“I was upset,” he said at last.
“What about? Being caught with your pants down? Or had something else happened to upset you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I need to know what happened on the hill that afternoon.”
He twisted his watch face so he could see it. The strap was loose.
This was a nervous gesture she hadn’t noticed before. That and his continued silence got under her skin so she shouted, “For Christ’s sake, I’m asking you if you killed Grace Fulwell!”
She sensed her voice fill the church, become muffled by echo in its corners, in the high boat-shaped roof.
“No,” he said. “Of course I didn’t kill her.” There was a trace of irritation in his voice which reassured her more than the words.
“Have the police been to see you yet?” she asked.
“Why would they?”
“Because of the quarry. They think Grace might have been killed because she’d discovered something which would stop the development going ahead.”
“God, who dreamed up that theory?”
“The inspector in charge, a woman called Stanhope.” “You told her it was ridiculous?”
“I haven’t told her anything.” She spoke slowly, giving the words extra weight.
He looked up from his watch. “So she doesn’t know I was there that day?”
“No.”
“I wasn’t sure what to do. There’ve been television appeals asking people to come forward, anyone who was near Black Law. I was going to go. I could say I was doing a site visit. Then I thought if you hadn’t told them I was there it might look strange. I suppose I could say I didn’t go into the house. I could say I went straight onto the hill. What do you think?”
“For Christ’s sake, Godfrey, I’m not your mother.”
“No, no, I’m sorry.”
“Did you see Grace?”
“Only in the distance. She walked too fast for me to catch her up.”
“Did you see anyone else?” “No.” She thought she had sensed a slight hesitation, then decided she had imagined it. His panic was making her rattled too.
“There doesn’t seem much point then.”
“But my car was parked in your yard. I drove down the track. Anyone might have seen it. What will the police think if someone else reports it before I do?”
“How should I fucking know!”
He looked as shocked as if she had hit him. He had never liked her swearing. Memories of the other times calmed her a bit.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But it is your decision, you know, it has to be!”
“I’ve been worried about it.”
“So have I.”
“I mean how would it look?”
Keep your cool, girl, she thought. “You mean if Barbara found out that you’d been sneaking away for illicit picnics in the hills?”
“No,” he said impatiently. “Not that. The press hasn’t got hold of the quarry angle yet but it’s only time. You can image the headlines.
Conservationist killed on site of proposed new development. The planning process is slow enough. I need this project to go ahead.” He paused. “If only I could be sure the police won’t find out.” “Well, I’ve told no one. Grace can’t. I suppose there’s an outside chance that the murderer saw you but he’s hardly likely to go blabbing to the police that he was on the hill. So unless you’ve told anyone, how will Inspector Stanhope ever know?”
There was a moment’s silence and she added, “You haven’t talked to anyone, have you, Godfrey?” “No,” he said. “Of course not.”
She looked at him closely but didn’t push it.
“So?” she asked. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“It’s quiet. I come here sometimes when I need to get out of the office.”
“Not religious then? No hang-ups about adultery? I wondered.”
“No hang-ups at all about you.”
He stood up, straightened his tie, looked again at his watch. “I suppose I should get back.”
“Should I slip out through the vestry door so we’re not seen together?” He smiled. “I don’t think there’s any need for that.”
But outside the church, standing in the shadow of the lych-gate, he hesitated. “I suppose you’re parked in town.”
“No. By your office. I was waiting for you. How else could I know you were here?” “Perhaps,” he said awkwardly, ‘ all, we shouldn’t be seen there together.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Neville Furness is in today.”
“So?” “I told you he saw us coming out of the restaurant together. I can’t afford talk at this stage.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “You didn’t tell him about coming out to Baikie’s on the afternoon Grace died?”
“No,” he said. “Of course not.” But Anne didn’t believe him. He’d felt the need to confide in someone and Neville was his right-hand man, his guru, if Barbara was to be believed. “You walk on,” he continued.
“I’ll follow in a few minutes.”
“I thought you were in a hurry to get back to the office.” She felt like a spurned adolescent, ridiculous, desperate. She put her hands on his shoulders. “When will I see you again?”
He disentangled himself gently. “I don’t think that would be wise.”
Her head spun in disbelief. “What do you mean? For fuck’s sake, not very long ago you were talking about marriage.”
“Nothing’s changed,” he said earnestly. “Not in the way I feel about you.”
“But?”
“Until they’ve caught this murderer, until things are more settled, perhaps we shouldn’t meet.” The words came out in a rush, and when he saw her face he added, “For your sake, Annie. I don’t want you implicated.”
She turned and started off down the street. She couldn’t bear to break down and plead with him. But after a moment she stopped and shouted back, “Tell me, Godfrey, is that you talking or Neville Furness?”
He didn’t answer and she continued to walk away, expecting him to follow, to catch hold of her, or at least to call after her. When there was no response, hating herself for being so spineless, she stopped again. He wasn’t even looking at her. He had gone back through the lych-gate and through the gap she saw him standing in the churchyard and staring down at one of the graves where a bunch of white lilies had been laid.
Chapter Thirty-Four.
Vera Stanhope kept the women in Baikie’s informed about the progress of the investigation in a way Rachael couldn’t believe was usual in a murder inquiry. At first she was grateful for the stream of information. She was reassured by the bulky form of Vera, sitting in Constance’s old chair, legs wide apart, hands cupped around a mug of coffee, talking. If the inspector didn’t trust them she wouldn’t pass on all these details, would she?
They learnt, for example, that Grace had died within a couple of hours of leaving Baikie’s at lunchtime. It wasn’t only the absence of afternoon counts in the notebook. The pathologist had come to the same decision.
And in one short session Vera told them more about Grace than they had gleaned in weeks of sharing a house with her. The melodramatic story of abandonment, the string of foster parents and Edmund’s alcoholism seemed at odds with the pale and silent woman they remembered.
“Poor girl,” said Edie, because Edie too was allowed into the discussions. She and Vera Stanhope got on surprisingly well. She spoke regretfully, as if Grace’s death had denied her the opportunity of working with a subject ripe for counselling. That, at least, was how Rachael saw it.
Vera seemed surprised that Anne didn’t know more about the Fulwell family secrets. It was evening, still warm. The door into the garden had been left open and as bats dipped and clicked outside she probed the subject.
“Didn’t you know there was a younger son at Holme Park? Even I know that. You must have heard. There must have been talk in the village.