There was nothing he could do but nod abjectly.
'But why did you do all you did? Why?'
'If Miranda had ever found out that I'd left Robin alone with you ... If she'd found out that you were dead drunk and had let him go near the pond on his own . . .'He shook his head, unable to say out loud what would have happened.
Joyce Oliver looked at her husband with an expression of infinite pain and infinite respect. She realized the extent of his love for her. To put himself through all the trauma of police questioning, the inevitable suspicions that he might be a paedophile . . . all that for the woman who had allowed the child he adored to die.
'The only good thing to come out of any of it,' Joyce said, 'was that, although I didn't know the details of what had really happened, the shock of Robin's disappearance did stop me drinking. Maybe I felt guilty for the fact that the last time I'd seen him, I'd been almost comatose from the gin, I don't know.' A deep sigh trembled through her body. 'All of this is going to take a long time to come to terms with.'
They were aware of a young man in a crumpled beige suit hovering on the edge of their charmed circle in front of the beach hut. Lionel Oliver looked up and recognized him. 'Ah, Inspector Fyfield. The car's here, is it?'
'Yes, Mr Oliver. The Superintendant would like to talk to you back at the station.'
'Of course.'
'I think he ought to talk to me too,' said Joyce.
'I'm sure that'd be fine. If you wish to accompany your husband, Mrs Oliver . . .'
'Yes, I do. Lionel, if you'll just lock up Mistral. . .'
'Of course, love.'
'Carole and Jude,' Joyce went on, 'if you don't mind just walking up to the car with me, I'd like to get your contact numbers. I think there are a few things we're going to need to talk about.'
The two women reckoned that was probably an understatement. Joyce Oliver picked up her beach bag and the three of them followed Inspector Fyfield up the beach.
On the edge of the prom Joyce stopped by a bench, which faced away from the sea, and sat down. 'If I could just get those numbers from you . . .'
The simple process seemed to take a long time.
Joyce Oliver shuffled through the contents of her bag in search of pen and paper, but her hands were shaking so much Jude had to help her. In spite of her earlier apparent calmness, she was clearly in a state of shock.
But eventually one of her wordsearch books was found. Carole and Jude wrote down their contact numbers on the back of it. Then they followed the route taken by Inspector Fyfield, who was by now leaning against his car. Though he had his back to them, the women could detect the impatience in his body language.
It was an unmarked police car with a driver in civilian clothes, not a patrol car. After the shock of being a scene of crime, Smalting was not about to suffer any further affronts to its middle-class respectability.
Or was it? Jude, as ever hypersensitive to the mood of her environment, experienced a feeling almost of dread. She tapped Carole on the sleeve. Both looked out to sea. Lionel Oliver had put his suit jacket on, as if dressed for work. The water was already up to his chest as he continued to march steadily forward away from Smalting Beach. Carole and Jude knew that his suit pockets would be full of shingle.
Jude looked at Joyce Oliver, but the old woman's powdered face was unreadable. Had she deliberately created the delay in taking their phone numbers so that her husband would have the opportunity to make his escape before anyone could stop him? Had some secret message passed between the couple as they parted for the last time? Those were questions that Jude felt sure would never be answered.
Inspector Fyfield contacted the coastguard. A rescue helicopter was immediately mobilized. But of course it arrived too late.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The following day, as arranged, Carole Seddon's daughter-in-law and granddaughter arrived at High Tor just before lunch. Lily had slept in the car and was very lively. She had become much more mobile since Carole had last seen her and climbed the stairs unaided to inspect her bedroom, of which she approved. She was very excited by the folding cot that her grandmother had bought and by the two new cuddlies that had been put in it.
Lily's speech had also developed. She could now vocalize a very convincing 'Mummy', 'Biscuit' and 'No'. Gaby had clearly been tutoring her to say 'Granny', but she had only got as far as 'Gaga'. Which, Carole reckoned, would soon not be a million miles from the truth.
Her concentration over the previous week on the investigations into Mark Dennis's disappearance and Robin Cutter's death had had the beneficial effect of stopping her from worrying about Gaby's visit, and the two women were very relaxed over their Sunday lunch. Lily also ate well and when they had all finished Carole announced that they were going to a nearby village called Smalting, where she 'had a beach hut'.
Lily of course had no idea what a beach hut was, but as soon as she saw Quiet Harbour she caught on very quickly. She liked the idea of their having their own little house to live in, and she loved her own little pink director's chair. And she was even more pleased with the new red and yellow bathing costume that Gaby put her into. Even at that age, Lily had a real girlie fascination with clothes.
But of course she had no idea what a significant event she was witnessing when her grandmother stripped off her outer garments to reveal a sedate Marks & Spencer one-piece bathing costume in a flattering, deep red colour. Nor was the little girl aware how privileged she was to witness Carole Seddon removing her shoes and socks and letting the sand get between her toes.
Anyway, Lily was far too preoccupied to notice what anyone else was doing. She had become instantly busy with the plastic buckets, spade and shapes that her doting grandmother had bought for her. In no time she had worked out what the sea and the sand were for, and was trekking back and forth from the shoreline spilling buckets of water and preparing elaborate tea parties with sand pies for the two dolls she had brought with her.
Carole Seddon took in the scene and couldn't have been happier. It was all so archetypally English — except of course for the fine weather.
And as she watched Lily busily playing, it seemed incongruous that that same beach had so recently been a witness to such tragedy.
There were a few changes in the world of Smalting that summer. Following complaints about misuse of his authority and an internal enquiry, Kelvin Southwest was relieved of his job at Fether District Council and someone else took over the administration of the beach huts. No complaints were made about his paedophile tendencies, but then very few people knew about those. And perhaps his use of child pornography did keep him from committing worse crimes.
But he had to find another source of such material. The same Fether District Council internal investigation removed Curt Holderness from his sinecure as security officer. And following an enquiry and a clean-up, Curt's pornography-copying friend in the local police also lost his job.
Kelvin Southwest (with his mother) and Curt Holderness both moved from the area.
So did Mark Dennis and Philly Rose. Their country idyll no longer seemed as attractive to either of them. Mark returned to work in the City, though at a much less high-powered level. The breakdown had burnt out most of his early promise.
Philly found more work as a graphic designer back in London. But she had genuinely loved Seashell Cottage and had been unhappy about moving.
Then, perhaps inevitably, her relationship with Mark broke up. It was a long time before either of them found anyone else. Mark certainly made no attempt to reignite his marriage, but Nuala would never completely let go of him. While she exploited other men, she would still come back to her undivorced husband from time to time, usually demanding more money.