“Barbara Waugh, perhaps you don’t remember. We met at the opening of the Wildlife Trust Reserve.”
“Oh yes,” Anne said. “Of course.”
Godfrey stared straight ahead over the steering wheel. It had obviously been Barbara’s idea to stop. She hadn’t told her husband about the cosy lunch at Alderwhinney and wanted to make sure that Anne didn’t mention it either if they bumped into each other at the White Hart. That suited Anne very well. The impulsive gesture to phone Barbara already seemed childish and vindictive. She preferred Godfrey not to know about it.
“Are you going to the hotel, Mrs. Preece?” Barbara asked as Anne climbed into the rear of the car. “I gather Mr. Furness has invited everyone.”
“No, I didn’t know Bella very well. I only came to the funeral to give Rachael support. She’s been so upset.”
“Can I take you to Langholme then? I’ve got my own car in town and it’s not far out of my way. I’m going straight back.” “I thought I’d spend some time in Kimmerston. Since the project started I’ve not had much chance… “
Barbara seemed disappointed and Anne was worried for a moment that she might suggest a girls’ lunch out, a trip round the shops. Instead she said quickly, “Of course, I quite understand.”
Godfrey dropped Barbara off first at the car park next to the Sports Centre.
“I’ll get out here,” Anne said. “It’s not far.”
But Barbara wouldn’t have it and insisted that Godfrey should take her to where she wanted to go. So she went with him to the car park in the courtyard behind the White Hart. When he went into the hotel to make, as he put it, ‘ least an appearance’, she sauntered across the road and down an alley to a coffee shop. She drank a cappuccino and read an old copy of Cosmo until he came to pick her up.
He took her for lunch to a town in the south of the county, where once there were shipyards and coal mines. This was a place where they could be sure of avoiding people who might know them. It was also a place where Godfrey seemed at home. For Anne it was like straying into a foreign country. The boarded-up shops, the litter in the street, the bare-legged women pushing mucky babies in prams, all this seemed a million miles from Lily Fulwell and Holme Park and gave her a peculiar thrill.
Yet even here, Godfrey had found somewhere special to eat. There was a gem of a restaurant, very small and discreet, in a terrace between an old-fashioned park and the jetty where a ferry docked. The ferry carried shoppers back to a small community on the other side of the estuary. Once the terrace had housed the harbour master’s offices and the small dining room, simply furnished, the walls decorated with photographs of submarines and master mariners, had the feel of the officers’ mess. Now, at two o’clock, it was empty.
The owner recognized them at once and took them to their favourite table.
“A drink?” he asked. “The usual? Are you in a hurry today?”
Sometimes they were in a hurry. It was an hour from Kimmerston and Godfrey had meetings.
“No,” Godfrey said. “We’ve got all afternoon.”
So he brought them drinks, a menu and went back to his seat behind the bar and his book. He was reading The Brothers Karamazov. He only looked up to call over, “The chefs on good form today. You’re safe with any of the specials.”
The chef could be moody. He was an alcoholic, usually reformed, given to sudden rages. They smiled.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” Godfrey said. “Barbara insisted.”
“That’s all right.”
“She’d have been suspicious if I’d refused to stop.”
“She doesn’t suspect anything, does she?” It was one explanation Anne thought for Barbara’s original invitation at the Wildlife Trust Reserve. Perhaps she’d wanted a closer look at the opposition.
“No, of course not.”
“What was it like there, the… ” She wasn’t quite sure what to call it. Reception sounded like a wedding and wake was far too jolly for a finger buffet at the White Hart. “The do.”
“All right, I suppose. I didn’t stay long.”
“How was Neville bearing up?” Some of Barbara’s hostility must have rubbed off because what she had intended as a simple question came out with an undercurrent of sarcasm. He seemed not to notice.
“Bella Furness was his stepmother not his mother. I don’t think they were particularly close. You wouldn’t expect him to be upset.” “No,” she said. “I’m not surprised. He always seemed a cold fish.”
“I didn’t mean he didn’t care. He put on a decent enough show for her.”
“Will it make any difference to your plans for the quarry? Neville being in charge of the Black Law land?”
“Why should it?”
“It’d make access a heck of a lot easier if he gives you permission to use the track.”
He studied the menu intently, frowning. For a moment she thought he wouldn’t respond at all. “I’m not sure it’s altogether ethical, our discussing the quarry.” He adopted a joking tone but he was warning her off. She could understand why Barbara had felt excluded.
“What do you mean?”
“I could be influencing your results.” “Oh yeah!” she said. “Right. We’ve been having an affair for nearly a year, but a chat about Neville Furness is much more likely to influence my judgement than that. Come off it.”
“We have to be careful. Because of that.”
“I know!” She was indignant that he felt he had to say it. Then something about his voice, something about the way he looked down at the menu just as she was about to meet his eyes made her ask: “Why? Has anyone said anything?”
“No.”
“But you think someone might have guessed?”
He shrugged.
“I’ve a right to know, don’t you think?”
“That first time we went to the Riverside. When we came out together I thought I recognized the car on the other side of the road. We might have been seen. That’s all.”
“Who by? Whose car was it?”
“Neville Furness.”
“Oh!” she cried. “Bloody great!” Then she thought that Barbara’s notion that Neville was putting pressure on Godfrey to go ahead with the quarry against his better judgement, might not be so wide of the mark. Godfrey would go along with a lot not to have his wife and child upset.
“Has Neville said anything?” she demanded.
“No.”
“Not even indirectly? He could make a fortune out of the scheme.”
“Not even indirectly.” He sounded irritated. She had never known him so cross with her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “What’s the matter?”
“I have enough of that sort of talk at home.”
“What sort of talk?”
“Barbara thinks that Neville has too much influence over me. She’s never been happy about the quarry proposal. Since we’ve started to flesh out the details she’s become obsessed.”
“Perhaps she’s right!”
“No, you don’t understand. Neville’s not like that.” He handed her a menu. “Look, we should order. Rod will wonder what’s going on.”
Although Rod still seemed engrossed in Dostoevsky.
“What about this? Mullet baked with shallots and new potatoes.”
“Yes,” she said. “Anything.”
They sat in silence until the food had arrived and they’d begun to eat.
“Tell me then,” she said at last. “If Neville Furness isn’t into blackmail, what is he like?”
“An ordinary, decent bloke. A bit lonely. A bit shy.” He smiled. She could tell he was trying to please her. “He could do with a good woman. If he was the monster Barbara makes him out to be, do you think I’d have taken him on?”
“You might if you thought he’d be useful.” “No,” he said quietly. “Of course I want the business to grow. It’s how I measure what I’ve been doing, my achievement. But not at any price.”
“Why did he leave Holme Park?”
“I don’t know. I mean, not exactly. I can tell you how it happened if you’re interested?”