Free Gold Digger by Frances Fyfield Page B

he was on everyone’s side, expressing sympathy for events beyond his control and they believed him.
    ‘That
bitch
,’ Beatrice hissed. ‘That BITCH has got it all.’
    ‘Hush,’ Gayle said.
    ‘Diana has been heroic,’ Raymond said quietly. ‘It hasn’t been easy.’
    ‘Bitch,’ said Beatrice. ‘Perverted bitch.’
    ‘Be quiet,’ Gayle said. ‘That isn’t fair. Would you give her condolences, Raymond?’
    Gayle smiled at Raymond, entirely in control of her emotions, and he knew he was afraid of her without knowing the reason why, while being grateful to her for keeping the peace.
    ‘Formidable girl,’ Gayle murmured. ‘Truly formidable. She took him on, coped wonderfully well. Is there anything she fears? Poor soul.’
    She turned to Raymond, trustingly. ‘Tell me,’ she said, looking into his eyes. ‘Anything at all? We must try and helpher through this terrible time. She did nurse our father after all. Artificial feeding and everything. Kept in touch. Must have been hell.’
    And where were you?
Raymond began to stutter under the impact of her gaze.
    ‘Yes, I think it was. Yes, of course she has fears, everyone does. She’s claustrophobic, I think: it was hard, being shut in—oh well, never mind.’
    He had said too much.
    ‘That might explain why she needs so much space to live in,’ Gayle said smoothly. ‘We do want to help. To comfort, to understand. Poor Di, didn’t she have a terrible childhood? Didn’t she go to prison, once?’
    ‘We’ve had her THOROUGHLY INVESTIGATED,’ Edward shouted. He was slightly drunk at that stage, although not as drunk as he would be. He could hardly control his fury. All these years, he had been studying, valuing, for
this.
Raymond smiled, uncomfortably, disliking himself for spilling the smallest bean. Edward laughed, not quite in tune, not an amusing sound.
    ‘You know what you are, Forrest? You’re a bastard. You’re the messenger boy. You’ve got us all believing that Thomas was going to leave it to us, while all the time you knew he wasn’t.’
    ‘I didn’t say that. I said he would do his duty.’
    ‘And YOU think, YOU,’ stabbing Raymond’s chest, ‘YOU think we know nothing. But we do, you know, we bloody do. Like we know what an evil bitch she is. We’ve got her dad, we’ve got him watching.’
    The ravings of a disappointed lunatic.
    ‘Hush,’ Gayle said. She got up and moved Raymond towards the door.
    ‘Thank you, Raymond, for being so trustworthy. Keep in touch and tell us anything we can do.’
    The door closed behind him. Silence followed. Patrick continued to draw, Beatrice to hiss.
    ‘Well, there’s the clue as to what to do first,’ she said. ‘We get the claustrophobic little bitch sent straight back to prison. Like her dad said, that’ll kill her.’
    ‘Hush,’ Gayle said again, turning to her husband.
    ‘She killed him,’ Beatrice said. ‘She killed him.’
    ‘I’ve got a plan,’ Edward said.
    Patrick put his hands over his ears.

C HAPTER F IVE
    T he wedding was a distant memory when, four days after the date of Thomas’s death, Raymond Forrest walked down the pier, circumnavigated the café at the end, retraced his steps to the road and turned left purposefully. The sea murmured to his right, traffic ran parallel to his steps; shops and the town centre were somewhere beyond. He had never been particularly interested in the place, but thought it was time he explored it.
    An English seaside town, with all the hallmarks of decay, was an unlikely place for an almost-millionaire inventor to live, unless said rich old man was as eccentric and as splendidly single-minded as Thomas Porteous. Raymond made himself walk faster against the wind. He was prematurely elderly himself for sheer lack of exercise, so his own dear wife told him, and he was thinking that it was a great advantage in a man with a mission to have a younger spouse, something he applauded in Thomas, but not, maybe, a marriage with such a colossal