‘What about all those guests at the party?’
‘Nick’s people, most of them. Or from work, business acquaintances. Don’t you ever need to talk to someone real, Katie? Don’t you ever have problems you want to let out and share?’
Katie frowned and stared at him. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, of course I do. But I’m no good at it. I don’t know where to start.’
‘Start with your life, Katie. Are you happy?’
‘I don’t know. Am I supposed to be?’
‘That’s what life’s for, isn’t it, to be enjoyed?’
‘Or suffered.’
‘Are you suffering?’
‘I don’t think I’m happy, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Why don’t you do something about it?’
‘There’s nothing I can do.’
‘But there must be. You must be able to change things if you want.’
‘I don’t see how. What would I do? Without the guest house I’ve got nothing. Where would I go? I don’t know anywhere outside Leeds and Swainsdale.’ She toyed with a stray tress of hair. ‘I could just see me down in London or somewhere like that. I wouldn’t last five minutes.’
‘Cities aren’t quite as bad as you think they are. You only see the worst on television. Many people live happy lives there.’
‘Still,’ Katie said, ‘I’d be lost.’ She finished the coffee and wiped her lips with the back of her hand.
‘Perhaps by yourself you would be.’
‘What do you mean?’
Suddenly Stephen seemed closer, and somehow he seemed to be holding her hand. Katie tensed. She didn’t want to upset him. If he wanted to touch her she would have to let him, but her stomach clenched and the wind roared in her ears. His touch was oddly chaste though; it didn’t seem to threaten her at all.
‘I don’t know, Katie,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure what I’m saying. But I’ve got to go away. I can’t stay around here any longer.’
‘But why not?’
She felt him trembling as he moved even closer and his grip tightened on her hand. ‘There are things you don’t know anything about, Katie,’ he said. ‘Dear, sweet Katie.’ And he brushed his fingers down her cheek. They felt cold.
Katie wanted to move away, but she didn’t dare struggle. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she burst out. ‘Sam’s always telling me I know nothing, too. What is it? Am I so blind or so stupid?’ There were tears in her eyes now, blurring her vision of the valley below and the water that bubbled relentlessly from the source.
‘No,’ Stephen said. ‘No, you’re not blind or stupid. But things aren’t always what they seem; people aren’t what they pretend to be. Listen, let me tell you…’
The woman who sat opposite Banks in the dining section of the Feathers had changed considerably from the one in Bernard Allen’s photograph, but it was definitely the same person. She wore her hair cut short and tinted blonde now, and was dressed in a cream business suit. When she sat down and fished in her bag for a cigarette, Banks also noticed that the carefree laughter in her eyes had hardened into a wary, suspicious look. Her long cigarette had a white filter which soon became blotched with lipstick; she had a habit of tapping it on the edge of the ashtray even when there was no ash, and she held it straight out between the V of her first two fingers like an actress in an old movie, pursing her lips to inhale. Her nails were long and painted red.
She had turned up at six, as Glen had said, and she and Banks had left the others to go and talk privately over dinner. There wasn’t much separation between the two areas of the pub except for the way the seating was arranged, and they could still hear the conversations at the bar and the tables.
The waitress, a petite brunette with a twinkle in her eye and a cheeky smile, came up and gave them menus. ‘Something to drink?’ she asked.
Julie ordered a White Russian and Banks a glass of red wine, just for a change.
‘I need to know why you left Swainshead in such a hurry,’ he said, when the waitress had gone for the drinks.
‘Can’t a woman do as she pleases? It’s not a police state, you know. Or it wasn’t when I was last there.’
‘Nor is it now. It was your timing that interested us.’
‘Oh? Why?’
‘We tend to be suspicious of someone who disappears without a trace the day after a murder.’
‘That was nothing to do with me.’
‘Don’t play the innocent. What did you expect us to think? You could have been in danger yourself, or you could have been the killer. For all we knew you could have been buried down a disused mineshaft. You didn’t stop to let anyone know what had happened to you.’
‘Well, I’m telling you now. That killing had nothing to do with me.’
‘How do you know about it? You don’t seem at all surprised at my mentioning it, but the body wasn’t discovered until after you’d left.’
Julie ground her cigarette into the ashtray. ‘Don’t try your tricks on me,’ she said. ‘I read the papers. I know what happened.’
The waitress arrived with the drinks and asked if they were ready to order. Banks asked for a few more minutes and she smiled and went away. Julie turned to her menu.
‘What would you recommend?’ Banks asked.
She shrugged. ‘The food’s always good here. It depends what you fancy. The prime-rib roast and Yorkshire pudding on special is excellent, if you don’t mind being reminded too much of home.’
Banks looked around at the decor and the photos on the walls. ‘Not at all,’ he said, smiling.
This time a different waitress came for their orders, an attractive woman with reddish blonde hair and a warm manner. Banks hoped he hadn’t offended the other.
‘Where did you go?’ he asked Julie, as soon as they’d ordered their meals.
‘None of your damn business.’ She sipped her White Russian.
‘A week after you left,’ Banks pressed on, ‘the body of a London private detective called Raymond Addison was discovered in Swainshead. He’d been murdered. Did you know anything about that?’
‘No.’
‘We’ve got good reason to think you did. Listen, if you want to make things difficult, Miss Ralston—’
‘It’s Culver, Mrs. Mrs Julie Culver. And it’s quite legal. Julie’s my middle name and Culver is my husband’s. Ex-husband’s, I should say.’
‘Why change your name if you’ve nothing to hide?’
She shrugged. ‘It was a new start. Why not a new name?’
‘Not very convincing. But Mrs Culver it is. We’re on good terms with the Canadian government. We have extradition arrangements and a mutual help policy. If I wanted to, I could make enough fuss to have you sent back to England to answer my questions. This is the easy way.’
Julie lit another cigarette. ‘I don’t believe you. I’m a Canadian citizen now. You can’t touch me at all.’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ Banks said. ‘You’re connected to a murder in England. Don’t expect your government to protect you from that.’
‘But you can’t prove I had anything to do with it. It’s just a coincidence I went away then.’
‘Is it? What about your involvement with Stephen Collier?’
Julie paled. ‘What about it? What’s he been telling you?’
‘Nothing. What does he know?’
‘How should I know?’
Banks sighed. ‘A few weeks ago a friend of yours, Bernard Allen, was murdered in the hanging valley just over Swainshead Fell.’
‘I know the place,’ Julie said sadly. ‘I’ve been there with him. It always looked like autumn. But what makes you think his death had anything to do with me? I wasn’t even in the country. I was here. It could have been a thief or a psycho… or a…’