“Not under the patio, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Bobby laughs, then stops. “Sorry. Bit close to the knuckle given the current sitch, right?”
“Just a bit.” Ffion can’t stop looking at Mia. She’s still dressed in her usual jeans and fleece, a pair of ratty old trainers on her feet, but her skin is glowing and she looks…radiant. There’s no other word for it.
“Ashleigh left me,” Bobby says.
“I’m sorry,” Leo says.
Bobby winks at him. “I’m not. The whole thing was a sham.”
“We’ve all been there, mate,” Leo says.
“No, I mean it was an actual sham. Turns out Ashleigh wanted the headlines more than she wanted me. Once I realized, I said we should jack the whole thing in, but she said she’d get more coverage if we kept it going a bit longer. She had this big plan to leak some stories to the tabloids—arguments over having a baby, that sort of thing.” He grimaces. “I should never have gone along with it. I just want a quiet life, you know?”
Next door, at number four, Clemmie Northcote’s door opens. Ffion gives Bobby a tight smile. “I’m not entirely sure you chose the best place for that.”
They wait until they’re inside before they arrest Clemmie. Out on the deck, a pair of wellies lies next to a chair over which a wet suit drips onto the deck.
“You told me you’d been to the village swim,” Leo says later when the interview tapes are rolling. “But that was a lie, wasn’t it?”
Clemmie nods silently, tugging nervously at her dress.
“For the tape, please.”
“Yes.”
“So why was your wet suit wet when my colleague spoke to you on New Year’s Day?” Ffion says.
Clemmie blinks rapidly. “I went for a dip before the party.”
“Really?” Ffion checks her notes. “Because from what we understand, you were quite the busy bee, helping with the preparations.”
Clemmie chews her bottom lip, and Ffion keeps a level gaze on her.
“Tell us what happened.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Did you follow Rhys to his office?” Leo asks.
“No.”
“Jonty Charlton says lodges at The Shore have to be bought outright,” Leo says. “Yet you told me you bought yours on a payment plan. Which is it?”
Clemmie swallows but doesn’t answer.
“Rhys Lloyd’s bank records show regular cash deposits,” Ffion says. “Were they from you? Did you have a financial arrangement with him?”
Clemmie shifts in her seat, her expression miserable. She lets out a breath, like a balloon deflating, then she nods.
“How much did you owe?”
There’s a long pause. “Four hundred thousand pounds.”
Leo whistles. “That’s a lot of money. Who else knew about the loan?”
“No one.”
“How convenient,” Ffion says, “for the only person who knew about the loan to die.”