Free A Species of Revenge by Marjorie Eccles Page B

began to interest her.
    â€˜Is there a relative or anyone you’d like us to contact, to be with you?’ Abigail asked. ‘Your children?’
    â€˜We have no children.’ It was stated matter-of-factly, but with enough neutrality to show that it might seriously matter, and Abigail again shifted her perspective of the woman. Clumsy of me, she chided herself, you could never tell, and I should’ve noticed this isn’t a family home. The room they were sitting in was as immaculate as its owner’s person, furnished like a colour supplement, with all the material possessions of a successful, childless couple. There were holiday souvenirs from abroad. A conservatory out of House & Garden added to the back. Mrs Ensor’s own smart car was in the drive, this year’s model. Yet there was something wrong, something empty about the set-up, and it wasn’t only the lack of children.
    â€˜When did you last see your husband?’ she asked. Judith Ensor sat back and crossed her pretty legs, shown off by the close-fitting short skirt she was wearing. Her expression hardened. Abigail, looking more closely, upwardly readjusted her assessment of her age by something like ten years.
    â€˜I saw him last a fortnight ago,’ she said. ‘He was supposed to be in Cologne, on business. I wasn’t expecting him back until after the weekend.’
    Philip Ensor, it turned out, had been the senior sales representative for a freight-forwarding firm based in Bletchley, a job which had necessitated him travelling all over the world on occasions, though his journeys were mainly restricted to Europe.
    â€˜It may have been business, then, that took him to Lavenstock last Saturday night?’ Abigail asked, adding the name of the firm to her careful, methodical notes.
    â€˜Lavenstock?’ It might have been on another planet and not simply a town in the next county. ‘I don’t know. What makes you think I’d have been told, anyway? As far as I was concerned, he was supposed to have been in Cologne, wasn’t he?’ The pretty hand with the immaculately lacquered nails was taut on the chair arm.
    â€˜Might he have been visiting someone there he knew?’ Abigail suggested.
    â€˜Look, he didn’t know anyone here! He wasn’t the sort to socialize. We’ve lived here nearly a year and he scarcely knew the neighbours either side, he was away so much.’ There was a bitterness in her voice she didn’t trouble to hide now. ‘That’s why we moved here from Bletchley. With him away so much, at least here I’d be near Lew and Avis – that’s my brother and his wife.’
    Abigail’s next question seemed by now unnecessary, but the answer couldn’t be taken for granted. ‘Forgive me, but were relations between you and your husband friendly?’
    She laughed shortly. ‘Is it that obvious?’
    â€˜So it’s possible he went to Lavenstock to see another woman?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜You’re sure?’ She’d sounded absolutely dead certain, but Abigail pressed on. ‘All the indications were that he’d been involved in a fight, just before his death. If he’s been seeing someone else, Mrs Ensor, it could have been with a jealous husband.’
    â€˜He didn’t go there to see another woman,’ she repeated flatly.
    â€˜That sounds pretty categoric.’
    â€˜So it should; I haven’t been married to Phil for fourteen years without knowing him that well. And another thing – he’d never get involved in a fight. Never.’ Her mouth twisted, marring the symmetry of the perfect oval face. ‘Running away was more his style.’
    If so, this time Ensor hadn’t run far enough, poor devil. His wife may have been shaken, but her life didn’t appear to have fallen to pieces on receiving the appalling news. She wondered what sort of life they’d led together, that