She had also, needless to say, found a much safer hiding place for it than her bedside table.
In due course, the insurers paid out, but by then the guilt had well and truly kicked in. With the money, she’d bought a stunning diamond bangle, but the joy of owning it had never materialised. Each time she saw it on her wrist, it reminded her of the bad thing she’d done. But it was too late: she’d learned the hard way that crime didn’t pay, it just made you feel hideously ashamed of yourself.
Red might have been able to do it – found it fun, even – but she definitely wasn’t cut out for that sort of life.
Then, three years after the robbery, her marriage had come unstuck for good. There came a stage when you both had to admit defeat, accept that the relationship had run its course and move on. David had stayed in Elliscombe, training Didi to take over the running of the hotel, whilst Maura had found herself a beautiful apartment in Marbella Old Town and embraced the expat lifestyle. Before leaving, though, she’d come to Hillcrest to see Red.
Now, having topped up her glass for the second time, she carried it back through to the living room. She paused to take in Red’s profile against the window: the carved cheekbones, those long dark lashes, the curve of that clever mouth she’d never stopped wanting to kiss.
Sitting down next to him, she said, ‘We’ll never know who did it, will we?’ Red had always maintained it hadn’t been him, and she’d believed him.
‘Oh, I can tell you the answer to that if you want.’
She stared at him, saw a flicker of a smile. ‘You mean it was you?’
He simultaneously coughed and laughed. ‘No. But if you really do want to know, you need to keep it to yourself.’
Maura nodded; she’d had enough affairs over the years to become an expert at keeping secrets. ‘I won’t tell anyone,’ she said fervently.
‘It was Big Gav.’
‘What? Your friend?’
‘Yes.’
‘But . . . but how did he get hold of the keys to the safe?’
‘Remember Antonia?’
Maura frowned. ‘Antonia Webb?’ Antonia had worked at the hotel as head housekeeper for five years. She’d been Scottish, dour, disapproving and fond of tweed. ‘What about her?’
‘She and Big Gav had a bit of a thing going.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘I know, but it’s true. She’s the one who gave him the keys.’
‘I can’t believe that.’ Maura shook her head; you could search for years and not find anyone more prim and proper. ‘Did Gav tell you himself?’
‘Not at the time. His wife did, when she found the photos on his phone.’
Her eyes widened. ‘What kind of photos?’
‘The bondage kind. She made copies and brought them over here to show me.’ Red grimaced. ‘Not the prettiest of sights, Antonia in stockings and a basque, and Big Gav with a—’
‘Stop!’ Wine slopped over the rim of Maura’s glass as she waved her arm in protest. ‘For God’s sake, why would she even show you?’
‘Because she was mad as hell. Have you ever met Big Gav’s wife?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘She’s bloody scary. Gav was terrified of her. When she found out what he’d been up to, he dropped Antonia like a brick, couldn’t get away from her fast enough. That’s why she left the hotel.’
Maura remembered Antonia leaving suddenly, but so many hotel employees did. ‘She told us she’d been offered a fantastic promotion at a five-star in London.’
‘She got out in a hurry before Big Gav’s wife turned up and knocked her block off.’
‘Wow.’ Maura shook her head in wonder.
‘He came up from Cornwall last week,’ Red said easily. ‘Caught me on the TV, just like you did. It was great to see him again.’
‘But he let you take the blame for something he did!’
‘Well, these things happen. Can’t be helped. He was a dodgy guy, but then we both were. And Gav was a good mate. I only ended up back in jail because I broke the terms of my parole,’ Red reminded her. ‘That was my fault, not his.’
There it was, honour amongst thieves. Maura took another gulp of wine. ‘Is he still with his wife?’
‘He is. Still scared of her as well, I’m sure.’
‘So nothing ever happened to the photos?’
‘He knew she’d taken copies and put them somewhere. She told Gav any more funny business and she’d post them all over the internet. Kept him in check, I suppose.’
‘Do you know where they are?’
‘Certainly do.’ Red flashed that wicked smile of his. ‘They’re buried in the same airtight box as your emerald necklace.’
‘Have you been crying?’ Didi searched her mother’s face; there were telltale signs of redness beneath the freshly applied eyeliner.
‘No. Well, maybe a bit.’
‘Why? Oh my God, are you ill?’
‘Not ill. I popped in to see Red on my way here, that’s all. It’s a strange feeling, saying goodbye to someone with both of you knowing you’re never going to see each other again.’
Didi nodded. ‘I know.’ That was the thing about Red; despite being no saint, so many people thought of him with genuine affection. ‘Is that why you flew over? To see Red?’
‘Not the whole reason. I came to see you. Whenever I call you about the wedding, you tell me everything’s under control.’ Maura was giving her one of her unnerving looks now. ‘But you never raise the subject yourself. It’s as if you’re not even excited to be getting married. Most brides-to-be can’t talk about anything else. I mean, I know it isn’t a big wedding, but . . .’ She trailed off meaningfully and waited.
Oh well, at least they were in her private quarters. There was no one to overhear their conversation. Didi said, ‘There isn’t going to be a wedding. Well, there is, but I gave my booking to someone else. Aaron and I broke up.’
A slow nod. ‘But you’re still wearing the ring.’
‘I know. It’s complicated.’
‘Whose idea was it to not get married?’
‘Mine.’
‘Well, that’s something. And am I allowed to ask why?’
‘It wasn’t feeling right. He didn’t do anything wrong,’ said Didi. ‘I just don’t love him enough.’
‘I see. Anyone else you do love?’
‘No.’ But she’d said it a split second too soon.
‘Who is it?’
‘No one.’ Some daughters told their mum everything, but Didi had never been able to do that, not since the disastrous burglary and her mother’s instinctive reaction to Shay.
‘Married, I’m guessing. I’d have thought you’d have known better.’ Maura raised a disappointed – and somewhat hypocritical – eyebrow.
‘He’s not married.’
‘Not single either.’
Didi shrugged; let her think what she wanted. ‘Anyway, you won’t have to fly over for the wedding.’
‘Did you ever even buy a wedding dress in the end?’