The Loophole Read online

  Her stomach dropped. ‘Probably not. He worries about me, especially after the last case.’

  ‘Are you worried?’

  ‘About getting into dangerous situations?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No. I’ve learnt a lot during the past year. I think I’m more experienced, more able to judge a situation, but I have to admit the dangers I’ve faced have given me a buzz. I’m not sure if I’m suited to domesticity.’ There, she’d said it out loud. It was true, she didn’t want to just be a wife and mother, she needed more than that.

  Frank didn’t make any comment. He got up from the table and stretched. ‘I need a walk. Anyone fancy a stroll over the heath to The Eel’s Foot?’ He looked at her, smiling, his green eyes full of mischief.

  She was tempted to shake her head and go upstairs to her room and sulk. ‘Yes, I’ll get changed. Give me two minutes.’

  As she left the room she could see the other three exchanging glances and Frank looking happier than before. She wasn’t sure what to make of his change of mood, but she was grateful for it.

  Chapter 6

  Monday, June 14, 1971

  Dorothy sat on the Lutyen-designed bench nursing a cup of tea; it was just gone six on a perfect summer morning. The bench was backed by a high brick wall with swathes of white rambling roses tumbling over the top; on either side of the bench, stone urns were filled with pink patio roses. She hoped Frank was prepared for a great deal of hard physical labour.

  She’d arrived at Sudboume House on Saturday, and as befitting a relative, she’d a weekend to settle in before she started her job in the camp’s office today. Both Salters were most solicitous, making sure she was comfortable and had everything she wanted. Her room was spacious with a sofa, arm chair and a small table grouped together near a large window, as well as all the usual bedroom furniture and a luxurious double bed.

  She’d free rein of the house and this morning, awake at five, she’d crept downstairs and made herself a pot of tea, drank one cup, and taken the second into the garden.

  She got up and walked back across a wide lawn to the house. She wondered what the original Sudbourne Hall had been like; Stephen said it had been built in the seventeenth century, rebuilt in the late eighteenth, then left to go to rack and ruin and finally demolished in 1953.

  The new house Sam Salter had built when he bought the estate in the late 1950s was impressive. She wondered if he could have been influenced by Stephen? It seemed restrained for his taste. Like the bench, it was also in the style of Lutyens, constructed of red brick with the edges picked out in white stone; long windows glittered, and tall chimneys towered above the three stories. It was all enchanting and far too relaxing, she thought; she was beginning to feel like a genuine favourite aunt. She’d better sharpen her mind before beginning her first day at the office.

  Sam, she’d decided she’d think of him as Sam, held open the passenger door of his Jaguar.

  ‘Hop in, I’ll drive you round the camp so you can get your bearings before we go to the office. After all it’s what a cousin would do, wouldn’t he?’

  She was getting tired of his going on about their false relationship. She smiled at him and nodded her head.

  ‘What do you make of this Common Market business?’ he asked, as he got behind the wheel. ‘French want sterling to end. I don’t think we should ditch the pound, do you?’

  ‘I think there’s a lot we’re not being told,’ she replied.

  They left the grounds of the house through a brick archway, with a clock tower above and drove a short distance before reaching the entrance of the holiday camp, green-and-white striped flags bearing entwined double Ss, hanging limply in the still air.

  ‘We should be able to drive round without seeing too many campers. Young people, especially honeymooners, like staying in bed,’ he sniggered, giving her a suggestive look.

  She was glad he wasn’t a real relative.

  Salter pointed to a low brick building spread out before them. ‘Main reception and offices, where you’ll be working, public telephone, lost property, and booking for coach trips, tennis courts and horse-riding.’ He steered the car right. ‘Visitors’ car park -most of them come by car. Petrol station -we think of everything.’

  ‘So it seems,’ she said.

  He turned the car left and pointed to a large building to his right. ‘That’s the Orford Building, main entertainments, small theatre, discotheque, coffee bar, indoor swimming pool and lots of other amusements for the campers. We show the latest films; got Little Big Man next week. Can’t say I care for that Dustin Hoffman, short-arsed Jew if you ask me. Got a shop as well, so if you need anything just ask.’

  As well as everything else he was a racist! However, she’d never been in a holiday camp before and had to admit she was snobby about them, but she could see why this kind of holiday would appeal: everything on hand and most things paid for. Very sensible.

  To the left were two long rectangular gardens with a path bisecting them, and beyond another large building, a twin to Orford. ‘What’s in there, that building beyond the gardens?’

  ‘Hold your horses, we’ll come to that in a minute.’ He pointed to the right. ‘Tennis courts, outdoor pool, putting green and you can just about see the stables.’

  He turned left along a wide road; on the right side, at the edge of the camp, was a long lake. ‘Fishing and boating, and,’ he pointed to the other side of the road, ‘the chalets.’

  Men in boats, despite the early hour, were dangling fishing lines into the water and a few campers were emerging from chalets and making their way to the other building she’d seen.

  He slowed down and drove between two rows of chalets until they came to the large building. ‘This is Southwold. It’s got the main dining hall, kitchens and laundry, then there’s a bar and coffee bar on the first floor, the staff canteen is in a separate block behind Southwold, and behind that are the staff chalets.’ He turned the car left and they were back at the entrance. ‘Well, what do you think?’ he asked, as he pulled up in front of reception, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

  ‘It’s very well laid out, spacious and extremely well-kept. Congratulations, Mr Salter, I’m most impressed.’

  He patted her knee; she steeled herself not to swipe his hand away.

  ‘That’s a good beginning, but don’t start to enjoy yourself too much, you’re here to do a job of work.’

  Pompous man. ‘In that case let’s not waste any more time. Shall we go to the office?’

  He scowled at her, turned off the ignition, got out of the car and walked towards the entrance of the reception.

  She sniffed. Didn’t take long for him to forget his manners, she thought. She opened her door.

  He’d stopped at the top of the step, turned, shrugged, and sauntered back. ‘Dear me, Cousin Dorothy, you’ll have to be a bit quicker; we don’t like snails in our office.’ She gritted her teeth. She wanted to tell him she preferred snails to slugs, especially big, slimy blond slugs. ‘We can’t all be dynamic, Sam. I think we’d better cut the cousin pre-fix, don’t you? It doesn’t sound natural.’

  He grunted and held the door open for her.

  There was a young, dark-haired woman behind the polished wooden reception desk.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Salter.’ A gleaming smile and then eyes demurely cast down. She knew how to please him. ‘Good morning, Sally. Any problems today?’

  ‘No, Mr Salter, everything seems to be going smoothly. No complaints so far.’

  ‘Good, good.’ He turned to Dorothy. ‘Dorothy, meet Sally who’s part of the office team. Everyone takes their turn on the reception desk. Sally, this is my cousin Dorothy, Miss Piff to you. She’s going to help out until I can get someone to replace Freda.’

  She shook hands with Sally. Did she fit the profile of the missing women? Dark hair but her eyes were brown, not blue. Not that they knew if the similarity between the two missing girls was important.

  ‘Pleased to me
et you, Sally. How long have you been working at Sudbourne?’

  Sally looked up at the ceiling as though seeking divine help. ‘Ooh. I think it’s almost a year and a half, isn’t it, Mr Salter?’

  ‘If you say so. Let’s go in and meet the rest of the team.’ He pushed open a door behind the desk and they went into a spacious office with three desks, each equipped with electric typewriters, desk tidies, freestanding five-part file trays, and all the other bits and pieces a secretary needs. Duplicating machines and rows of grey filing cabinets were arranged against the back wall. To the right was an enclosed office, cut off from the main room by a glass partition, with Mr Sam Salter stencilled in gold on the door.

  Another young woman was seated at the nearest desk. She stopped typing as they came into the room. ‘Dorothy, meet Cindy.’ He gave the same introduction as before.

  She went to Cindy’s desk and shook her hand. Cindy was small, with a frail look to her, but her handshake was firm, and she looked her straight in the eyes. With mouse-brown hair and hazel eyes she didn’t match the missing women, but she judged her to be a sensible soul. She hoped she was right. Sally looked a bit of a flibberty-gibbet.

  ‘Where’s Miss Tweedie?’

  ‘She’s in your office, Mr Salter.’

  He strode to his office door and opened it. Dorothy was close behind, curious to see what Miss Tweedie was up to. After all she’d been at the camp when both girls went missing.

  A well-built woman, about five feet six, was arranging a bowl of roses on an impressive wooden desk. She turned, clutching a long-stemmed red rose to her chest. ‘Oh, Mr Salter! You gave me a shock. I wasn’t expecting you so early.’

  She was attractive, with a tad too much make-up, her blonde hair curling round her face. Her wide shoulders and full bosom were not enhanced by a baby-pink dress, which also clung to her full hips; her legs were slim with fine ankles and small feet. She seemed unsteady on her high heels, and Dorothy worried she might topple over.

  Salter again made the introductions. ‘Thank you for the flowers, Belinda.’ He turned to Dorothy. ‘Belinda spoils me, makes sure I want for nothing.’

  She wondered how far Belinda went in pandering to his every need; she was certainly gazing at Salter as though he was at least a demi-god, and possibly Zeus himself.

  Belinda simpered.

  ‘Right, I’m going back to the house to do some work with Stephen.’

  Belinda’s face dropped. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee before you go, Mr Salter?’

  He seemed to hesitate, wrinkling his nose, as though this was a tricky decision. ‘Thank you, Belinda, but Stephen is expecting me. I’ll be in after lunch; I’ll do any signing then.’

  Belinda gave the flowers in the vase a final tweak. ‘Very well, Mr Salter, everything will be ready for you.’

  ‘Good. I want you to show Miss Piff how the office works, so she can be of use to you. She may see any confidential documents; after all you are family aren’t you, Dorothy?’

  Dorothy nodded graciously. ‘Yes, Sam, always glad to help any of my family out.’

  ‘I’ll see you at lunch, Dorothy. Shall I send a car for

  you?’

  ‘No thank you, Sam, it’ll do me good to walk.’

  He turned, smiled at Belinda. ‘Miss Piff will be working mornings only, unless there’s a need for some extra work.’

  Belinda blinked and Dorothy couldn’t be sure if her expression indicated pleasure she wouldn’t be around when Salter came back after lunch or dissatisfaction at the thought Dorothy wouldn’t be at her beck and call all day. Unless she was mistaken Miss Tweedie was harbouring lustful thoughts about Sam Salter, but she didn’t get the same vibes from him. Was it relevant to the case if Belinda Tweedie had a thing about Salter? Could they, at one time, have been more than boss and secretary? Even if it wasn’t relevant it was intriguing. When you thought about it, her blowsiness went quite well with his brashness.

  Belinda stood at Salter’s office door. ‘Shall we start, Miss Piff?’

  Time to start being a detective. ‘Please call me Dorothy; I’ve heard so much about you from Sam, er Mr Salter, he doesn’t know what he’d do without you, so I always think of you as Belinda.’ She wouldn’t get information unless she was friendly.

  Belinda’s face flushed. ‘Really? That is nice, I’d do anything for him, you know. He’s a wonderful man.’ She led the way into the main office. ‘Cindy, make two cups of coffee for me and Dorothy.’

  Cindy scuttled to a comer of the room where an electric kettle sat on a melamine tray, with a jar of instant coffee and a tea-pot.

  Belinda pulled another chair to her desk. ‘Come and have a seat, Dorothy, we’ll have a little chat before we start work.’

  A chat or an interrogation? She’d been warned by Laurel not to plunge straight into questioning any suspects. ‘Get them talking about themselves, just sit, nod and smile; you’ll be surprised how much information you’ll acquire,’ she’d said. Right, let’s see if it works.

  Cindy was dispatched to take over the information desk from Sally, who was due for a break.

  ‘Going to the shop, won’t be long,’ Sally said, as she popped her head round the door.

  ‘Close the door, Sally, please.’ It seemed Belinda didn’t want anyone else overhearing their conversation.

  Belinda put three spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee, took a tin from a desk drawer and offered Dorothy a coconut macaroon.

  ‘No, thank you, Belinda. I ate an enormous breakfast.’

  ‘Aren’t you lucky, staying at Sudbourne? It’s a lovely house, isn’t it? Have you visited before?’

  ‘Only once, when Mr Salter first moved in.’ Must remember to tell him that. ‘Have you been inside?’ Whoops, there goes Laurel’s training.

  ‘Mr Salter had a staff party at the house a few years ago; it’s the most beautiful house I’ve ever been in.’

  She wondered if Belinda fancied becoming a permanent fixture at Sudbourne House.

  ‘The gardens are lovely too. I got up early this morning and drank my tea there. Very peaceful,’ she said, ‘the roses are lovely at the moment. The roses you put on Mr Salter’s desk, were they from your garden?’

  Belinda stirred her coffee, and devoured a mouthful of coconut macaroon, then swallowed. ‘No, Mr Hinney cut them for me from one of the beds in the camp.’

  Ah, Mr Hinney, in charge of the grounds. ‘Mr Hinney? Does he work here?’ She took a sip of the coffee. Too hot.

  ‘Yes, Gareth Hinney, he’s been here a few years. He’s in charge of the grounds, here and at the house. He’s a very capable man, very thoughtful and... helpful.’

  So, perhaps there was a rival for Belinda’s affections; or perhaps Hinney was just a fill in until Belinda had snaffled Salter. Or perhaps she was getting ahead of herself!

  ‘It’s nice to have a man you can trust, isn’t it? It’s certainly a change for me to live with two men; they make such a fuss of me. I think I’m getting spoilt.’

  Belinda’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you a close cousin?’

  ‘No, not at all, many times removed, but we’ve always kept in touch. I’m very fond of Sam. and Stephen of course, he adores me.’

  This answer didn’t seem to please her as her mouth turned down at the corners. ‘It’s not any of my business, but. is it right for you to stay with Mr Salter, if you aren’t close relatives? After all, some people might think there was something going on between you.’

  Dorothy was flattered: Sam Salter’s bit on the side, even if he was revolting. Why was Belinda looking peeved? She’d do a bit of embroidery and see where it led.

  She tried a simper. ‘Well, Sam and I have always been fond of each other, and as we’ve both got older we seem to have much more in common than we used to. Who knows what will happen?’ She put a hand to her mouth. ‘Please don’t quote me on that. It’s early days, but you never know, do you?’

  Belinda’s cup crashed to the saucer and coffee splashed onto the desk.
Blonde curls quivering, she mopped up the mess with a tissue.

  My word, that was worth the effort of being a floozy. Belinda Tweedie certainly didn’t like the thought of her and Sam being involved with each other.

  A cry of pain came from the reception area. Dorothy got up and ran towards it.

  Cindy was doubled up behind the reception desk, her right hand clutching her left. Blood oozing from between her fingers.

  ‘Cindy, what’s happened?’

  Her face was white. ‘The scissors slipped, I’ve cut my hand,’ she wailed.

  Dorothy turned. ‘Miss Tweedie,’ she shouted, ‘where’s the first aid box?’ Where was the woman? She grabbed clean blotting paper from the desk and tried to staunch the wound.

  Belinda’s head poked round the door. She looked at Cindy, her eyes seemed to pop from her head, colour leaving her face like a lift descending at high speed. Her eyes rolled upwards until only the whites showed and she dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

  Dorothy rushed to her, Belinda moaned and tried to get up, and Dorothy managed to prop her up on a chair. Bloody hell, she thought, this is all I need. ‘I’ll be right back, I’ll check on Cindy.’

  When she returned, Belinda Tweedie was still slumped in the chair in front of her desk, her head resting on folded arms, eyes closed and her face, what Dorothy could see of it, white and sweaty. She went back to the reception area. Cindy, her hand neatly bandaged, was sitting behind the desk, looking green round the gills.

  Dorothy dialled Sudboume House. ‘Stephen? Can you come over here quickly, please? Cindy has cut her hand and needs to go to a doctor; she may need stitches and she should have a tetanus jab.’

  She nodded at the reply.

  ‘Good, thank you. Also, Belinda fainted at the sight of blood. I think she should go home. See you soon.’ She put the receiver down. ‘Did you hear that, Cindy?’ Cindy nodded. ‘I’ll see how Miss Tweedie is.’

  Belinda moaned, her eyes fluttered and she tried to push herself upright.

  Dorothy put a glass of water in front of her. ‘Sip this, Belinda. I think it might be better if you went home; you need to lie down.’