‘We grew up together.’ She paused, for once disinclined to yield information. ‘For a while we were friendly, then we drifted apart. You know how it is.’
‘He married a local girl?’
‘Tina grew up in Hawkshead.’
She made it sound like hailing from Gomorrah. More a reflection of her opinion of Tina Howe than of the pretty little tourist trap, Daniel presumed. He went through a pantomime of working things out in his head.
‘Tina? I spoke to her when I booked the appointment. So she works in the office to this day, she’s Peter’s partner?’
‘In both senses, yes.’
‘Ah.’ Daniel wondered how to keep the conversation going, scrabbled round in his mind for a sentiment that might appeal to Bel. ‘She found happiness in the end, then?’
‘You could say that. Peter’s ex-wife might have different ideas. Poor Gail, she’s in the wine trade; we’re business colleagues as well as friends.’
‘He left her for Tina?’
‘Oh, Gail wanted a divorce once she saw the writing on the wall.’ She leaned over the table and whispered like a conspirator. ‘But I don’t believe she’s ever got over him. I keep saying, she should forget about him and find someone else. She’s a lovely-looking woman, but her confidence has been shot to pieces. It’s so sad.’
Louise finished her gin and tonic. ‘Men, eh?’
Bel looked across to the bar and Daniel’s eyes followed hers. Miranda was in full flow, telling her life story by the look of it, but Oliver’s gaze had strayed. He exchanged a glance with Bel before concentrating on Miranda again. Daniel guessed she hadn’t even realised she’d lost her audience’s attention.
‘I suppose I’m lucky.’ Bel started humming along to ‘The Girl from Ipanema’. ‘How many men can you really trust? Well, lovely to have a chat. Let me get you the menus.’
As she moved away, Louise muttered, ‘What are you playing at?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Come on, you can’t fool me. You were pumping her for information. What’s going on?’
‘Just taking an interest in the everyday lives of rural folk.’
‘Lying toad. That innocent expression may work a treat with most ladies, but I’ve seen it before, remember? You wear it to disguise your ulterior motives.’
‘Men, eh?’ he mimicked.
She laughed. ‘You bastard. For some funny reason I’m going to miss you when I go back home.’
Hannah’s dinner consisted of a takeaway Margharita pizza and a glass of Buxton water. Where was the pleasure in cooking for one? She decided against washing it down with half a bottle of wine. For several reasons, not least the need to keep a clear head. Sprawled on the sofa, dressed only in the cotton shirt she sometimes wore in bed, she flicked the television remote control, searching in vain for escape. Escape from Marc, from Nick, from crime, from everything.
She’d scarcely given Daniel a thought all day. Without knowing it, he’d become a sort of crutch; whenever she was unhappy, she let her imagination roam. In her head they conversed about his father and he listened with his customary intensity as she explained what it was like to work alongside the man who had taught her everything about detecting crime. Today, for the first time, it wasn’t enough. She needed to get to grips with reality, remind herself that he had Miranda; her man was Marc.
The television was rubbish. Celebrity mud-wrestling, a sitcom about AIDS, an hour-long documentary about babysitters from hell. Marc had bought her a DVD of a Dionne Warwick concert in Syracuse, but she wasn’t in the mood. She lifted a framed photograph from the mantelpiece, trying not to think when she’d last dusted the surface. In the picture, Marc’s arm wrapped around her as they boarded the liner at Nice. She could still feel the pressure on her shoulder; impossible to believe it was five years since that cruise round the Med. She’d loved going to sleep in one place and waking up in another. They’d lazed around the pool, wandered off on excursions to Taormina and Pompeii. In those days, she’d believed in everlasting love.
Was he up to something with Leigh Moffat? Was this meeting with the designer simply a blind? He’d slept with her sister, after all. Dale was younger and prettier, Leigh more of an enigma. Hannah had known the woman for years but still hadn’t a clue what went on inside her mind. Perhaps there was nothing personal between them, perhaps Leigh just shared Marc’s determination to keep the shop afloat. Then again…
Before she knew it, she was sobbing. She hated herself for showing weakness, even when there was nobody to witness it. Thank God Marc was late, she still had time to compose herself. She wanted to swallow a couple of pills to calm her nerves, but she couldn’t do it, she’d have to tough it out. Even though she could no longer dodge the truth. She was frightened that this was the night when she’d lose him forever.
Kirsty served their meals with a smile so bright, so fixed, so forced, that Daniel knew she must be unhappy. Either that or she was one of the Stepford Waitresses. Yes, she assured him, she was fully recovered. No harm done. She’d spent too long in the sun without a hat, more fool her, that was the top and bottom of it. Yes, she was keen on skydiving, and she was doing a jump for charity tomorrow afternoon. But when he said that he’d spoken to her mum on the phone and met her brother, a hunted look came into her eyes and she fled back to the kitchen without another word.
‘She only wanted to know whether you wanted anything else with your fish.’ Miranda spoke more loudly than usual. By Daniel’s calculation, she was on her third large glass of wine. ‘It wasn’t the opening gambit in a conversation. She’s got work to do. Just because her boss can talk for England, it doesn’t mean all the staff love a gossip.’
‘You seemed to be getting on well with Oliver,’ Louise said.
Miranda gave a dreamy smile. ‘He’s rather nice. We have things in common.’
‘Don’t tell me,’ Daniel said. ‘He’s into self-help manuals and aromatherapy.’
She kicked him under the table. ‘Jealous?’
‘Madly.’
She laughed so raucously that an old woman on the next table looked round in alarm. Louise caught Daniel’s eye and flashed a wicked grin. He wished she wasn’t about to leave him. Without her, he’d feel alone.
‘You stayed up, then?’
Marc kicked off his shoes as he walked into the living room. He smelled faintly of old books. Hannah glanced at the clock. Ten to midnight. He was later than expected and she’d had all evening to rehearse, but she hadn’t prepared a word of the little speech she meant to make. Her bones were weary, but she was on edge and there’d never been any danger she would fall asleep.
‘I said on the phone, I wanted to tell you something.’
‘Can’t it wait? I’m dog tired, there was a hold-up on the road. Overturned lorry. Ambulance, fire engines, the works.’
‘Sit down.’
He stared, then slowly moved to the armchair facing her. ‘What?’
‘This is important, Marc.’
‘The build-up is daunting enough. You’ve got me shaking in my socks.’
‘I’m not in the mood, Marc.’
He screwed up his face, as if trying to read mirror writing. ‘You’re upset.’
‘Not exactly. No, I’m just — wound up, that’s all.’
‘Go on, then. Tell me.’
Her throat was dry. She couldn’t think of an alternative to blurting out her secret.
‘I’m pregnant, Marc. We’re going to have a baby.’
Chapter Fourteen
Sam belched and said, ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing,’ Kirsty said.
‘Come on.’ He pushed aside a coffee mug emblazoned with a picture of a pair of bare buttocks. The odour of
