Contents ( 57)
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
- Also by Sharon Gosling
‘I was in the Fretted Goose,’ he said. ‘Stan had it.’
Rachel took the paper, still none the wiser. She started walking back towards the wood burner but stopped dead when she looked at the front page.
QUESTIONS OVER LOCAL LANDMARK OWNER’S SUDDEN DEATH, screamed the headline.
She looked at Toby.
‘You need to read it,’ he told her. ‘It’s complete rubbish, but you need to read it. Sit down while you do.’
Rachel sank into Cullen’s armchair and forced herself to read the article. The terms ‘outside influence’, ‘elder abuse’, ‘neglect’, ‘financial coercion’ and ‘enforced relocation’ were all used, alongside the liberal deployment of the word ‘alleged’. Apparently the journalist had reliable information ‘from a source close to the deceased’ that suggested friends of Cullen MacDonald were questioning why the lighthouse itself had ceased to be his home five years ago, when he was suddenly moved out of it ‘for reasons that may seem dubious in the light of his untimely death’. Rachel’s name was mentioned as the current manager, as well as the fact that she had moved into Cullen’s old living space. There was no direct accusation, but the links were clearly there for anyone who wanted to see them.
‘I don’t understand,’ she whispered, her sight blurring. ‘Why would anyone say this? None of it’s true, none of it’s even close to being—’ Her throat closed up. She stopped speaking.
‘You have to sue for defamation,’ Toby told her. He was sitting in the opposite chair, leaning towards her with his hands clasped between his knees. ‘It’ll be a clear-cut case. There’s never been a police enquiry, there’s never been a hint of any wrongdoing, you have more than enough character witnesses who knew Cullen well to speak on your behalf, and two of us were present when he was taken ill.’
‘I don’t have money for that,’ Rachel told him numbly.
‘Rachel, this is important,’ Toby pressed. ‘An allegation like this could blight the rest of your life if you don’t refute it. You have to take legal action.’
She looked at him, and for the first time in their short acquaintance it occurred to Rachel that Toby Hollingwood probably had quite a comfortable life.
‘From the age of twenty-five until I came to live at the bookshop, I had no fixed home or work,’ she said bluntly. ‘I don’t pay rent here because accommodation was part payment of my employment. When I say I don’t have the money, Toby, it’s not hyperbole.’
They fell silent.
‘He was an old man,’ Rachel said after a moment, to the bookshop air. ‘It was a heart attack, followed by a stroke – in hospital. They don’t say that anywhere. To read this, you’d think I strangled him in his bed!’
‘You have to fight it,’ Toby said. ‘If not via a lawyer, at least contact the Press Complaints Commission. Make them print a retraction. Front page, same size as the original piece.’
Rachel turned towards him. ‘And that’ll remove the suspicion from everyone’s minds, too, will it?’