‘Hello,’ she said, once she’d made her way into the bedroom and placed the phone receiver against her ear.

‘Verity Flynn?’

‘That’s right.’ She rubbed droplets of water from her face and ear with the edge of the towel. ‘Who is this?’

‘My name is Marcus Bergman, from Bergman, Smithton and Cavendish Solicitors in Ipswich.’

‘It’s been seven years, hasn’t it?’ Her mouth tugged upwards at the corners. She hoped so. She needed something to smile about.

‘That’s right, I’m—’

‘He’s legally dead?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thank God. He was a cruel, arrogant bastard.’

‘Well that cruel, arrogant bastard has left you Flynn House, and two million pounds.’

‘Oh, well that’s all right then, Mr Bergman.’ Her voice was satirical. ‘Felix Flynn was clearly a fantastic father, and all is forgiven.’

‘Could you come to my office? It’s—’

‘I know where it is. Is the money and house to be divided between me and my brother, Hugh?’

‘There’s no mention of your brother in the will.’

‘So Felix has had the last laugh.’ She sat down on the edge of her bed. ‘If he couldn’t come between us when he was alive, he’ll do his best to do so now he’s dead.’

‘Sorry?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ And it didn’t. Verity would make sure Hugh was well looked after, even if Pippa was part of the deal.

Chapter 20

Halloween Weekend 2019

Alice

Alice leads the way across the main entrance of Flynn Hotel trancelike, the soaked yellow dress draped over her arm, Leon and Mitch behind her. They are all exhausted and sodden, dripping their way into the bar.

Lori is by the fire reading, a glass of brandy in her hand. She lifts her eyes from the pages of her book, jumps to her feet, and dashes over, her dress clinging to her slim thighs, flapping her ankles. ‘Christine told me what happened to you, Leon,’ she says, touching his arm. ‘Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine,’ he says. ‘Thanks.’

‘You saw something—?’

‘Yeah, but it’s OK, panic over,’ Mitch says, shaking his head, droplets of water flying from his hair. ‘It was only Alice’s dress.’

‘Seriously?’ Alice says. Her plaits have come loose, hanging limp and wet about her face. Her head throbs. Her coat is soaked from the rain and crashing waves. Her dress had somehow ended up on the rocks, and is now sodden, dangling over her arm. There’s no quelling the rising fear inside her. She desperately wants to go home, and the thought that they could be stuck here for another fifteen hours is weighing heavy. ‘You don’t think my dress, which was locked in my room, being found by the sea, is a reason for concern, Mitch?’ She detests this idiotic man.

‘That is odd,’ Lori says. ‘You must speak to Christine about this. First our cell phones and now your dress. Who could have taken it?’