‘While we were out, she took a couple of long private calls. From her editor, she said.’
He poured the last of the wine. ‘No offence, Louise, but if I wanted relationship counselling, I wouldn’t come knocking on your door. Miranda and I are fine.’
In her dream, Hannah was sitting in her car up the lane from Keepsake Cottage, obscured from view by willow trees. Nick Lowther’s Mondeo appeared from round the bend, sun glinting on its bonnet, and turned into the drive. He hadn’t seen her, but through the leaves she watched him park and jump out. He was in shirt-sleeves and had taken off his tie. The front door opened to reveal Roz Gleave in a well-filled black lace gown. Grey hair, freckled skin, dark eyes and brows. A strong woman, confident of her subtle allure. They embraced and then she took his hand and led him inside. The door shut behind them and Hannah looked up towards the bedroom window. Moments later, she glimpsed two shadows, intertwining.
When she woke up she was sweating. The red digits of the bedside alarm clock blinked at her, as if in reproach. Four-twenty; another broken night. She had a tight feeling in her abdomen and her head was throbbing. Marc murmured something unintelligible before rolling over in his sleep. They were both naked. Earlier, they’d made love, but she’d been exhausted and his face had betrayed dismay at her lack of ecstasy. He wasn’t to blame for her mind being elsewhere.
She needed to scrub Daniel Kind out of her mind; she should never have said yes to his suggestion of a drink. It was a mistake, a seeking out of fun and excitement, and a change in fortune, and it was doomed from the start. If she wasn’t careful, it might lead to something dangerous, and she didn’t want that. At least she didn’t think she did.
And then there was Nick. Surely he wasn’t having an affair with Roz, surely it was absurd to imagine for one second that he might be covering up the truth about the murder of Warren Howe. He deserved her trust, as Marc deserved her undivided attention. She was letting down the people she cared for most.
She padded downstairs and toasted a couple of slices of bread to assuage pangs of hunger. Catching a glimpse of her pale flesh in the hall mirror didn’t make her feel better. Not quite such a pretty sight these days, she thought, whatever Marc might say when he was in the mood for love. She was so accustomed to feeling young and fit and capable of anything, but the years were slipping by. Perhaps she’d risen too fast in the force and hit the ceiling too soon. There was a question she’d regularly asked other people in promotion interviews, but right now she’d hate to have to answer it herself.
Where do you see yourself in ten years’ time?
When Kirsty came downstairs, she found her mother and Sam at the breakfast bar. Tina was wearing nothing but a cotton top that scarcely covered her modesty. Unsuitable for a woman her age, in Kirsty’s opinion, especially in front of her own son. Kirsty was careful to keep her bits covered when Sam was around, because he wasn’t above getting an eyeful, even of his own sister. But she knew that if she said anything, her mother wouldn’t be angry, she’d just turn the tables on her and mock her prudishness.
Tina was tucking into milk-drenched cornflakes, but she’d cooked bacon, sausage and eggs for her son. She wouldn’t do that for me, Kirsty thought, she’d expect me to look after myself. She’s always favoured Sam, and not thanks to anything he’s ever bothered to do for her. It’s because he’s a boy. She’s never had much time for her own sex, it’s men that matter to her.
‘You’ll need to make fresh coffee,’ Tina said. ‘We’re almost out of paper filters, by the way, you’d better pick some up from the shop. I didn’t fill the machine, it’s not like you to grace us with your presence this early.’
‘I had a bad night. Couldn’t sleep properly.’
‘It’s the heat.’ Tina indulged in an elaborate stretch. Kirsty could see the swell of her breasts straining against the thin cotton. Sam was looking up from his motorcycling magazine to take in the view as well. ‘Peter’s the same, he’s as restless as I don’t know what. Anyone would think he had a guilty conscience. That’s why I came over here last night, to get a bit of shut-eye. Best not complain about the weather, though. Any day now we’ll be soaked to the skin by a thunderstorm. Not that you’ll be sorry if it pours down, will you, Sam? He was telling me, Kirsty, when he was digging yesterday it was like trying to drill into Scafell Pike, the ground was that hard.’
Another example of how close they were. He never talked to his sister about his work, not even to grumble. Kirsty reached for the fruit bowl and picked out a banana. At this time of day, healthy eating was easy. It was nibbling at Oliver’s chocolate fudge cake during her shift that ruined every attempt at a diet.
‘Still going skydiving tomorrow, Kirsty?’
‘Yes, why do you ask?’
‘No need to bite my head off. You always complain I don’t show enough of an interest. It’s for charity, isn’t it? Peter and I thought we might come along and watch. How about you, Sam?’
Keeping his gaze on a photograph of a semi-naked blonde astride a gleaming Suzuki, he mumbled with his mouth full. ‘If I’ve nothing better to do.’
‘Don’t feel you have to turn up on my account,’ Kirsty said.
‘We’d love to,’ her mother said. ‘I said to Peter, I’ll be scared witless, watching you float through mid-air. But he told me it will be wonderful.’
Mum’s buttering me up, Kirsty thought. Trying to persuade me that Peter’s a regular guy and we can break the habit of a lifetime and become one big happy family. Perhaps the anonymous letter has brought them even closer together. For God’s sake, what if they’ve decided to get married?
She peeled the banana. There was only one way to push the worries out of her mind. Thinking about Oliver didn’t work these days; he was just one more thing to worry about. Freedom wasn’t down here on earth, you only found it up in the clear blue sky. Staring up at the ceiling, she recalled her first tandem dive.
Ten people, packed like sardines in the tiny plane. Shuffling into position at 10,000 feet and planting her backside in the lap of her partner, a complete stranger, a man who smelled of tobacco and whom she had to trust, because there was no choice. Tightening her harness and remembering a boyfriend who’d tried in vain to persuade her to get into bondage. This was the closest she’d ever come to it. Checking her goggles and hat, waiting for the magic 12,000 to hit on the altimeter.
The door opening. Putting her legs over the side, experiencing the exhilaration as she saw the sky below. Saying a silent prayer as she jumped.
Floating through a cloud, with fluffy whiteness all around. Fighting for breath and freezing cold, yet alive in a way she’d never known before. Alive with excitement and sweet, sweet fear.
Bel Jenner had said on the phone that she and Oliver would meet Hannah at The Heights, rather than in the couple’s house next door. Hannah recognised a technique for keeping the investigation at arm’s length. No doubt that by now everyone in Old Sawrey knew about the cold case review. The grapevine in a Lakeland village works faster than the latest broadband.
Oliver led them into the bar area, guiding her towards one of a pair of two-seater sofas facing each other across a table with a mosaic top. The place exuded comfort and contentment. The walls were covered with Lake District scenes and in the background Perry Como crooned about magic moments. Oliver waited as his partner took a seat, deferential as a courtier. It wasn’t what Hannah expected when a couple had been together for years. What was the old joke — you start by sinking into his arms and end with your arms in his sink?
According to the file, Oliver was fifteen years younger than Bel, but he was as attentive as a man in the first flush of infatuation. To talk to her, Bel was Mrs Ordinary, yet her life had been anything but. In her time, she’d hooked a rich older husband and a sexy young lover. To say nothing of having a teenage fling with a man who was stabbed to death at the home of her oldest friend. Nor was there anything ordinary about her appearance. Posh clothes, lustrous hair and cheekbones to die for. Hannah suppressed a stirring of envy.