Death at a Country Mansion Page 15

  “Mind if I join you?” she asked, perching on a vacant seat. Niall, ever the gentleman, looked up and smiled. “Of course, Daisy. I was disappointed not to see you or Floria at Ascot this year. Bartered Bride won first place in the Gold Cup.”

  “I heard. Congratulations. So, things are going well, then?”

  He gave the sort of arrogant shrug that very wealthy men can afford to give. “It’s a competitive industry, but we do okay.”

  He was playing it down. Daisy knew he’d done exceptionally well these past few years. She remembered watching an episode of Countryfile, on which they’d discussed how his stud farm had more than doubled in size, now taking up a sizable portion of the Surrey countryside. Out of all Serena’s ex-husbands, he was least likely to murder her. He didn’t need the money and, as far as she knew, they hadn’t parted on bad terms. In fact, according to Greg, Serena divorcing him had given him the capital he’d needed to upgrade his farm.

  He changed the subject. “You know, I’m not surprised Serena died surrounded by mystery. She always had a flare for the dramatic. Why should her death be any different?”

  Daisy chuckled. “It’s true, and she would have loved all this attention.”

  Niall rolled his eyes. “Aye, that she would. I don’t miss it, I can tell you. My life has quietened down considerably since we split up, and my blood pressure has reverted to normal again.”

  “It wasn’t that long ago, really, was it?” asked Daisy, trying to remember in which order the husbands came. Sir Ranulph was first, with Floria being born almost immediately. Their marriage had lasted fifteen years, and the resulting stability was largely responsible for Serena’s meteoric rise to fame. A string of lovers followed, which, according to Floria, made Serena more highly strung than ever, until she met Niall and settled down again, albeit briefly, before cheating on him with a handsome cellist in the London Symphony Orchestra. Her relationship with Hubert was fleeting, and probably born out of a desperate need to be looked after rather than loved.

  “We divorced eight years ago,” he said after a moment’s reflection. “We had some grand times, though. When we met she was at the height of her career. It was dazzling. We traveled extensively, met celebrities and royalty, and lived in five-star hotels around the world. It was a whirlwind existence.” His eyes got a faraway look in them, and Daisy was glad at least one person had some fond memories of Serena. “We were very much in love.” He glanced at them, then added dryly, “Well, I was very much in love. For Serena, I suspect it was more lust. The only true love she ever had was her singing.”

  It wasn’t the first time Daisy had heard that said.

  “It sounds so glamorous.” Penny gazed up at him, clearly infatuated. Daisy hoped she wasn’t going to fall for the womanizing horse breeder. As charming as Niall was, he was lethal with women. Daisy made a mental note to have a serious talk with Penny on Monday.

  Floria, Mimi and Donna burst into the parlor and made straight for the bar. The reading of the will must be over.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” Daisy stood up. She couldn’t wait to hear what the outcome was.

  “We’re celebrating, Daisy,” sang Floria, asking for a bottle of champagne. “Serena was surprisingly altruistic and split everything equally between her four daughters.”

  “Given her vast fortune, that is a considerable amount,” added Greg, joining them at the makeshift bar.

  “Really? That’s great news. I’m so happy for you all.”

  “It was very unexpected,” said Donna, whose hand was shaking as she accepted her drink. Daisy imagined this would make all the difference to the professional violinist. “You don’t have to go back to Austria now. You could stay in England and start over.”

  “Yes, it opens so many doors.” Donna’s eyes glazed over as she considered the possibilities. Greg smiled at her. It was clear he wanted her to stay.

  “You’re telling me,” gushed Mimi, her eyes bright. “I’m going to use the money to launch my singing career. Voice training, dance coaching, a complete makeover. I’ll show that bastard Kyle that I don’t need his poxy band to be successful.”

  “The Australian Taylor Swift,” Floria said proudly.

  Mimi grinned. “You got it!”

  Their excitement was contagious.

  “Where’s Carmen?” asked Daisy.

  Floria’s face fell. “She’s signing some documents, but then she’s going to leave. She really is very bitter.”

  Mimi leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “She said it was the least the bitch could do.”

  “Her behavior is quite shocking,” remarked Donna. Greg put a hand on her back. “She harbors great animosity toward Serena for abandoning her.”

  “I assume she was provided for?” Daisy wondered if Carmen had had a rough childhood, which would magnify her resentment.

  Greg shrugged. “If she was, it wasn’t handled by my firm.”

  “We certainly weren’t provided for in any way, shape or form,” scoffed Mimi. “So I don’t imagine she was either.”

  “No, that’s true,” mused Daisy.

  Floria took a gulp of her champagne. “It must be hard for her to see me at Brompton Court and think that this is the upbringing she should have had. She is the eldest, after all. Perhaps that’s why she hates me so much.”

  “I think she hates everyone,” cut in Mimi.

  Daisy thought Floria might have a point. Carmen’s hatred of Serena had been years and years in the making. She must have had a very tough childhood to be harboring that level of bitterness, even now, in her thirties.

  “Perhaps you could look into it for us, Greg?” asked Daisy.

  “You mean for the purposes of the investigation?” He frowned. “I’m not sure DI McGuinness would approve.”

  “It’s got nothing to do with the investigation,” Daisy assured him. “Carmen’s already been cleared as a suspect. It’s just that we might understand her better if we found out a bit about her background.”

  “I’m with Daisy on this one,” agreed Floria. “It would be nice to know a bit more about her, because she’s not at all forthcoming.”

  “I wouldn’t bother.” Mimi sniffed. “If she doesn’t want to open up, that’s her problem. We don’t need her.”

  “I feel sorry for her.” Donna took a sip from her flute.

  “I wouldn’t,” scoffed Mimi, giving her twin a dark look. “Did you hear her sing at the memorial service? She’s going to be a star in no time. She won’t need Serena’s money. Being her illegitimate daughter was enough to get her noticed.”

  Angry voices in the entrance hall interrupted their discussion.

  “That sounds like Hubert.” Floria shook her head in confusion. “I’ve never heard him raise his voice before.”

  There was a loud smash as something crashed onto the marbled floor, followed closely by a man’s voice crying out.

  They all dashed into the hall to see what was going on.

  Chapter Eighteen

  In the hallway, they found Hubert up against the wall with Collin’s hands around his neck. Hubert’s face was an alarming shade of purple.

  “Collin, what are you doing?” cried Floria, running forward. “Let him go immediately!”

  “What’s the meaning of this?” barked Paul, emerging from down the hall.

  “He’s lying!” growled Collin, dropping his hands from Hubert’s neck, but glaring at the antique dealer like he wanted to continue throttling him.

  “You’re the liar,” sneered Hubert in a rare show of animosity. “What do you think we are? Fools?”

  The two men glared at each other until Paul said, “Okay, that’s enough. Everyone, calm down.”

  “I’m sorry, Floria.” Hubert flounced past her and out into the garden. “I need some air.”

  Collin hissed something under his breath.

  “That’ll be quite enough, thank you,” Paul warned him. The guests who’d crowded into the hallway to watch the fireworks now tr
ickled back into the parlor, talking among themselves.

  “What was that all about?” Paul asked Collin once the hallway was clear.

  Collin was still seething. “Hubert had the gall to tell me the Modigliani was a fake. It’s a preposterous notion. It’s been authenticated by Sotheby’s. The man is off his rocker.”

  “And you’re sure this is the same painting you acquired?” asked Daisy.

  “Are you thinking it might have been switched for a fake during the robbery?” Paul glanced at her. The inspector had followed her line of thought perfectly.

  She shrugged. “It’s a theory.”

  “No way.” Collin was adamant. “I inspected it when it was returned from the lab. It’s definitely the original. I’d have known if it was a fake. This is what I do for a living, for God’s sake.”

  Paul held up a hand. “Okay, I’ll take your word for it. Why don’t you go get a drink and try to calm down? And stay away from Hubert.”

  Collin gave a stiff nod and marched off, shaking his head.

  “There’s never a dull moment around here, is there?” Paul stared after Collin’s departing figure.

  “Not as long as I’ve known Floria,” replied Daisy with a grin. “But seriously, I’ve never seen Hubert that angry before. Collin must really have got his back up.”

  “He did almost strangle him,” pointed out Paul. “That would piss me off too.”

  Daisy steered him outside onto the portico for some privacy. “So, what happened at the reading of the will? Who inherited Brompton Court? I’ve been dying to know.”

  Paul chuckled. “That was a surprise. It went to Sir Ranulph, to revert to Floria on his death. Collin was quite put out. He didn’t get a thing.”

  “Really? That is interesting.”

  Collin had obviously thought he’d inherit the country pile if he’d been showing it off to the Texas billionaire, but the fact that he’d got nothing meant that it couldn’t be him Serena had been thinking of cutting out of her will.

  “So, it wasn’t him Serena was talking about when she mentioned she didn’t owe anyone any favors.” Paul had read her mind again.

  “It must have been one of the girls, then.”

  “Or all of them,” Paul interjected. “The housekeeper and her husband got a modest amount. It was enough to buy a property, but nothing to write home about. Besides, I can’t see Serena wanting to cut them out of the will.”

  “Not after everything they’ve done for her over the years,” said Daisy. “They’ve been such loyal servants.”

  “Unless something happened that we don’t know about,” mused Paul.

  “Let’s ask Collin,” said Daisy, turning around and heading indoors toward the library. “He’s probably drowning his sorrows.”

  “You’re not going to have another go at me, are you?” They found Collin sitting at the bar, staring into a glass of scotch.

  “No, it’s not about the painting.” Daisy perched on a barstool next to him.

  “Oh?”

  “It’s about Violeta,” said Paul. “Do you know of any reason Serena might have wanted to cut her out of her will?”

  Collin’s forehead furrowed. “Cut her out of the will? But she didn’t. They were awarded a substantial amount. More than I bloody got.”

  “No, but we think she may have been considering it,” said Daisy.

  “Really? Well, I didn’t know anything about that.”

  “They didn’t have any fights or arguments recently, anything that you remember?”

  Collin shook his head. “I don’t recall anything. Violeta wouldn’t dare argue with Serena. Nor would most people, for that matter.”

  “I believe Serena threw a glass after you left on Saturday.”

  “Really? I didn’t know.”

  “Okay, thanks anyway,” said Paul, turning away. That was clearly a dead end. Collin didn’t know anything.

  “Actually, now that you mention it, I did once see Serena arguing with Pepe, Violeta’s husband, in the garden.”

  “When was this?” asked Daisy.

  “About a month ago. I was coming up the driveway when I saw them standing next to the duck pond. They were deep in conversation and didn’t notice me. Pepe seemed to be pleading with her, but she wasn’t having any of it, and she stormed off into the rose garden. I don’t know what they were discussing, but it looked to be important.”

  “I think we’d better have a word with Pepe,” said Paul.

  They found him in the kitchen, sitting at the table drinking a cup of coffee while Violeta loaded the dishwasher for the umpteenth time.

  “Might we have a word, Mr. Bonello?” Paul asked.

  Pepe looked up and nodded.

  They took a seat opposite him.

  “What’s this about, Daisy?” Violeta glanced at her with worried eyes.

  “Nothing to be concerned about, Violeta. DI McGuinness just wants to ask Pepe a few questions.”

  Pepe put down his mug, and Daisy could see by the way he held it how crippled with arthritis his hands were.

  “We believe you had an argument with Serena a few weeks before her death,” Paul began. Pepe looked confused. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “In the garden,” Daisy said. “By the duck pond. You were seen having a heated discussion before Serena marched off into the rose garden.”

  “Oh, that.” He shook his head, as if he didn’t want to talk about it.

  “It’s important you tell us what it was about, Pepe,” said Paul, his eyes boring into the old man.

  “It isn’t my place to say,” mumbled Pepe, looking to his wife for assurance.

  Violeta sighed. “I don’t suppose it matters now that she’s dead. You’d better tell them, Pepe.”

  Daisy looked from Violeta to Pepe. Clearly, there was something they were covering up.

  Pepe looked at his hands, then the table and finally out the kitchen window. Anywhere but at the inspector. Eventually, he said, “I promised Serena I wouldn’t ever talk about it again.”

  It was sounding more and more mysterious by the second. Paul was getting impatient. “Please, tell us what you know.”

  He sighed. “It happened about a month ago. I was about to go to bed when I remembered I hadn’t put away the tractor. April showers and all that. So I got up and walked across the lawn to where it was parked. It was then that I saw her.”

  “Who?” asked Daisy.

  “Serena. She was floating across the lawn like a ghost. I swear, I thought I was seeing things. Then she collapsed by the duck pond. I ran over to her, and for a minute I thought she was dead. She’d fallen face-first into the pond and was just lying there, her nightgown spread out around her.” He took a shaky breath. “I pulled her out and turned her over. She was alive, but only just. I gave her some CPR, which I know how to do from my army days, and she coughed and brought up all the water she’d swallowed. I took her up to bed and called the ambulance.”

  He glanced at his wife. “It was a very close call.”

  Violeta nodded sagely. “The ambulance came and took her into hospital for the night. The next day she was back, a little pale, but she didn’t mention the incident, and we never spoke of it again.”

  “How strange,” murmured Daisy. “You mean she didn’t even say thank you?”

  Violeta looked at Pepe and gave a little nod.

  “A few weeks ago a journalist came sniffing around. Serena refused to see him, so he tried his luck with us. He asked why Serena had been hospitalized. We declined to comment and he went on his way.” Pepe took a shaky breath. “A few days later Serena deposited a large amount of money into my bank account.”

  “She was trying to buy our silence,” said Violeta. “But we’d never have told anyone anyway.”

  “How much?” Paul stared at Pepe.

  “A hundred thousand pounds.” The groundsman met the inspector’s gaze. “That’s what we were discussing on the lawn that day. I told her I didn’t want her money, I would ha
ve done the same for anyone, but she insisted. She got quite angry when I said we’d transfer it back to her.”

  “And did you?” asked Daisy, glancing from one to the other.

  “I’m ashamed to say we didn’t,” said Pepe.

  Violeta shrugged. “Serena wouldn’t hear of it, and Pepe has such bad rheumatism in his hands, we decided to use the money so he could have an operation.”

  “That makes sense.” Serena didn’t need the money—not then, and definitely not now.

  “So, do you think Serena tried to commit suicide?” Paul asked the question they’d all been thinking.

  Pepe’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know. It could have been an accident. She was very drunk.”

  But Violeta scoffed. “The drinking was not uncommon; however, she’d never really been one for pills before. The drink usually knocked her right out.”

  “So she was trying to kill herself,” Daisy surmised.

  Violeta’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Well, she was certainly unhappy enough to try.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Floria stood up and banged a teaspoon against her champagne glass. The noise quietened down. She thanked the guests for coming and said a few words about Serena. Floria was great at impromptu speeches—better than planned ones, in fact—and Daisy was surprised to hear her tell a story of how as a girl, she used to sneak out of her room and watch from the landing as the glamorous guests danced and cavorted below. She made her mother’s life seem like a fairy tale, while Daisy knew it had been anything but, particularly for those closest to her. Then Floria gave a toast, and everyone clapped.

  Sir Ranulph sipped a cup of tea, a faraway look in his eyes. “How are you holding up?” Daisy sat down next to him.

  “That was a lovely speech Floria made,” he said gruffly. “Serena didn’t deserve a daughter like her.”

  Daisy patted his hand. “Floria’s been marvelous. She’s organized everything perfectly, and I’ve never seen Brompton Court looking so tidy.”

  Sir Ranulph grunted. “We’re inundated with guests staying the night. Did Floria tell you? She’s had the cleaners in for two days. No wonder the place is spotless. Serena was never much of a housekeeper, and poor Violeta couldn’t cope with more than a few rooms.”