‘Oh, hi, Pete,’ came the reply, as the new arrival scanned the room, starting with the sea-gazers by the window and ending with the groups at the bar. Jude waited to be introduced.
But at that moment, Glen Porter clapped his hand on the back pocket of his trousers, said, ‘Oh damn, I’ve left my phone in the car’, and departed the bar.
Almost exactly in the way that Lauren Givens had behaved on Fethering Beach. A more paranoid person than Jude might have begun to take it personally. What was it that made people invent elaborate excuses to avoid meeting her? Well, actually not that elaborate. Claiming to have forgotten one’s mobile must be about the most obvious excuse there is these days. Still, not much of a booster for her self-esteem.
She sat with Pete, looking out of the window. Low tide and the sea was almost out of sight. Beyond the stout seawalls that contained the outflow of the River Fether, acres of sand and another line of dark shingle were exposed.
‘Oh, while I think …’ said Jude, handing across a spare key.
‘Thanks.’ Pete pocketed it. Had he been a man of burglarious tendencies, the decorator could have stripped the contents of almost every house in Fethering. Over the years, he’d had so many keys and plenty of time to get them copied. But the thought would not have entered his head. (And, anyway, a light-fingered workman would never be employed again in a community like Fethering.)
‘Do just come and go as you please,’ Jude went on. ‘You said you reckoned you’d be finished within the week …?’
‘Shouldn’t even take that long.’ Pete grinned. ‘Depending, of course, on how many “Oh-while-you’re-heres” we get.’
‘I’ll try to keep them to a minimum.’
‘Everyone says that.’
‘We’ll see. Anyway, you can spread yourself, no need to tidy up at the end of the day. I won’t be using the room. No clients booked in for the whole week. A few I may visit in their homes. But I’ll be safe to take bookings again for Monday week, will I?’
‘Sure.’
‘Won’t still be a smell of paint? Some clients might find that off-putting.’
‘It’ll have the weekend to clear. So long as you keep the room well ventilated, should be all right.’
‘Fine. I’ll see the windows are open.’
Pete looked at her with his toothy grin. ‘Anything else you want me to do while I’m there?’
‘What do you mean? Decorating?’
‘No. Other stuff. Over the years I’ve been asked to take on a lot of … extra responsibilities. Before so many people had answering machines and then mobile phones, I was sometimes like a blooming social secretary when I was in their houses. Unpaid babysitter, and all, at times. “I’m just nipping out to the shops. He’ll be asleep for at least an hour, so I’ll easily be back before he wakes.” And then, of course, her closing the front door is the little one’s cue to wake up bawling with a dirty nappy.’
‘That’s one problem you won’t have at Woodside Cottage,’ said Jude.
‘No, but I’m also up for paying the window-cleaner, letting in the man to mend the Aga, cat-sitting, dog-walking, watering plants … you name it, I’ve done it. These days, mind you, it’s mostly taking in deliveries from Amazon.’
‘You won’t have that problem either. I don’t believe in Amazon.’
‘Good for you. All I’m saying, Jude, is: anything like that you need doing, fine by me.’
‘Thank you. I’ll let you know if anything’s likely to come up.’
‘No probs.’
There was a silence. Jude looked out at the sea. Pete caught the eye of someone sitting on his own at the far end of the window and nodded acknowledgement. Jude looked across and recognized the heavily built grey-bearded man she’d seen hurrying out of Footscrow House the day they’d found the handbag. In profile, she could see that his lower jaw jutted out more than the upper, so that his bite did not align. Maybe that was why he had grown the beard.
She hoped Pete would go across and introduce her, but the decorator had other priorities.
‘It seems,’ he said, ‘that all the old gossip about Anita Garner’s starting up again.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard a bit,’ agreed Jude, sounding as casual as she could. She didn’t want to acknowledge that she and Carole might have been partly responsible for that ‘starting up’. ‘You found out anything more?’
The decorator looked momentarily shifty, then leaned close and whispered to her, ‘I found out exactly when that handbag was left there, you know, when that decorating job was done.’
‘Really?’
‘Footscrow House was still a care home then, but the owner had decided things weren’t working out. It was his first go at running one. And his last. He was always trying to expand the business into different areas, and reckoned there was easy money to be made in care homes. But he bit off more than he could chew there – and no mistake.’ The decorator chuckled softly, still unwilling to be overheard.
‘Who are we talking about, Pete?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Now in a whisper, ‘Harry Lasalle. Harry Lasalle and his wife Veronica ran Fiasco House when it was a care home.’ He nodded towards the grey-bearded man. ‘That’s him over there.’
This time, again catching the older man’s eye, Pete stood up and said, to Jude’s great satisfaction, ‘Come and meet him.’
Introductions completed, Pete asked, ‘How’re you doing?’
‘Can’t complain.’ Harry Lasalle laughed bitterly. ‘Not that that stops me from complaining all the bloody time.’
Pete pointed to the empty tumbler on the shelf. ‘Get you another? What are you on?’
‘Whisky. It’s that bad.’
‘Any particular one?’
‘Teacher’s’d be great.’
‘Coming up. And you’ll have another of them Cab Sauves, Jude?’
‘It really should be my turn.’
‘Nonsense. Only members allowed to buy drinks in Fethering Yacht Club.’
Whether that was true or not, Jude accepted gracefully. She turned to Harry Lasalle, whose face had a mournful, even haunted, look. ‘Actually, I saw you earlier in the week.’
‘Oh?’ He didn’t sound that interested.
‘You were coming out of Footscrow House.’
‘Could have been.’
‘I was there to meet up with Pete.’
‘Right.’ He didn’t give the impression of finding that any more interesting.
‘And did you hear – we found Anita Garner’s handbag in there.’
He was clearly shaken, but his only response was, ‘That’s a name I haven’t heard for a while.’ And he moved quickly on. ‘Yes, we’re doing some work down at Footscrow. Well, I say “we”, like I was still involved. In fact, my son’s in charge now. It’s his project, not Lasalle Build and Design.’
There was a lot of bitterness in his voice. ‘Still, you shouldn’t expect to get gratitude from your kids these days. Oh no. You look after them, you subsidize them, you make excuses for them, you cover up for them – and do you get a word of thanks? Do you hell? I think there comes a time when parents should call in the debts their kids have built up. Do you have children?’
‘No.’
‘Then you’re bloody lucky. You won’t get one of your kids acing you out of a juicy work contract. Not, of course, that I can do much actual work these days, but my bloody son could have brought me in on a consultancy basis. It’s not like I don’t know the business inside out.’
‘You say you can’t do much actual work …?’
‘Back problems.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Maybe she could genuinely help him, using her healing skills. But the thought wasn’t purely altruistic. She also saw the opportunity to find out more about his dealings with the missing woman. ‘If you want someone to check out your back, I’m actually a qualified—’