‘Well even so, you will appreciate that we need to interview you.’
Sasha paused, anger beginning to overtake her fear. What if she really didn’t know anything about it? Did they expect her to drop everything and go running off halfway around the world to tell them that? And anyway, if she did, wouldn’t that be tantamount to an admission of guilt?
‘I appreciate you have a job to do, Detective,’ she said. ‘But I have a job too. I run an international fashion label. I don’t have enough time for breakfast, let alone to come to the Bahamas to help you with your inquiries.’
His voice took on a sterner edge. ‘Don’t make this more difficult for yourself, Miss Sinclair.’
‘With respect, Dectective, the difficulty is yours. I have told you everything I know about this. If you wish to speak to me further, please contact my lawyer. I would be more than happy to give you his number.’
She took a cold shower straight after the call, shivering in the tiny cubicle as the icy water pinched her skin. Any thoughts of Randall Kane, Assad or saving her business had evaporated to be replaced by a sense of dread that Angel Cay, the boat boy and that horrible summer were finally coming back to haunt her.
Grabbing a fluffy white towel, she rubbed her face in the luxurious, comforting folds and quickly dressed. She went downstairs and passed through the kitchen where Philip was cooking bacon, eggs and beans on the Aga.
‘I’m going out,’ she said, reaching for the latch of the farmhouse door.
‘Hey, what about the food?’ he said.‘And anyway, your hair’s wet.’
‘I don’t care,’ said Sasha, fumbling with the lock.
He moved the frying pan from the heat. ‘Sash? What’s going on? Who was that on the phone?’
She pulled open the door and ran outside. It was raining, but she didn’t feel it; she just had to get away from the house, to clear her head, try and think.
‘Sasha, wait, please.’
Turning, she saw Philip striding to catch up with her.
‘Leave it, Philip, you can’t help,’ she called, but he had already reached her, grabbing her shoulders and holding her firm.
‘Sasha. What’s wrong? Tell me.’
The rain was soaking his shirt and he was shivering.
‘I can’t,’ she said, the words feeling strangled in her throat. ‘I just, I can’t ...’
‘Yes you can,’ he said, taking her in his arms and leading her back to the house. ‘You can tell me everything.’
He towel-dried her hair, wrapped her in a dressing gown and sat her down at the farmhouse table, putting a hot cup of coffee in front of her. She wrapped her fingers around it and began her story.
‘It’s Miles, Philip,’ she said. ‘It always is. I can’t seem to get away from him. From the second I arrived at my old school, Danehurst, I was drawn to him. He was everything I wanted to be. Rich, successful, glamorous. I thought that just being with him would make my life so special.’
Philip nodded, but stayed silent, letting her talk.
‘I loved him even though he didn’t make me feel good about myself a lot of the time. Miles liked to play power games even then, liked to keep me in my place. But I didn’t care. When you’re with Miles Ashford, you feel untouchable. People would do anything to be my friend and I could see a future for myself beyond my middle-class Surrey background that my mum had brought me up to despise.’
She glanced at him with a sense of deeply buried sham
e.
‘After our A levels we went to Angel Cay, the Ashfords’ Caribbean home. I loved it there, it was like Paradise. On the last night we stayed up all night. Drinking, smoking, taking drugs. Just before dawn, four of us, Miles and his sister, myself and Alex Doyle – you know, the musician? – went skinny-dipping in a cove, and on the way back to the house we found a dead body. Or at least we thought it was dead.’
‘Who was it? Did you know?’
‘A boat boy called Bradley,’ she said, feeling more courage as she told her story. ‘Miles said we should do nothing about it. That we should leave it for someone else to find. People would point the finger at us, the police would investigate us. So that’s what we did. Left it. Miles said he would get his father to sort it out.’
Philip creased his brow. ‘So why are you so freaked out about it today?’
‘Because that was the Bahamas police on the phone. They’ve found a dead body buried under the beach at Angel Cay and they want to interview me about it.’