Page 207 of Private Lives

‘Doesn’t prove that he killed Amy, though, does it?’

‘No, but it does tell us one thing,’ said Anna. ‘It tells us that Helen Pierce is up to her ears in this. Why else was the laptop in the vault?’

She snapped the computer closed.

Matt looked at her uneasily.

‘I think it’s time to call your friends at The Chronicle.’

Anna’s expression was defiant.

‘Not before I call Helen.’

65

Helen put down the phone and moved towards the big picture window overlooking the Devon coastline. The view had always soothed her: the jigsaw of interlocking green hills that stopped so suddenly, dropping away in sheer grey cliffs; the curve of shingle sand; the blue-green water that stretched away until it was swallowed by clouds. She didn’t come down to Seaways, the big seaside house she had bought when she started making serious money, as often as she’d like. It was the perfect place to be alone with her thoughts and yet now, not daring to leave it, it felt like a prison.

She stepped on to the wide veranda that circled the house, feeling the cool breeze coming in off the sea, and listened to the cries of the gulls and the cormorants. She wrapped her arms around her body, for once feeling vulnerable and insignificant. Straining her ears, she could hear the crunch of footsteps at the side of the house; sports shoes against the gravel path that snaked down to the beach. Anxiety dried her mouth as she watched him approach the house.

Simon Cooper was dripping with perspiration. For a fifty-year-old man he was in fantastic shape; long runs around the headland kept him fit and sharp. He came over, snaking his arm around her waist, making her shirt damp with his sweat. Helen stiffened as he kissed her neck, and he caught the gesture.

‘I thought we came here to relax,’ he murmured into her ear, his breath warm.

‘I’ve had a call,’ she said.

Simon gave no reaction; instead he slid his hand under her shirt, circling the bare skin.

‘Don’t,’ she said, pulling away from him.

‘What’s wrong?’ He frowned.

‘The call. It was from Anna Kennedy, my associate at work.’

‘Sod work,’ he muttered. ‘Even I’ve had my phone switched off this afternoon.’

Helen closed her eyes, remembering the glorious hours they’d spent in bed together, undisturbed by anything or anyone. She could still almost feel him moving inside her, making her feel like no man had ever made her feel. For a long time, work had been her passion, but the desire she felt for this man was like an addiction. And what if that stopped? What if he was taken away from her? The thought of it was almost a physical pain.

There had always been a connection between Helen and Simon, even when they had first met five years ago, but nothing had happened until his divorce. They had never discussed whether she should do the same and end her sham marriage to Graham. In the early days of her affair with Simon, they had both seemed content with their snatched hours of sex, meeting in hotels near the places they both worked, but soon it just wasn’t enough. And soon their relationship was not simply about sex. Helen was too cynical, too world-weary to believe in the concept of soulmates, but even she could see that she and Simon were a perfect match. He was the one person who had ever made her see that there was more to life than work or money. And to her shock, he had given her so much more: desire, understanding, togetherness, love. Helen had never had to – or wanted to – think of anybody but herself; that was why her marriage to Graham was able to limp on, because he asked for little and let her get on with her own independent life. But her feelings for Simon had compromised her natural default setting of self-interest. And that had got her into trouble.

‘She knows,’ said Helen simply.

Simon wiped his damp forehead with the back of his hand.

‘Knows about what?’

‘Amy Hart and Peter Rees.’

Simon looked up at her sharply, and time seemed to stand still.

‘Can she prove anything?’ he asked, a low, considered malevolence about his question that made her feel chill.

‘She found Amy’s laptop in the vault.’

‘What?’ he spat. ‘You stupid woman! You were supposed to keep it safe.’

‘It was safe,’ protested Helen. ‘There are only two people who have access to that room: myself and Larry Donovan. And even if Larry found it, he was hardly going to know who Amy Hart was.’

‘You were careless,’ he roared.