only to stand at the window of the front room and keep watch, making sure that he didn’t hang around.
For all his hot embarrassment, he didn’t mean to be hurried. There was too much to think over. He unwound the sunroof. The air was heavy, soon there would be the first drops of rain. As he changed the CD, his brain was racing. How could he have made such a mistake?
In the distance, he heard a car engine. Someone was coming to Keepsake Cottage. The friend Roz had mentioned? He glanced back at the house and caught sight of Roz’s face. It was haggard with fear.
He fastened his seatbelt, taking an age over it, wanting to see who visited Roz. Within a minute, his time- wasting was rewarded as Bel Jenner’s BMW glided to a halt alongside his Audi.
She opened her door and treated him to a guileless smile. ‘Hello again. Small world.’
He unbuckled the seatbelt and got out too. The cottage door opened; in a moment Roz would join them and try to shoo him away. But he only had eyes for Bel.
The dark hair, high cheekbones and beaky nose were clues, of course. The resemblance wasn’t obvious, but it was there if you searched hard.
Small world was right. This time he was sure. Oliver Cox was Bel Jenner’s son.
Chapter Nineteen
‘Is everything all right?’ Bel asked.
Daniel shook his head. It was as if he’d been kicked in the solar plexus. Speech was beyond him. He needed to take this in.
Bel was a woman who liked things comfortable about her. Pleasant. Very English. She’d used her money to create a secure little world. And she indulged herself with a passionate devotion to the young man who had sought her out and then fallen in love with her. But he had kept secrets from her. He’d understood that she couldn’t cope with the truth.
Daniel heard the door of the cottage open behind him. He spun round to see Roz advancing towards them. Her gaze was focused on him and he could tell that she realised he’d worked it out. She might have been Eve, contemplating the serpent.
‘I asked you to leave.’ Her voice was a croak.
‘What’s wrong?’ Bel asked.
Roz’s breath was coming in short jerky gasps. When she spoke, her voice was stripped of pride. She was begging.
‘Don’t say another word, Mr Kind! Just go!’
‘Nobody else knows, is that right? Just the two of you?’
Roz and Oliver, he meant. She understood and gave a quick nod.
‘How come?’
Roz stood within an arm’s reach of him. Her mouth was clamped shut.
Bel put her hands on her hips. ‘Will someone please tell me what on earth is going on?’
Daniel ground his teeth, his gaze flicking from one woman to the other.
I can’t do it. I’m not the police, it’s not for me to play games with people’s lives. Much as I want to know everything that is to be known. If I push on, it would be like taking an axe to a doll’s house.
He bent towards Roz and murmured, ‘Did Warren know that Bel had fallen pregnant?’
Her eyes were as hard as pebbles. When she whispered in reply, her lips scarcely moved.
‘She told him the baby had died.’
The door closed behind Nick, leaving Hannah alone with the fan, gasping with mechanical emphysema. So many years of friendship and shared gossip, and yet she hadn’t really known her sergeant after all. This affable, laid-back man was quietly torturing himself and she’d never had a clue.
It had taken courage for him to bare his soul to her, but surely he’d read too much into an intense teenage relationship? Schoolgirl crushes of her own had, thank God, faded into the vaguest memories. Nick needed to liberate himself from the past and look to the future. With Janice.
She checked her mobile for messages. Lauren had called, wanting to know when the latest stats recording the cold case team’s endeavours would be on her desk. And she heard Daniel Kind’s voice, breathless and jerky.
Hannah’s brain hummed as she turned the last bend and caught a glimpse of The Heights. The restaurant wouldn’t be open for a couple more hours. She took the fork in the drive leading to the house next door. There wasn’t a sign of life at the windows. She hurried up the front path and leaned hard on the bell. No answer.
At the side of the house, a fence separated the back garden from the front. Six feet of willow screen, guarding the privacy of Bel Jenner and Oliver Cox. A gate beneath a wisteria-draped arch barred the way. She tested the handle and found it wasn’t locked. Without a pause, she shoved it open and strode around the side of the house. Daniel was right, she was sure of it. But if they were wrong, it was too late to worry about making a fool of herself.
A white canvas hammock stretched between a pair of beech trees. Oliver Cox lay on it, dozing. In T-shirt and shorts, with bare feet and black hair flopping over his face, he might have passed for a boy. Tall, handsome, innocent. His legs were long and smooth, like Marc’s.
On hearing footsteps, he stirred and looked round. ‘DCI Scarlett. I was expecting Bel. What can I do for you?’
‘Sorry to butt in.’
Oliver yawned and slid off the hammock. ‘You look hot and bothered. I hear you were there at the airfield. Poor Kirsty. It must have been horrific.’
‘I’ll never forget it.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘Can you?’ Hannah didn’t try to hide her scorn. ‘Will you miss her?’
‘Well, yes.’ A wary expression crept across Oliver’s face. ‘She was a lovely girl. An enthusiastic waitress, keen to learn.’
‘And that’s all?’
‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’
‘Surely she meant something more to you?’
‘She was a sweet kid, all right?’
The heat had sucked out all Hannah’s energy. It was too late for subtlety.
‘She was your sister. Half-sister. You shared the same father.’
‘What?’ Oliver’s features contorted, as if she’d slapped his cheek. ‘Who — who have you been talking to?’
‘I’m right, aren’t I?’
‘You know — about Bel?’
Hannah heard a rustle behind the willow screen, but she didn’t care who might be listening. Presumably it was the Croatian kids who worked in the restaurant; they wouldn’t have a clue what was going on. Bel was still at Keepsake Cottage, according to Daniel, as Roz attempted the impossible and tried to comfort her.
‘You fell in love with your mother.’
After a long pause, Oliver said in a scratchy voice, ‘Sorry if you disapprove.’
‘You misunderstand. What I disapprove of is what you did to your father.’
‘My father, what are you talking about?’
‘Your father, Warren Howe.’
Oliver was breathing hard. Not speaking.
‘I’m right, aren’t I? You found out that he was your father.’
‘So what?’
