled wearily. ‘After the horrors next door… I heard you weren’t well.’ Her voice trailed off, as if she had forgotten how to make small talk. ‘But you’re better now?’

‘Don’t worry, I’m fine. It’s all behind us now. What’s happening with you?’ Lucia saw that the other woman wanted to talk, and she definitely wanted to listen.

Margaret’s brown eyes narrowed as if to suppress a tear, but nothing came out. She ran her fingers through her ponytail and began. ‘John was having an affair. I’ve known for quite some time. I might look like a trophy wife, but I didn’t leave my brain at the door when I quit my job to be the good little woman.’ She said this matter-of-factly, with no bitterness attached. ‘He couldn’t just jump the clerk or his pupil, like everyone else. It had to be bloody Frieda Alexander.’

Margaret stopped, on the verge of explaining, when Lucia cut in. ‘I know who she is.’ She debated for a split second whether to go further and opted for partial honesty. ‘The police got wind of the affair. They also knew the Professor was blackmailing your husband. It put him on their list of suspects. I’m sorry, this is awful, but you deserve to know.’

Margaret pursed her lips and nodded in acquiescence – it obviously wasn’t news to her. ‘Once he knew the police was on to him, John told me everything. Shame that he couldn’t keep it in his pants – two careers down the pan, and for what?’ The sigh was not one of despair, but rather of dogged determination. ‘I’m not walking away. He’s not a bad man, just monumentally stupid, and I owe it to the children.’

‘What are you going to do next?’ asked Lucia. She wondered what it was that Margaret did before she became a housewife.

‘We’re moving to the States. South Carolina, to be precise. I always fancied living in Charleston. I’ve got a job offer, and the visas are already in the pipeline.’ Margaret’s eyes lit up, and she laughed with unbridled delight. ‘After all these years, the tables have finally turned. He’ll have to be the stay-at-home husband and start from scratch before he can make something of himself. A fitting punishment, I think.’

‘It’s quite the fall from grace. And what’s your line of work, Margaret?’

‘Forensic accountant. In fact, it turns out Adam worked at my old firm. He was long after my time – our paths didn’t cross then. It’s a small world, eh?’

Small world indeed, pondered Lucia. Very occasionally, coincidences did just happen. She marvelled at the change in Margaret – under the misleading shell of vacuity hid an intelligent and tenacious woman. ‘Listen, if you need a hand when you get there – anything at all – I’ve got a good friend who hails from Charleston. They’d be more than happy to help.’ Lucia was sure the Chanlers would go out of their way to give a leg-up to someone in need.

‘Thanks, Lucia. I could do with support, that’s for sure.’

Chapter 37

Later that day, standing in front of her bedroom mirror, Lucia was faced with a pleasant existential dilemma. Nina had planned an evening at the Savoy to celebrate the successful conclusion of the double murder investigation. ‘And David will be there, of course – if that’s what will tempt you out of your den, Lulu.’ Lucia was amused that Nina and the inspector were newly on first-name terms.

Lucia was tempted, except that she didn’t know what to wear. She settled for a black silk jumpsuit which, like the rest of her minimal wardrobe, walked the fine line between demure and beguiling. Sat in the taxi, she watched the darkening city whizz past and savoured the anticipation.

They were waiting for her, ensconced in one of the histrionic gold-leaf alcoves of the Beaufort Bar. It had always been Nina’s favoured watering hole, so much that she emulated it in her own home. It was the detective’s first visit, and he had scanned the place incredulously as he followed