The Far Side of the Sun Read Free Page B

mixed the drinks and handed one to her, the Duchess rose to her feet, raised her glass and said with a flourish, ‘To Sir Harry Oakes! God rest his pirate soul.’

‘To Sir Harry.’

The moment she crossed the threshold Dodie stepped straight into Flynn’s arms. She had not expected that. She’d thought a warder would keep them apart, but no. As soon as she and Parfury were in the cell, the door slammed shut and locked behind them and for the first time since the police came for him in the house with the purple front door, she was able to breathe.

‘So,’ Parfury said with cheerful concern, ‘how are you today, Mr Hudson?’

‘Couldn’t be better.’

Parfury gave a wry smile. Dodie wanted him to stand in a corner and say nothing.

‘I’ve brought you cigarettes,’ she said. She held out a pack of Lucky Strike to Flynn.

‘Thank you. Won’t you sit down?’

‘Don’t be polite, Flynn. Not with me.’

But she sat down on the narrow bed against the wall and looked around because if she looked at Flynn too long she might forget there was someone else in the room. The cell was about twelve foot by eight, larger than she thought it might be, and was redeemed by the open barred window set high in the wall opposite the door, which let in an ocean breeze that cooled her cheeks. The contents were basic – a bed, a stool, an enamel basin and a galvanised bucket that stank.

Flynn settled himself on the bed a foot away from her. He didn’t touch her, not after that first moment when he had kissed her, held her hard against his chest and inhaled the scent of her hair.

‘I knew you’d come,’ he said quietly. ‘But you shouldn’t. You should leave now.’

‘I’ve only just arrived.’

‘I mean you should leave the island.’

‘No, Flynn.’

His gaze remained on her face and the only sound in the cell was Parfury perching on the stool and rustling through his papers. Dodie wanted to tell Flynn what leaving would do to her but not in front of the lawyer, so she shook her head at him instead and saw his eyes follow the movement of her hair over her shoulders. She wanted to ask him how he was, to look at the gash on his head to see that it was healing, to touch him, to take his hand between hers. But she did none of these things.

He moved closer to her. ‘Okay, tell me what you know.’

‘I’ve spoken to your landlord.’

‘And?’ She caught the faintest hint of hope.

‘He and his wife are saying nothing. He claims that the house is locked and that no one came in. That’s what he told the police.’

Flynn looked away towards the small window too high to see out of. ‘He’s lying,’ he said.

‘Of course. The question is, Flynn, who paid him to lie? Who wants you dead but with no blood on their hands? Someone made an anonymous telephone call to the police to tell them where to look.’

He nodded but made no comment.

‘Tell me who would do that? Who should I go after?’

He stared blankly at the wall opposite. ‘You should go after no one.’

‘Flynn…⁠’

She touched his hand on the rough blanket, but he removed it and took his time lighting a cigarette from the new pack. Neither looked at the lawyer.

Dodie sat on her hands. Made her voice business-like. ‘Let me tell you what I’ve discovered so far about Sir Harry’s death.’

She didn’t say the word
killing
. It was too big for this tiny cell.

Instantly he swung to face her.

‘Sir Harry’s body was found in his own bed,’ she told him. ‘They’re saying he was shot in the head. Christie found him. He had dinner with Sir Harry the evening before and stayed at Westbourne overnight. He heard nothing all night because of the storm and found him at seven o’clock in the morning when he went into his bedroom to wake him.’

Flynn was listening intently, watching her mouth. She had no idea how much Parfury had already told him, but she could see the colour of his eyes turn drab when she mentioned Sir Harry’s