Kissed a Sad Goodbye

his head. “I don’t know how we’ll carry on without her.” Gemma thought of the distinctive tins Annabelle had designed, of Teresa Robbins’s animation when she spoke of Annabelle’s plans for pushing Hammond’s into a new niche in the market, of the obvious grief and shock of the company’s employees. Could Hammond’s go on successfully, without Annabelle’s drive and vision? “Was there anyone within the company who stood to gain from her death?” she asked.
    “Not that I can see,” Reg answered wearily. “Even Martin Lowell may find those shares more of a liability than an asset, without Annabelle behind them,” he added, and Gemma thought she heard a trace of satisfaction in his voice.
    Kincaid studied him for a moment. “Are you sure it was Annabelle who was jealous that night, and not you?”
    “What?” Mortimer’s hands, which had been idly rolling the pen back and forth, were suddenly still.
    “It seems you’d have had good reason, Reg.” Kincaid sounded sympathetic. “Were you aware that she knew the busker she spoke to in the tunnel? And that she’d been having an affair with him?”
    “What?” Mortimer said again. His throat moved as he swallowed convulsively. “That’s not possible. I... How could Annabelle possibly have known this chap, much less... A busker? You must be mistaken.”
    Gemma thought of the photos from the Tatler she’d seen on Annabelle’s corkboard—Annabelle and Reg moving graciously from one society party to another, inhabiting a world that had no place for anyone outside its class or social set, unless the contact was made as an official act of charity.
    She manufactured a smile. “He’s really quite good. I’d say the entertainment’s a bargain for a few coins tossed in a case.” Too late, she felt Kincaid’s swift, curious glance.
    “But he’s not just your ordinary street musician, if that makes you feel any better,” offered Kincaid. “His name is Gordon Finch, and he’s Lewis Finch’s son.”
    This time Mortimer simply stared.
    “Do you know Lewis Finch?”
    Mortimer seemed to make an effort to pull himself together. “Of course I know Lewis Finch. Everyone on the Island knows who Lewis Finch is.”
    “Including Annabelle?”
    “I... I suppose she did—she must have met him at some point.”
    “Would it surprise you to learn that she knew the father as well as the son, in the biblical sense? We’re not sure which came first, the chicken or the egg, but it seems quite certain that she had an ongoing relationship with both of them while engaged to you.”
    “No!” Reg Mortimer stood, sending his leather chair flying into one of the filing cabinets. “I don’t bloody believe it. I won’t believe it. Can’t you leave me something, for God’s sake?”
    When they didn’t answer, he groped for the chair behind him, and sinking back into it, he covered his face with his hands.
     
    * * *
     
    “ALL RIGHT, IT’S JO LOWELL AGAIN,” Kincaid said as they climbed into the Rover. “I’m beginning to feel like a bloody yo-yo.” He’d just enough time for the run to Greenwich before his meeting with Chief Superintendent Childs. “Do you mind walking back through the tunnel?”
    “Love to,” Gemma answered as they turned north into Manchester Road.
    “Do I detect a smidgen of sarcasm?” As Kincaid looked to the left, he caught a glimpse of George Brent’s front garden, and George himself in a white string vest, deadheading the roses. He waved, but the old man was intent on his work and didn’t look up. “It’s a bit hard to believe that George Brent and Lewis Finch are of the same generation.”
    “I suppose George must be a half a dozen years older.” Gemma rolled her window down, grimacing as a hot, gritty wind blasted into the car. “But you’re right. I can’t imagine Annabelle having a go at George.”
    “Do you think Reg Mortimer knew?”
    “About Annabelle and Lewis, or about Annabelle and Gordon?”
    “Either. Both.”
    “I don’t know. He seemed pretty cut-up.”
    “In any case, I’ll guarantee you that his story about the row at the party is a load of bollocks.”
    “You can’t underestimate the power of sibling rivalry. Think about Jo, feeling awkward giving a party for the first time on her own. She might easily have been tempted into a little flirtation with her sister’s boyfriend, and if that were the case, she wouldn’t be dying to admit it under any circumstances.”
    “Very