Perfect Strangers

‘That’s when we’re both going to take the day off. I reckon we deserve it after all this overtime.’

Ruth raised one eyebrow.

‘We’re going to take the day off?’

‘Yes, us, together,’ he said. ‘Unless you don’t want to, of course.’

His phone began to ring. Fox didn’t move, his intense gaze focused on Ruth.

‘Shouldn’t you answer that?’ she said, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

‘It’ll wait. So are we on for Tuesday?’

Ruth laughed.

‘I’d like that,’ she said, adding to herself, I’d like that very much indeed.

47

Sophie was standing on a slope to the side of the lodge, looking out towards the loch, when she saw Ruth Boden approach.

‘How are you doing?’ asked Ruth, putting an affectionate hand on her shoulder.

‘I’m okay, thanks.’ Sophie smiled. ‘It feels weird seeing you again. All this time I thought I was out there on my own, and all the time you were thinking about me, trying to find me.’

‘I always knew you were innocent,’ said Ruth. ‘Although I have to admit, I didn’t guess that Lana killed Nick until right at the end.’

Sophie looked away. She didn’t want to think about it, not right now, not yet. She had held Nick’s body as the life ran out of him, and whatever he had done, no one deserved to die like that. And all for what? Money? Sophie felt sick to think that she had once seen money as the answer to all her problems too. Was that how her father had thought? Was it ultimately his undoing? Sophie supposed she would never know if Lana had been directly responsible for her father’s death – and part of her didn’t really want to know. Lana Goddard-Price had already caused so much destruction and pain, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to unearth anything else.

‘Listen, Sophie, I have a story to write,’ said Ruth awkwardly. ‘I don’t suppose you’d grant me an interview . . .?’

‘I guess I owe you something.’ Sophie smiled, then hesitated.

‘I feel there’s a “but”?’ said Ruth.

Sophie nodded, meeting the journalist’s gaze.

‘Ruth, I know what my father did was wrong. Very, very wrong. But he’s dead, he’s had his punishment. Please, don’t make this any worse for our family than it has to be.’

‘I’ll be sensitive,’ said Ruth, holding up three fingers. ‘Scout’s honour.’

‘Good,’ said Sophie. ‘Then you won’t mind me saying this: no interview unless I have final copy approval.’

She saw Ruth’s surprised reaction. Clearly she hadn’t expected little Sophie Ellis, the flighty Chelsea girl, to drive such a hard bargain. But she wasn’t mousy Sophie any more; she had changed. For better or worse, she was a different woman from the one who had run for the taxi outside the Riverton that morning. She knew Ruth would agree to her terms; what choice did she have? Sophie was in control now – that was the difference. She was in control.

‘Let’s talk later, okay?’ she said. Across the field, she had spotted

Josh sitting on a dry-stone wall. When Ruth had gone, he came over.

‘Can we talk?’ he asked.

‘Let’s walk down to the water,’ said Sophie.

They took a path that ran down to the edge of the loch and walked out on to a small wooden jetty. Josh sat down next to her, their legs dangling over the water.

‘Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?’ she said finally.

‘I wanted to protect you, Sophie. From the minute you left my houseboat and saw those Russians, that’s all I wanted to do. I figured the less you knew, the better, at least until I had worked out what to do.’