‘But you didn’t find any in the cottage?’
‘Not a brass farthing.’
‘So she could have packed a few things, a bit of money, and simply run off?’
‘Yes. We never found out what happened to her, until now.’ Gristhorpe stood up and scowled at the grey sky. A flock of rooks wheeled above the valley side. ‘Better go inside.’
As they walked round to the side door, they saw Sandra and the children come hurrying up the drive with their coats thrown over their heads. Banks waved to them.
‘It would be very interesting to have a chat with Anne Ralston, wouldn’t it?’ he said.
Gristhorpe looked at him and narrowed his eyes. ‘Aye, it would. But I’m not sure the department would be able to justify the expense.’
‘Still…’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Gristhorpe said. Then Sandra, Brian and Tracy came racing into the house.
7
Katie finished her cleaning in a daze when Banks had gone, and she was so distracted she almost forgot to put the roast in on time. The Greenock Guest House always served a traditional Yorkshire Sunday dinner, both for guests and non-residents, at two o’clock. It was Sam’s idea. Thank God he was in the pub, his usual Sunday lunch-time haunt, Katie thought. He’d be bending elbows with the wonderful Colliers.
Perhaps Sam needn’t know what the policeman had made her tell. But the inspector would be sure to question him, she knew, and he would find out; he was bound to accuse her of betraying him.
With a start, she realized she was in room five, where the talk had taken place on the second morning of Bernie’s stay. But it wasn’t his words she thought of now. The rush of images almost overwhelmed her at first, but she forced herself to re-examine what had happened. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a sin, after all? Of course it was, she told herself; it was a double sin, for she was a married woman. But it had happened, she couldn’t deny that. The first time in all her married life.
That morning she had been cleaning the rooms as usual, when Bernie had come back to put on his walking boots. The sky had brightened, he said, and he had decided to go for a good long walk after all. They’d talked for as much time as she dared take off from her chores, then he had sat on the bed while she washed the windows. All the time she had been aware of him watching her. Finally, when she felt his arms around her waist, she told him no. She had her back to him and he bent to kiss her neck where the wisps of blonde hair were swept up and tied while she worked. She struggled, but he held her tightly and his hands found her breasts. She dropped the chamois and it fell in the bucket and splashed water on the carpet.
Why did she let him? She had always liked him, but why this? Why let him do what she hated most? She thought perhaps it was because he offered her a chance to escape, and that this was the price she would have to pay. He was gentler than Sam. His mouth moved over her shoulder and his hands slid down along her stomach and over her thighs. She didn’t have the heart or the courage to put up a fight; men were so strong. Surely, she thought, it could do no harm as long as she didn’t feel pleasure. She couldn’t tell Sam. That would mean she’d have to lie, too. She would have to wash her mouth out with soap.
Then he said he loved her, that he’d always wanted her, as his hands unfastened her skirt. She struggled again, but less violently this time, and he backed her towards the bed. There, he finished undressing her. She was trembling, but so was he; even body language speaks ambiguously at times. She held on to the bedposts tightly as he bore down on her, and she knew he thought her groans were sounds of pleasure. Why did men want her like this? Why did they want to do these things to her?
He kissed her breasts and said he would take her back to Canada with him, and suddenly that seemed like the answer. She wanted to get away, she needed to. Swainshead and Sam were stifling her.
So she didn’t struggle any more. Bernard talked of the vast prairie skies and of lakes as boundless as oceans as his hands caressed her still body. Yes, he would take her with him, he said; he had always wanted her. Urgently, he drew himself along the length of her body and entered her. She bit her tongue in loathing and self-disgust, and he looked into her eyes and smiled as she made little strangled cries that must have sounded like pleasure.
After, as they dressed, Katie had tried to hide the shame of her nakedness from his gaze. He had laughed and told her he found her modesty very appealing. She said he’d better go, that Sam would be back, and he reminded her about Canada.
‘I’ll send for you when I get back,’ he promised. ‘I’ll find a place for us and I’ll send for you. Anne’s there, too. She wanted to get away, just like you. She’s happy now.’
‘Yes,’ she had said, anxious to get rid of him. ‘I’ll come with you.’ Then he had kissed her and left the room.
After that morning, they had hardly spoken to one another — mostly because Sam had been around or Katie had contrived to avoid Bernie — but he kept giving her meaningful glances whenever nobody was looking. She believed him. He would send for her.
Not any more. All for nothing. All gone. All she had left was the guilt. ‘As ye sow, so shall ye reap,’ her granny had always said. She had behaved wantonly, like that time she had swayed to the distant music. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t enjoyed it; now everything was a mess, Bernie was dead, and the police were all over the place. She was reaping what she had sown.
Stephen Collier was sitting in his spacious living room reading a thick leather-bound report when Banks and Hatchley called that evening. The French windows were open on to the patio and lawn, and the fountain played against a backdrop of drystone-walled fell side. A brief heavy shower had cleansed the landscape and in the gentle evening light the grass was lush and green, the limestone outcrops bright as marble.
Stephen seemed surprised and annoyed at a second visit from the police so close on the heels of the first, but he quickly regained his composure and offered drinks.
‘I’ll have a Scotch, please,’ Banks said.
‘Sergeant Hatchley?’
‘Don’t mind if I do, sir.’ Hatchley glanced towards Banks, who nodded his permission. After all, he had spoiled the sergeant’s weekend. Hatchley took out his notebook and settled in a corner with his drink.
‘What can I do for you this time?’ Stephen asked. ‘Do you want to see my brother, too?’
‘Not at the moment,’ Banks said. ‘I want to talk to you about Anne Ralston.’
Collier frowned. ‘Anne Ralston? What about her? That was years ago.’
‘I’d like to know what happened.’
‘Aren’t I entitled to know why?’
‘Will you just bear with me for a while?’
‘Very well.’
‘As far as I know,’ Banks began, ‘she disappeared the day after the private detective, Raymond Addison, was killed. Am I right?’
‘I wouldn’t know when he was killed,’ Stephen said. ‘Though I do remember Superintendent Gristhorpe saying something about a post-mortem report.’
‘But it was around that time she disappeared?’
‘Yes.’
‘And she was an employee of Collier Foods?’
‘Yes. Your superintendent already knows all this. Please get to the point, Chief Inspector.’ He tapped the book on his lap. ‘I have an important report to study for a meeting in the morning.’
‘I won’t keep you long, sir,’ Banks said, ‘if you’ll just answer my questions. Were you going out with Anne Ralston at the time of her disappearance?’
‘Yes. You know I was. But I don’t see—’
Banks held up his hand. ‘Let me finish, please. Can you think of any reason why she should disappear?’