‘Maybe the letter is just a final aggressive stab at you, before she leaves London.’

  ‘Possibly,’ Helen said. ‘It’s such a conundrum, isn’t it? May I ask you something?’

  ‘Fire away,’ he said as he peered through the windscreen first, cursing the worsening weather and then apologizing for his language.

  Helen gripped the seat. It didn’t feel particularly safe to be driving through what was becoming heavy snow, and the wind seemed to have picked up as well. ‘I wondered if you could tell me whether you have any other suspects?’

  ‘Apart from you, do you mean?’ he said, giving a wry smile as she glanced towards him with a worried look on her face.

  ‘You don’t honestly think that I murdered John, do you?’

  ‘Would I have kissed a murderess?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not sure how many you’ve met,’ she replied, wondering if he was just avoiding answering. ‘I am serious, Richard.’

  He apologized. ‘I’ve spoken to many people who know you, and I’ve looked into where you were on that day. Very early on, I struck you off my list, and it’s an extremely short list. I know now that you’d never hurt a fly. The job John did at the ministry is not something that would have been likely to put him on the radar of the enemy. I must say, it’s disconcerting not to have discovered who killed him by now; in some ways, I feel as though I’m failing. I’m also aware that I could be called away on another job at any point – and with resources stretched because of the war effort, we may never find out who murdered John.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re doing your best. We live in such uncertain times. Whatever is discovered, I can’t bring John back; the thing that worries me is that his murderer could strike again.’

  ‘I agree with you. But often murder is a one-off – something that happens because someone is aggrieved enough to kill a particular person. Serial killers are not as prolific in life as they seem to be at the pictures, or in novels.’

  They fell into silence as Richard manoeuvred the car through the darkening afternoon. What would normally have been a straightforward journey was now complicated by both the weather and the blackout restrictions.

  At last, Richard pulled up outside Felicity’s address. A policeman stepped forward. ‘The building is secure and all exits covered, sir.’

  Richard thanked him and led Helen to the flat on the second floor at the rear of the building.

  ‘Are you sure you want to go in? I could go alone.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

  Bending down, she lifted up a doormat that had seen better days and picked up a key beneath it. ‘We were terrible at losing keys, so we always kept a spare under the doormat. Thank goodness Felicity has done the same in her new home.’ She handed the key to Richard, who slipped it into the keyhole. The door opened with ease.

  They both stepped inside, Richard pulling the door closed behind him and flicking the latch to lock it. He put his finger to his lips to remind her to be quiet.

  There was an open door into the kitchen; they could see that it was empty. Helen pointed to one of two doors on the other side of the room and they moved silently towards it, Helen hoping that Felicity had not done anything stupid.

  As Richard swung open the door, Helen gasped in shock and rushed to the bed, where Felicity lay sprawled across the sheets wearing the skimpiest of underwear. She quickly pulled a sheet over the woman’s body to protect her modesty before shaking her shoulder. ‘Felicity, Felicity, wake up,’ she cried.

  Richard gently moved her aside and felt for a pulse at Felicity’s throat. ‘She’s not dead,’ he said, ‘but going by all of this, she made an attempt.’ He held up a whisky bottle with only an inch of alcohol left in the bottom and nodded towards an open pill bottle that had fallen to the floor. White pills were scattered everywhere.

  ‘Will she die?’ Helen asked anxiously. ‘Is there anything we can do?’

  Richard gave Felicity a shake. ‘Miss Davenport, wake up,’ he said as Felicity groaned and pushed his hand away. Richard propped her up against the pillows. ‘Can you get a glass of water, please?’ he asked Helen. Felicity’s make-up was smudged, her hair in disarray, and from her blotchy cheeks and puffy eyes, it looked as though she’d been crying heavily.

  Helen returned with a full cup of water, which Richard held to Felicity’s lips, encouraging her to drink. She came to slightly as she gulped at the cold liquid.

  ‘She won’t be sick, will she? Should I get a bowl?’

  ‘That might be a good idea,’ he said as he kept encouraging Felicity to sip the water. ‘Would you mind picking up the pills and putting them back in the bottle, and can you count them? It should hold thirty, going by the label. If we know how many she’s taken then we’ll know how serious this is. As for the whisky – most of it seems to have been spilt on her bed, going by the smell. Let’s hope your friend was more sorry for herself than suicidal.’

  ‘Thank goodness,’ Helen said after a moment, holding up the pill bottle, ‘only three missing. She’s too young to die, whatever she’s done . . .’

  15

  It took half an hour to bring Felicity round enough for her to talk to them in a coherent manner. Helen washed her and put her in nightclothes and a dressing gown before leading her into the sitting room and settling her in front of the fire, which Richard had lit. He pumped coffee into her, ignoring her protests that she was all right. Meanwhile, Helen stripped the bed linen and put it into a bag ready for the wash collection. As there had only been three pills missing from the bottle, they both agreed Felicity’s condition must be mainly the result of alcohol consumption and melancholy. Once she’d remade the bed, Helen joined Richard and accepted a cup of coffee from him.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s black. The milk was off,’ he said, grimacing as he took a mouthful.

  ‘Anything is fine right now,’ Helen said. ‘I’m just relieved you’re all right,’ she snapped at Felicity. ‘What a bloody stupid thing to do.’

  Richard raised a hand for her to calm down. ‘I need to ask you some questions, Miss Davenport,’ he said, reaching into his pocket for a notebook and pencil. ‘Can you explain why you sent this letter to Mrs Wentworth?’ He took the envelope from Helen. ‘It appears you posted it late yesterday afternoon. Did you intend to take your own life after doing so?’

  Felicity shook her head, refusing to speak.

  ‘Please, you’ve got to tell us the truth,’ Helen implored. ‘What was so bad that you wanted to kill yourself?’

  ‘It felt like a good idea at the time, but I’m not sure I really wanted to die. When I wrote the letter, I was undecided whether to pack a bag and go away . . . but then it was raining, and I don’t have a lot of money left since losing my job. In fact, if I don’t find work very soon, I’ll not be able to pay my rent either.’ She looked over to where Richard had put the almost-empty bottle of whisky and the pills on a side table. ‘I couldn’t even get that right, could I? I should have taken the pills before drinking the whisky.’ She started to cry.

  ‘Miss Davenport, people don’t try to commit suicide – which you do realize is a criminal offence? – unless something really terrible has happened in their life. Granted, the war and losing your job could have made you miserable, but there are people you could have spoken to. Why didn’t you reach out to a friend for help?’

  Helen agreed. ‘I’m so upset by your betrayal. We were meant to be close friends! How could you have an affair with my husband?’ she blurted out, and then looked at Richard to apologize for the interruption.

  Felicity started to cry. ‘You have no idea how much I loved him,’ she sniffed into her handkerchief. ‘It was getting harder and harder to say goodnight to him when he went home to you after pretending to work late. I begged him to tell you so we could make a fresh start together, but he laughed at me,’ she sobbed. ‘He laughed at me, that last time I saw him. I’d given him an ultimatum: he had to ask you for a divorce, or I’d tell you what we’d been up to. I’m not the first, you know. He only married you because you were the right kind of woman to be his wife and stay loyal for the general public to vote for him. He didn’t love you; he only ever loved me – he told me so.’

  By rights Helen knew she should have been crying herself, or perhaps even screaming at Felicity, but by now her heart was hardened to the truth. The signs of what was happening had been there for a long time, if only she’d been willing to see. Perhaps she should have tackled John about them, but she hadn’t. If she had, she could have started a new life. She wouldn’t be mixed up in all this mess.

  She was about to reply, but Richard was looking at her and raised his hand slightly to hold her off. Helen stayed silent.

  ‘Miss Davenport, please tell me: when was the last time you saw John Wentworth?’

  Felicity shot a new look of pure hatred towards Helen. ‘I’d feigned a headache to cancel meeting Helen so that I could see John. I knew we’d be able to have a few hours together before I had to get back to my flat. You were too trusting,’ she snarled at Helen, who jerked back in her seat, shocked by her sudden ferocity. ‘But then, plans don’t always pan out as you expect them to.’

  ‘Did you go to Mr and Mrs Wentworth’s apartment?’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ Felicity said defiantly.

  Helen frowned and turned towards Richard. ‘Surely the porter would have mentioned this?’

  Felicity laughed. ‘That man is a fool. A simple telephone call meant he left the reception desk and went outside to look for a delivery. I slipped in and he was none the wiser.’ Her eyes took on a faraway look. ‘I’d picked up a new negligee to wear for John. He knew I was coming and he’d left the door on the latch. When I entered the room, I saw him lounging on the sofa. I crept up behind him and slipped my hands round his eyes and said, “Guess who?” – and he slumped to one side. It was then I saw the blood,’ she whispered, looking at her hands and turning them over before rubbing them together. ‘It was everywhere, and there was the knife and everything was silent apart from the ticking of the clock . . . That engraved paper knife you gave him for his birthday, it was . . . I couldn’t bear to look at him for a moment longer . . . I backed away into the bathroom and washed my hands. And then I left as quickly as I could. I heard the lift moving and knew at any moment whoever was coming up to that floor might see me. I was frightened it was you,’ she said, looking at Helen, ‘and I thought that if you’d killed him, you might just kill me as well . . . I was confused because I thought you were in the bedroom. It’s strange how one’s mind can play tricks at times like that. I could have sworn I heard floorboards creak . . .’

  ‘Did you smell any gas?’ Richard asked as she started to wipe her hands together once more, mumbling about the blood.

  ‘No. I didn’t notice anything like that. I slipped down the staircase and left by the rear entrance in case the porter had returned. I didn’t know what to do, so I decided to go home. I thought that way, when you arrived at my flat, I’d be there, and you’d be none the wiser.’

  Helen couldn’t keep quiet a moment longer. ‘But John hated you – he told me to stop being friends with you, and yet all that time you were . . . the two of you . . .’

  ‘It was a game he liked to play to cover himself, in case you ever guessed what he was up to. Goodness, there’s been a few times I’ve wanted to put my hands round his throat and kill him, when he wouldn’t agree to leave you . . .’ She gasped and looked at Richard. ‘But it wasn’t me who killed him.’

  ‘Miss Davenport, we need to take you into custody in order to take down your statement.’

  ‘But I didn’t . . .’

  ‘You need to be formally interviewed again,’ was all Richard said. He crossed to the window and waved down to a police officer who was standing on the pavement.

  ‘So the negligee was yours, then,’ Helen said.

  ‘Yes. It cost a fortune, but I knew he’d like it. I was hoping he’d give me the money to pay for it,’ Felicity said bitterly. ‘I take it you kept it. Not that it would suit your scrawny body.’

  ‘We do have the item of clothing,’ Richard said, not looking at Helen, who had thrown it into the waste bin in Lizzie’s workroom.

  Two police officers came in and stood to one side as Richard spoke quietly to them. They took Felicity’s arms to lead her from the room. She turned to look at Helen. ‘I meant what I wrote in my letter. But I loved him – and you didn’t deserve him,’ she said before being led away.

  ‘I think I’m still in shock,’ Helen said, as she took her case from Richard at the door to her hotel room and placed it on the floor. ‘In a way I’m relieved Felicity wasn’t the one who killed John, even though I’ll never forgive her betrayal; but then, you are no further forward in your investigations, are you?’

  ‘Finding the culprit is never that easy,’ he replied. ‘However, at least now we know when he died – or at least what time he was found dead. That’s if she’s telling the truth, but I think she is now – and we can check some of her story.’

  ‘How did you work out what time he died?’

  ‘Felicity said she rushed from the flat around half past four; so whoever killed him did it before then. And she said she didn’t smell any gas. My thoughts are the killer was hiding in your bedroom and finished off the job once she left.’

  ‘To think there could have been a second body, if the killer had decided to attack her as well.’

  ‘Which makes me wonder whether, in fact, she intended to kill John, or went there simply to have things out with him. So often, we say we will kill someone without meaning we would actually commit murder.’ He shrugged. ‘Whatever the reason, we know that the culprit would have been leaving Cadogan Mansions not long after half past four, as by five o’clock the explosion had occurred.’

  ‘So, you are a little way further forward?’

  ‘Just a little. I wish I could give you more information. At least then perhaps that worried expression would leave your face for good.’

  Helen put a hand to her cheek. ‘I must look an absolute fright.’

  ‘Never to me,’ he replied, reaching out and taking her hand from her face and brushing it against his lips.

  For a moment, Helen was lost for words. She looked up and searched his face. ‘You must be extremely tired, to say such a thing?’

  ‘I’ve never felt more awake,’ he murmured, taking her in his arms and holding her close. ‘Ever since our kiss – which I know was most inappropriate, because of your bereavement and my employment – I’ve had to hold myself back on more than one occasion from doing this . . .’ He gently brushed her lips with his own.

  ‘I wish you hadn’t held back,’ she said as she returned his kiss with more intensity, pulling him into the room and kicking the door closed.

  Much later, as she looked up from where she was snuggled against his chest, she chuckled at their clothes scattered from the door to the bed. ‘I hope you don’t think this is something I’ve done before?’

  ‘How many years were you married?’ he asked, as he kissed the top of her head.

  ‘I’ll have you know, never before have I made love with such fervour. My husband and I did not have a demonstrative relationship,’ she said, hiding her face in his chest.

  ‘Don’t tell me – you lay back and thought of England?’

  Helen blushed. She didn’t like to admit it, but that was about right. Making love several times in one night was something she’d never really experienced with John. ‘I was just the wife. I would think he left more adventurous things for his mistresses.’

  ‘My poor love,’ he said, pulling her closer if that was at all possible and running a finger down her naked back, sending shudders of desire through her body.

  ‘Don’t feel sorry for me,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘This has been worth waiting for.’

  ‘You look radiant,’ Richard said as he gazed across the breakfast table in the busy hotel dining room. ‘Anyone would think you’ve been entertaining in your bedroom all night.’ He grinned as he nonchalantly picked up a knife and cut open a bread roll on a side plate.

  ‘Shush!’ she scolded him. ‘People might hear.’

  ‘Let them,’ he whispered back. ‘I want the world to know I spent the night with a woman I could easily fall in love with.’

  Helen waved her butter knife at him. ‘Could? You ravish a woman in her bed and then can’t tell her you’re in love with her?’ she said warningly.

  Richard looked at the knife and then at Helen, who quickly put it down on her plate. There was a brief silence, broken when a waiter appeared beside their table.

  ‘Excuse me, sir – there’s an urgent telephone call for you, from your office.’

  ‘Take the number. I’ll ring them back,’ Richard replied.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, they insist you come to the telephone now.’ Leaning closer, he went on, ‘They mentioned national security, sir.’

  Richard threw Helen an apologetic look. ‘Enjoy your breakfast, don’t wait for me. Goodness knows how long this will take.’ He followed the waiter out to the foyer of the hotel.

  Twenty minutes later, Helen pushed her plate away. She’d tried valiantly to eat the cooked breakfast as she waited for Richard to return, but failed. She had just finished a second cup of tea when she felt his presence by her chair. He was carrying his suitcase, with his overcoat over one arm.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go; something urgent has cropped up. I’ve settled our bills and arranged for someone to drive you back to Biggin Hill. They will be here in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Take care,’ she whispered as he turned and left with a serious look on his face.

  Helen watched him go, then left the dining room to collect her own case from her room. She wondered how their conversation would have gone if they hadn’t been disturbed by the waiter. Something about the look on Richard’s face made her think he was wondering if he’d made a mistake by spending the night with her, when she could have been a killer.

  ‘Don’t be daft, Helen,’ she scolded herself out loud as she touched up her lipstick in the dressing-table mirror. ‘You’ve got to stop questioning yourself. That was just a silly moment at the table. He told you he doesn’t suspect you, so you are quite safe.’