Chapters (39)
- Cover
- TITLES BY RHYS BOWEN
- Dedication
- Foreword
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
“That’s because of the noise of the waves,” she said. “I spotted you crossing the lawn and I guessed where you must be going. I thought I’d better keep an eye on you, just in case.”
She moved away from the cliff-edge and I followed. “You don’t suspect . . .” I began hesitantly. “I remember you said that you thought that Tony must have pushed her.”
“That’s what I believed,” she said. “But since he’s been killed, I’ve been thinking and wondering. Perhaps it wasn’t him at all.”
“Then who?”
“That’s what I’ve been asking myself. Who wanted them both out of the way? And of course the next question is am I next?”
I stared at her. Had she now come to believe that Belinda was not guilty after all? And did she have a suspicion about who the real murderer might be?
“Why should anyone want to kill you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t think that I’ve upset anyone. But living in a place like this sort of plays on the mind. I don’t think I want to go on living here alone. I’ll sell it and buy a nice house in town somewhere. Maybe in Bath, next to my mum. Maybe in London. Maybe in Paris. It hasn’t quite sunk in yet that I’m a rich widow.”
I glanced at her and she gave a nervous little grin.
“My mum will be arriving any moment,” she said. “I should get back to the house to make sure Mrs. M. has made up a nice room for her. Of course she will have. Silly me. She does everything perfectly, doesn’t she?”
Then she walked off ahead of me across the lawn, leaving me standing and wondering. The disturbing thought that had been nagging at the back of my mind was how she knew the exact spot where Jonquil fell to her death. Did someone tell her? Show her? Because when it happened she had been living in London. Unless . . . unless she had it all planned. She read that Tony had married Jonquil. Her two idols now living in the perfect house. What if she had come down here, taken her chances and pushed Jonquil over the cliff? Then arranged, after a suitable time, to meet Tony in London, to get him drunk, lure him into bed with her and claim she was pregnant. Then she’d say she’d had a miscarriage and at the right moment, get rid of Tony.