‘Crisps, darling, crisps,’ he said.
‘Crisps?’
‘You see, we had two thousand acres of potatoes sitting there, so I came up with the brilliant wheeze of using them for a higher purpose. We’re now turning them into a rather wonderful little brand of boutique crisps. We’ve sold zillions of them, TV ads, celebrity endorsements, sides of buses, the lot. Surely you’ve heard of Sausage Sizzler Tatties?’
‘They haven’t made it as far as Ko Tao, I’m afraid.’
‘Well, I’ll put South East Asia on my five-year plan. Speaking of which, darling, what brings you to this side of the globe?’
Rachel shrugged. ‘Julian, of course.’
Carl nodded. ‘I did hear. All very strange, too, I thought.’
‘Strange? What do you mean?’
‘Well I met him once, do you remember? That godawful awards thing. I have to say, he didn’t strike me as the sort of person to do what he did.’
Rachel nodded. That was pretty much her conclusion too, and suddenly she wanted to tell Carl everything. She had spent the last month wondering who she could trust, wishing she didn’t have so many secrets to hide, but right here was someone she could share it all with.
‘I don’t think it is as cut and dried as you read in the papers.’
‘Do tell,’ said Carl, steepling his hands together.
‘You sure you want to hear all this?’ she asked.
‘Are you kidding? The inside track on one of the hottest stories in the news?’
Rachel took a deep breath and did as she’d been told.
‘Ross McKiney is in a coma?’ said Carl finally, when she had brought him up to date. His serious expression took the wind out of her sails. ‘Talk about a run of shitty luck. I’m glad I’ve moved into potato farming. PI work seems far too hazardous.’
‘For the first time in my working life, I’m scared, Carl.’ She breathed a sigh of relief that she had finally said it. There was no one else to confess to. Liam would worry; Diana was neurotic enough as it was.
‘You know, crisps, scuba-diving, I think it’s a better life for us, Rach.’
‘I’m not giving up,’ she said with a flood of determination. ‘After everything that happened with Malcolm McIntyre, I can’t back off again, let someone off the hook.’
‘And who is the someone?’ he whispered dramatically.
That was the one thing Rachel hadn’t yet figured out, the one thing that made her head spin as she went to sleep at night.
Suddenly she realised that they were only ten minutes’ walk away from where it had all happened, and that the keys to the house were still in her handbag.
‘Come with me,’ she said, pushing the cocktail menu to one side and grabbing his hand.
It was clear that no one had been in the house since she had last left; in fact it looked as if no one had lived here for months, rather than weeks. It was surprising how quickly a home could drain of life. Dust was beginning to settle on the marble mantelpiece in the hallway, and there was the beginnings of a silvery cobweb in the door to the cloakroom.
‘Remind me why you have brought me here? Tell me you don’t want me to conduct a seance, because I only did that once and I’ve not stopped seeing red eyes staring at me from my bedroom wardrobe ever since.’
Rachel turned on the light – a vast crystal chandelier – to try and make the place look less intimidating.
‘I want you to look over the house. You always had that funny ability to see all the different angles, spot things that other people can’t see.’
‘I think you’re referring to my incredible powers of lateral thinking. Beautiful place,’ he said softly as he looked around. ‘You know, fifty, sixty years ago you could have picked this place up for a song. I bet this building was multiple flats, maybe even a squat.’
‘Times change. You wouldn’t get change out of forty million for it now.’
‘Look at this. Fingerprint-access locks, video surveillance. This is state-of-the-art,’ said Carl. ‘If there’re cameras in this place, does that mean you have security film?’