The Last Girl (21 page)

‘They don’t speak now, do they?’

‘Not at the moment.’ She looked guarded, and I realised she wasn’t prepared to talk about Savannah. It made sense when her daughter was so famous that every tiny new fact about her had the power to make headlines around the world.

‘The reason we ask, Ms Wentworth, is because Philip didn’t mention Savannah to us when he was talking about his family.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Did you ask?’

‘No,’ I admitted. ‘It didn’t occur to us to ask specifically.’

‘Savannah has never been proud enough of him to want to boast that they’re related, I’m delighted to say. She’s quite happy to be an example of what you can achieve, despite being brought up by a single mother.’

In the lap of luxury
, I felt like saying, but on second thoughts it probably hadn’t been easy given Miranda’s health, and the fact that she came across as both cool and calculating rather than cosily maternal. I hoped the
expensive
hobbies had taken her away from the wintry focus of her mother from time to time. ‘Poor little rich girl’ seemed like the appropriate phrase.

‘So Savannah turned her back on her father in much the same way as he ignored her,’ I suggested.

‘Yes.’ Miranda allowed herself a tiny frown. ‘Well, except that they did become closer when Savannah was starting to make real headway as a model. Philip travelled to watch her walk in the major European fashion shows. He loved the attention she got, and of course it turned Savannah’s head completely that he was prepared to make the effort to come and support her even though no one knew or cared who he was. Until Vita put a stop to it.’

‘That must have annoyed you.’

‘Hardly. I didn’t care if Philip never saw Savannah again. It annoyed me that she was so quick to forgive him. As for Vita, it made me proud of her,’ she said levelly. ‘She’d listened to what I taught her. Remove the threat. Demand that the focus is on you and your family. Never let him forget you or your daughters.’

There was a framed photograph of Savannah on an end table, a black-and-white one that was obviously from a professional shoot. I wondered if it was her mother’s choice to have such a recognisable but impersonal reminder of her daughter, or if it was Savannah’s own preference.

‘You must be very proud of her,’ I ventured.

‘Yes.’ Again, something dragged the word out, a reluctance I couldn’t quite understand. Something unsaid. ‘She’s very successful. Of course, she was always bright. She could have been anything she wanted to be. Used her mind more.’

‘Hard to turn down that kind of lifestyle, though,’ Derwent said dreamily. ‘Travel. Money. Glamour.’

‘Yes. It does seem idyllic from the outside.’

‘But not from the inside?’ I asked.

‘You’d have to ask Savannah.’

‘We’re trying to get hold of her, actually. She’s a hard person to track down.’

‘When you do see her, tell her her mother sends her regards.’ Her voice had a brittle edge to it.

‘You don’t get to see her much, I take it,’ Derwent said.

‘Not enough.’ The smile this time was a wavering one and I thought I had made the mistake of underestimating the strength of the woman’s feelings for her daughter, simply because of her poise. ‘There’s no amount of time that would be enough. I’ve missed her since she moved out a few years ago. Missed her every day.’ As if aware that she was revealing more of her true feelings than usual, she forced another smile. ‘It was ironic that Vita came to me for help, really. It was the first thing I said to her when she got in touch. I have never, never understood Philip. Nor have I understood the decisions he’s made. I’ve always thought he must have sincere regrets about what he left behind when he left us, but he’s never shown them to me. Then again, maybe he doesn’t know what regret is like.’ The smile hadn’t moved, and there was something chilling about it, something fundamentally unsympathetic. It was pleasure that justice had been done at last.

‘Maybe he will know better now.’

We left Miranda Wentworth to her perfect, barren little world, in my case with a sense of tremendous relief. Derwent seemed determined to have been charmed.

‘Lovely woman. You can see Savannah takes after her.’

‘She looks just like her dad.’

‘That’s jealousy talking, Kerrigan. You shouldn’t think you can compete. You don’t need to.’ He patted my knee. ‘No one cares about what you look like.’

‘You’re not just barking up the wrong tree – you’re in the wrong forest.’ I glared at him. ‘It is a simple fact that
Savannah
looks like her dad. Same build. Same features. Same everything. She’s obviously a very attractive woman, but she gets her looks from her father.’

‘Shame Miranda didn’t marry again. Probably couldn’t think about that with a young daughter to bring up and her health troubles.’

‘Don’t forget, she’d have lost out on the lovely alimony too.’

‘Money isn’t everything, Kerrigan.’

‘It is to these people. I don’t understand the attraction of it. It didn’t make any of them happy, it seems to me. Kennford seems to have hated the house, given how he furnished his study and the fact that he doesn’t stay there if he can avoid it. He wasn’t in a good marriage. Mind you, I don’t think he walked out on a better one.’

‘Where are we going now?’ Derwent levered himself up in the driver’s seat, trying to loosen his trousers. ‘I’ve spent so much time cooking my balls in this fucking car this week, my little swimmers are probably poached.’

‘I don’t want to talk about your sperm count.’ I shook my head. ‘Did I need to say that out loud? Why would you think I wanted to know about your balls?’

‘So you can sympathise.’ He was still braced against the back of the seat, legs straight. ‘It can’t be good for me to have my circulation cut off like this.’

‘Poor you.’

‘Try it with more feeling.’

‘That’s all you’re getting.’ I fanned myself with the map. ‘God, it’s hot.’

‘Getting hotter,’ he agreed.

‘Well, we need to go back to Wimbledon, I’m afraid.’

Derwent groaned. ‘Mind you, it’s high ground. It might be cooler over there.’

‘Dream on.’

‘Who are we talking to?’

‘Millie Carberry.’

‘Who?’

‘Lydia gave me her name. She said she’s in school with them and was one of Laura’s best friends. She was supposed to be with Millie when she died. I thought she might be able to tell us something about the mystery boyfriend.’

‘She’s a teenage girl. They take an attitude to a vow of silence that puts the Mafia to shame.’

‘You don’t know that. She might be in the mood to be helpful.’

Sceptical was not the word for the look I got in return.

Derwent had his predictable moments. I could tell, for instance, that when we arrived at Millie Carberry’s extremely nice detached house in Wimbledon Village to find her still in bed at half past two in the afternoon, he was gearing up for a lecture on the Youth of Today and their shortcomings. I could also tell he was itching to swipe the beanie hat off the youth who opened the door to us, sleepy-eyed and yawning, and turned out to be Millie’s brother, Seth. He was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, but I thought he had probably just got out of bed himself; his clothes looked rumpled and soft with sweat. The other thing that occurred to me was that he might have been stoned. He was very far from being with it. I sniffed unobtrusively but couldn’t smell anything underneath the Jo Malone Red Roses room spray that filled the air.

‘Who are you again?’

‘Detectives with the Metropolitan Police.’ Derwent was not inclined to run through our names more than once – that had tested his patience enough.

‘And you want to talk to my sister.’

‘We had made an arrangement to speak to her. I spoke to your mother this morning,’ I said. ‘She told me Millie would be happy to speak to us.’

‘In Mum’s world.’ Seth yawned. ‘She must have forgotten to say.’

‘Is she here?’

‘She’s at work.’

‘What does she do?’ Derwent asked.

‘She’s a banker.’ He held up his hands as if to ward off our disgust. ‘Don’t blame me. I just live off the proceeds.’

‘It explains the nice house.’

‘If you like this sort of shit. It’s the Laura Ashley catalogue Autumn/Winter 2010. That’s page sixty-four.’ He pointed in through the door to the sitting room.

‘Very funny. Can you get Millie for us?’ Derwent’s very limited patience had just run out.

He wandered over to the foot of the stairs. ‘Mills! Get up!’

There was a muffled response from overhead.

‘It’s the fuzz. You’re wanted.’

A thump, running feet and a scared face looking through the banisters.

‘Millie Carberry?’ I asked.

‘Oh my God. What time is it?’ She pushed back her hair from her face, a heavy tumble of fair curls. ‘I slept in.’

‘You’re up now.’ Derwent was actually tapping his foot, I was amused to see. ‘Come and talk to us.’

‘I need to brush my teeth.’ She wriggled. ‘Can I have a shower?’

‘You’ve got five minutes. Then we’re coming to talk to you whether you’re ready or not.’

She ran, presumably for the bathroom, and Derwent and I turned to find that her brother had disappeared. With a shrug to me, the inspector led the way to a very glamorous kitchen, all marble worktops and chandeliers. We sat at the kitchen table for five minutes, then five minutes more, listening to muffled thumps from upstairs that seemed to suggest something was happening.

‘What do you want to do?’ I asked, as there was still no sign of her.

‘Wait.’

‘You’re the one who gave her an ultimatum. You should follow up on it.’

‘I hate teenagers.’ He didn’t move.

When she finally appeared in the kitchen, Millie was wearing tracksuit bottoms and a very skimpy T-shirt. She kept tugging at the hem to keep it from riding up over her stomach. She was slightly plump, her cheeks rounded with baby fat. Her hair was bundled up in a very untidy knot at the back of her head, trailing tendrils around her face, which had undoubtedly taken at least ten of the twenty minutes we had waited to make it look so artless.

‘I’m really sorry. I completely slept in. Mum did say you were coming. Can I make you a cup of tea?’

Millie’s expensive education showed in her voice and her manners. Her brother sounded equally posh but had shaken off the politeness quickly enough.

‘No thanks,’ I answered for Derwent.

‘Do you know why we wanted to talk to you, Millie?’

She was filling the kettle anyway, her movements jerky with nerves. ‘I presume it’s to do with Laura?’

‘Correct.’

‘I can’t believe it. What an awful thing to happen.’ She looked at us across the enormous breakfast bar, her eyes huge. ‘I don’t know anything about it.’

‘That’s fine, Millie. We just want to ask you some questions about Laura and how she was behaving before she died.’

‘Oh, okay. If I can help.’

‘Come and sit down,’ Derwent commanded. ‘You’re miles away over there.’

She padded over and sat on the very edge of a chair, seconds away from fleeing.

‘What was Laura like, Millie? Can you give us some idea of her personality?’

‘Oh. Well, she was fun. Very sweet. Thoughtful.’ She looked earnestly from Derwent to me and back again.

‘Anything more to add?’

She pulled her feet up onto the chair. ‘Not really.’

‘We gather she had a bit of a rebellious streak,’ I said gently.

‘I don’t know …’

‘Did you know she had a boyfriend?’ Derwent, cutting to the chase.

‘No. She wasn’t allowed one. Her parents wouldn’t let her.’

‘She still had one, though.’

Millie looked confused. ‘She never said. I mean, I didn’t know.’

‘You were her best friend, though. Lydia told us that. You must have known.’

She shook her head vehemently. ‘I promise you, not at all. I didn’t have a clue.’

‘You must have noticed her sneaking off to meet him,’ I suggested.

‘No. Not a thing.’ She looked wounded. ‘I thought she was studying.’

‘Were you supposed to see her on Sunday night?’

‘Sunday? When she died? No.’

‘Lydia told us a different story. She said you had an arrangement to go to the cinema. A Robert Pattinson film.’

Millie blushed, presumably at the mention of the actor’s name. She answered readily enough. ‘That was Saturday and she cancelled.’

‘Lydia said it was Sunday.’

‘She must have been wrong.’

‘Laura had told everyone she was going to be out with you – and you had no idea? Aren’t you friends with her on Facebook?’

‘I’m not allowed to use it. Dad doesn’t like it.’

‘That’s practically child abuse these days, isn’t it?’ Derwent sounded sceptical.

‘He read an article in the
Daily Telegraph
about identity theft that freaked him out.’ Millie rolled her eyes. ‘Anyway, it’s blocked on my home computer but I use it at school, so it’s not too much of a problem. It’s just that I miss out in the school holidays. I have to go to the library to use the Internet, and all the computers are sticky, and it smells of wee.’ She grinned cheekily and Derwent smothered a laugh in a very unconvincing cough.