The shock on Graham Chadleigh-Bewes’ face showed that he knew nothing of this, but Sheila Cartwright’s reaction was even more extreme. ‘How on earth did you hear about that?’ she hissed.
Carole thought it was time to show that she could do ‘lofty’ too. ‘From a contact in the prison service.’
‘Well, you keep it to yourself. Don’t breathe a word about it to another soul.’
‘Of course I won’t. I do understand the responsibility of being a Trustee. I won’t mention it to anyone.’ Except Jude, of course. ‘Anyway, what’s happened? Have they arrested him?’
‘The police are continuing their enquiries.’ Sheila Cartwright sounded like an official spokesman at a press conference. ‘The remains found in the kitchen garden are currently undergoing forensic analysis.’
‘Oh? Well, do let me know when you hear anything, won’t you?’
This question was not even thought worthy of an answer.
‘I must go,’ Sheila announced abruptly. ‘There’s always so much to do round this place.’
Even when you no longer have any official function here, thought Carole.
Graham Chadleigh-Bewes quailed when the beam of Sheila Cartwright’s eye was turned on him. ‘Forget you ever heard anything about the confession – right?’
‘Right,’ he echoed feebly.
‘I know what a blabbermouth you are. For once, just keep that mouth of yours zipped, Graham. Not a word to a soul. Not even to Belinda – all right?’
His reaction to her last words suggested she had anticipated an intention to spill the beans to his aunt at the first opportunity. ‘No. No, of course not, Sheila.’
Then, straightening up her tall frame, raising the hood of her waterproof against the weather, and with the most perfunctory of goodbyes, Sheila Cartwright left the cottage. Carole had seen plenty of the energy that had created the Esmond Chadleigh shrine. But she had yet to see evidence of the charm, which must also have been there, to enlist the army of Volunteers and wheedle large sums of money out of people to set up the project.
Still, at the end of the encounter, Carole felt pleased with the advance that she’d made in her relationship with Sheila Cartwright. There had been no rapprochement between them – and Carole thought such an event remained extremely unlikely ever to happen – but she had found a level at which to deal with the other woman. By exactly matching the abruptness and aggression, Carole could neutralize her power.
At the sounds of departure, Belinda Chadleigh appeared in the doorway (prompting speculation about how much else she had heard of the conversation). As Sheila bustled past her, the old woman caught her nephew’s eye. They watched the former Director leave the house, and Carole was surprised to see on both their faces an expression of pure loathing.
Chapter Twelve
The first thing that hit Jude when Sandy Fairbarns ushered her into the hall was the noise. Then the smoke. Children screamed and shrieked above the low rumble of conversation. There was a crèche area cordoned off in the corner, manned by a couple of inmate orderlies with red armbands, but few of the children were in there playing with the plastic toys. The very tiny ones sat on their mothers’ knees, but all the rest seemed to be rushing round the room making as much noise as they possibly could, while their parents tried to make meaningful contact between their fragmented lives.
The prisoners and their visitors sat in low easy chairs around low tables (low so that nothing could be passed unseen beneath them). Everyone seemed to have a cigarette in his or her mouth – in the case of the prisoners usually a roll-up. Individual plumes of smoke rose up to join the fug which blurred the metal girders of the pitched roof above. The smell of smoke was more powerful than that of male sweat. Jude knew she’d have to change all her clothes when she got home, hang them out in the garden for a long time, and have a bath to get rid of the tang of tobacco.
The weather outside made the space feel even stuffier. As a bass motif under the high-pitched chatter and shrieking, rain drummed on the building’s metal roof.
But the atmosphere inside was quite relaxed. A prison officer by the door was checking Visiting Orders and handbags in a desultory way. Recognizing Sandy, he waved the two of them through.
They looked around. Jude remembered Sandy’s words about the exhausted-looking wives and their finely toned menfolk, and she did see a few examples of that, but the overall impression was not as depressing as she had expected. Beneath the layer of children’s noise, there was quite a lot of laughter. People wandered back and forth to the canteen in the corner, returning with cups of tea, biscuits and chocolate bars. No doubt there were many personal crises being played out in the conversations in the room, but there was very little sign of them on the surface.
Intuitively, Sandy read Jude’s reaction. ‘Like a Sunday afternoon picnic, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘You’d notice a big difference in a closed prison.’
‘Yes, I’ve been in a few.’
Sandy did not follow this up with any enquiry, as most people – certainly Carole – would have done. Again Jude felt the relaxation of being with someone who truly respected her privacy.
‘There he is.’
Jude’s eyes followed the pointing finger. Mervyn Hunter sat alone, uneasily upright on an easy chair, away from the noisy clusters, as near to the wall as he could possibly be.
He sprang up nervously as soon as he saw the two women approaching him. He didn’t look much less nervous when he recognized who they were.
‘Have you really come to see me?’ he asked. His Northern voice was thin and tight, permanently stretched by emotion.
‘Yes,’ said Sandy. ‘Didn’t they tell you?’
‘Well, obviously they told me, because I’m here. But they didn’t tell who it was coming.’
Sandy sighed with exasperation. ‘The communications in this place are absolutely appalling.’
‘At least there is someone,’ said Mervyn Hunter. ‘Blokes in my hut thought I was doing a “moody visit”.’
This prompted a chuckle from Sandy, and Jude looked at her for elucidation.
‘A “moody visit” is a well-known prison scam. Men pretend they’ve got a visitor, so don’t go off on their afternoon’s work duty, but are sent back to their huts to smarten up. Then they stay there all afternoon. Just another way of skiving.’
‘Ah. Thank you.’
‘Look, Jude, I’ve got some stuff to sort out, so I’ll be off.’
‘You’re not leaving me alone with her?’ Mervyn Hunter’s reaction was instinctive, panicked, surprisingly fearful.
Sandy Fairbarns turned back. ‘Yes, I’ve got things to get on with. Jude has come to visit you.’
He slumped back into his chair, and leant his cheek against the wall, as if he wanted to burrow inside it, to disappear. Jude drew up another easy chair to sit in front of him, close enough to be heard, but no closer.
Amidst the raging noise of the hall, there was a long silence between them. Then, slowly, Mervyn Hunter moved his head round to take a quick look at her. When he saw she was looking at him, his gaze flickered away.
‘You don’t mind being alone with me, then?’
Jude shook her head and looked around the room. ‘Hardly alone, are we?’
‘No. You’re never alone in the nick. That’s part of the punishment.’
Again, in the general cacophony, they were a little pool of silence.
‘You don’t get a lot of visitors?’ asked Jude finally.
A twitch of a head-shake. He wouldn’t let his eyes meet hers. ‘No. My family didn’t want to keep in touch after . . . And then of course her family . . . Well, they wouldn’t have come to see me, anyway . . . And other people . . . no. But I manage,’ he concluded with an unsuccessful attempt at bravado.