Web of Lies Sally Rigby (summer reading list TXT) 📖

But no one wanted to be tainted by this one, especially if it meant appearing in the press.

‘I’d be delighted to,’ he said, lying. All he wanted to do was get back to Elsa to go out for a relaxing walk in the countryside, providing the rain eased.

‘Are you going back to London today? You do still live there, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I do, but I’m staying here for a few days. I fancied a short break.’

‘That’s perfect. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you when we’re back at the house.’

He frowned. ‘What is it?’

‘I can’t talk now as people might hear.’ She glanced around conspiratorially.

What on earth did she want to speak to him about? They had nothing in common other than the family.

‘Of course. I understand.’

She turned, and they walked together in silence to where the mourners were milling around by the cars.

‘I’ll see you back at the house. You know the way?’ Sarah asked.

‘Yes, I remember. It’s on the edge of the village. The last time I was here was when your father …’ He paused, not wanting to mention the death of her father at a time like this.

‘When Daddy died. It was a very different affair. No room in the church and a service which lasted several hours because of all the readings. A real celebration of his life. Not like …’ Her eyes filled with tears.

He leant in and gave her hug. ‘It will be okay,’ he said softly in her ear. ‘I’ll see you in a little while.’

‘Thank you. I’m glad you’re here, even if you were coerced into attending. You’ve always been my favourite cousin.’ Her eyes, still glassy, shone as she gave a watery smile.

He waited until she’d moved on to speak to another person and then escaped back to his car.

‘Excuse me?’

He looked up as a man holding a phone in his hand strode up towards him. The same man who’d been watching them earlier.

‘Yes?’

‘I’m a freelance reporter sent by the Harborough Mail. Are you related to the deceased?’

He had two choices. He could either tell the guy where to go, or grit his teeth and answer his questions. What would be best for Sarah? Whatever he did it wouldn’t stop there being something in the paper about the funeral.

‘I’m related to his wife. Why are you here?’

‘Donald Witherspoon defrauded hundreds of people, many of them from around here. People have lost their entire life savings thanks to him.’

‘I understand and am very sorry for what has happened to them, but I’m here to support his wife during this difficult time.’

‘Did she know about his activities?’

‘I doubt it very much. Now if that’s all, I’m leaving.’

He made a step towards his car and the journalist followed.

‘Do you approve of what he did?’ A phone was stuck under Seb’s nose.

He drew in a breath and pushed the phone away. ‘I know nothing about his investments. I’m here to be with my cousin. That is all. Surely, you don’t believe the man should be denied his right to a proper funeral?’

‘He denied his investors proper financial advice. As far as the public will be concerned, he should have been buried in a plywood box with no one present.’

‘Well, the public don’t belong to Donald’s family. Whatever he did, that doesn’t alter the fact that he had a wife and two children. For their sakes, I suggest you leave now. I’m sure you took plenty of photos of the mourners you can sell to the highest bidder. That should be enough for you. And I don’t expect to read any of my comments in your article, as everything I have said is off the record.’

‘Who are you?’

‘It isn’t important. You don’t need to know my name because you won’t be using anything I’ve said.’ He took a step towards him, using his height to intimidate. It wasn’t something he did often, but when he did, it was always effective.

‘Okay, mate. I get your point.’ The reporter took two enormous steps backwards away from Seb’s potential grasp.

‘Make sure you do. You can report that the funeral has taken place, and that’s all. It’s of no interest to anyone outside of the family. Got it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Right, off you go.’

Seb leant against his car, his arms folded tightly across his chest, until the reporter had returned to his car and driven off.

He’d had enough of the media after the special squad’s demise. He had no desire to deal with them here as well.

Chapter 3

4 May

Seb drove up the long drive towards Rendall Hall, which was situated on the edge of East Farndon village. It was the home his cousin had lived in for her entire married life and had been bought with money she’d inherited from her grandparents on her father’s side. It dated back to the 17th century and he admired the distinguishing turrets which set it apart from many similar stone-built houses. It had been fully restored and was exceptionally beautiful. The ten acre grounds weren’t huge, when compared with his family’s estate, and manageable.

Would the property have to be sold? He hoped not, but he had no idea of Sarah’s financial situation.

He parked the car on the gravel drive in front of the house and walked up the stone entrance steps, which were flanked by two pillars, to the large wooden double door that had been left open. He didn’t imagine there would be many people attending lunch, if the number of people who’d been at the funeral was anything to go by. As he entered the main vestibule, a member of Sarah’s staff, wearing a black skirt and white shirt, was there to greet him.

‘Good afternoon, sir. We’re serving drinks in the drawing room.’

‘Thank you. I know the way.’

He headed to the room in question, which was to the left of the vestibule, and when he walked in, there was another staff member holding a tray of drinks.

‘Sherry, sir?’ he was asked.

Sebastian took one from the silver tray, although he could have