Page 117 of Perfect Strangers

‘Lana says she is a recluse, gone slightly loopy since Asner popped off. I don’t think hermits go out much.’ He shrugged and picked up Sophie’s bag. ‘Let’s go and see, eh?’

As they walked along the gravel drive, the town car reversed back on to the road and Sophie turned to wave goodbye.

‘What time’s he coming back?’ she asked.

‘What time’s who . . .? Oh sh—!’ Josh dropped the bag and sprinted after the car, waving his arms. ‘WAIT!’ he shouted, but it had already turned on to the road.

Josh came back panting, his face flushed.

‘Why didn’t you bloody stop him?’

‘I’ve been asleep, Josh. I assumed you’d arranged for him to wait or come back later.’

‘Well now we’re stranded here. If only you’d thought instead of waving at him—’

‘Me? Now this is my fault . . .?’

There was a cough behind them.

‘Can I help you?’

A tall, slender woman with a dark auburn bob was standing in the doorway of the house. Sophie recognised Miriam Asner at once from the newspaper photographs of her sitting dignified and impassive throughout her husband’s court case. Long grey palazzo pants and a crisp white shirt showed off her willowy figure, and she was holding a Paulo Coelho novel, as if their shouting had disturbed her from a snooze in the garden. Perhaps it had.

‘Sorry,’ said Josh, immediately switching on his lady-killer smile. ‘We didn’t mean to startle you. My name is Joshua McCormack and this,’ he said, with a slight pause, ‘is Sophie Ellis. Her father Peter was an old friend of Michael’s.’

‘What’s this about?’ asked Miriam, frowning.

‘It might take a while to tell you that. Can we come in?’ Sophie smiled awkwardly.

Miriam hesitated and then nodded, turning along a path that skirted the house.

‘There’s no air-conditioning, unfortunately,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘We should sit by the pond.’ She gestured towards a group of four Adirondack chairs at the foot of the lawn and went back into the house.

When the Asner scandal hit her family, Sophie had read a great deal about Michael and Miriam, seeking out newspapers and magazine articles on the internet as if it would help make sense of what had happened. Miriam was from good New England stock, the sort of woman who was raised to support her wealthy husband and entertain on his behalf, with an occasional charitable project to fill the emptiness of her days. Her aloof manner and perceived ‘airs’ hadn’t gone down well with the press, who had demonised her for the way she had steadfastly refused to condemn her husband. But today Sophie thought she looked like the elegant, sixtyish widow she was. She didn’t come across as wicked or arrogant, just sad and rather tired. Miriam Asner had always claimed that she knew nothing about her husband’s Ponzi scheme. If that were true, it struck Sophie that she was also a victim, along with the rest of Michael’s investors.

Miriam returned with three tumblers of iced tea served on a silver tray. She passed them to her guests, each with a neatly folded white napkin wrapped around the base. Sophie wondered if the older woman still imagined herself as the social grande dame, or whether it was simply good manners that refused to be blunted by circumstance.

‘Do you want to tell me why you are here?’ said Miriam, her voice as crisp as her shirt. Sophie looked at Josh and he gave her a reassuring smile.

‘I suppose you know my father and your husband Michael were friends,’ began Sophie uncertainly.

‘Were, past tense,’ said Miriam, her mouth pursed.

‘Yes, well, either way, my family lost a great deal of money with your husband’s scheme; everything they had, in fact.’

‘And you want the money back?’

‘Well, yes, of course, but—’

‘My dear woman, look around you,’ said Miriam. ‘All I have is here, believe me. If you are seeking these spurious missing millions, well all I can say is good luck.’

‘Don’t you believe your husband had hidden anything else, perhaps for you?’

Miriam shook her head vigorously.

‘The authorities have been over this,’ she sighed. ‘They have found nothing. That is because there is nothing to find.’

‘Well, if you’ll forgive me, Mrs Asner, we believe there is.’