Mummy's Favourite by Sarah Flint Page A

to smarten yourself up or I’m going without you. Let’s hope our honourable friend can come up with some good answers then. It’ll make a change for it to be us asking the questions, rather than the other way round.’
    *
    The house didn’t disappoint.
    It was set back from the road with a driveway that ran around the front in a generous gravel horseshoe. Ornate black metal gates which opened on the press of a remote control gave access to cars. Matching gates on either side of the vehicular ones allowed foot visitors to come and go. A variety of trees and shrubs framed the garden and large flower beds bordered the immaculately flat, bright green lawn that surrounded the driveway.
    The house was large but not imposing, with a country-cottage look belying the fact that it was set in the sprawling capital of England. A slatted, whitewashed front door with a large round door knocker was the focal point with an open, stone porch giving shelter to visitors. Ivy climbed around the frontage on trellises; controlled, it seemed, by the same hard-working gardener whose attention to detail had created the stunning entrance. Double-glazed sash windows receded into the stone window surrounds and a grey tiled roof sloped downwards to join the stonework at a slightly jaunty angle.
    All in all, the house looked expensively rural, like a quintessentially English Cotswold home that had been lifted in its entirety and transported to the leafy suburbs of Clapham, South London.
    â€˜Wow, nice gaff,’ Hunter remarked with a low whistle as they pulled up outside. ‘Bet they’ve got a housekeeper and a gardener to do the work. I can’t imagine Justin or Dana being the sort to get their hands dirty.’
    They walked towards the porch with the gravel crunching beneath them. Charlie rapped smartly on the front door. There was no reply so she knocked again. When there was still no answer forthcoming, she bent down and pushed the letterbox open. A waft of expensive furniture polish hit her nostrils as she peered through the small gap, trying to see into the house for any movement. Hunter leant forward and banged on the door once more and Charlie was surprised to see a shadow move across her vision.
    She stood up quickly but the door remained shut. Bending down again, she called through the letterbox.
    â€˜Who is it?’ a woman’s voice called back.
    â€˜It’s DC Charlie Stafford and DI Hunter from Lambeth police. Is that you Dana?’
    The door opened and Dana Latchmere stood before them. She was just as stunning as her husband, tall and sleek, with long dark hair curling abundantly around her shoulders. Mid-fifties, but well preserved, with subtle eye make-up which enhanced large brown eyes and skin that was smooth and wrinkle-free, save for a few laughter lines. She wore casual brown trousers, a cream cashmere jumper and a thin, loosely tied neck scarf which blended the two shades together perfectly. A single string of pearls and matching earrings completed the look of simple elegance.
    â€˜You’d better come in.’
    She pulled the door open allowing the two detectives to enter. As they stepped through into the oak panelled hallway, Charlie didn’t miss the troubled glance Dana threw behind them before closing the door quickly.
    â€˜Sorry for the delay in answering. Justin’s out and I was busy upstairs. Is there something I can do for you?’
    â€˜We just need a quick chat with you if that’s OK. It won’t take long.’
    Charlie raised her eyebrows at Hunter as they were shown through to a large, expensively furnished lounge at the rear of the house which looked out on to the back garden, resplendent with a small open-air swimming pool and large patio, housing a covered hot tub. Around the room, gilt-framed photographs showed images of their two children: Gemma astride a horse, rosette in hand, and Aiden standing in the front of a red and white-shirted school