Kissed a Sad Goodbye (39 page)

She closed her eyes and eased herself further down into the water, wishing she could wash away what had happened. But she knew that no amount of guilt or regret could alter the connection that existed between her and Gordon Finch—a connection she somehow had never doubted was mutual, a connection so powerful it had made her contemplate throwing away everything that made her who she was.

The thought frightened her so much she felt tears well behind her closed eyelids. She blinked them angrily away. Were her commitments to the job and to Duncan flimsy fabrications that would crumble under the slightest pressure?

Could it be that she didn’t know herself at all?

Teresa Robbins dressed carefully in her best pale blue suit and white lawn blouse, even putting on tights, although it took the help of a bit of talcum powder to get them up in the morning’s sticky heat. At least the sky was solidly overcast, she thought, and there was hope the weather might break by the end of the day.

She painstakingly applied her makeup, and at the last minute used a bit of spray to set her hair—all the while feeling as if she were the condemned going to face the guillotine. Sharply, she reminded herself that it was unlikely anything that happened to her today could be worse than the things she had endured in the past week.

She had thought her grief for Annabelle more than she could bear, until Annabelle had been revealed to her as a liar and a cheat; she had thought she and Reg might find some comfort in one another, until she’d learned that he had used her for the most unconscionable sort of revenge.

Yesterday she’d steeled herself to face him, but he hadn’t come in at all, and she’d gone home exhausted after a day
spent preparing ever more dire financial predictions for this morning’s meeting.

As she walked down Saunders Ness from Island Gardens Station, she wondered if she could bring herself to work for Reg if they made him managing director, or if she wanted to go on at Hammond’s at all if they brought someone in from outside.

Then she’d stepped into the building and smelled the familiar combination of scents—motor oil and dust overlaid by the rich perfume of the teas—and she wondered how she could possibly bear even the thought of leaving.

William arrived first, looking stern but rather frail; then Sir Peter, dapper and cheery; then Jo; and finally, Martin Lowell, whom Teresa had never met. She stared at him curiously, but couldn’t read the expression on his darkly handsome features.

Reg did not arrive until they were assembled in Teresa and Annabelle’s office, and in spite of everything that had happened between them, Teresa couldn’t help feeling a spasm of concern. He looked exhausted, possibly even ill. As he took his seat in one of the chairs gathered in a semicircle round the desks, he closed his eyes.

William called the meeting to order, and as Teresa read her reports she was conscious of Martin Lowell’s gaze on her.

When she’d finished, there was a moment’s silence. After a glance at William, who nodded, Sir Peter looked round at them and said, “There are obviously many issues that need addressing, but today our primary concern is to decide who will be in charge of the day-to-day operations of the firm. As great as is our loss, we must think of the future of Hammond’s—”

“If there is any future to think of,” Martin Lowell interrupted impatiently. When he knew he had their attention, he went on, “It’s obvious that this firm is facing a financial crisis, and as my children now have a considerable interest, thanks to Annabelle’s generosity, I intend to do whatever I can to resolve this.” He smiled, and they all stared at
him as if mesmerized—even Peter Mortimer, whom Teresa had seldom seen lose command of a situation.

Jo was first to recover. “Look here, Martin. You can’t just start in as if you owned the bloody—”

“You have as much at stake as anyone, Jo—your own financial security as well as the children’s. Surely, you’re not willing to see that frittered away through mismanagement—”

“Just a minute, Martin,” broke in Sir Peter. “No one’s suggesting—”

“
I’m
suggesting that you cannot even begin to consider as the new managing director of this firm someone who has proved himself incompetent.” Martin looked directly at Reg, who paled even further.

“Wait a minute.” Reg pointed an unsteady finger in Martin’s direction. “You’ve no right to—”

“And what’s more, how can you possibly consider giving Annabelle’s job to someone who is accused of murdering her?”

“You bastard! No one’s accused me of anything. If anyone should be suspected of murdering Annabelle, it’s you. Everything that happened that night started with you and the things you told Harry. It was you Annabelle was furious with—” Reg lunged at him.

William and Sir Peter started to their feet, but Jo was already up and shouting, “Stop it, both of you! You’re like two jealous dogs fighting over a bone, and she’s dead, goddamn it! Just leave it alone—”

“That’s enough, all of you.” The others turned to look at Sir Peter. Martin had stayed in his seat, but his color was high; Reg was white and shaking with fury; tears streaked Jo’s face. “This is difficult enough for everyone without indulging in this sort of histrionics,” Sir Peter continued, loudly and firmly. “And Martin, I don’t believe making unfounded allegations about my son benefits anyone.”

Lowell nodded but didn’t apologize. Reg had opened his mouth as if he meant to defend himself, when his father
cut him off. “Reg, you and Teresa are both under consideration for this position. You may vote your shares now, but you’re aware your percentages are too insignificant to affect the outcome—”

“Then why bother?” Reg’s face was still pinched with anger.

“As you wish,” Sir Peter said smoothly. “But in that case, I think it would be best if you both left the room until we can come to a decision. Why don’t you wait for us in your office.”

Teresa stood up, catching sight of the grief and shock etched on William’s face as she did so. A wave of weakness invaded her knees, and she suddenly realized how desperately she wanted out of the room, away from emotions so raw they seemed to rip the air.

Straightening her spine, she crossed the office with deliberate steps; at the door she turned and waited for Reg.

He took one last look round the room, as if defying anyone else to speak, then he turned and joined her.

They walked down the catwalk to his office in silence, and as he shut the door behind them, he said, “It’s a bloody farce—may the best man win and all that. I’m fucked without this job, well and truly fucked—did you know that, darling Teresa?”

“I don’t want—I never meant to take anything from you,” she said hotly, angry tears smarting behind her eyelids. “You—”

“Then why wouldn’t you talk to me? You had bloody Fiona ring me to tell me they meant to crucify me—”

“That had nothing to do with this. It was
you
—you lied to me about what happened with you and Annabelle that last night. You were furious with her because you found out what she’d done with those other men—and then with me.… You used me to pay her back, didn’t you? Even though she was dead.”

Reg stared at her blankly. “What are you talking about?”

“You … you made love to me because you knew
Annabelle cheated on you, and I was the first thing that came along after …”

“That’s daft, Teresa. It never even crossed my mind. I wanted you. I wanted someone who wouldn’t turn away—but you did.” Moving a step closer, he said, “You believe them, too, don’t you? You think I killed her.”

“No, I—”

Reg grabbed her, his thumbs digging painfully into the soft flesh of her arms. “Don’t bloody lie, Teresa. I can see it on your face. You—”

The door swung open and Jo exclaimed, “What the—”

Slowly, Reg let Teresa go. “What’s the verdict, then?” he demanded. “Banishment from the kingdom?”

“Reg, I’m sorry.” Jo shook her head. “We’re asking Teresa to step in as acting director.”

He gave a strangled laugh that was almost a sob. “Not you, too, Jo?”

“I’m sorry,” Jo repeated. “It’s not because I think you murdered Annabelle—I don’t believe that. But I think it’s the best thing for the company. You’re out of control, Reg. You need—”

“All you Hammonds can go to hell, so just shut up, Jo. Don’t you dare tell me what I need.” He turned away from her, back to Teresa, and his eyes were bright with tears. “They’re right, you know. If anyone can salvage what Annabelle sowed, it’s you—but don’t say I didn’t warn you about the consequences of throwing your lot in with the Hammonds. They’ve a bloody talent for betrayal.”

J
ANICE LOOKED UP FROM HER DESK
at Kincaid and Gemma conferring in the corridor. There was a tension between them this morning, subtle but evident if one was aware of the signs. If Gemma was trying to juggle the personal and the professional, as Janice now strongly suspected, she didn’t envy her the task—although she supposed that even if Kincaid was a bit of a prat sometimes, he was not bad as far as men went.

Of course, everyone’s frustration level was running high—it had been six days since they’d found Annabelle Hammond’s body, and they weren’t much further forward. So far, forensics had not turned up anything of significance in either Annabelle’s flat or her car, and they were still processing the samples from the warehouse.

Kincaid had had another meeting with his chief superintendent that morning, and Janice knew the brass was pressuring him to come up with something. She still had her money on Mortimer—he was the obvious suspect with the clearest motive—but they’d not been able to put together enough evidence to justify searching his flat. It was too bad—

Her phone rang. She picked it up quickly, reaching for a cigarette. A distressed female voice asked for Sergeant James, and cupping her hand over the mouthpiece, Janice called out, “Gemma! Phone.”

Coming into the office, Gemma took the receiver and sat on the edge of the desk, listening. “Right,” she said. “We’ll try the flat first. We’re on our way.” She passed the phone back. “That was Teresa Robbins. She says Reg Mortimer left Hammond’s after the board meeting this morning, and he seemed so upset and irrational she’s worried for his safety.”

R
EG
M
ORTIMER ANSWERED THE DOOR ON
the first ring, holding it open for them without speaking. Kincaid thought his face looked blotchy, as if he’d been weeping, and as they followed him into the sitting room he wiped the back of his hand across his nose.

“Teresa rang us,” said Gemma. “She was concerned about you.”

“How magnanimous of her.” He stood with his back to them, looking out the window at the river, gray under the scudding clouds.

In the few days since they had last seen it, the flat seemed to Kincaid to have acquired an aura of neglect. A
fine coating of dust lay on the furniture, in the kitchen he could see dirty dishes piled in the sink, and the warm room held the faint smell of spoiled food.

Nor had Mortimer fared well. His clothes looked wilted, his skin was sallow, and his once-shiny chestnut hair seemed lank and lifeless.

When he didn’t face them again, Gemma said to his back, “Can you tell us what happened at the meeting this morning, Mr. Mortimer?”

“They made Teresa managing director, with encouragement from Martin Lowell. You’d think he might have displayed a bit of solidarity, the two of us having been through the same war, so to speak.”

“Surely she’s capable—”

“Of course she’s capable,” Mortimer said impatiently. “And deserving. It’s not that.”

“Then what’s the problem? You worked happily enough for Annabelle—why not Teresa?”

“No.” Mortimer’s voice sharpened as he turned round at last. “You don’t understand. I
needed
that promotion. There’s a big jump in salary. With Annabelle gone, it was the only way I could keep the vultures at bay a bit longer—that, and the hope that in that position, I could’ve salvaged the deal—” He broke off abruptly.

“What vultures?” Kincaid asked.

Reg stretched his lips in a smile. “I’m afraid I got in a bit over my head.”

Kincaid nodded towards the canvases on the walls. “The paintings?”

“Very perceptive,” Reg acknowledged. “Yes, among other things. Managing cash flow has never been my strong suit, and I was counting on a rather large sum that never … materialized.”

“I think you had better sit down and tell us about this deal.” Kincaid gestured towards the sofa.

Reg Mortimer came round and slumped onto the white cotton cushions, putting his head in his hands as if his exhaustion had finally overwhelmed him. “I suppose it
doesn’t matter now. Nothing does, much,” he said through his splayed fingers. Then he dropped his hands to his lap and looked up at Kincaid and Gemma.

“It was a commission—a sort of finder’s fee, I suppose you might call it. We came to the conclusion quite some time ago—Annabelle and Teresa and I—that the only way to keep Hammond’s solvent was to sell the physical plant and use the proceeds to move the business downriver into more modern and cost-efficient premises.

“I knew a chap—a developer—who would pay any price for the property … if Annabelle could be persuaded to go against her father’s wishes. So I brought them together.”

“Hence the commission,” Kincaid said, thinking aloud. “Paid only if the sale was completed?”

Mortimer nodded. “But that wasn’t the only catch. The deal was only feasible if we could get a majority of the shareholders to vote against William, and the only way Annabelle would agree to move against her father was if she were convinced that the warehouse itself would be saved as an integral part of the development. She thought it might mollify William, make him feel that Hammond’s still had its place in posterity.”