‘I can’t be precise. But it was definitely after midnight. There were no lights visible in the avenue and Amy was in bed and asleep.’
The three men in the room were silent, watching Hook’s swift, round hand record the evidence that there might be a murderer amongst them.
The scene was an appealing mix of ancient and modern. The small block of flats was new and the orange of its bricks still a little brash, even in the twilight. But it was framed by tall oaks on either side which had been there since they were planted almost two hundred years ago, after the Napoleonic wars had denuded the area of timber for the ships of Nelson’s fleet. The long reach of the Wye which ran softly sixty yards to the south had scarcely changed in two thousand years.
Gerry Davies wondered if the new red sweater he had donned as leisure wear was too bright. He looked over the darkening river through the first-floor window and said conventionally, ‘You’ve got yourself a nice spot here, Sarah.’ He turned away from the view at the window and sat down carefully on the black and white sofa, beside the low table with its single small silver ornament. He felt not exactly guilty but a little embarrassed to be alone in this minimalist environment with a pretty woman who was a full generation younger than him. Young enough to be his daughter, as an amused Bronwen had reminded him when he had told her he was coming here.
Sarah Vaughan brought in her gin and tonic and his beer, setting them carefully upon coasters on the table between them. The sage green of her top and the darker green of her trousers fitted with the muted taste of the decor. Slipping off her shoes and curling her feet beneath her on the chair opposite her visitor, she contrived to look more relaxed than she felt. ‘I like it here. I probably paid an extra ten thousand for the position, but I felt I could afford it, once I’d got the salary at Abbey Vineyards.’
‘Yes. Martin was never a bad payer, if you gave him what he needed. Work-wise, I mean!’ Davies added hastily, and only made his unintended innuendo more pointed.
She grinned at Gerry and his embarrassment. His small gaffe had eased the tension, not added to it. ‘I wanted to talk to you about this police investigation.’
‘I’m sorry I let out what Martin had done to you. I didn’t know you hadn’t told them.’
‘That’s all right. I’ve got over it now. It wasn’t your fault, anyway.’ They’d had words about it earlier in the day when he’d revealed what he’d said, but she’d realized since then that she needed all the help she could get. ‘You only saw them last night, after they’d talked to everyone else. I was wondering how much they’d found out about us all. Do you think they’re near to an arrest?’
‘I don’t know. They gave me the impression of knowing an awful lot about us, without telling me anything they didn’t want to. I suppose they’re experts at that.’
And you’d be putty in their hands, thought Sarah irritably; you’re far too trusting for your own good. But that was unfair. It was no good resenting the very qualities in the man which had made her trust him and go to him for advice when she was new in her job. ‘I’ve heard they’re looking for people who might have seen a strange car in or near Howler’s Heath last Wednesday night. Do you know if they’ve found anyone?’
‘No. They didn’t say. But they were on to the fact that we all wanted more of a say in the way things were being run at the vineyard. And they knew that Martin wasn’t having any of it. I believe they think someone who wanted more say in policy might have killed him.’
‘And what about other motives?’
He was quiet for a moment, sensing her anxiety, wanting to offer her something which might make up for his gaffe of the previous day. ‘They said Martin had an eye for the ladies. That’s when I let it out that he’d made a pass at you.’
‘Rather more than a pass, Gerry. I could have dealt with a pass easily enough. Do you think they’ve found out much about his sex life?’
‘I don’t know. I couldn’t tell them much. I told them Vanda used to be his mistress, but they already knew that.’
‘They’ll come back to me, you know. Do you think there’s anything I should be prepared for?’
He thought hard, still searching for something to compensate for his mistake in revealing the attack she had previously concealed from them. ‘No. They get as much as they can from you, without telling you much. I’m sorry.’
Gerry Davies stood up. He wanted suddenly to be away from here, to be within the walls of his shabbier and more comfortable house, with the photographs and the memories of children, who could never have lived in this tidy, aseptic place.
She had been about to bring him another beer, but she sensed his mood and shared it. Perhaps things would never be as they had been again between them. On an impulse, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the forehead, without putting her arms around him. ‘I never had a dad, you know. He left us when I was two. Sent us money and all that, but I never saw him.’
He was at once embarrassed and pleased. ‘And I never had a daughter. Two hulking sons, but no daughters!’ He put his hands on her shoulders, pulled her lightly towards him and pressed his lips against her forehead as lightly as she had kissed his. ‘Everything will be all right, you know,’ he said at the door.
‘Of course it will, Gerry!’
She stood for a long moment with her forehead against the door when she had shut it behind him, wondering if that could ever be so.
TWENTY-THREE
Vanda North put the phone down and stared at it for a moment before turning back to Jane Beaumont. ‘They’re coming at ten. I think it would be better if you weren’t here then.’
‘Right. I can be on my way in twenty minutes.’ Jane didn’t question Vanda’s judgement. Still less did she resent it. She had learned swiftly that her new friend knew more than she did about the world and the people who lived in it. Accepting Vanda’s guidance had added to her confidence rather than diminished it. It was a long time since she had had a friend that she could rely on. She relished the feeling of trust which had grown up so quickly between them.
They had already finished their breakfast and the clock on the kitchen wall told her that it was two minutes past nine. Jane had nothing to pack, because she hadn’t intended to stay the night. By twenty-five past nine, she was easing the grey Audi out of the narrow entrance to the old cottage and waving farewell to her friend. She enjoyed the drive home. The sun was already high above the fresh spring green of the trees and the Wye ran for a mile or two beside her, appearing and disappearing as the road rose and fell beside its winding course. She tried not to conjecture about where Vanda and she might be in six months’ time, but it was too pleasant a speculation to stay out of her mind for long.
Back in the thatched cottage, Vanda North was busy removing all traces of her friend’s presence. There was no reason why the police should not know that Jane had been here overnight, but neither was there any reason for them to know more of her private life than she chose to concede to them. Murder might allow them to open doors which in any other circumstances would have remained firmly shut, but there was no reason why they should learn any more than they had to.
She put the toothbrush she had lent to Jane carefully back in her bathroom cabinet and shut the door upon it. Then she went downstairs and stowed the dishes she had left draining in the kitchen cupboards. For no reason she could define, it was important to her to give her visitors the impression that she had breakfasted alone.
The two CID men came precisely at ten, as she had expected. The tall man with the grey eyes which seemed to see everything and his sergeant with the notebook and the deceptively friendly attitude; Vanda was determined not to underestimate them.