Lord Lucan | Murder In Belgravia | 2
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Alice, would you like to hear a heartwarming story of love and happiness that ends in harmony? Actually, yes. Well, I'm afraid this isn't the show for you. OK, you tricked me there. Yep. It's 9.50pm, 7th November 1974, Lower Belgrave Street.

John stands in the upstairs bathroom, shaking. He turns on the brass taps, watches the water turn red as he rinses his hands. He studies his reflection in the gilt-edged mirror. He barely recognises the man staring back, scruffily dressed, in grey joggers and a sweater stained with blood. His head is spinning as he struggles to make sense of what just happened. The nanny is dead. Veronica is badly injured. This isn't awful. He doesn't know where she's gone.

Daddy?

John looks up to see Francis at the top of the banisters, staring down at him. "Where are you going, Daddy?" John stops in his tracks. He worships his eldest daughter. All he wants to do is go to her, hold her tight, tell her there's nothing to be scared of. But it's too late. Veronica could have called the police by now. He has to go. He stares into his daughter's innocent eyes. This could be the last time he sees her for weeks, maybe months. John can't even choke out a goodbye.

He rushes out of the house. In the cold night air, John gathers his thoughts. He needs somewhere safe to go, if only for a short while. He could ring his mother. She would help. But John isn't sure he can take the risk. Instead, he takes in the quiet beauty of the street. He watches the trees sway gently in the breeze. He gazes up at the house he once called home. He knows, one way or another, this life is over now.

And at that moment, John makes a decision, one that will seal his fate and elevate a domestic murder case to a decades-long international mystery. He decides to disappear. Oh, my goodness.

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From Wondery, I'm Matt Ford. And I'm Alice Levine. And this is British Scandal. MUSIC

So, Alice, how are you feeling about the aristocracy at this point in our story? Well, I need to tread carefully because I don't want to alienate our huge aristocratic listenership. But it isn't looking great, is it, as a kind of poster campaign for the aristocrats. So far, Lord Lucan's gambled away his entire fortune, his huge inheritance. Yes, and the way he treats his wife is appalling. When he's in Aspinall's club and the way he makes her go and sit on the widow's bench and his behaviour towards her only gets worse after she's had children. Yeah, he tries to have her committed and also tries to have the kids taken away. I mean...

I'm hoping, I'm thinking maybe that was rock bottom and things are going to get a bit better. OK, well, the title of this episode might give things away a bit. This is episode two, Murder in Belgravia. It's March 1973, Mexico.

John strides across a vast terrace, clutching a bottle of champagne and two flutes. He's tanned, looking relaxed in shorts and a crisp white shirt. Nearby, several friends splash around in the dazzling water of the swimming pool. The sun beats down on John's face. He takes a moment to look skywards, bask in it.

John's been at this luxury villa for the past month. It belongs to his pal, James Goldsmith. Goldsmith's famous, rich, that's about all I know. Yes, so James Goldsmith set up the Referendum Party, which you may remember from the 1997 general election. His daughter is Jemima Goldsmith, who married Imran Khan, and his son, Zak.

Goldsmith is now in the House of Lords. Also ran for something. Yes, he ran for Mayor of London against Sadiq Khan and the campaign was not a very positive one. And so I'm guessing in a pub quiz, the Goldsmiths would be your area of expertise. I didn't know this until now, but it turns out, yes. James is also a member of the Claremont set. They're here celebrating his 40th birthday. But John has a different reason for this particular toast.

He's just taken a call from his solicitor, who's told him he's been granted a temporary care order for the children. John pops open the champagne. He and James clink glasses. Well done, old chap. Good to see you smiling again. I shall have to get the first flight I can back to London. I don't want the children spending a minute longer than necessary with that woman. James gives John a look of deep sympathy. His friends have been horrified by his wife's recent behaviour...

They seem to dislike her even more than he does. Good luck telling Veronica. I don't plan to. Oh, there's just something deeply, deeply unpleasant about these bro chats. It's the following afternoon, Green Park, London. John enters the children's playground. He beams as he spots five-year-old George and two-year-old Camilla. He's missed them so much. They rush over to greet him.

This upsets the children's nanny. John approaches her. He hands over the care order. The children will be coming with me now. But Lady Lucan didn't say. I'm not sure I can. It's not her decision. With that, John leads George and Camilla away. Can you imagine? Then he goes to eight-year-old daughter Frances' school and orders that she be released to him too. He knows it will be tough on Veronica, but he reasons a clean break is what's best for them all.

An hour later, the children are safely ensconced in a luxurious ground floor masonette John's rented. He arranged all this while he was away, knowing he would have to prove to the court he could provide a safe family home.

While the kids play and supper cooks on the stove, John picks up a copy of Mein Kampf. Oh, what a cosy little picture you've just painted. Sorry, as in the Nazi manifesto. Yes, Adolf Hitler's autobiography. A lovely Sunday afternoon read. Jeez, and he's the one that's sound of mind. He's the one that the courts are like, yep, put the kids with him. Your Honour, I have them reading many books. Mein Kampf... End of list. Yeah.

Domestic bliss. He opens the door to a distraught Veronica. Her cheeks are streaked with a mixture of tears and mascara.

So cold.

Veronica takes the care order from her pocket and rips it up in front of him. That's what I think of your order. You can't look after them. Not with your lifestyle. John opens the door wider to reveal a young woman coming downstairs. I have hired help. You lift all the hard work to the nanny. No reason I can't do the same. John closes the door in Veronica's face. He can't help but feel a frisson of triumph. Yeah, feel really proud of yourself right now. Yeah, you showed her, mate.

But as he sits down and opens the first of many bills, his smile fades. His solicitor's fees are already running high and he's been warned a full custody battle will cost at least £20,000. The rent on this house is astronomical. John's once vast fortune is all but gone after a long series of gambling losses. I'm starting to think that gambling might be a problem. Yeah, there's one element of this, John, that if you stopped, the other bits would be fine. He eyes the clock. He should be at the Claremont by now.

With the nanny in situ, he could go there, try to recoup his losses. But his solicitor has warned him the court will look unfavourably on his gambling habit. John has no intention of changing his lifestyle. He hates not being at the tables. The idea of sitting here night after night horrifies him. But if he can make Veronica seem the greater of two evils, the court will have to find in his favour. He's going to have to start fighting dirty.

Oh, so he hasn't already. What he's been doing up until now, this has been him playing clean. It's just so horrible, the idea that he doesn't even really want the children. They're just a prize in this battle now. Yeah, and this is now going to get worse. It's a month later, April 1973. Elizabeth Street, SW1. Veronica bends down to kiss the children goodbye. She's aware of John's nanny watching from the hallway and she fights back the tears. Veronica hates these access visits...

She's forbidden from being alone with the children and they never seem happy to see her. That's heartbreaking. To top it all, she's sure the nanny is spying for John, telling him everything she says and does while she's here. Arriving back at her house, Veronica feels unnerved. The place looks different to how she left it. It's nothing major, just small things. Veronica stares at the coats hanging up. She could swear they were on different hooks before. She walks into the kitchen to find the milk left on the table.

Now she's sure something's not right. I put it in the fridge. I know I did. Veronica rushes to the phone. She dials her sister Christina's number. She needs to talk to someone who knows her well, who can reassure her she's OK. Though they've had their ups and downs, Christina's always given Veronica a fair hearing.

But it's her husband, Bill, who answers. Hello? Veronica slams the phone down. She doesn't dare speak to Bill. He's a friend of John's. And while he always pretends to be nice, she's sure he's just like the rest, in league with John, plotting against her. Veronica sits. She bites her nails, rocks back and forth on her chair. She hates being like this, so paranoid and anxious all the time.

But then she reminds herself she's only being paranoid if it's all in her imagination, and she's certain it's not.

If John has choreographed all of this or somebody's done it on his behalf to make her look unstable, this is just such sinister psychological mind games. It's just so dark. I often have that where I'm like, am I going mad? Have I put it somewhere else? If someone else is doing that deliberately to you, it would drive you mad. I mean, I'm avoiding saying it, but this episode is sponsored by Gaslighting.

There's a custody hearing scheduled for two months' time to decide who should have the children permanently. Veronica is well aware it would do John no harm at all if she were declared mentally unfit. Veronica has been in a dark place since the birth of her children. Now she often hears voices. Her head feels full of fog. She isn't a fool. She knows she has mental health issues, but she believes John is trying to exacerbate them by letting himself into the house and moving things around.

What better way to make her think she's cracking up? I mean, just to save us all a lot of bother, just assume that I'm shouting gaslighting at every turn. Almost on cue, the telephone rings. PHONE RINGS

Veronica answers. She hears the familiar voice of her husband. The nanny said you seemed a little unwell, that you can't even keep it together for the children. You're making me like this! Me? You know what you've done! You're being quite hysterical. Veronica knows John is baiting her over the phone. She usually tries not to rise to it.

But today she snaps, lashes out. No, this is all you. You're a liar with a drooping little penis and a bloody awful farting mother. Wow, to be fair, grade A insult. Yeah, all true as well. Is it real? Yeah. Oh, my God. But also, I have to say, very close to home for me. John's calmness only riles Veronica further. She rants until he hangs up on her, then winces as she replaces the receiver.

She knows John will use outbursts such as these against her in court. But her solicitor has also told her the courts favour the mother in all but the most extreme cases. She still has a fighting chance. Wiping away more tears, Veronica decides it's time to take control. 15 minutes later, she steps out of a taxi in the grounds of the Priory Psychiatric Hospital in Roehampton. So John tried to have her sectioned, or at least tried to have her admitted somewhere. Was it here? Yes.

This time, Veronica strides up to the receptionist, determined. Hello, I would like you to admit me. I need help. Veronica won't leave her future in John's hands anymore. She's going to play him at his own game. If she's unfit to be a mother, so be it. But she will let the doctors and the court decide, not her husband. Come on, Veronica, we're rooting for you. Come on.

It's two months later, the 20th of July 1973, the Royal Courts of Justice. John sits beside his QC, James Comyn, smiling. As a gambling man, he knows he should be wearing a poker face throughout this custody hearing. But the tape being played in court is so damning, he feels he has this game all wrapped up. John watches Veronica's face as she listens. She had no idea he was taping her all that time.

She sits with head bowed, biting her lip. She visibly recoils at her language. John knows it must be killing her to have a roomful of people hear her in full flow, swearing like a Navi. Of course, John had only turned on the tape in time to capture Veronica's words. He's not stupid enough to have included the comments that prompted them. John justifies it by telling himself he had no choice. He's known for years that Veronica isn't fit to raise the children. He has to make sure the court sees it too.

The end justifies the means. Soon it's the turn of Veronica's solicitor, John Elliot Brooks. Lots of names, that's good. That's a good sign. It's his turn to set out her case. John has no problem staying calm as his gambling lifestyle is laid bare. He'd expected that tactic. He'd also expected accusations that he didn't try to work on their marriage. But then there's a curveball.

Elliot Brooks asks Veronica's GP, Dr Flood, to take the stand and share the results from her psychiatric assessment at the Priory. John didn't even know she'd had one. No, you didn't, did you? The consultant psychiatrist at the clinic concluded Lady Lucan is not schizophrenic. However, the medication she's been taking for several months is for that condition and may have had an adverse effect on her mental health.

With just lithium, her condition can be fully controlled. Therefore, it has been concluded she is a fit parent, though it is recommended she has help in the form of a nanny. John feels sick to his stomach. He looks over at Veronica, who glances his way.

As their eyes lock, he sees a strength in her he hadn't counted on. Oh, my goodness, I just feel like there's a bit of hope. Why do I ever feel that in these stories? An hour later, he listens emotionless as Veronica is granted custody with the proviso that she must have a nanny in residence, paid for by John. Yes, I knew it! He's told he can have access to the children every other weekend.

If it doesn't clash with a major event at the club. Yeah, welcome to the modern world, mate. Bowling and Burger King every other weekend. Outside the court, John watches as Veronica takes the children from his nanny. He can't bring himself to say goodbye to them. As they disappear from view, he's struck with pure hatred for the woman who's done this to him. Veronica has been the source of John's problems for too long, and now she's taken the people he loves the most and humiliated him in court.

John vows she will never get the better of him again. This isn't just about the children anymore. He wants Veronica to pay for what she's done.

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Oh, no.

John needs to start getting results. Johnny's now living off loans from various banks, friends and relatives. But that hasn't stopped his mission, to get his children back. In November, he even flew to New York to ask his aunt Marcia if she'd lend him £100,000. What a lovely visit. I mean, I'm lucky if I got three quid on a birthday from my aunties. Taped in. Yes, sellotaped into the side of a card.

He thought a son that large might persuade Veronica to sell the children to him. I'm sorry, what? So gross. He's not coming across like someone who really loves his children. No, it's just, they're just pawns. This is just, it's a power play. But Marcia refused. And John has been forced to return to plan A, discrediting Veronica in order to reverse the court's decision.

He's had a few wins. He's even convinced Veronica's sister, Christina, to tell the court she's not coping. Are you for real? I mean, imagine your sister did that to you. Any of your siblings. My brother would turn on me in a second. Would he? Good to know. If you ever need someone. Noted. But it's not enough, which is why John is paying for a detective to follow Veronica around the clock. So far, it's been more cash down the drain.

But today, the PI tells John he has something new. We've had eyes on the latest nanny, Mrs Elizabeth Murphy. By all accounts, she's very good. The children seem to like her. They may well do, but she's hardly a suitable guardian. The PI pushes some photographs towards John. His eyes widen as he takes them in. They show Mrs Murphy entering an unmarked door, then at a bar with a bottle of whiskey in front of her.

Lucan's two youngest sons are also in shot, sitting on the floor nearby. What is this, please? An Irish drinking den. We've had a word with the owner. It seems Mrs Murphy is a regular customer. She has no qualms about bringing the children with her. The woman is an alcoholic. John wraps the desk with his knuckles, elated. He feels he's just won a 50 grand pot at the Clermont. This is wonderful. Thank you. That's what you pay us for. Talking of which...

The investigator hands John his bill for work so far, which John agrees to settle up immediately. He inwardly balks at the figure on the invoice. The cost is £400 a week. Jeez. This should suffice. I won't require your services any more. Later, as dusk falls, John parks his car opposite the family home on Lower Belgrave Street. John watches Veronica return with the children. Knowing Veronica's every move hasn't just become a habit, it's turned into a compulsion, like the gambling.

If he can't afford professionals, he'll have to do the detective work himself. Nothing entirely creepy about that at all. August 1974, Lower Belgrave Street. Sandra Rivette nervously smooths her skirt. Then she takes out a make-up compact and checks her face, dabbing some powder on her nose and cheeks. The 29-year-old hopes she isn't over-made-up. She's supposed to look like a nanny, not a circus performer. She runs her fingers through her dark bouffant.

and knocks on the door. A small, fragile-looking lady opens it. "I'm Sandra. The agency sent me." Sandra can't help but feel overawed as she's ushered inside. This house, with its grand chandeliers and plush furnishings, is a far cry from her own tiny flat. Raised in Croydon, South London, by working-class parents, Sandra's never been anywhere like it. She's surprised by her potential employer, too. Sandra's never met a real-life lady.

She expected someone more regal, but Lady Lucan seems vulnerable and a little afraid. When Sandra talks about her previous jobs as a hairdresser, then a secretary, she seems genuinely interested. I went to art school before I met my husband. It was wonderful. Did you carry on drawing or painting? No. As the wife of an earl, it wasn't the damn thing. A shadow crosses Lady Lucan's face, and Sandra wonders if she should change the subject. But before she can, Lady Lucan goes on.

There are many decisions I might have made differently, but one can't dwell. Tell me, do you have anyone special? Sandra hadn't intended to say much about her personal life, fearing it might put the Lukens off hiring her. She pauses. I split from my husband Roger a year ago. Now it's just me and my cat Tara. Oh, she sounds really sweet. I mean, my guard is up for anybody that comes near Veronica, but she sounds quite nice. Veronica smiles at Sandra for the first time.

We have a cat too. Such beautiful creatures. Tell me, was your marriage break-up very painful? Wow, that went from small talk to big talk quite quick, but that's fine. They're going to be bosom pals. Soon, Sandra forgets herself and chats away as she would with an old friend. Veronica, as she insists on being called, later tells her all about her own bitter split, how her husband is obsessed with trying to get custody of their children. She's very unguarded. Especially for someone who's been surveilled. Exactly. Exactly.

She can bring the cat. I don't want to worry you, Lady Lucan, but somebody appears to be watching you. Veronica nods, suddenly looking fragile and nervous again.

That's my husband. He sits there every night, drinking and watching the house. He just can't accept that I still have the children. I told you he was unhinged. Sandra knows how it feels to have a child taken away. She herself got pregnant in her teens, and Sandra's parents decided to raise the baby as their own. Sandra still gets to see her son, but that pain of separation has never gone away. She can't imagine what it must be like, living with the fear your kids might be taken away from you day in, day out.

The fact that Veronica's husband is also trying to intimidate her makes Sandra's blood boil. Sandra stares at Lord Lucan in the car. He doesn't even try to avert his gaze. She can't believe his brass neck. She turns back to Veronica, determined. Let's see him try all that when I move in. There's safety in numbers, right? Oh my god, I love Sandra. Sandra gives Veronica a reassuring smile. She refuses to let Lord Lucan unnerve her the way he clearly does his wife.

She intends to support Veronica any way she can. Oh, girl power. It's October 1974, the Claremont Club. John sits at the backgammon table, swaying slightly. His eyes are red from lack of sleep, his face puffy and bloated. He looks a shadow of his former self. Just really loving that bachelor life. Yeah, making himself look like a responsible alternative parent. Your Honour, I've been playing backgammon all day. What more does a child want?

Drinking at the tables is illegal, so John knocks back several gins before starting his game. He mumbles to his fellow players about his hopeless situation. "Veronica has a new nanny. Lovely girl too. Where does that leave me, eh? Where are my rights?" The other men eye each other. John's vision starts to blur. He slumps on the table, accidentally sweeping the pieces from the board, drawing gasps from the other players.

The next thing he knows, he's being yanked up from his chair by John Aspinall. Oh God, not this guy, the proverbial devil on his shoulder. You're in no fit state to play tonight, Lucky. A couple of hours and several cups of coffee later, John is feeling more sober and utterly mortified. I'm so sorry, old boy. Unforgivable behaviour. Indeed, anyone else would have been thrown out. Doesn't do to play in that sort of state. John nods. He would never have lost control like that a year ago.

but the pressure has become too great. His debts are now so big, he's had to borrow money from his mother to settle his bills. He's even planning to auction the family silver at Christie's.

John is about to apologise again, but Aspinall doesn't give him a chance. Frankly, I think I speak for all of us when I say you're becoming a terrible bore, Lucky. John is caught off guard. He wasn't expecting the conversation to take this turn. Now, hang on, old chap. No, somebody has to say it. All you talk about these days is that blasted woman you married and the children. We're all on your side, but this is intolerable. John wants to fight back, but he suddenly feels defeated, like he's had the stuffing knocked out of him.

He hangs his head like a scolded child. You're right. But what can I do? Aspinall bangs his fist on the table, startling him. You must stop feeling sorry for yourself. Take control. And spend some more money in the club. Aspinall sits down opposite him, looks him dead in the eye. Do you know why I love animals, John? Because the rules governing their world are simple but effective.

What an absolute idiot. It's weird, though. My mum used to say exactly the same thing. Even if that's true, the courts don't care. They will always favour the mother. Aspinall laughs that off. Who cares about the courts? What do they know?

I mean, they're the ones making the decision. Although, actually, I mean, that's absurd, but it's true, isn't it? These men have so much privilege. Because of their social standing, it doesn't actually have to be the bottom line, does it? The courts don't actually have to have the decision. Yeah, and also, for most of us, court would be petrifying. You would never see yourself as above the courts. But these guys do.

Warming to his theme, Aspinall stands again, paces authoritatively. Veronica is unstable and weak. You are strong. You are superior to her in every way, from your sex to your class. You cannot let her defeat you. Get her out of your life any way you can before she drains your spirit as well as your finances. Taking in Aspinall's words, John feels a renewed sense of determination and vigour.

he must find a way to rid himself of Veronica, whatever it takes. The irony being, he's with the parasite. Like, it's not Veronica that's draining him dry, it's Aspinall. This guy who always takes my money makes so much sense at the end of the night. And the coffee's free. It's a week later, Elizabeth Street, SW1.

John invites his friend, Greville Howard, into his drawing room. Greville Howard's the one that Veronica really liked. Oh, yes. I really wanted them to get together. He pours him a whiskey. Then he tops up his own with a large measure. John's not looking forward to this conversation. It's humiliating to have to air one's financial affairs in public. But he's run out of options. Greville's background is in banking.

And John desperately needs sound advice. It's no secret I have debt scribble, but lately they've become unmanageable. How bad is it? John launches into what he owes. Over £11,000 to the Ladbroke Club, £5,091 to Lloyds, £5,400 to NatWest,

A collection of private loans amounting to £13,000. The list goes on and on. The debt's total, over £65,000. Jeez, what is that in today's money? It's about 700 grand. I knew it was going to be bad, but I didn't think it was that bad. Greville looks at him gravely. John already knows what he's going to say. I'm sorry, Lucky, the only thing I can suggest is that you declare yourself bankrupt.

John realises it's the most sensible course of action, but he can't let it happen. He's a lord for crying out loud. The shame bankruptcy would bring is unthinkable. He needs another way.

Why do I feel like the other way is going to be ambling? Well, also, listen again to the Canoe Con, but when people are forced to choose between bankruptcy and something else, the something else is always worse than the bankruptcy. But they always choose it. They do indeed, and that's what keeps this show going. Long may it continue. A combustion engine of wrong decisions.

If I could only sell the Lower Belgrave street house, that would give me enough capital to at least buy some time. But you can't kick Veronica and your children out of their home. If she didn't have custody, I would have done it by now. She's bleeding me dry. Now in full red mist mode, John almost forgets Greville's there. Maybe I should just kill her and dump her body in the Solent. Oh my God. Greville stares at John stunned.

He laughs! As you say, the very idea. I'll think about bankruptcy. Thank you for your advice. You're now an accessory to murder.

Greville seems reassured, but once he's gone, John doesn't think about bankruptcy at all. Liar. Instead, he thinks about the idea that has swirled around his head since his pep talk with Aspinall last week. Maybe, just maybe, it would solve everything. Is it mediation? Guess again.

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the Portland Bridge Club, Central London. Michael Stoop is thrilled to see his friend Lucky Lucan with a smile on his face. Today, as they play bridge, Lucky is laughing and joking, and he's not mentioned his personal problems once. One thing hasn't changed though. As is the norm these days, John has a losing hand. Michael ponders how he hasn't lived up to his Lucky nickname for quite some time.

To Michael's surprise though, John doesn't seem too concerned. "Let's have a drink. Catch up." As they sit down in the bar area, John's expression changes. He suddenly looks more earnest. "I wonder if I might ask you a favour?" Michael fidgets, trying to hide his discomfort. He should have realised Lucky's good mood was a cover. Everyone knows his debts are mounting and if his friend asks for a loan, Michael fears he'll have no choice but to refuse.

He simply can't guarantee John is good for it. No, I think he can guarantee he's bad for it. Absolutely, yeah. Rather than alone, just say, can you just give me some money? I need to put my Mercedes in the shop. Could I possibly borrow a car from you while I'm without it? Relieved, Michael breaks into a smile. Of course, my Merc is at your disposal.

"Oh, nothing as grand as that. Your Ford would do fine." Michael is surprised. His Ford Corsair is a bit of a dirty old banger. And John is such a man of style. But it's not Michael's place to question his friend. He reaches into his pocket and takes out the keys for the Corsair. He hands them to John. "Thank you. I won't need it for a couple of weeks though." "Collect it whenever you want, old boy." "You're a true friend, Michael." Lucky looks very tired.

His moods seem to change with the wind these days. Michael can barely keep up. He's just glad he could help in some small way. He and his pals from the Claremont consider themselves a loyal lot. He's sure that between them, they can see Lucky Lucan through this particular rough patch. It's a week later, 7th November 1974, Belgravia.

John races to answer the ringing telephone. It's Andrena, the girl he's been seeing. Oh, my God. Andrena, run a mile. And then, just to be safe, run another mile. John's problems haven't gone away, but at least now he has a plan. To anyone on the outside looking in, his life is ticking along as normal. Friends, dinners, card games. A creature of habit, John has always had a routine. Today is no different. He makes loose arrangements to see Andrena that night.

I'll call you later to confirm. Super. I'll see you soon. Andrina ticked off his list. John heads to his first appointment. Coffee with Greville Howard. How are things, Lucky? Did you think any more about what we discussed, the bankruptcy? Yes, but I really don't think it'll come to that, Greville. Before Greville can probe, John changes the subject. What are your plans for tonight? I thought we might have dinner.

Surely in Greville's head he's thinking, we talked about bankruptcy and we talked about another option and he said, I don't think it's going to come to bankruptcy. I'd have red flags everywhere. Yeah, but Greville loves dinner. Greville tells John he's going to the theatre with three friends. John's momentarily thrown. He wasn't expecting Greville to be busy and he wanted a well-established plan for the whole evening. He quickly regroups. Afterwards then, you could bring your friends along, say 11pm at the Claremont.

Sounds good. We'll be famished by then. Shall I book? No, leave it to me. John goes home, calls the club and books a table. That's 11pm for four people. It's to go on my account. Just a classic 11pm dinner. Yeah, who's having dinner at 11? I mean... Somebody who needs an alibi. That evening, parked up outside the house in Lower Belgrave Street, John watches Veronica return home with the children. She used to look over nervously, almost cower under his gaze.

Now she barely seems to notice he's there. John feels the familiar anger rise up inside him. Tonight, that anger is mixed with a surge of adrenaline, the kind he gets during a big game. John starts the car and drives to the Claremont. It's 8:45 p.m. when he pulls up outside. John winds down the window and calls over to the regular doorman, Billy Edgson. "Evening, Billy. Anyone in?" "The usual crowd, Lord Lucan." John nods, then waves goodbye before driving away.

He's done what he came here to do, be seen at the club by somebody who knows him. Now it's time to put his plan into action. This makes me so nervous. John drives into the night. He has no intention of keeping his later dinner date. He has more important business to attend to. The 7th of November, 1974, 8.50pm, Lower Belgrave Street.

Veronica sits on the bed, watching the $6 million man on TV. Sandra sits beside her. George and Camilla lay by their feet. Veronica hasn't felt this calm for a long time. Even her husband's regular habit of spying on the house barely troubles her these days. She feels so much more settled since Sandra started working here. In fact, she was secretly glad when Sandra cancelled her night off earlier. She likes having her around. Frances runs in, joining the party.

I thought you were watching Top of the Pops in the nursery. It's finished. Can I stay in here with you? You can, but these two need to go to bed. Taking her cue, Sandra gets up, ushering the children off the bed. I'll tuck them in, then I'll make us some tea. This does sound like domestic bliss. Really warm and cosy and safe. So sweet and happy and... Oh, God.

Oh, God. Don't go downstairs, Sandra. Veronica smiles, grateful. Frances snuggles up next to her as the nine o'clock news begins. Veronica can hardly bear to watch. It's always so depressing these days. I mean, it always is, but what was the order of the day? Oh, man, in the 70s, people could only work three days a week. IRA bombings, hung parliaments, strikes. It was deeply, deeply grim. And Top of the Pops is finished, so it's your only option.

Oh, God. She slowly starts to walk towards the stairs that lead there.

Sandra? Is that you? If I was watching this on TV, I'd be hiding behind a pillow. I can't cope. There's another noise. Now a chill runs down Veronica's spine. If it was Sandra, surely she would have answered by now. With every step she takes towards the basement... No, not the basement! ...the sense of foreboding grows stronger.

But something makes Veronica keep going. What? The cloakroom light is on, and as she moves closer, Veronica sees a body lying on the floor, surrounded by blood. She lets out a gasp. Sandra! A figure rushes towards her. She feels searing pain as something heavy comes down on her head, hitting her skull over and over.

Gripped by a mixture of terror and agony, Veronica starts to scream. Shut up! Veronica opens her eyes to see a man looming over her, blood all over his clothes, his face contorted with rage. Oh, my actual God.

This is the second episode in our series, Lord Lucan. If you like our show, please give us a five-star rating and a review. And be sure to tell your friends. You can listen to new episodes one week early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app.

Subscribe on Apple Podcasts, Amazon Music, the Wondery app or wherever you're listening right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app to listen for free. In the episode notes, you'll find some links and offers from our sponsors. Please support them. By supporting them, you help us offer you this show for free. Another way to support us is to answer a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. A quick note about our dialogue. In most cases, we can't know exactly what was said, but all our dramatizations are based on historical research.

If you'd like to know more about this story, books include A Different Class of Murder by Laura Thompson, A Moment in Time by Veronica Lucan and The Gamblers by John Pearson. I'm Matt Ford. And I'm Alice Levine. Wendy Grandeter wrote this episode. Additional writing by Alice Levine and Matt Ford. Our sound design is by Rich Evans. Script editing by James Magniac.

Our associate producer is Francesca Quadrio Corzio. Our senior producer is Joe Sykes. Our executive producers are Jenny Beckman, Stephanie Jens, and Marshall Louis for Wondery. Across America, BP supports more than 300,000 jobs to keep our energy flowing. Jobs like expanding our biodiesel capacity in Washington state and reducing operational emissions in the Gulf of Mexico.

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