‘No,’ said Jude patiently. ‘It’s the one where you treat people with a substance which has been diluted many times.’
‘Why?’
‘Because its practitioners believe that it will effect a cure.’
‘So, let me get this right, Jude. You take a medicine and you dilute it many times, in the hope that the dilution will make it more effective …?’
‘More or less, yes.’
‘… whereas logic and common sense would dictate that, the more a medicine is diluted, the less effective it will become.’
‘You might think so, yes.’
‘I do think so. And do you believe that Homeopathy works, Jude?’
‘In fact, I don’t. I think it’s a pseudoscience which is completely ineffective.’
‘Oh, that’s very comforting.’
‘What’s very comforting?’
‘The fact that there are certain areas of mumbo-jumbo you don’t believe in.’
‘Thank you, Carole,’ said Jude, inured to such gibes. ‘Anyway, Brandie has decided she wants to be a Homeopath.’
‘Does she? Well, I suppose there’s no law against it. But what does this mean, in terms of Brandie’s personal development?’ She loaded the last two words with mock-seriousness.
‘It means that Brandie no longer wants to be a healer.’
‘Oh? So that rather lets you off the hook.’
‘Yes.’ Jude was not too upset by Brandie’s news. The more time she spent with the girl, the less she had trusted her tenacity. Yes, Brandie had been madly keen on healing for a while. But Jude had expected that soon to be replaced by another enthusiasm for another fad. Which is exactly what had happened.
‘So, is she going Homeopathize in Fedborough?’
‘No. Brandie’s moving.’
‘Oh.’
‘It seems that her new relish for Homeopathy has been matched by a new man on the course who shares her enthusiasm for the therapy. In Wales.’
‘Ah. I always thought she was a very shallow person.’
‘I think … it hurts me to say this, Carole, but I think you’re right,’ said Jude, fully aware of the enormous satisfaction her neighbour would get from her words.
Carole smiled serenely. ‘So where will this … change of circumstances … leave Ted?’
‘In the lurch, I’m afraid,’ said Jude. ‘Which may in fact be a rather better place for him.’
‘Yes, yes. I think you could be right,’ said Carole with something like smugness. Of course, there was no longer anything between her and Ted Crisp, but there was no denying that she had seen off the odious … and very shallow … Brandie Neville.
There was a part of Jude’s conversation with Ted in the Crown and Anchor which she hadn’t reported to her neighbour. The landlord was more relaxed talking about certain subjects to Jude than he would have been to Carole. After he had maundered on for a while about how bereft he felt without Brandie, Jude was sufficiently emboldened to say, ‘And dare I ask what the sex was like? Did that work?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Well, thing is, Brandie was keen on doing this tantric sex.’
‘Ah.’
‘It seemed to take forever. I’m afraid I fell asleep.’
‘Ah,’ said Jude.
But the influence of Brandie Neville was not completely obliterated. On the Crown and Anchor menu there remained the ‘Vegan Option’, the ‘Shepherdless Pie’.
Barney Poulton developed quite a little routine about ‘meat-free alternatives’, with which he would bore anyone in the bar who hadn’t made their escape quick enough.
The knock-on effects of Fred Givens’s ‘working from home’ destroyed the marriage. He and Lauren divorced. Her hopes that she would then move in cosily with Glen Porter were quickly dashed. He broke off the relationship and started to spend even more time abroad. There, he attended to his various forms of philanthropy, while in Fethering his image as a selfish playboy remained unchallenged.
And he continued to stay in touch with Mary White in Liverpool. And apply his charity there when she needed it.
Francis White duly became the Catholic priest his mother had always wanted him to be.
And Mary White, whose experience of men was restricted to one brutal encounter, continued to draw great comfort from her faith.
After a time, Fred and Lauren Givens drifted back together and, to the general surprise of Fethering, remarried. The village consensus was that they must have found a way of making it work, though probably, in their second marriage, without spending so much time together.
And the supply of ceramic toadstools to the gift shops of the South Coast continued uninterrupted (definitely without marketing advice from Fred Givens). The Tinkling Red Polka Dot turned out to be the bestseller.
After the news of Roland Lasalle’s arrest had been all over the media, Carole rang Malk Penberthy and suggested meeting for a coffee in Starbucks. When they sat down with their coffees, he was almost pathetically grateful.
‘I’m so glad you got in touch, Carole. I was rather afraid you might not.’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘I don’t know. I just wondered, now you know the identity of Harry Lasalle’s murderer, whether you’d want to continue listening to the circuitous maunderings of an elderly gentleman.’
‘You mustn’t think like that, Malk. It’s always a great pleasure to see you.’
‘Oh yes. The pleasure is reciprocal.’ Suddenly fearful, he asked, ‘I’m not sounding pathetic, am I? I don’t want to give the impression that I’m lonely.’
‘No, no, you don’t sound like that at all.’ Carole could identify with the fear. She had felt it herself. To her – as, it seemed, to Malk Penberthy – the worst thing in the world was to let people think you were lonely. ‘You’re still very interested in everything. I’m sure you lead a very full life.’
‘Yes. Yes,’ said the old journalist, almost as if he were trying to convince himself. ‘Of course, I have my birding.’
‘Of course. And your work at Fedborough Wetlands Centre.’
‘Yes. Though that’s getting a bit difficult with the eyesight.’
‘Oh?’
‘Macular degeneration.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Yes. Not the greatest qualification for someone going birdwatching – the inability to see any birds.’
‘No. Not great.’
‘Also makes reading difficult. And reading always was a great resource for me. Still …’ He dwindled to silence.
Carole couldn’t think of anything very helpful to say, but Malk Penberthy revived and continued, ‘I’m glad that the mystery of Harry Lasalle’s death has been solved …’
‘Yes.’
‘… though it’s a pity we never found out whether there was a link between that and Anita Garner’s disappearance.’
Though it was said as a statement, Carole knew that he was really questioning her. And she felt terrible as a result. She and Jude had talked about the situation at length, and both agreed that they should keep quiet about what had happened to the missing girl. Any lapse of security might threaten Mary White with exposure and bring on her the cruel burden of publicity which she had managed to avoid for so many years. And possibly even revive the trauma of her rape.
‘Yes,’ Carole agreed uncomfortably with Malk, ‘it’s a pity.’
He grinned at her. ‘And might I be correct in the assumption that you do know rather more about that aspect of the case than you are vouchsafing to me?’
‘You are correct,’ replied Carole wretchedly.
‘My respect for your integrity dictates to me that you have a good reason for keeping such findings secret. A matter of confidentiality, I surmise …?’
Carole nodded.
‘Which being the case,’ he said in his customary orotund manner, ‘I will not press you for further information. I am fully apprised, from the system of ethics I followed during my journalistic career, of the necessity of protecting one’s sources.’