A Very Private Murder by Stuart Pawson Read Free Book Online Page A

insured?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    I was wasting time, heading up a blind alley, so I decided to push things along. ‘Did you ever meet Mrs Curzon?’ I asked.
    ‘Oh yes. She was a lovely woman, no edge to her at all. Not very well, though. I don’t know what was the matter with her but she died a few years ago. We didn’t know about it until weeks afterwards, or we would have sent some flowers. I was disappointed about that.’
    ‘Has your husband mentioned any names when you’ve talked about the graffiti incident? Or does any acquaintance stand out as a suspect?’
    She shook her head.
    ‘Any problems with the neighbours, Mrs Threadneedle?’
    ‘No. And call me Jan, please.’
    ‘Right. Jan. Any disgruntled employees that you might know of?’
    ‘I can’t think of any.’
    ‘Has Arthur appeared under any extra stress lately?’
    ‘Well, yes. But that’s down to the opening of the Centre. There was always the chance that it wouldn’t be ready on time.’
    ‘I see. But otherwise, he’s been OK?’
    ‘Fine. He’s been fine. To tell the truth, he has a bit of a thing about Ghislaine. I think it’s his age, an older man’s crush, that sort of thing. He was looking forward to meeting her more than he’d ever admit to me.’
    I knew the feeling. An older man’s crush; was that it? As Dave once said: ‘If you’ve got to be an old man you might as well be a dirty one.’ I thanked Mrs Threadneedle for her assistance and stood up to leave, saying I’d had a busy day.
    ‘I never offered you a proper drink,’ she said, struggling to her feet. ‘I’m sure you deserve one.’
    It might have been my imagination, or wishful thinking, but I’d swear the zipper on her jogging top had crept an inch or two down towards her navel. ‘Not while I’m driving,’ I said, rather meekly.
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘Positive.’
    ‘That’s a pity.’
    ‘Tell me,’ I said. ‘Is Arthur Irish?’
    ‘He pretends to be. His father was, but he came over here years ago, before Arthur was born. Made a fortune building roads and what have you, and lost most of it. When he died of cirrhosis of the liver Arthur took over the business. We’ve done very well out of it, as you can see.’
    ‘You certainly have,’ I replied, taking in the Ashley Jackson watercolours and the glass coffee table balanced on a tangle of driftwood, but the expression on her face told that the benefits of wealth had bypassed her. She’d gained a fur coat and an architect-designed house, but lost a marriage. ‘Threadneedle’s not an Irish name, is it?’
    She said: ‘No. It was his mother’s name. I think he wanted to deny his Irish roots. Thought he’d do better in business as an Englishman.’
    ‘There’s a local legend that says he was born in a caravan in rural Ireland. Is it not true?’
    ‘Not a word of it. He’s a chameleon, changing his colours to please the people he happens to be dealing with. That’s his romantic side. He was actually born in St James’s hospital in Leeds. You know what they say: the further you get from the Old Country, the more vociferous are the immigrants.’
    I nodded. ‘He seems to know what he’s doing.’ We were standing barely a yard apart, me towering over her, she looking up into my face. She said: ‘He hasn’t gone to the Belfry to play golf with his business chums, you know.’
    ‘Hasn’t he?’
    ‘No. He’s said he was going there on several occasions before. Last June it was his birthday while he was away, so I hid a birthday card in his bag of clubs. It was still there when he came home three days later. They’d never been out of the car boot. And there’ve been other times … other … lies …’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, turning to leave, but the little bit of me that I despise was filing the information for future use. Knowledge is power , it whispered in my ear. 

CHAPTER FOUR
     
     
    Toby would never make a top tennis player, and that thought made me unhappy. She just