Never Laugh as a Hearse Goes By: A Penny Brannigan Mystery (18 page)

Twenty-nine

Ros Stephens picked a teddy bear off the sitting room floor and propped it against the back of the sofa. She plugged in the vacuum cleaner and hovered the carpet in long, straight strokes. At the jangling sound of something metallic being sucked into the hose, she sighed and switched it off. She’d lost or misplaced an earring from a set her husband had brought home to her from one of his business trips and, with a surge of happy relief, she thought she’d found it. She tipped out the dust cannister but instead of the earring she’d hoped and expected to find, she found a small key. She brushed a bit of carpet fluff off it and holding it between her thumb and forefinger peered at it. It didn’t look like one of her keys. It wasn’t a house or car key, it looked more like the key to a cabinet or desk. She walked down the hall, entered her husband’s study, and pulled open the unlocked drawer to his desk. She tried to put the key in the drawer, but it didn’t fit. She closed the drawer and turned her attention to the filing cabinet tucked behind the desk. She pulled on the top drawer; it did not budge, so she inserted the key in the lock. It fit. She left it there and returned to the living room. Although she rarely entered her husband’s study, the fact that he had locked the filing cabinet began to bother her. Why would he do that? There were just the three of them in the house, and her six-year-old son, Tudur, would have no interest in the contents of an accountant’s filing cabinet. So her husband must have locked it to prevent her from seeing what was inside.

As her curiosity increased, so did her anxiety. What could be in the cabinet that her husband did not want her to see? Was he keeping financial difficulties from her? She marched back to the study and opened the top drawer of the filing cabinet. It contained nothing but files. She closed the drawer and looked in the bottom drawer. It, too, was filled with files in different colored folders. She closed the drawer and went back to the top drawer. The tab on each folder was labeled in her husband’s neat printing and arranged in alphabetical order. Using both hands she flipped through them, pausing occasionally to peer inside: American Express; Mobiles; Property; Visa. If she saw something that interested her, she pulled the file, set it on the desk and returned to the drawer.

When she’d been through the drawers, she sat in the desk chair and picked up the American Express file. She hadn’t known he had an American Express card; she’d never seen him use it. She pulled out a statement and examined the charges; they seemed to be mainly for restaurant meals in Marbella, Spain. Well, that would make sense; his firm had several expatriate clients in Spain; he travelled there often on business and, in fact, that’s where he was now. So the American Express card must be for business expenses.

She started to open the file labeled
PROPERTY
and paused for a moment to check the time on her mobile phone. She had a late afternoon appointment for a facial and manicure at the Llanelen Spa and didn’t want to be late. Plenty of time. She turned back to the property file, expecting it to contain information on the modern two-storey home they owned in Llanelen. There were some papers relating to it, but the file also contained several documents in Spanish that she couldn’t understand, but then she came to an estate agent’s listing, in English, dated two years previously:

Quick sale needed! Semidetached villa situated in a good residential area with twenty-four hour security and golf course. The house has three bedrooms (each with its own bathroom), living room, separate dining room, full-fitted kitchen, and a porch with garden access. West-facing views of the sea. The property also features extras such as air conditioning and heating, marble floors, fireplace, double glazing, electric shutters and covered parking.

Listing price was 400,000 euros. Why that was, she tapped a few numbers into her smart phone—326,000 pounds!

Stunned, she struggled to make sense of what she had just read. Had Hywel actually bought an expensive property in Spain and not discussed it with her? How could he do that? Their own house here in Llanelen hadn’t cost that much and, more to the point, this Spanish villa sounded much nicer. Three bedrooms, each with its own bathroom! And if he’d wanted to keep this purchase from her, why hadn’t he kept the file in his office? She thought about that for a moment, and then the answer came to her. Because he couldn’t lock the cabinet in his office. His PA would need access to the client files and it would seem strange to keep personal files at the office. But the American Express card with its business expenses.… She thought for a few more moments and then pressed a key on her mobile.

“Hello, Mum? I need you to come to the house and stop over for a night or two and look after Tudur.” She listened for a moment. “Tomorrow. I’ve got a few things to sort out and I’ll let you know. Right. I’ll fill you in later. Got to go. Thanks, Mum.”

Next, she booked a flight.

Thirty

“Hello, Mrs. Stephens,” said Penny, placing her client’s fingers in a soaking bowl. “How are you? Enjoy the facial? Your skin looks very fresh.” Ros Stephens smiled and nodded. “Did you have any particular nail varnish colour in mind today? Special occasion? Did you want your nails to match a particular outfit?”

“Well, something light and summery, perhaps. I’m going to Spain tomorrow.”

“Oh, right,” said Penny. She stood up and selected a few bottles from the display that her young assistant, Eirlys, kept so well-organized. “How about one of these? See anything here you like?” Ros pointed to a bottle of coral-coloured polish, and Penny set it aside. “So, Spain. Very nice. I expect it will be much warmer than it is here.”

Ros nodded but did not reply. After putting the files back in the cabinet, she’d tried to reach her husband but his mobile had gone straight to voice mail. As she thought about the property in Marbella, she wondered if he might have purchased it as an investment, and then, with the steep and sudden fall of the euro, and the disastrous decline of the Spanish economy, had been reluctant to tell her he’d bought it. She had read stories in the newspapers about British people who had invested every penny of their retirement nest eggs in Spanish properties only to see their value plummet by tens of thousands of euros. He was probably renting it out, but as the exchange rate was no longer favourable, it wouldn’t be generating as much income.

And then again, Hywel might be staying in the villa instead of hotels when he went to Spain, she thought. He did seem to be spending more time out there. Perhaps he was picking up more clients in the expat communities in Malaga and Marbella. There were still quite a few Brits operating businesses—pubs, fish-and-chip shops, and the like.

“Yes, I expect it will be,” Ros said. “Warmer out there. I must remember to pack the sunscreen.”

Thirty-one

The foothills of the Sierra Blanca were browner than she expected, but no landscape could be as deeply green as the Welsh hills and valleys she had left behind. She peered out the window as the plane came in to land, and after clearing customs and collecting her suitcase, she stepped through the exit doors of Malaga-Costa del Sol airport into the welcome embrace of a wall of warm air. She accepted an offer from a waiting taxi driver and showed him a piece of paper on which she had written the address of the villa. He helped her put her bag in the car and under a bright blue sky, they drove off.

She gazed out the car window as they left the airport behind them, then drove along a motorway, past tall white apartment buildings that were shimmering in the sun. Palm trees waved at the side of the road, and not too far off, the Mediterranean sparkled in the morning sunshine. About thirty minutes later, they turned off the main road and wound their way through a tidy subdivision of immaculately maintained houses. The driver stopped in front of one and said, “Here we are.”

Ros got out of the car, thanked and paid the driver, and stood looking at the house as he drove off. Then, she picked up her suitcase and walked to the front door.

She knocked and waited. A moment later a dark-haired woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties opened it. She wore a loose blouse, almost off the shoulders, a full skirt, and sandals. “
¿Si?
” she said, with a small smile that revealed even, white teeth.
“¿Quién es, amorcita?”
said a male voice behind her. A moment later Ros was astonished to see her husband step into view, holding in his arms a little boy who looked the spit and image of her own son, Tudur, as he had looked about three years ago. As the blood drained from his face, Hywel handed the child to the woman and grabbed the door, trying to step outside and close it behind him just as Ros stepped over the threshold, her arms in front of her.

It’s nice for him I had that manicure before I left Wales, she thought, as, filled with blind fury, she lashed out at him. Because these coral-red nails are the last things he’s going to see before I claw his eyes out.

Thirty-two

“Oh, Penny,” said an eager Mrs. Lloyd as she seated herself at the manicure table the next day. “You will not believe what’s happened. I can scarcely credit it myself but I always thought there was something not quite on the up and up with that Hywel Stephens. Not half the man his father was, believe me.

“Anyway, it seems that he’s got himself another family out there in Spain.” She settled deeper into the chair and placed her hands on the white towel that covered the work table. “Honestly, his poor wife is beside herself, still trying to take it all in. She thought there was something funny going on and went out there to see for herself. And what does she find but him, playing happy families in a posh villa in Marbella. He’s got himself a fancy woman and they’ve had a child together. Looks just like young Tudur, according to Ros. And not only that, but to add insult to injury, the Spanish house cost more than hers did. That’s what Ros told her mother.”

Eyes glittering with excitement, Mrs. Lloyd gave Penny a look of triumph at having delivered this thrilling news, reminding her of an excited Mrs. Bennett in
Pride and Prejudice
bursting to share the latest newsy tidbit.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen now,” Mrs. Lloyd continued, “but I wouldn’t want to be in Hywel’s shoes when he gets back here. And his business is here, so he’ll have to come back and face the music sooner or later. He can’t stay away forever. Ros was beyond furious, as you can imagine. Not to mention terribly hurt.” Mrs. Lloyd dipped her fingers into the soaking bowl Penny had prepared and then pulled them out again. “Oh, Penny, you always get this water so hot. Eirlys gets it just right. Is she not here today? No offence, Penny, but I’ve rather come to prefer my manicures with her.”

“I know you do, Mrs. Lloyd, and no offence taken. Whatever you want is fine with me. She’s having a few days off, but she’ll be back next week. Now, please, tell me more about the Stephens. I want to hear all about it.”

“I bet you do.” Mrs. Lloyd shook her head. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? You read about this sort of thing in the newspapers, but you never imagine that someone you know would get involved in such a scheme.” She thought for a moment. “A long time ago—you probably won’t remember this—but there was a film with Alec Guinness. He played a man who did the same thing. He was a sea captain who had an English wife, see, and their life together was all very cozy and staid, chintz on the furniture, afternoon tea and gardening, and a mug of cocoa in front of the fire, that sort of thing. But he also kept another wife across the Channel, a French or Spanish sexpot type of woman and when he was with her they’d go dancing and drinking and stay out until all hours, getting up to all sorts. I wonder if there was something like that going on here? I mean, you don’t really think of an accountant as being one for the ladies, do you?”

“I’m that astonished, Mrs. Lloyd, I really don’t know what to say.” Penny dried Mrs. Lloyd’s hand and began filing her nails. “And Ros was in here for a manicure just before she left for Spain, too. She told me she was going out there, but I doubt she was expecting to find that. It must have been awful for her.”

“Well, now, of course, after all these years I’ll have to find a new accountant. I couldn’t possibly stay with him now. And if he loses his business, which he very well could, he’ll have a hard time supporting one family, never mind two.” Mrs. Lloyd put her hand back in the soaking bowl and Penny started shaping the nails on her other hand. “It must have cost him a pretty penny, Penny,” she said with a sly smile, “to support two families and all the travel back and forth on top of it. It can’t have been cheap. Besides juggling his time I expect he had to juggle his finances, too.”

“Yes, I expect you’re right as usual, Mrs. Lloyd,” said Penny. She thought for a moment. “I wonder … If Ros didn’t know about the Spanish family, do you think the Spanish woman knew about the Welsh family?”

“Hmm. I don’t know. I expect we’ll learn more details over the next few days. We’ll have to be careful what we believe, though. There’ll be a lot of gossip about this. It’ll be the talk of the town for the next little while, that’s for sure.”

The two women were silent for a moment and then Penny asked, “Mrs. Lloyd, how did you hear about this?”

“Well, we live on the same street, don’t we? And Ros’s mother was looking after Tudur and she told me all about it.”

*

“It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” said Victoria. “How someone could live a double life like that. He must have worn himself out trying to keep everything straight.”

Penny laughed. “Most men have enough trouble getting on with one wife. Two seems a lot to take on. It must have been awful trying to remember every little detail. He must have been very clever not to mix the two women up. You know, how one likes her tea. Or, God forbid, call one by the other wife’s name.”

“Actually, I was reading a magazine article about adultery and how men get away with it,” said Victoria. “One thing they do is never call the wife or the mistress by her name. It’s always darling, or honey, or sweetie, or babe, or something like that. That way they don’t get them mixed up. But was he actually married to both of them, I wonder, which would make him a bigamist, or just living with the Spanish one?”