Felicity thought that the ordeal was over then. Vera Stanhope licked her finger, swept up the remaining pieces of scone from her plate, drained her teacup.
‘What were you both doing on Wednesday night? Late. Between ten and midnight.’
Felicity looked at Peter, waiting for him to answer first.
‘I was here,’ he said. ‘Working.’ He looked at his wife. ‘I was still in my office, wasn’t I, when you got in?’
‘And what were you up to, Mrs Calvert?’
‘I was at the theatre,’ she said. ‘The Live, down on the quayside. It was the work of a young local playwright. I’ve seen some of his stuff before. It’s very evocative. I think it’s important to support new writing.’ She stopped talking, realizing she was saying too much.
‘Were you on your own?’
‘No, I went with a friend. Peter doesn’t enjoy the theatre very much. Not that sort of play, at least. I was there with Samuel Parr. You met him here last night.’
‘Of course,’ Vera said. ‘Samuel the librarian.’ Felicity expected some sly comment, but none came. ‘What time did you arrive home?’
‘It probably was nearly midnight. We had supper after the show and it’s quite a trek from town.’
‘Thanks for that, then.’ This time Vera did get to her feet. ‘I’m sure you understand why I had to ask. I’ll let you get back to your work, Dr Calvert.’
Felicity walked the detective back to her car. The sun was covered by a thin layer of mist, but it didn’t look as if it would lead to rain. Gardening would be more pleasant now that it was a bit cooler. She didn’t think she would go back to it, though. A bath, she thought. That would relax her. Then she remembered what the inspector had said about Luke Armstrong being found in the bath and the image of a body, strewn with flowers, flashed in front of her eyes.
Vera stood by her vehicle. Felicity started to walk back into the house.
‘Just one thing, Mrs Calvert. Would you mind if I had a look at the cottage? The place you showed Lily Marsh the day before she died.’
Felicity had a moment of revulsion. She didn’t want to be in the space where she’d been close to Lily Marsh, close enough to see the stitching on the hem of her skirt as she walked ahead of Felicity up the stairs. Then she told herself that was ridiculous. She’d have to go into the cottage sometime. Why not now? Better, surely, to humour the detective than antagonize her.
‘Of course. I’ll just get the key.’
They walked through the meadow to the cottage door. Inside, it was all as it had been since her last visit, except the roses in the bedroom were dead. Felicity took them from the jug to take to the compost heap, held them carefully because of the thorns. Vera followed her down the stairs, but then she seemed reluctant to leave.
‘This was the last time anyone saw her alive,’ she said. ‘Last time anyone will admit to, at least. She didn’t go into school on Friday. We talked to the head teacher this afternoon, finally tracked her down.’ She looked sharply at Felicity. ‘And that’s not for public consumption either’ She looked out of the window. ‘What a beautiful place. You’d have thought she’d have jumped at the chance to stay here.’
‘I wondered if she thought she wouldn’t have been able to afford it.’
‘What rent were you going to charge?’
‘I don’t know. I hadn’t really considered it.’
‘Didn’t she ask?’
‘No,’ Felicity said. ‘She just said she’d think about it. Then she ran off.’
Chapter Seventeen
Julie was back in her own home. Her mother opened the door to Vera, pulled her close for a conspiratorial whisper.
‘We’ve asked her to stay with us for a while, but she says she’d never face coming back. So I’ve moved in to keep an eye. Just for a week or two.’
Vera nodded, walked on into the house, kept her voice low too.
‘What about Laura, Mrs Richardson? How’s she?’
‘Eh, I don’t know. Not eating. Keeps to herself. I’ve asked if she wants her friends round but she says not.’
‘Is she in now?’
‘Aye, she’s in her room.’
‘I’ll just go up for a quick word. I’ll see Julie on my way out, if that’s all right. Would you mind telling her I’m here?’
Laura was lying on her bed, curled on her side, a magazine beside her. It was open but she didn’t seem to be reading. The window was shut and the room was hot. It was at the back of the house, looking out over a paddock, where a couple of tired ponies cropped the parched grass, and then a field of arable. Vera had knocked at the door and walked in without waiting for an answer.
The girl looked up. ‘What do you want?’ She was skinny, angular. Fourteen but no figure to speak of. Her hair was cut short and spiky. Eyes that glared at you. A rash of freckles across her nose which made her seem younger than she was. Soon, Vera thought, she might become an interesting beauty. Now she was sullen, miserable, lonely. There’d been a time when Vera had been desperate for children. The longing had come on her suddenly, when she was in her late thirties, shocking her with its intensity. It had been more potent than her dreams of men and sex. Just as well it never happened, she thought now. I could never have coped with someone like this.
‘I’d just like a chat,’ she said. ‘Now you’ve had a chance to think about things.’
‘I don’t know anything about what happened that night. I was asleep.’
‘I wanted to talk to you about that, pet. Are you sure you didn’t hear anything? A knock on the door, voices, a scuffle. You might have heard, thought it was Luke and his mates larking about. Nothing to feel guilty about if you did.’
‘I don’t feel guilty.’
‘Because I find it hard to believe you slept through all that.’
‘I sleep like a stone,’ Laura said. ‘Ask Mam.’
She glared at Vera, who felt out of her depth. She would have pushed another witness, but this was a young girl who’d just lost her brother. ‘Still,’ Vera said. ‘You might be able to help. I need to talk about Luke’s mates, what he got up to, who he mixed with. You’ll have a better idea about that than your mam.’
‘No, I won’t.’ Aggressive. As if Vera was crazy even to consider it.
‘He didn’t talk to you, then?’
‘No.’ That tone again. The one teenagers did when they really wanted to wind you up. Sneering. The voice that made you want to slap them. ‘I didn’t want him to.’
‘You didn’t get on?’
Laura pulled herself up onto her elbow. ‘I’ve had all the lectures, OK? From Mam and Nan and the teachers at school. I know it wasn’t his fault, the learning disability. I know I’m a bitch. But I couldn’t stand it. Everyone pointing at me, knowing I was his sister. Sniggering behind my back when he did something stupid. As if I could help it. We didn’t not get on. I just wanted him out of my life.’
She realized the implication of what she’d said as soon as the words came out, but wasn’t going to show she was sorry. She sank onto the bed and turned her back on Vera. Vera knew something of what she was going through. When she was a kid, people had sniggered about her too. She’d lived on her own with a mad father. No mother. No one to iron the school uniform or bake cakes for sports day. No one to take her to the hairdresser’s or explain about periods. Just Hector, who spent his spare time prowling the hills looking for raptors’ nests, who seemed to care more for his egg-collecting friends than his ugly daughter. But it wouldn’t help if she talked about that to Laura. Young people saw the middle-aged as a different species. How could Vera’s experience mean anything to the miserable girl lying on the bed?
She reached out and touched Laura’s shoulder. ‘Eh, pet, it’s not your fault. And you might be able to help without realizing.’