Peter Hatfield and Terry Brice unexpectedly came to Gemma's defence. "I think it's Gemma who has the right idea," said Terry. "We could have lovely walks..."
"Lovely walks," echoed Peter plaintively.
"...if only we just settled down to enjoy the countryside."
Jeffrey stretched and yawned. "Oh, this Saturday should be mild enough. There's a pretty walk listed in one of the books. Most of it goes through farmland and the book says that it's well signposted."
"What year was the book published?" demanded Alice suspiciously.
"Nineteen thirties. But they update these publications, for God's sake, or it wouldn't still be on sale. It's quite a long walk. Do we take the cars out to the beginning of it?"
But the rest decided they were proper ramblers and should walk the whole distance. They agreed to meet outside the Grapes at nine in the morning on Saturday.
"We'd better tell the Laceys," suggested Deborah.
"Where do they live?" asked Peter Hatfield.
"Got a flat in Sheep Street," said Terry. "Here" - he fished out a notebook - "I wrote it down with their phone number. That James Lacey was ever so nice to me. I'll phone him."
"Oh, suit yourself," said Peter sulkily.
It was Agatha who took the phone call later that day. She wrote down the meeting-place and the time and then went happily back to preparing a special dinner for James.
To her initial disappointment, the flat had proved to be much larger than she had anticipated, having three bedrooms. She had fantasized about there being only one bedroom. James would sleep on a cot-bed on the floor. "God, this thing's uncomfortable," he would moan. "I wish I had that nice double bed to sleep on." And Agatha would say huskily, "Why not join me?" And he would, and then, and then...
But all that had happened was that he took one bedroom, she had another, and there was the third bedroom in between. Also, for the first few days, she had seen little of James, for he kept remembering things he should have brought and running back to Carsely to get them. But tonight they would have dinner together.
Agatha had bought ready-made food from Marks & Spencer, removing it from the foil dishes and putting the contents into pretty oven dishes to make it look as if she had cooked everything herself. She had candles on the table. Candlelight might be corny, but it hid the signs of ageing. How maddening that middle-aged men did not need to bother about wrinkles, or did not seem to. She had good breasts and had invested in a silk blouse with a plunging neckline and a black silk skirt which was very flattering to her still somewhat thickened figure.
As she busied herself polishing the wineglasses until they shone, she realized with a guilty little jolt that so far she had not really been doing her job properly, and that was finding out all she could about the walkers. James had gone to the local library to look through the national press files for articles on Greenham Common and see if Jessica's name had been mentioned. She, Agatha, should have been with Deborah or some of the other walkers instead of polishing wineglasses and losing herself in fantasy. Well, just this one evening. Tomorrow she would get down to work.
James was getting weary of searching the files. He had found a mention of Jessica's being arrested after cutting the wire of the perimeter fence at Greenham Common, but among the names of the other women he could not find one of any of the other walkers. He had hoped that if someone had been part of Jessica's past, there might be something there to tie her in with the murder. He sighed. It was all very far-fetched.
"We'll soon be closing up," said a voice at his elbow.
He looked up and saw a pretty young librarian standing there. She had long straight blonde hair and a doll-like face. She was wearing a very short, very tight skirt and high heels. Must cause chaos when she goes up on the ladders, he thought.
"I'll leave it," said James. "I could do with a drink."
"So could I," said the librarian.
The invitation came automatically. "Like to join me?" asked James.
She held out a hand. "My name's Mary Sprott."
"James Lacey. Where would you like to go?"
"There's a pub next door. I'll get my coat."
To do James justice, had Agatha said anything about a special dinner and that she expected him home at a certain time, he would have been there. But the last exchange with Agatha had been of the 'See you this evening' variety. So, wondering in an amused way whether he looked like a dirty old man, he escorted Mary Sprott to the pub.
"I haven't seen you around Dembley before," she said. "Are you new to the town?"
"Recently arrived."
"In business?"
"No, I'm retired."
She batted her eyelashes at him. "You look ever so young to be a retired gentleman."
"Why, thank you," said James. "What would you like to drink?"
"Rum and Coke, please."
"Right, back in a moment."
As James stood at the bar waiting for his order of drinks, he saw the walkers seated at a round table in the far corner. He waved to them. Peter and Terry raised limp hands. The rest just stared. Oh, dear, thought James. We're not going to get very far with that lot if they've taken a dislike to us. He wondered whether to buy them all a drink to ingratiate himself, but decided against it. He was beginning to get a feeling that he and Agatha were floundering about in an investigation which the police could do so much better with all their records and files. If Jessica had known any of them before her arrival in Dembley, then the police would soon trace it.
As he returned to Mary carrying the drinks, he saw looks of cynical amusement on the faces of the walkers and realized with a jolt that he was supposed to be a married man.
"Thanks ever so," said Mary. She leaned towards him and whispered, "You see that bunch over at that table?"
"Yes."
"That's them ramblers. It was in the papers. One of their lot was killed."
"Do you know any of them?" asked James.
"I know some of them by sight. They use the library. Weird lot. I doubt if one of them ever takes a bath."
"So what about you?" asked James. "It must be a lovely job, working in a library, all those books."
She shrugged. "It's a job. Gets a bit boring."
"I suppose it does," said James, thinking she must be only in her early twenties. "Who are your favourite authors?"
"I don't read much. I prefer the telly."
James tried to hide his shock. "But my dear girl, what's the point of becoming a librarian if you have no interest in books?"
"Mum said it was a good job," said Mary. "It's like this: I've got ever such a good memory, so I did well at school. Mum said being a librarian was nicer than working in a shop. With a memory like mine, I'm good at it. I can remember where everything is."
"But don't some of the people who come in ask your advice on what books to read?"
"I turn them over to old Miss Briggs. She reads everything, but she can't remember where the books are, so we make a good team."
"So what would you like to do?" asked James, becoming bored.
"I'd like to be an air hostess. See a bit of the world."
"Another drink?" asked James.
"Yes, please. I'm ever so hungry."
For the first time, James thought uneasily of Agatha. "Do they do food here?"
"They do a good steak-and-kidney pie."
"All right. I'll make a phone call first." James went and dialled the flat but there was no reply. Agatha was probably out investigating. He returned to the table. He might as well have something to eat. Then he might get rid of her and go and join the walkers. That's what Agatha would do.
"I still say there's something odd about the Laceys," said Alice. "That's the girl from the library he's with, and I'll tell you something else. He doesn't look married. Do you think they could be police infiltrating our group in order to spy on us?"