CHAPTER THREE
‘Dan! How are you? Come in, come in.’
Andee Lawrence stood aside for her very welcome visitor to enter the stylish Georgian house she shared with her partner Graeme Ogilvy at the heart of Kesterly’s exclusive Garden District. She was a tall, dark-haired woman in her mid-forties, with such arresting aquamarine eyes that some, when meeting her for the first time, became momentarily dazzled.
This didn’t happen to Dan Collier as he embraced her warmly, for several months had passed since he’d first been introduced to her, when he had actually momentarily lost his words. His old uni friend Graeme had clearly been as amused by the double take as Dan had been embarrassed, while Andee had politely pretended not to notice. Now Dan paid little more attention to her looks than he did to his own, which he considered far less remarkable than his late wife, Ellen, had. Although she’d been biased because, as she’d put it, she’d been clever enough to see in him what others hadn’t.
‘I never thought I’d end up with a ginger,’ she used to tease, ‘but that’s because I didn’t know they came with sleepy eyes trying to hide behind sexy specs, and serious muscles.’
‘They also come with broken noses, oafish hands and loads of brains,’ he’d inform her, and while saucily admiring the first two she’d usually scoff at the third.
He wished Andee had met Ellen, for he knew they’d have got along like the proverbial house on fire, but two years before he’d moved his legal practice to Kesterly Ellen had been killed in a car crash. Sadness was his companion now, and although he never gave it a public airing, when he was at home he spent much of his time grieving her loss and wishing they’d had children. At least then she would continue to exist in other human beings whom he’d love perhaps even more than he’d loved her, although that was hard to imagine.
‘Graeme’s cooking,’ Andee informed him, pointing him across the hall towards the kitchen, ‘and don’t worry, we haven’t fixed you up with a blind date.’
‘Thank God for that,’ he responded with feeling. ‘I’m too much of a gentleman to tell you about some of the potentials that have been thrust my way since I got here. Just suffice it to say I wasn’t so much put off by their charms as scared to death of them.’
Andee had to laugh. ‘Well, hopefully Graeme has told you that we’re not into matchmaking unless it’s specifically requested.’
‘That was her decision,’ Graeme informed him as Dan entered the large kitchen, where his host was concocting something that smelled so delicious it made Dan’s stomach growl with unseemly impatience.
‘Don’t worry, we have canapés to be going on with,’ Andee chuckled. ‘I’ve set them up outside in the garden, but let me get you a drink first. Wine? Gin? Vodka?’
‘A white wine would be great,’ Dan responded, dropping his battered leather briefcase on to one of the sofas that flanked a magnificent fireplace before going to shake hands with Graeme. ‘You’re looking good,’ he told his old friend, who indeed always did, and always had, although there was plenty of silver in the thick dark hair these days, and the increasing intensity of his expression might have intimidated those who didn’t know him. It only took a smile to transform his features completely; the trick was getting the smile.
It wasn’t slow in coming amongst friends. ‘You’re not looking too bad yourself,’ Graeme responded, ‘and we’re one short for the cricket team this summer, so I’ve signed you up.’
‘Another attempt to get me to go out more?’ Dan replied, pleased to be asked.
‘Unless you’ve lost that unerring eye for the boundary,’ Graeme replied, ‘we need you,’ and reaching for the TV remote he was about to turn off the news when Andee said, ‘Hang on. Let’s just listen to this.’
The large screen over the fireplace was showing a five-storey house in a well-heeled London street that had featured in several bulletins over the past week, so it was generally known to be the home of the recently convicted financier Marcus Huxley-Browne. However, during the past few days the focus had switched from the man himself to his wife, Rebecca, and stepdaughter Cara, who apparently hadn’t been seen since the end of the trial.
At that moment a smartly dressed detective captioned as DI Carl Phillips was ending a statement to the press.
‘… I’m afraid there’s no more we can tell you at this stage, but if anyone has information regarding Mrs Huxley-Browne’s whereabouts, or that of her daughter’s, we’d ask them to please get in touch.’
‘Do you suspect foul play?’ a female voice called out.
The detective didn’t answer; he was already merging into a small group of officers standing in front of the house.
‘Have you asked Huxley-Browne where they are?’ someone shouted after him. ‘Is it true their personal devices have been found inside the house?’
The police team walked away and a dark-haired young man appeared on the screen, fiddling with his earpiece as he said, ‘So, the mystery of Mrs Huxley-Browne and her daughter’s disappearance continues to grow. As you know, Paula, it was thought at first that they’d probably gone to stay with friends or relatives to escape the press. Then came suggestions that Mrs Huxley-Browne had cooperated with investigators to secure her husband’s conviction, so was that the reason for going into hiding? Now that the police are asking for information on their whereabouts, we can more or less rule out the possibility that she’s been working with them.’
‘What about the rumours concerning further arrests?’ he was asked. ‘Can you tell us anything about them?’
‘Not at this stage, I’m afraid. The police are playing this very close to the chest. So, a lot of questions, and as yet no answers. Back to you in the studio.’
‘Thanks Damon, and if anyone does have any information regarding Mrs Huxley-Browne and her daughter you can call the number at the bottom of the screen.’
As a shot of the missing pair flashed up Andee said, reflectively, ‘That picture is so blurred the police have to know they won’t get much of a response to it. I wonder if they chose it deliberately or is it all they could find?’
To Dan, Graeme remarked dryly, ‘It doesn’t take much to get the ex-detective mind up and running. Me, I’m guessing the missing pair have taken off to deposit a tidy sum into an offshore bank somewhere. A nice little nest egg for when he comes out?’
‘I could go for that,’ Dan agreed. ‘They’re in it together and he’s decided a stretch at Her Majesty’s pleasure is a price worth paying for the millions they’ve managed to stash in some tax haven.’
Andee wrinkled her nose. ‘Maybe,’ she conceded. ‘I suppose we’ll find out at some point – or not. But what I do know, my darling, is that smoke is billowing out of the oven behind you.’
Graeme swung around quickly, before remembering gazpacho didn’t even go in the oven, much less burn. Andee laughed and led Dan out of the wide-open French doors to the small, lavishly planted walled garden where a table had already been set for dinner.
‘I’m embarrassed,’ Dan confessed as she offered him a plate of freshly made canapés, ‘when I said I wanted to pop round for a chat I wasn’t expecting anything like this. I’d have at least brought some wine if I’d known.’