Yakinchuk was murdered too? Is that what you think Carl?’
She was furious but now was not the time, nor the place. ‘Mr. Mulphy, I will be in the Amber Room. Would you and Mr. Brosner join me there please as soon as possible.’ She offered Carl a withering glance that would melt wood then she left the room the way she had come.
Sarah, shouldn’t you be crying or something? Aren’t you expected to be in a state of shock or even disbelief? What do you feel?
‘Nothing.’
Why?
Because any loving regard she had for Alan Rose quickly evaporated almost before the ink on the wedding certificate had dried. It was as if he saw himself as Richard; Master of Cavendish Hall and everyone and everything in it but he lacked the essential élan to carry it off. He began to bully Sarah, criticizing everything she did while all the while showing little or no interest in what she was doing, thinking or saying. And all that talk about being a father to her children? He never showed the slightest interest in them.
Sarah stood facing the fireplace and remembered. Was it really only three weeks ago?
*****
Alan stood, arms folded across his chest and watched as Sarah despatched a dozen clay pigeons. ‘Congratulations, twelve out of twelve,’ he said although his praise had an edge to it which was both trite and condescending.
‘Would you like to give it a try Alan?’ Sarah asked.
‘No thank you; I’m a doctor of clinical medicine, not a frontiersman. Sarah, I’m leaving tomorrow for Boston.’
Sarah turned to regard him fully. ‘We’ll talk about it later Alan.’
‘No, we’ll talk about it now.’
Sarah handed the shotgun to Brett. ‘Thank you Mr. Saunders, Mr. Chandler. I think I’ve had enough for today.’ She began to walk back towards the house. Alan caught up with her and they walked together but just far enough not to be heard. ‘That was very nice, thank you Alan.’ She was angry and it showed. ‘Flexing a little marital muscle were we?’
‘Tell me if I’ve got this wrong Sarah. Today’s Tuesday so it must be Guns Day and tomorrow, well I guess that’s Knives Day and Thursday; oh, that’s killing things with our bare hands day.’
‘I play tennis on Thursdays, thank you very much.’
‘Ah yes, I had forgotten. Well, I won’t be there to watch.’
She glared at him. ‘Alan, you’ve never been there to watch let alone participate. Why are you going to Boston?’
‘I’m going because I want to feel useful again. The hospital and the laboratory here are fully functional now and …’
‘You’re not coming back are you?’
‘No Sarah, I’m not. It’s the memories you see; yours, mine and both overpowering; so overpowering that I can’t breathe any more.’
‘I see. Are we talking divorce Alan and what about the children playing happily while Father and Mother watch, or don’t you care anymore?’
‘The kids will be fine Sarah; just hire more staff.’
‘That’s a terrible thing to say!’ She slapped him across the face. ‘I hope you’ve made reservations Alan because you are not taking the jet - my jet. John will drive you into Dublin. Buy a first class ticket with my credit card. I insist.’
*****
But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there Sarah? Tell the whole truth. Admit to yourself at least how disappointing Alan was sexually. A diminishing diet of passionless almost mechanical “missionary position” encounters was not what you are used to is it, nor is it something you are prepared to accept.
In fairness, Alan has quite candidly admitted that he had had very few women in his life. From Sarah’s perspective, it appeared that sexually speaking, he had had none. She tried to encourage him early on in the piece but it soon became unmistakably obvious that he was sexually repressed and repressive.
‘I will leave demanding that women turn themselves into whores for the likes of Merhot Capritzo and Yusuf Sarquazi, thank you very much.’
After that pronouncement, the marriage went to hell in the proverbial handcart.
Carl’s wife Seefan was Sarah’s personal maid so it’s not surprising that she saw and heard things that no one else did. As the marriage disintegrated, Sarah escaped to the Devil’s Trough more and more frequently, often staying for hours in the one place where she felt close to Richard because it was one of his favourite places and Yusuf because that was where he died. Sarah was never able to hide her tears from Seefan nor eventually could she hide the bruises left by Alan Rose.
‘Leave it Seefan; I don’t want Carl to know.’
11
Craig Heywood and David Rossi, Sarah’s personal bodyguards and Brett Saunders, Head of Security at Cavendish Hall stood side by side and ramrod straight watching and waiting; trying to anticipate what action might be necessary although right at that precise moment, shock and disbelief ruled. Under the circumstances, no one knew exactly what to do. It was Jack Mulphy who took control.
‘I will call Abran at Ksar el-Zerhoun and tell him what has happened. He in turn will tell Ali Tha. The meeting of the Benghazi families is scheduled for next week so I …’
Sarah shook her head. ‘Who at Zerhoun knew that Alan was in Boston?’ She looked straight at Jack then Kevin Brosner. ‘Did either of you mention Alan in any manner whatsoever?’
‘No ma’am,’ Brosner replied.
‘I thought Alan was still here.’ Jack regarded Sarah with caution. ‘What are you suggesting ma’am?’
‘Cui bono, Mr. Mulphy – who profits? Ali Tha is a fundamentalist Muslim dedicated to the Mauphet family and the Benghazi tribe. Yusuf’s death would have been very difficult for him to accept as it was very difficult for him to accept me as Yusuf’s wife. As far as religion was concerned Yusuf remained totally ambivalent which angered Ali Tha who was determined to force me into embracing Islam. What I ended up embracing four months and fifteen days after Yusuf’s death was a Christian, a none-believer, an infidel. The very idea of Yusuf Sarquazi Mauphet Benghazi’s children being raised in a Christian household by a Christian stepfather would be considered a sacrilege.
‘Ali Tha must be made to understand that I have no intention of putting my children at risk. They are safe here and this is where they will remain until I have absolute assurances and even then ...’
‘In fairness ma’am, we have no proof whatsoever that there is a connection between the death of Alan Rose
