Beyond Any Doubt

By Nicholas Ralph Morgan

In this sequel to the novel Deceitful, Gavin Harrison struggles to accept his brother Gregs death. Rebecca, who had been Gregs fiance, is distraught, her world ripped apart. Should she stay in Martinique, or should she return to Texas? Before she can decide, she is drawn into Gavins plan to avenge his brothers death.

Meanwhile, Susannah Crawford, Gavins erstwhile girlfriend and kidnapper and Gregs murderer, is recovering from the harpoon attack that prevented her from killing Gavin; shes determined to seek revenge and, ultimately, Gavins death.

In the wake of Gregs death, his familys vengeance replaces the path to justice. Gavin sets a trap to capture his brothers killer, but she evades him, adding extortion to her criminal achievements. Susannah acquires a new identity and starts a new life in Paris, at least temporarily. But the urge to kill Gavin takes her back to Martiniquejust when it seemed as though she is gone for good.

Beyond Any Doubt is a murderous rompbut who will survive?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 27, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450250221

Nicholas Ralph Morgan

Nicholas Morgan grew up in England as the youngest of five children in a musical family. His life has centered on the stage, where he enjoys singing, dancing, and acting. He currently lives in England, where he enjoys writing passionate, dramatic, and suspenseful tales. This is his third book.

Book preview

The Prologue

Deceitful

Gavin is a millionaire and lives on the Caribbean island of Martinique. He owns a sugarcane plantation and a ski resort in Norway. Loretta and Tobias live adjacent in the cabana. They fulfil a parental role. Their daughter Veronique is a nurse and has desires on Gavin. Karl is Gavin’s best mate and is a senior ski instructor at the ski resort. Karl has an affair with Kirsti Løvik who is a businesswoman. She owns a perfumery business. Karl suspects her to be dealing in drugs under the guise of her business. He breaks off their relationship.

Susannah wants revenge as she blames Gavin for her husband’s death in a cable car crash at his ski resort. Susannah pretends to be Gavin’s girlfriend and then fakes her death. But Gavin’s grief was not enough. She knew then she had to kill him. The family suspect Gavin has been killed in a plane crash. However, his true absence is due to Susannah. She has plotted to kidnap him and slowly torture him to death. No one is aware of Susannah’s sinister quest for revenge. She does not act alone. Jarvis, Chad and Nils also lost loved ones in the cable car crash so help to kidnap Gavin. Jensen was also a victim. He and Gavin manage to escape the mountainous prison killing Jarvis, Chad and Nils in the process. Sadly Jensen dies from injuries inflicted by Jarvis. When Gavin is finally rescued he relates this bizarre encounter. No one believes him. Everyone assumes he is the sole survivor of the plane crash and is suffering from post traumatic stress disorder.

Gavin’s brother Greg owns Calypso Tavern, a casino complex with a cabaret diner. Susannah was the star attraction until her faked death. Angelo works at Calypso Tavern but is caught up in Susannah’s revenge and is murdered. Rebecca works as a dancer at Calypso Tavern. She is a native Texan whose family were exiled during the slavery period. For Rebecca, returning to the Caribbean rights history’s wrong doing. Rebecca is also Greg’s girlfriend. Their wedding was just a week away. However, Susannah reappeared to exact her revenge. She shoots Greg and is about to turn the gun on Gavin when Loretta attacks her with a harpoon. Susannah is impaled on the souvenir weapon. Greg dies and the day of his funeral takes place on what should have been his wedding to Rebecca.

CHAPTER ONE

Evita

As the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat.

Chantelle Petoire, a classical French actress stood outside the foyer of Le Ciel Theatre in Paris, France. She gazed at the display board depicting her portrait, along with other cast members of Evita. Every night during the last three months she had given a passing glance on her approach to the stage door. Tonight however, she paused to reflect on her stardom. Her portrait was centrally positioned. Staggered either side were photographs of the other cast members. This production of Evita had been a success. Chantelle Petoire’s role as Eva Peron had given her the break she needed. Numerous write-ups had heralded her stardom, a stardom she had yearned for all her life. It had inaugurated fame and fortune to be within her grasp. When she thought of the auditions she had attended and the cities she had travelled to in her quest for stardom, it had all been needless. Her hometown was where she finally hit the headlines. Town being a metaphor, for she lived in a city, the romantic French city of Paris, where she was born and raised.

Tonight was the last performance of their three-month run. It had been a theatrical schedule that began May 10th, and would end today, August 5th. It had been exhausting, but Chantelle would not have swapped it for the world. The show was then going on tour across Europe, visiting many theatres within the major European cities. However, the cast now had a six-week sabbatical before the tour began, opening in Munchen in mid September. Although Chantelle would miss the show during the interim period, she looked forward to having a holiday and a well-earned rest. A chance to have some time to oneself, to reflect and be apart from the other cast members. After spending so much time together one felt a compulsion to go separate ways. It was not a question that the cast did not get on, they were like one big happy family, but a complete change of scenery was essential to retain perfection and professionalism. Ironically, one always missed one’s fellow actors, but it made the reunion that more exciting. The cessation enabled one to recharge and produce a performance that the audience had paid to see.

Chantelle sighed as she looked at her photograph. Had she really hit the big time? It seemed almost unbelievable how quickly she had shot to fame. It was exhilarating. In the wake of the opening night she had relished the limelight. The many press interviews, the forthcoming contracts that were waiting to come to fruition after the European tour. Not forgetting her first song album, singing many dramatic ballads. All of this was lining up in the wings once Evita had run its course. Chantelle Petoire would be a household name like Marilyn Monroe and Judy Garland.

The time was 6pm, time to be making a move. Only an hour and a half till curtain rise on the final show. Chantelle walked away from the foyer entrance, her stilettos clacking on the pavement. Most famous stars dress incognito when walking about in public, not wanting to be recognised and often wearing a sweatshirt, jogging pants, and dark glasses. But that was not Chantelle’s style. This August afternoon she wore a sapphire blue dress. Her back was exposed to the summer air and her neck embraced by a diamond choker. Even though it was imitation it looked stunning, and gave her the confidence that suited her rise to fame. Her short blonde hair suited the sapphire blue garment. Chantelle wanted to appear glamorous at all times, not in the least bit perturbed from any public attention. Her neighbour Colette Dupont, who had designed the outfit especially for her, regarded Chantelle as a Hollywood celebrity. Colette profusely prophesised her rise to fame and was eager to be a part of it.

The winner of the Oscar is Chantelle Petoire, she often said. Being a fashion designer, Colette Dupont seized the opportunity of using Chantelle to display her creations. Colette was in awe.

Chantelle turned the corner and headed for the stage door. She conscientiously applied herself to the theatrical profession, and was generally the first person to arrive. It was important to be early and relax before stepping into character. Similar to a caterpillar changing into a butterfly, she would transfer from Chantelle Petoire to Eva Peron.

Bonsoir Chantelle, said Marcel, the stage door attendant. Good luck with your last performance.

Merci, she replied. The thin middle-aged man gave her a bouquet.

These arrived for you earlier, he said. Chantelle received the colourful display of flowers and inhaled the scented aroma. The bouquet was one of many she had received over the past three months from various people, including the producer, her male co-star, and close friends. Naturally, her family had been very supportive but had preferred to keep a low profile. Chantelle managed to pluck the attached card and read it. As predicted, it was a token gesture from the company, expressing their gratitude for the success that she had brought to the show.

It is so thoughtful of them, she said to Marcel as he gave her the key to her dressing room. I have had the best three months of my life.

I am glad you have enjoyed being at the theatre. I have welcomed the extra overtime the last three months, he said. Chantelle laughed at Marcel’s apparent humour.

Too many encores is it? Keeping you here later than it should, she stated jovially.

Not at all. You give as many encores as you like, reacted Marcel cordially.

Tonight is the last performance and I know I shall not want the encores to finish, but I will try and bear you in mind. After all, you do have a home to go to unlike us thespians, for the stage is our home, she said. Marcel smiled. He was a sweet guy, of the camp effeminate type and always pleased to see you.

The smell of lingering grease paint was all too evident as Chantelle made her way to her dressing room. She looked into the serene stage as she passed by the wings. The lights were down and the scenery ready for the opening act. In less than an hour and a half the silent subdued stage shall be buzzing with speech, song and drama. Hopefully entertaining the audience that sat before it.

In contrast to the glittering glamour of the auditorium was the drab interior of backstage. The glittering chandeliers, the gold edged décor that the public were familiar with and expected, just vanished like a magicians trick the moment one went backstage. The theatre itself epitomised hypocrisy, full of glamour on the outside but behind the scenes dust, cobwebs and shabby paintwork.

Chantelle Petoire entered her dressing room. Her costumes hung on a rack to the left. Her make-up and toiletries were placed on a dressing table. She made use of a vacant vase and filled it with water. She proudly displayed the bouquet of flowers. The room was stuffy so she opened the window. For a few seconds she watched the people walk by and the evening traffic jam as always at this time of day. Being the star of the show Chantelle had sole use of this room, along with a private shower. Each day she made use of this facility. It was symbolic to her performance. Taking a shower was the first thing she did to begin her character transformation. She would discard the clothes of Chantelle Petoire, cleanse her body and then re-dress as Eva Peron.

She showered for only a few minutes, just to focus her mind and relax her body. The initial part complete, Chantelle sat at her dressing table wearing a robe. Now that the Max Factor was removed, the grease paint could be applied. She looked into the mirror. The surrounding light bulbs illuminated the contours of her face as she blended the make-up across her skin. Her short blonde hairstyle that she loved so much, with the sides curving forward over her ears and fading into her facial features, would soon be concealed by a shoulder length blonde wig with a flood of curls. The visual character of Eva Peron was emerging. In the distance Chantelle heard her fellow thespians arriving. The sound of their muffled conversations as they passed by her dressing room shattered the silence. In response to a knock at the door she called out:

Entre, as she put the finishing touches to her wig. The door opened and in walked Shannon Cassidy followed by Juanita Sanchez. Like Chantelle, Shannon was a singer and in her early thirties. Shannon was Chantelle’s understudy. They had a mutual respect for each other. Although they had never exchanged a crossed word, Chantelle did not doubt for a second that Shannon would eagerly take over her role. Give credit where it was due, she would make a suitable Eva Peron, but the part was hers and she intended to keep it. Shannon had been given a singing role within the production. This was to satisfy her ambition and to portray her talent. Her nationality was English, though her command of French was excellent. Juanita, on the other hand, was a dancer and from the Caribbean. She was in her early twenties and her youth and vitality were constantly on show. Her elegant stature was the envy of any woman. She was also a good dancer.

Bonsoir, they said as they entered the dressing room. Chantelle Petoire got up from her chair and greeted them with a theatrical kiss. Juanita noticed the vase of flowers on the dressing table.

Is that the bouquet we sent you? she asked. Aren’t they lovely.

Yes, replied Chantelle. It was a kind thought, thank you.

I can’t believe it is the last night, added Shannon. Seems only five minutes since the opening night and we were all full of the jitters, not knowing if the show would be a hit or miss. Chantelle did not reply directly to Shannon, instead, she made a reference to the newspaper Juanita had tucked under her arm.

Is that yet another write-up for your scrap book? she asked.

No it is not, although I have bought today’s paper where we are the main feature in the theatre column. ‘The closing of Evita after a three month stupendous run’, quoted Juanita. She spoke with such enthusiasm, typical of a young spirited girl foolishly in love. Although unattached at the moment, she would be an ideal catch. The newspaper I have here is a local one from Martinique, which my folks send to me each week. It helps me to stop feeling home-sick, she mentioned.

Martinique? enquired Chantelle. Is that the Caribbean island you originate from?

Yes, do you know it? Have you ever been to the Caribbean? replied Juanita, eager to talk about her home life.

No, I can’t say that I have.

I went once, informed Shannon. For a holiday with some friends. That was a few years ago.

I know! came an excited Juanita. Why don’t the three of us go during the sabbatical? I’m already returning home this weekend, the both of you are more than welcome to join me. Our house is more than big enough and we shall have fun.

I might decide to take you up on that, remarked Shannon. Chantelle, will you come with us?

Unfortunately I won’t be able to. I have made other arrangements, but maybe another time, she said. Working with Shannon was one thing, but to holiday with her would be intolerable. Had Juanita’s suggestion been for just the two of them then she might have accepted. A minor postponement of her prearranged plans would not matter. They would come to fruition in good time.

The three females were in high spirits as they talked about their aspirations for the future. Chantelle Petoire felt she had reached her goal. Now in her mid-thirties, musicals, theatre, and a recording contract were all she ever wanted. This she had now achieved. Juanita Sanchez was hoping to go into television, not necessarily as a dancer but as a presenter or anything of that nature to acquire fame and fortune. Shannon Cassidy however, felt she belonged in Hollywood, either singing or acting in movies. Dreams were one thing, reality another, and in Shannon’s case the two would never meet.

The Tannoy interrupted their conversation:

This is your thirty-minute call. I repeat; this is your thirty-minute call. The entrance doors are now open to the public.

Vitement! Vitement! We only have thirty minutes to get ready. We lost track of the time, stated Chantelle. Juanita and Shannon took notice of her urgency. Shannon quickly left the dressing room to get ready. Juanita remained for a moment. Chantelle needed help with her dress for the rear clasps were too awkward. Within seconds she had squeezed into her opening attire. She thanked Juanita for her assistance and watched as the dancer dashed out of the dressing room. Juanita rushed to get ready for the opening routine.

Chantelle Petoire’s final performance was looming nearer. She almost felt as nervous as the opening night. She knew her part very well and had not made any mistakes over the past three months, except for minor ones that the audience would not be any the wiser to. Would the last night be her downfall?

Certainly not, she told herself. Stop being so ridiculous. She took a deep breath and began some singing exercises, humming a few scales and arpeggios before breaking out into full voice. She was now ready to portray Eva Peron.

The five-minute call had been given. It was time for the beginners of act one to be on stage. Chantelle left her dressing room and serenely walked to the stage. Her fellow thespians whispered numerous cheers and good wishes. They were waiting in the wings as Chantelle walked passed them. The curtain was still down. She graced the stage and quietly called everyone together.

Bon chance tous le monde, bon chance, she said. Good luck everyone and have a great show. Thank you for all your support. She left the stage, leaving the opening people to resume their stance. Chantelle Petoire stood in the wings ready for her entrance. The audience applauded as the musical director took his position in the pit. The orchestra played the overture and as the curtain went up the audience applauded once more. The final show had commenced.

The last performance was far from an anti-climax. The public applauded well. The cast were delighted. Their success of the last three months remained intact. Naturally, they could not leave the stage until they had sung a reprise of, ‘Don’t cry for me Argentina’. It became a karaoke singsong as the audience joined in. Eventually, amidst bows and encores, the curtain descended slowly. The Paris run of Evita had ended. Chantelle turned to face her fellow thespians. All began to embrace each other. Some members were shedding a few tears as they sought comfort in an emotional hug. Chantelle gave a slight chuckle as she thought of Marcel yawning at the stage door, waiting to go home. Yet so what! He liked the overtime.

Somewhat exhausted they drifted from the stage. The now famous Chantelle Petoire returned to her dressing room. She was relieved that she had fulfilled her contract admirably. It felt good to have a further success under her belt. This could only help to improve her career. All alone, she sat at the dressing table and looked in the mirror.

Well done Chantelle, she said to herself. She removed her wig. You have triumphed yet again. She slowly stepped out of the overbearing costume and took another shower. It was time to return to her former self, no more Eva Peron, well not for six weeks anyway.

There was always a lot of hassle after a show. Packing up your costumes; making sure every item was correctly labelled; then having to take them down to wardrobe. A question of organised chaos at a time when all you wanted to do was join everyone else in the theatre bar before going on to the after show party. Nevertheless, one remained conscientious, after all, one needed to use the same clothes and props again.

The after show party had been arranged at a nearby venue. All sorts of influential people would be there. No doubt Chantelle could exploit their importance to her advantage. Dressed in the blue sapphire outfit, she gave one last look around the dressing room. It was a nightly habit, just a last minute safety check to ensure she had not forgotten anything. She saw the Martinique newspaper lying on a nearby chair. Juanita had inadvertently left it behind earlier when she helped Chantelle with her opening costume. Then in her haste to get ready herself had forgotten to take it with her. The act of this absent-mindedness was not the problem, but it was the opening headline that gave cause for concern. As Chantelle retrieved the newspaper from the chair the front page fell open to its full potential. The headline was unavoidable.

‘Business Tycoon Weds Childhood Sweetheart.’

This can not be what I think it is? she muttered. After reading the first view lines her suspicions were correct.

‘Business Tycoon Gavin Harrison is to wed childhood sweetheart Veronique Torluba at St Mary’s church on August 17th.’

Chantelle Petoire’s calm and relaxed attitude soon turned to anger. In disgust she threw the newspaper down. There was no way that wedding was going ahead, no way in this world. It was time to cast aside her newly acquired identity of Chantelle Duveton, alias Petoire, and return to her former self as Susannah Crawford, alias Dubois. Her new identity had paid dividends in escaping so called justice. By changing her hair and appearance; her name and country; she had out-smarted the Martinique authorities. If she could do so then, she could do so again. In a compulsive manner she grabbed the newspaper and looked at the accompanying photograph of Gavin and Veronique. The happiness on their faces made her want to vomit. She spoke out loud as she cursed the loathsome pair.

It may be two years since I killed your darling brother Greg, but I have not relented in killing you Gavin. You killed my husband. I cannot forget that. I have merely been keeping a low profile, but no way on this earth am I going to allow both of you to walk down the aisle. Susannah’s temper was riled. If after two years they thought she had abandoned her revenge and had become lenient over the passage of time then they were very much mistaken. She could just imagine how happy Veronique was at finally getting her dream come true. Guess what Veronique, your dream will never be a reality, she stated, throwing the newspaper into the rubbish bin.

Susannah walked a few paces back and forth. Her anger increased. The date of August 17th, their wedding day, kept going over in her mind. She had no time to lose if she was going to annihilate their happy day. Fortunately, the six-week sabbatical coincided with the wedding. This would give her all the time she needed to exact her revenge. No more Eva Peron, no more Chantelle Petoire, Susannah Crawford had a certain wedding to attend.

She reflected over the agony she suffered after Loretta’s harpoon attack. That Caribbean swine nearly killed her. Susannah wanted justice for her husband’s death. She was adamant. Gavin was not going to get away with that. Especially after all the pain and emotional trauma she had suffered. And suffered to an extent unimaginable. No one will ever know what lengths she had gone to during the last two years to get where she was today. It was not going to be in vain. Gavin and Veronique were not going to live happily ever after. Susannah had endured too much to let that happen.

No doubt Gavin would like to know how she managed it. How she finally got away with murdering his precious brother. As the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat. Perhaps when Susannah sees Gavin face to face she might tell him how clever she has been, and then kill him.

CHAPTER TWO

Two Years Earlier

Scribbling notes on a piece of paper

would not ease Rebecca’s suffering.

Fr. Vincent and fellow mourners left Greg’s graveside. It was a cloudless day with the glorious Caribbean sunshine adding to the tropical environment. The Harrison estate was enshrouded with sadness. Perhaps almost sacrilegious that such a paradise setting should be the scene of immense grief and melancholy. Dressed in black, a tearful Loretta was hugged by her husband. Tobias also shed a few tears. He was not impervious to the solemn occasion. No one could blame the adoptive parents for being so tearful. Slowly the subdued couple moved away from the graveside. It was to be expected that Greg’s funeral would be very lamentable.

Due to his injured leg Gavin stood with his weight partially supported by a walking stick. This was yet a further inconvenience caused by Susannah when she shot him, before turning the gun on Greg. Gavin had waited for a further bullet, but thankfully Loretta harpooned the bitch. Gavin stood with Veronique on his right and Rebecca on his left. They stared down at his brother’s coffin. Greg’s gold nametag gleamed. A small amount of soil lay scattered across the mahogany lid. Gavin, Veronique, Rebecca, Loretta and Tobias had each thrown down a handful of dirt as Fr. Vincent had spoken the words:

Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. Rebecca had then dropped a single red rose. Not only had she buried her husband to be, but also today would have been their wedding day. What bride could envisage her special day being torn to shreds by the funeral of her groom. The planned wedding reception had now become the wake. How cruel can life be?

The three remained at the graveside. They embraced each other and wept. Gavin could not compose himself. He cried deeply, falling to his knees. His watery eyes fixed on Greg’s coffin. His brother would soon be confined beneath the ground. For several moments Gavin remained there. Veronique and Rebecca stood either side of him, each resting a hand on his shoulder.

This is no mistake is it? sobbed Gavin. Like when you all thought I was dead. Greg is not coming back to us is he?

No Gavin he isn’t, cried Veronique, whose pain was not just out of bereavement for Greg, but also for love of Gavin. Seeing the man she secretly loved in so much turmoil accentuated her emotional state. You will always be my baby brother, sobbed Gavin, kneeling at the graveside.

Goodbye my love, said Rebecca. Our wedding would have been the happiest day of my life. She could have said more but she wanted to refrain from breaking down in front of the others. Instead, she snatched a few more seconds in silence to say goodbye. She recalled various events they had shared. Those few happy moments that she believed would last forever. She remained looking down at the coffin. For a moment the wooden lid was not there. Greg was lying peaceful, his eyes closed and his arms folded across his chest. She did not want him buried six feet under. Her tearful eyes blinked and the coffin lid returned. Rebecca would never forget Greg’s face, his charismatic charm, or the love he had shown her during the last three years. Rebecca turned to face Veronique.

What am I gonna do? she cried. The two females embraced, crying openly. Veronique felt it her duty to take the helm and be supportive. After wiping away the tears she looked at Rebecca and said:

We have to be strong, and we have to carry on. We will help each other, and we shall get through this.

How do we carry on? questioned Gavin, lost in his grief. He stood up and put his arms around Veronique. He needed a hug.

It’s time for us to go and join the others, she muttered.

You’re right, he replied. Let’s go inside. Slowly they walked back to Gavin’s Mediterranean style abode. He was now the sole owner of the Harrison estate. His late parents and brother lay buried in the tropical ground. Three palm trees overshadowed their final resting place. A little over three months ago had been the wake for Gavin, when everyone had suspected his death in a plane crash. Who could have guessed his absence was attributable to Susannah’s twisted mind. But regrettably, her actions had led to Greg paying the ultimate price for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

As well as family and friends, amongst the mourners were Detective Martinez and his assistant Wilson. Statements had already been given from Gavin and Loretta appertaining to Greg’s death, including the circumstances regarding Loretta’s harpoon attack on Susannah. Gavin had also informed Detective Martinez that Susannah was responsible for Angelo’s murder, even though it was Jarvis who had actually killed him. Detective Martinez was inclined to accept Susannah’s sinister involvement at face value, largely because she had faked her death. However, procedures have to be adhered to. Upholding the realm of duty meant nothing could be taken for granted. Under the law, Susannah still has a right to protection, and like anyone else she remains innocent until proven guilty. It could not be assumed that Loretta was acting in a self-defence capacity when she attacked Susannah. Stranger crimes had happened before. Perhaps a different sequence of events had occurred. The unknown truth waiting to be discovered which would contradict what Gavin and Loretta were purporting. Experienced showed that with the criminal mind nothing could be taken for granted.

Three days ago Ursula and Godwin, who were Rebecca’s parents, had arrived from Texas. The journey was already pre-planned. The original intention was to attend their daughter’s wedding. Now that joyous occasion had become extremely lamentable. They were concerned for Rebecca, yet also at a loss of what to say or do. Ursula and Godwin were total strangers to everyone else, so they felt rather isolated. Given the sombre occasion it did not seem appropriate to go introducing themselves. Yet they did not feel like total strangers. The conservative couple were of Jamaican ancestry and valued the Caribbean as their homeland. It was a shame to be visiting under such tragic circumstances. Yet staying at Gavin’s house had been an asset. At least they knew him and had met Loretta and Tobias. Loretta’s chirpy disposition would put anyone at ease. Rebecca too was staying at the house for a few days, which pleased them, for they were able to keep an eye on her.

Ursula saw their daughter enter the room with Gavin and Veronique. The Texan couple who were in their mid fifties went over to her.

Rebecca dear, how are you coping? said Ursula, giving her daughter a hug. Rebecca glanced across the room. So many faces were looking at her. The scene was too much for her to remain.

I’m sorry Ma, but I can’t talk now, and I can’t deal with all these people. I’ll go and wait in the study, replied Rebecca, clearly distressed.

Oh I’ll come with you Rebecca, said Ursula.

No Ma, you stay here with Pa. I just need to be alone for a while. Rebecca briskly walked through the crowd of mourners. Various people offered their condolences or supportive comments as she walked passed them, but she did not give any reply. Rebecca was only too anxious to distance herself from everyone. She ran into the study before anyone could see her cry.

Oh look Godwin, she is so upset, said Ursula.

Of course she is upset, how else do you expect her to be, replied Godwin, his Texan drawl similar to that of a ranch-hand cowboy. Veronique joined the conversation.

I think it might be best to leave her for a few minutes, then I’ll go and check on her, said Veronique.

Thank you Veronique, replied Ursula. Of all the things to have happened. How does one cope with this?

At least I know how you all felt when you thought I was dead, spoke Gavin. When I think of the arrogant attitude I had because Greg did not believe me… he sighed before finishing his sentence. If I had acted differently then maybe Greg would still be alive. Veronique put her arm around him and said:

It is not your fault Gavin. Susannah is responsible for all of this. Veronique’s tone of voice conveyed the contempt she had for Susannah. It felt good to finally speak her mind. Ursula noticed the discomfort Gavin was in, due to his leg injury. His physiognomy said it all.

How is your leg doing? You seem to be suffering with it? she said.

You are right, I am suffering. I think I had better sit down, replied Gavin. Veronique helped Gavin walk the few paces to his sofa. Rebecca’s parents looked on.

This is a strange affair. Just what has our daughter got mixed up in? questioned Ursula to her husband. This maniac Susannah trying to kill Gavin, has killed Greg, is she gonna be killing our Rebecca?

I know I haven’t said much yet, on account of Rebecca being so upset, began Godwin. But I intend to ask her to come home to Texas with us next week.

Oh Godwin that seems a good idea, but do you think she will? You know how independent she is, replied Ursula.

Ursula, at times like this you need to be with your family. I think she will appreciate the offer, affirmed Godwin.

I do hope so. I’ve never seen our daughter be so distraught and unhappy. Staying here is not gonna make her feel better, it’ll be a constant reminder. Ursula glanced across at Veronique and Gavin sitting on the sofa. Gavin sat forward, his one arm resting on the walking stick. Veronique sat close by his side. If you ask me, there is more to that than meets the eye, mentioned Ursula with curiosity.

What are you insinuating now? replied Godwin.

I’m saying you’d be a fool not to notice how Veronique has desires for Gavin. All these past few days she’s barely left him alone, always standing by him, fetching things for him. What makes it so interesting is that I don’t think Gavin even realises.

"Romance must be the last thing on Gavin’s mind right now. You women are romance crazy, got to have the candlelit diners, flowers,