Read Online Shatter by Michael Robotham - Free Book Online Page B

looking irritated. Her breasts don’t move. I wonder if they’re real. As if reading my mind she straightens her shoulders.
    ‘Why are you so interested in Christine?’
    ‘Darcy doesn’t think it was suicide.’
    ‘And why does that concern you?’
    ‘I just want to be sure.’
    Her eyes are ful of a gentle curiosity as I explain my involvement with Christine and how Darcy came looking for me. Sylvia props her toned legs on the coffee table, showing what miles on the treadmil can do for a woman.
    ‘You were business partners.’
    ‘We were more than that,’ she replies. ‘We went to school together.’
    ‘When did you last see Christine?’
    ‘Friday morning. She came into the office. She had an appointment with a young couple who were planning a Christmas wedding.’
    ‘How did she seem?’
    ‘Fine.’
    ‘She wasn’t concerned or worried about anything?’
    ‘Not particularly. Chris wasn’t the type.’
    ‘What was she like?’
    ‘The sweetest person. A total one-off. Sometimes I used to think she was too nice.’
    ‘In what way?’
    ‘She was too soft for this business. People would give her a sob story and she’d give them longer to pay or offer them discounts. Chris was a hopeless romantic. She believed in fairytales. Fairytale weddings. Fairytale marriages. It’s funny when you think her own lasted less than two years. At school she had a wedding chest. I mean, what sort of person stil has a wedding chest? And she used to say that each of us has a special soul mate. Our Mr Right.’
    ‘You obviously don’t agree.’
    Her head swivels towards me. ‘You’re a psychologist. Do you real y believe there is only one person for each of us in this big wide world?’
    ‘It’s a nice thought.’
    ‘No it’s not! How boring.’ She laughs. ‘If that’s true, my soul mate had better have a six pack and a six figure salary.’
    ‘What about your husband?’
    ‘He’s a lump of lard, but he knows how to make money.’ She runs her hands along her legs. ‘Why is it that married men let themselves go while their wives spend hours trying to look beautiful?’
    ‘You don’t know?’
    She laughs. ‘Maybe that’s a discussion for another day.’
    Sylvia stands and goes to the bedroom. ‘Do you mind if I get changed?’
    ‘Not at al .’
    She leaves the door open and shucks off her T-shirt and bra. There are muscles on her back like flat stones beneath her skin.
    Her black spandex shorts slide down her legs, but I can’t see what replaces them; the bed and the angle defeat me.
    Dressed in cream slacks and a cashmere sweater, she returns to the lounge, tossing her tiny shorts and bra on her gym bag.
    ‘What were we talking about?’

    ‘Marriage. You said Christine was a believer.’
    ‘Head cheerleader. She cried at every wedding we planned. Complete strangers were tying the knot and her pockets were ful of soggy tissues.’
    ‘Is that why she set up Blissful?’
    ‘It was her baby.’
    ‘How was business?’
    Sylvia smiles wryly.
    ‘Like I said, Chris was a soft touch. People asked for dream weddings— with al the bel s and whistles— then they refused to pay or delayed sending the cheque. Christine wasn’t tough enough.’
    ‘There were money problems?’
    She stretches her arms above her head. ‘Rain. Cancel ations. Legal action. It wasn’t a good season. We have to turn over fifty thousand pounds a month to break even. The average cost of a wedding is fifteen thousand. The big ones are few and far between.’
    ‘How much were you losing?’
    ‘Chris took out a second mortgage when we set up. Now we have an overdraft of twenty thousand and debts of more than two hundred thousand.’
    Sylvia rattles off the numbers without emotion.
    ‘You mentioned legal action.’
    ‘A wedding in the spring was a disaster. Dodgy mayonnaise on the seafood buffet. Food poisoning. The father of the bride is a lawyer and a complete wanker. Christine offered to tear up the bil but he wants us to pay