‘Please. Two minutes, that’s all I ask.’
Raised voices were coming from the kitchen. Veselka and Danica, arguing about who should mop up. Bel was in the bar, chatting about nothing in particular to Arthur while they washed the glasses. Once the job was done, Bel would spend five minutes restocking the fridge so that enough beer, wine and soft drinks were chilled overnight, and then she would want to lock up. It was now or never.
Oliver brushed a stray hair out of his eyes and focused on her. His eyes were like lasers, she thought, penetrating her soul. She knew she was blushing, but she no longer cared.
‘All right, Kirsty, if that’s what you want. Two minutes maximum, though, OK?’
‘Thank you,’ she breathed and led him outside.
The overspill car park at the rear of The Heights was empty except for Arthur’s rusty Fiesta. Beyond lay the small garden, separated from the grounds of the house next door by a six-foot willow screen. That lazy sod Sam still hadn’t got round to doing the work that Bel wanted. Typical, bloody typical. When she clutched Oliver’s hand, he didn’t resist. His palm was warm. When the moon passed behind a cloud, they were alone in the darkness.
‘What is it?’
‘Oliver, you’re not going to like this, but I have to say it. I think Bel knows about you and me.’
‘What are you talking about?’ he hissed. ‘There’s nothing to know.’
She squeezed his hand. So far, so predictable. He never wanted to hear a word against Bel. Of course, that was half the trouble: he was in denial. Loyal and faithful to a fault, he couldn’t help still caring for her. He’d never be able to see through her unless she made him understand.
‘It’s the anonymous letter. I’ve been thinking about who could have sent it. We’ve both behaved so discreetly. We’ve never been anywhere together, we only ever see each other here. Yet the letter told me to keep my hands off you.’
The moon came out again and she could see him, rubbing his beaky nose in bafflement. ‘Anyone could have written that. Some spiteful person who saw us chatting together, who knew we were friends. Someone who felt you took too long serving the main course, whatever.’
‘No, no, don’t you see? There have been other letters, two that I know of for sure. One to my mother, another to Sam. Both of them talking about Dad’s murder. Whoever wrote those letters knows our family, Oliver. And wants to hurts us. Me in particular.’
He pulled his hand away and took a step backwards into the shadow. ‘You seriously think Bel sent those letters? It’s mad, Kirsty. She’d never do it. There isn’t a malicious bone in her body.’
Leaves rustled. A squirrel, or more likely a fox. Kirsty swallowed hard. ‘She’s crazy about you, Oliver. A middle-aged woman clinging on to a much younger man, she’ll do anything. You’ve never married, you’re not exactly Mr Commitment. She’s afraid she’s going to be left on her own, and she can’t cope with the prospect. Look at how she chased after you within weeks of burying her husband. The stuff about Dad was a blind. I’m the target.’
‘You’ve got it all wrong.’
She reached out and gripped his wrist. ‘Listen to me, Oliver, no other explanation makes sense. I’m not angry with her, I sympathise…’
‘No!’ He shook her off, like a celebrity detaching himself from an over-familiar fan. ‘Kirsty, God knows, I don’t want to hurt you, but you must see sense.’
‘All I want to see is you,’ she said.
‘Look, I’m very fond of you, seriously I am.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Much more than you could ever imagine.’
‘Well, then.’
‘But we’re just friends, that’s as far as it goes.’
‘No! We can-’
‘Listen to me! You say Bel’s crazy about me. What you don’t seem to understand is this. I’m absolutely crazy about her.’
She recoiled as if he’d slapped her. The moon came out again and she could see his white face, skin taut over those high cheekbones. He was breathing hard, in the way she’d imagined he might when they were making love. But if he meant what he said, they would never make love.
The rusty hinges of the back door screeched. Veselka in sullen mood, bringing rubbish out to put in the bin. She was bound to see them, but Kirsty no longer cared. Oliver was lying, or at least she prayed he was, but he would never admit it. And if he was telling the truth, she no longer cared about anything.
Louise joined Daniel in the kitchen as he took the stopper out of the wine bottle. The smell of chicken curry lingered in the air. The clock on the oven said ten to midnight, but you would never have guessed. This was the hottest night so far.
‘Is Miranda OK?’
‘She has a migraine, that’s all.’
Miranda had been tetchy and monosyllabic all evening. He’d kept quiet, hoping to avoid a row, but in the end she’d gone up to bed, leaving Louise to watch a Julia Roberts DVD while he browsed through a stack of books about the Lakes, searching in vain for clues to the mystery of the garden. Even with the window open, there wasn’t a breath of air. He felt like an aged miner, hacking coal out of a poor seam. In the end he gave up and decided to finish off the Sancerre with Louise.
‘She blames the weather, but there’s more to it than that, isn’t there? All day she’s been tense and fidgety. Even working out in the gym didn’t help.’
‘That’s Miranda for you.’
‘She’s missing London, she said so.’
‘I don’t know why. Whenever she isn’t flogging down there on the train, she and the people at the magazine are firing emails back and forth.’
‘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
