Foxden Hotel (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 5) Madalyn Morgan (ebook smartphone .txt) 📖

on the way back from the hospital. There was no sign of life in the front or the back of the house. ‘Mam’s still out,’ she said, sliding into the passenger seat of Frank’s car. ‘I’ll leave her a note.’ She rummaged around in her handbag, found a pen and a scrap of paper and scribbled, Ring me at the hotel, Bess. She then dropped the note through the letter box of the front door.

Returning to the car, Bess’s face brightened. ‘I can’t wait to tell Maeve about the baby. And I’ll telephone Ena and Claire, keep them in the picture.’

Walking into the hotel, Bess saw her mother sitting behind the reception desk like Lady Muck, telling Maeve how big her children were when they were born. ‘The agony I went through having our Bess,’ she said, ‘And I can’t tell you what it was like having Margaret.’

‘That’s good, because there isn’t time, Mam,’ Bess said, shaking her head. ‘We get bigger every time she tells the story, Maeve.’

Maeve pressed her lips together to stifle laughter. ‘How’s Mrs Burrell and the baby?’ she asked when she had recovered.

‘If I told you that Miss Burrell was the most beautiful baby I have ever seen, would you think I was ever so slightly biased?’ Maeve didn’t hide her laughter this time. ‘But she is.’ Bess relayed every second of the time she spent at the hospital, from the moment she and Frank arrived, to the moment they left. ‘Did you have time to telephone Ena and Claire?’

‘Yes, and I telephoned them again, after Mr Donnelly rang. They both asked if you’d telephone them on your return and let them know how Mrs Burrell and the baby are doing.’

‘I’ll do it now. You coming through to the office, Mam?’ Bess asked, ‘or would you rather have a bite of lunch?’

‘I am peckish,’ Lily Dudley said, hauling herself out of the chair. ‘I mean, there’s no point me coming into the office with you, if you’re going to be on that contraption talking to the girls for the next goodness knows how long. I might as well go and have something to eat.’

‘All right. You go to the dining room and order what you want, and I’ll join you as soon as I’ve spoken to Ena and Claire.’

When her mother was out of earshot, Bess told Maeve how the only way the midwife could get Margot to stop pushing, was to get her to sing. Maeve bit her lip and smiled sympathetically. ‘I didn’t want to tell you in front of my mother, or it would soon be added to her collection of embarrassing stories about her girls. I’m not sure Margot would approve of me telling you. Bless her, she is more sensitive than the rest of us Dudley sisters.’

Bess went into the office humming, “Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny! Oh!”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Still humming, Bess turned at the sound of a knock on the door. ‘Come in, Maeve.’

‘It isn’t Maeve,’ Sergeant McGann said, pushing open the door to Bess and Frank’s private office and marching in as if he owned the place.

‘Sergeant?’ The hairs on the back of Bess’s neck stood on end at the arrogance of the man. ‘If you’re here to see my husband, you should have telephoned. We’ve been out this morning and have only just returned.’ Bess was damned if she was going to share her good news with the unpleasant man. ‘Frank is rather busy.’

‘It isn’t your husband I’ve come to see, Mrs Donnelly.’ McGann paused and looked around - for effect, Bess thought - and sucked his teeth.

‘Sergeant McGann, I don’t mean to be rude, but I am also busy. Would you get to the point of this intrusion, please?’

‘Of course.’ He took his notebook from his top pocket. ‘All right if I--?’ He pointed to the chair in front of Frank’s desk.

Grudgingly Bess nodded. The tedious little man lifted the chair and plonked it down directly in front of her. Sitting, he slowly turned the pages of the notebook. ‘Ah!’ he said at last, ‘got it!’ He cleared his throat, laid the book on her desk, and resting his hands on the top of it, made a steeple of his fingers. ‘Mrs Donnelly, how well did you know David Sutherland when you lived in London?’

Bess’s heart almost leapt from her chest, but the self-satisfied smirk on McGann’s face, reminded herself to stay calm. ‘I didn’t know him at all. I met him once at a first night theatre party given by my friends, Natalie and Anton Goldman. I had never seen him before that night, and I never saw him after that night - until he turned up here on New Year’s Eve.’

‘Several people that I have interviewed, since finding David Sutherland’s body in your lake, told me that on that night Mr Sutherland threatened to expose you by telling your guests something that happened when you lived in London.’ McGann glanced at his notes. ‘“What you got up to in London” was the phrase Mr Sutherland used.’ McGann leaned across Bess’s desk. ‘What did he mean by that? What did he know about you that you wanted to keep secret?’ Bess didn’t answer.

‘Did he have some sort of hold over you? Was that why your husband knocked him to the ground, to stop him from divulging something unsavoury, immoral perhaps, about your past?’

‘My husband only did what any loyal husband would do if his wife was being threatened by a fascist bully like Sutherland.’

‘Protect your honour?’ Bess didn’t answer. ‘Very noble of him, I’m sure,’ McGann said, making no attempt to hide the sarcasm in his voice. ‘Your husband must love you very much, Mrs Donnelly. Does he love you enough to kill for you?’

‘What? My husband didn’t kill David Sutherland, you know he didn’t.’ McGann raised his eyebrows,