The Hanging in the Hotel (22 page)

‘Thinking of moving on?’

Sandra Hartson looked rueful. ‘Kerry has ambitions to be a pop singer. Like every other girl her age.’

‘Do you think she has the talent to make it?’

The woman shrugged. ‘I’m not sure it’s a matter of talent these days. Not sure it ever has been. It’s promotion and packaging – and investment. Maybe Kerry’ll
make it. She certainly will if her stepfather has anything to do with the matter.’

Carole was surprised at how much edge had been put into the last words. And also, was it usual for a wife to refer to her husband as her daughter’s stepfather? Carole wanted to talk more
to Sandra Hartson.

But the woman had already clicked the remote to unlock her Mercedes. Now wasn’t the moment for further conversation. So, in an atypically effusive manner, Carole said, ‘It’s
been such a pleasure to meet you, Sandra. Do hope we meet again. Let’s exchange addresses and phone numbers.’

Sandra Hartson looked slightly bewildered by this sudden chumminess, so Carole quickly pointed out that, according to Brenda Chew’s schedule, Sandra was meant to be the collection point
for offers of new promises. With contacts duly scribbled down, they parted.

And Carole Seddon felt a little glow of achievement. Jude would be proud of her.

Rick Hendry had aged since Jude last saw him in the flesh, but he had aged sensibly. The long permed hair had been abandoned as soon as Zedrach-Kona split up in the early
eighties, and he’d opted for a short crop, which had become more fashionable over the years and still looked smart now the blackness was dusted with grey. His wardrobe had changed as well.
Gone were the romantic frilled shirts, the heavy brocades and velvets that would not have been out of place in an upholstery catalogue. In their place came a lot of grey: shirts in stone and slate,
charcoal jackets and trousers. The only remaining concession to the dandy was his pair of trademark black cowboy boots.

Rick had dealt with advancing years more gracefully than many of his contemporaries; no straggly pony tails or white-flecked stubble for him. Whenever re-forming Zedrach-Kona for a final bank
raid of a tour was mooted – as it frequently was – people asked Rick Hendry whether he would grow his hair long again to recapture the band’s former glamour. He never gave a
straight answer to the question, though he had long ago decided he would have wigs made. Nor, in spite of pleas from other band members, would he commit himself to when the group would re-form. His
former colleagues had been less shrewd with their money; for them a revival tour was a necessity; for Rick, with his canny investments and his reinvention as a television personality and producer,
it was a pension, waiting to be taken when he decided that the time was right.

Rick Hendry had no sagging jowls or beer-gut either. He’d taken care of his body and was still as thin as a whip. Though the rock publicity machine had blown up the mandatory debaucheries
of Zedrach-Kona, Rick himself had only dabbled lightly with drugs and alcohol. A control freak by nature, he disliked anything that limited his command of himself or his circumstances. So, all the
time he was encouraging the press to run stories about cocaine-fuelled post-concert orgies and the other excesses necessary for a rock star image, he had kept himself almost entirely clean.

Rick Hendry was a businessman. He would have made a fortune in whatever industry he’d chosen. But, as a young man, he’d seen rock music as his most promising opening.

He smiled when Jude was ushered into the office. His was a big smile, much caricatured in the music press. The teeth had always been too bulky for his mouth and expensive cosmetic dentistry had
ensured that their makeover was exactly like the original – though now with an unnatural whiteness. The famous smile deepened the grooves of his facial muscles.

‘Long time no see. Take a seat.’

She knew that was all he would offer. No peck on the cheek, certainly no refreshment. Other men might have conducted this interview over lunch, or at least a cup of coffee, but Rick Hendry lived
up to his legendary parsimony. The room chosen for the meeting was anonymous, just another conference suite in a town whose main business was conferences.

Why hadn’t he made more effort, Jude thought with annoyance. He’d initiated the meeting, and she’d made her way there on the train from Fethering at a time that fitted in with
his schedule. But he was the supplicant. He was the one who wanted something. (Well, actually, Jude wanted something too, but he wasn’t to know that.) Rick had known she would turn up,
exactly when and where he specified. The infuriating thing was that his confidence had proved justified. There she was.

‘Great to see you, Jude.’

‘And you, Rick. What brings you to Brighton?’

‘Work, of course. It’s always work. The way the
Pop Crop
thing has taken off is just out of this world. Broadcaster wants a new series almost before the last one’s
finished. So I’m here auditioning the young hopefuls.’

‘Female young hopefuls or male young hopefuls?’

He gave her a sharp look, suspicious she was referring to the tabloid allegations. Jude kept the stare of her brown eyes steady, and he backed off. ‘Both. I make and break boy bands and
girl bands indiscriminately. Have you seen the show, by the way, Jude?’

She shook her head. ‘Not for me, I’m afraid. Unlike most of the viewing public, I’ve never confused humiliation with entertainment.’

He didn’t take the criticism personally, just smiled one of his big smiles. ‘You’re right, of course. I’m constantly amazed that “ordinary people” still put
themselves up for this garbage. They should have seen enough of the programmes to know that everyone who’s on them ends up getting stuffed. Any television producer with half a brain in an
editing channel can make a “member of the public” look stupid. But still they turn up – each one presumably convinced they can break the sequence, that their natural personality
will shine through, that they’ll become stars. They’re wrong –’ another big smile ‘– but don’t tell them. I’m making a lot of money out of them being
wrong.’

‘But some of the ones who’ve been through
Pop Crop
must’ve had talent. I read somewhere they’ve had number-one records.’

A cynical laugh. ‘Talent and number ones don’t have a lot to do with each other. The
Pop Crop
kids have done well just because of the promotion and coverage they’ve got.
Give the same amount of airtime to a choir of donkeys with sore throats and they’ll go to the top of the charts.’

Jude couldn’t help admiring his candour. With a journalist, he’d have been extolling his programme’s encouragement of new talent, its achievements in giving young people hope
and aspirations, its contribution to the nation’s cultural heritage. With her, he cut the bullshit.

There was a tap on the door; it opened. A purple-haired girl in T-shirt and jeans pointed to her watch. Rick Hendry nodded. The door closed.

Jude got in first. ‘Better move on to what you wanted to say.’

‘Yeah. It’s still about that night you talked to Suze about.’

‘Tuesday last week.’

‘Right. Gather you know I was there.’

‘Max Townley the chef told me.’

Rick gave a little nod, as if that confirmed his conjecture. ‘Listen, Jude, it’s very important no one else knows about that.’

‘Why? There doesn’t seem to have been any publicity about that solicitor’s death. So you can’t use your previous line about protecting Suzy and the hotel.’

‘I’m not so sure that—’

‘So is it maybe you who needs protection, Rick?’

‘Not protection. I just don’t need publicity at the minute.’

‘Because of these allegations about you and underage girls?’

He was angry, but contained himself. ‘That was a load of baseless tabloid garbage!’

‘Anyway, how does Suzy have anything to do with that? She’s hardly an underage girl. In fact, I’d have thought the news that you’d spent a night under the same roof as
your ex-wife could do your image a lot of good at the moment.’

‘Jude, just take my word for it – my presence at the hotel has to be kept a secret.’

‘OK, I’m not about to rush to the press with the news. That’s not the sort of thing I do.’

‘And you’re not about to rush to the press with news about that boy’s death?’

‘No, of course I’m not.’

‘And you’re going to stop snooping round trying to find out how he died?’

He’d gone too far there. Firmly, Jude shook her head. ‘I’m going to find out everything I can about that.’

‘But you mustn’t! You can’t!’ For the first time in their conversation Rick Hendry lost his cool.

‘I don’t see why you’re so worried,’ said Jude evenly. ‘You didn’t have anything to do with it, did you?’

‘Of course I didn’t. I never even met the guy. Or any of the other Pillocks of Sussex or whatever they’re called.’ It was the same name Max Townley had used for them.
Jude wondered whether it was more than coincidence. ‘Except Bob Hartson, of course.’

‘Oh, you know Bob Hartson?’

‘Not know well. I’ve met him at the odd charity do.’

‘I see.’ So at least there was some connection between the worlds of the pop impresario and the Pillars of Sussex. ‘You still haven’t told me, Rick, why what I’m
doing frightens you so much.’

‘I’m not frightened.’ But he sounded at least anxious. ‘I just know how out of hand publicity can get. News of a murder at a hotel owned by Suzy Longthorne would get all
those scavengers licking their chops. Then, if they found out that I’d actually been on the premises when it happened.’

There was another tap at the door. ‘I’m bloody coming!’ he screamed. The door didn’t open.

‘You used the word “murder”, Rick,’ said Jude coolly. ‘I thought there was general agreement that Nigel Ackford committed suicide.’

‘I used the word “murder” because that’s what you seem to think it was. And if you go on snooping around, other people will start using it. Which will be extraordinarily
bad news for Suze and for me.’

‘You still haven’t given me a good reason to stop “snooping”, as you call it. In fact, the more you go on about it, the more I get the feeling you have something to
hide.’

He shrugged, and sighed. The anger was back under control. ‘I’m not going to convince you, am I, Jude?’

‘Not unless you give me a reason, no, Rick.’

‘If I said for the sake of your friendship to Suzy?’

‘You’ve already said that. My friendship with Suzy is fine, even though I know she’s holding out on me just as much as you are.’

He stood up, apparently defeated. ‘I’m going to have to get back.’

Jude rose too. ‘It’s been good to see you. Though I don’t know why you bothered to drag me over here. This conversation doesn’t seem to have advanced much from the ones
we had on the phone.’

‘No.’ He gave her the big, toothy smile again. All friends, it seemed to say. ‘Incidentally, Jude, I gather from Suze that you first thought the boy had been murdered because
of something he said to you the night he died.’

‘That’s right.’

‘And, since then, have you found out anything else that has confirmed your suspicions?’

Jude was forced to admit that she hadn’t much more corroboration. ‘Only the fact that everyone involved in the case seems desperate to hush it up.’

Her answer apparently relieved him. ‘Yeah. Well, like I say, nobody likes bad publicity.’ He paused for a moment, then turned the beam of his smiling charm on her. ‘Nothing I
can do to make you lay off, is there, Jude?’

‘What do you mean?’

He made a wide, slack gesture with his hands. ‘Might be something you need. Few people have got everything they need these days, have they?’

Jude couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘Are you trying to bribe me, Rick? Are you offering me money?’

‘Needn’t be money.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m lucky enough to be able to organize most things people might want.’

‘Like what?’ asked Jude, still incredulous. ‘An appearance in the starting line-up for
Pop Crop
?’

The speed and violence of his reaction amazed her. Suddenly he was close to her, his hand on the scarf around her neck. Then he seemed to remind himself of who he was, where he was, and what he
was doing. He relaxed his grip and stepped backwards, manufacturing a little laugh. ‘No,
Pop Crop
’s all above board. No cheating or unfair influence allowed there. The auditions
are sacrosanct.’ Still trying to lighten the atmosphere, he went on, ‘Besides, we haven’t quite got to your generation of singers yet.’

A very tentative tap on the door sounded. ‘This time I must go.’ He opened the door. ‘See you, Jude.’ And he was gone.

Leaving her with more questions than answers.

The biggest question being – why had he asked her to meet him? As she walked back through the anonymous carpeted corridors to the hotel’s main reception, Jude went through their
conversation in detail. And the question that seemed most important to her was Rick’s asking whether she had any new evidence to support the theory that Nigel Ackford had been murdered.

She could be wrong, but Jude got the feeling he’d been trying to find out how much she knew.

They certainly did a good Sunday lunch at Hopwicke Country House Hotel. Like everything Suzy Longthorne arranged on the premises, the meal was traditional, but with a few
extras that distinguished it from the run-of-the-mill. So, yes, it was roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes and vegetables, but each component was special. The meat had been selected
from one particular farm in Scotland. The pudding batter contained a couple of secret ingredients known only to Max Townley. The roast potatoes were crisped to perfection, animated with the
occasional surprise of a few sweet potatoes. The range of vegetables, and the way their tastes complemented each other, provided their own private gastronomic experience. The gravy was rich and
thick, and the Hopwicke House home-made mustard (available in jars for purchase at reception) was to die for.

Stephen had ordered a wonderfully robust St Emilion to accompany the food and, in his practised perusal of the wine list, had shown an expertise which his mother would never have suspected.
Carole wondered if he had always had an interest in fine wines, or whether this was a new skill born of his relationship with Gaby. And, once again, she felt guilty for not knowing the answer. Was
it her fault she and Stephen seemed so far apart?