am a detective,’ said Toni, passing over her card. ‘Now, our agency is supposed to be working for the present Mrs Richards, but I feel there is something very odd about her.’
‘Nothing odder than common little slut.’
‘Why don’t we discuss this over lunch?’
‘I’m having lunch.’
‘No, you are not. You are punishing yourself. You are slim enough. Leave the rabbit food alone and come with me to the nearest pub and we’ll have steak and kidney pie and a good bottle of wine.’
Mrs Richards poked dismally at her salad. ‘What if he finds out?’
‘I won’t tell him, you won’t tell him. Look, I think you’ve been through a lot,’ said Toni, ‘and that no one ever listens to you. But I’m here. Come on. Live a little.’
Over steak and kidney pies and a good bottle of Merlot, Mrs Richards thawed, unlike the weather outside. As Mrs Richards ate hungrily, Toni talked generally about the weather and told several funny stories of trying to recover lost animals. ‘I was asked to help find a lost cat called Napoleon. I at last found the animal actually up in the branches of a tall horse chestnut tree in the woman’s garden. I climbed up. It was difficult because the wind was blowing strongly and the cat was almost at the top. Just as I was reaching out for it, the wretched animal promptly nipped down to the ground, branch by branch. I followed and chased that cat and finally caught it by taking it in a rugby tackle.’
Ms Richards giggled, a surprisingly girlish giggle. ‘You can’t rugby tackle a cat.’
‘Oh, yes, you can,’ said Toni. ‘What about a brandy with the coffee?’
‘Oh, maybe I shouldn’t . . .’
Toni raised her voice and called for two brandies.
‘Did you know the present Mrs Amy Richards?’
‘Oh, yes. Look, call me Fiona. We worked in the same supermarket. She was on the till and I stacked the shelves.’
‘Seems a rather menial job for you. What about the care of your children?’
‘We had . . . have . . . an excellent nanny for the two youngest: that’s Carol, aged four, and Josie, aged five. My eldest, my boy, Wolfgang, is at Mircester High. He’s thirteen.’
‘Wolfgang is an odd name for a British child.’
‘Tom’s father is German. He insisted the boy was named after him. He’s called Wolf at school, so he doesn’t mind. My husband thought I should understand the workings of his business empire from the ground up. I didn’t mind the shelf stacking. It was a peaceful, mindless job. I got to know Amy. The others knew I was the boss’s wife and thought I had been put there to spy on them, but Amy would chatter away to me.
‘I invited her back one afternoon for tea. We both had the same day off. I thought Tom was away on business, but he turned up. He started questioning Amy about how much she thought was being sold and what were the most popular items. Soon they were deep in conversation and seemed to have forgotten I existed.
‘A few weeks later, Tom asked me for a divorce. At first I was shattered, but when he explained he would pay maintenance, the thought that I could jack in my job and stay at home with the children suddenly seemed like a road out of hell. Goodness, what a listener you are. I shouldn’t be criticizing Tom.’
‘I just wondered,’ said Toni cautiously, ‘whether Tom ever suggested improvements to your appearance.’
‘Night and day,’ said Fiona Richards gloomily. ‘He wanted me to go out to LA and get a face-lift. He always chose my clothes, but that was one thing too far. I tried to laugh and say I wanted to reach an elegant old age and . . . and . . . he hit me.’
‘Didn’t you go to the police?’
‘He would have hired the best lawyers. I felt I wouldn’t have a chance. So I bought a tape recorder and I began to record all the vicious rows and the sound of the beatings. My small salary was paid into an account in my name. I went to that bank and hired a safe-deposit box and put copies of all the tapes
‘Nothing odder than common little slut.’
‘Why don’t we discuss this over lunch?’
‘I’m having lunch.’
‘No, you are not. You are punishing yourself. You are slim enough. Leave the rabbit food alone and come with me to the nearest pub and we’ll have steak and kidney pie and a good bottle of wine.’
Mrs Richards poked dismally at her salad. ‘What if he finds out?’
‘I won’t tell him, you won’t tell him. Look, I think you’ve been through a lot,’ said Toni, ‘and that no one ever listens to you. But I’m here. Come on. Live a little.’
Over steak and kidney pies and a good bottle of Merlot, Mrs Richards thawed, unlike the weather outside. As Mrs Richards ate hungrily, Toni talked generally about the weather and told several funny stories of trying to recover lost animals. ‘I was asked to help find a lost cat called Napoleon. I at last found the animal actually up in the branches of a tall horse chestnut tree in the woman’s garden. I climbed up. It was difficult because the wind was blowing strongly and the cat was almost at the top. Just as I was reaching out for it, the wretched animal promptly nipped down to the ground, branch by branch. I followed and chased that cat and finally caught it by taking it in a rugby tackle.’
Ms Richards giggled, a surprisingly girlish giggle. ‘You can’t rugby tackle a cat.’
‘Oh, yes, you can,’ said Toni. ‘What about a brandy with the coffee?’
‘Oh, maybe I shouldn’t . . .’
Toni raised her voice and called for two brandies.
‘Did you know the present Mrs Amy Richards?’
‘Oh, yes. Look, call me Fiona. We worked in the same supermarket. She was on the till and I stacked the shelves.’
‘Seems a rather menial job for you. What about the care of your children?’
‘We had . . . have . . . an excellent nanny for the two youngest: that’s Carol, aged four, and Josie, aged five. My eldest, my boy, Wolfgang, is at Mircester High. He’s thirteen.’
‘Wolfgang is an odd name for a British child.’
‘Tom’s father is German. He insisted the boy was named after him. He’s called Wolf at school, so he doesn’t mind. My husband thought I should understand the workings of his business empire from the ground up. I didn’t mind the shelf stacking. It was a peaceful, mindless job. I got to know Amy. The others knew I was the boss’s wife and thought I had been put there to spy on them, but Amy would chatter away to me.
‘I invited her back one afternoon for tea. We both had the same day off. I thought Tom was away on business, but he turned up. He started questioning Amy about how much she thought was being sold and what were the most popular items. Soon they were deep in conversation and seemed to have forgotten I existed.
‘A few weeks later, Tom asked me for a divorce. At first I was shattered, but when he explained he would pay maintenance, the thought that I could jack in my job and stay at home with the children suddenly seemed like a road out of hell. Goodness, what a listener you are. I shouldn’t be criticizing Tom.’
‘I just wondered,’ said Toni cautiously, ‘whether Tom ever suggested improvements to your appearance.’
‘Night and day,’ said Fiona Richards gloomily. ‘He wanted me to go out to LA and get a face-lift. He always chose my clothes, but that was one thing too far. I tried to laugh and say I wanted to reach an elegant old age and . . . and . . . he hit me.’
‘Didn’t you go to the police?’
‘He would have hired the best lawyers. I felt I wouldn’t have a chance. So I bought a tape recorder and I began to record all the vicious rows and the sound of the beatings. My small salary was paid into an account in my name. I went to that bank and hired a safe-deposit box and put copies of all the tapes
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