MURDER IN CHINA an addictive crime mystery full of twists by LEWIS ROY

Author:LEWIS, ROY
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Joffe Books crime thriller mystery and suspense
Published: 2022-06-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

1

Jack O’Connor had visited Belton Hall on previous occasions. He recalled his thoughts on first seeing the entrance to the Hall with its giant portico and Ionic columns. The doorway was flanked with marble statues of Autumn and Spring and the building was imposing against the backdrop of the northern hills. It was on that first visit he had caught his first glimpse of Isabella Portland: clad in jodhpurs and riding boots and a white, open-necked shirt, she had taken his breath away. Her magnificent dark eyes, set in an oval face, had looked at him almost mockingly, perhaps aware of the impact she could make on men. And he remembered her later, her red-gold, luxuriant hair spilling upon the pillow in the darkness of an hotel room, her arms about him, her warm flesh and soft thighs against his. He shivered, aware of the movement of his body at the recollection, the memory that had constantly taunted him in his waking nights ever since.

And he remembered the horror of his last visit to Belton Hall, when her true personality was revealed to him. She had clung to him that day, almost protectively, but the gun in the hand of her leaden-faced husband had been turned to his own temple. O’Connor could still see in his mind’s eye the blood, bone and flesh of Gordon Portland spattering across the room. He could still hear Isabella’s scream of terror and dismay, and for a while thereafter the memories of their lovemaking had faded, as though it had been something enjoyed by two other people.

He had not seen Isabella since, but as the horror of that last day at Belton Hall faded, so did his recollections of Isabella herself come flooding back, insidiously, so that he would wake in the night, twisting with desire, unable to force her image from his mind and dreams.

He had deliberately stayed away from her since that day her husband had died, and she had made no attempt to get in touch with him. Even now the thought of renewing their acquaintance, of actually seeing her again, made him shiver, half dreading what he might see in her eyes, conscious that his own resolve where she was concerned could be weak, and indeterminate.

He had not disclosed to Farnsby the details on the page he had removed from the ring-bound notebook. His DI had known about O’Connor’s relationship with Isabella Portland, and disapproved of it. Inevitably, if O’Connor had shown him the names on the torn-out page he would have warned O’Connor away, insisted that he himself should deal with the matter. And he would have been right, O’Connor knew that. It was crazy to follow the enquiry himself; madness even to think of meeting Isabella again.

And yet, here he was, his heart thumping like a teenage schoolboy, his nerve ends tingling as he came down from the hill into the long drive that led to Belton Hall.

The elderly resident butler had not been replaced since Gordon Portland’s death.

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