late lamented George, and it probably still said more about the deceased than his widow. There might be more clues here.
‘Do you know much about letterpress?’ Wanda asked over her shoulder.
‘Next to nothing, I’m afraid.’
‘Marc’s interested, as you know.’
She didn’t, actually. Even after all these years.
Wanda halted outside a door and threw it open. It gave on to a large room, with three different printing presses, and a table covered in sheets of paper with engravings. The far wall was lined with cabinets. One, left open, was crammed from top to bottom with chunks of type.
‘This is where most of the work is done. Take a look.’ The first thing that struck Hannah when she stepped inside was the smell. So this was Wanda’s perfume — the tang of good old-fashioned ink. And mixed in with the ink was the earthy aroma of newly cut paper, and a whiff of fresh glue.
Wanda breathed in deeply. ‘Intoxicating, don’t you think? Since I started up here, I need a fix pretty much every day. The full-on, whole-sensory experience of a printing press in action. Even the rattle and clank of the machinery excites me. We live in a virtual world these days, but this is
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Not your cup of tea, Chief Inspector? Ask Marc, he would understand.’
Why did Wanda keep dragging Marc into the conversation — to make her think that someone her partner knew couldn’t possibly be a murderer?
‘I’m sure he would.’
‘At least I can’t be arrested, not for getting high on ink and bound sheets of paper.’ She gestured to a large, heavy piece of equipment in the corner. ‘An Arab treadle press. A wonderful machine, a century ago you found it everywhere. I’ve always been fascinated by letterpress, but I never had the time or money to indulge myself. But this was going for a song at an auction, because it was all in pieces. A few days later, I met George, when his firm put their PR work out to tender. I couldn’t resist mentioning that I’d just picked up a stripped-down Arab.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘Within twenty-four hours, he’d taken me to his bed. Three months later, we were honeymooning in the Maldives. I packed in PR for the joys of running my own print shop. No need to disapprove, I’m scarcely a hard- wired gold-digger. My first husband was a musician, and I kept him for years.’
She looked Hannah in the eye, as if defying her to make something of it. A combative woman, this. A bad enemy.
‘We’ll go into the other room,’ Wanda announced, as though it was time to bite her tongue. ‘You will have a cup of coffee.’
A statement, not a question. She shepherded Hannah into a smaller room on the other side of the passageway. Hannah’s stomach rumbled. If Wanda offered her biscuits, or better still, buttered crumpets, she wouldn’t say no.
Stock Ghyll Press titles filled the shelves which ran from floor to ceiling. There was a desk with a computer, and a small circular table surrounded by three chairs. Lying on a table was a copy of Nathan Clare’s book. While Wanda busied herself in the little kitchen area at the end of the corridor, Hannah leafed through it.
Not her sort of thing.
Wanda returned and set down two steaming mugs on the table. There wasn’t a biscuit in sight.
‘Nathan has a marvellous talent.’
‘So, he told me.’
‘Yes, he mentioned that you’d interviewed him. No doubt he explained to you that fate has cheated him of fame and fortune. The curl of your lip suggests his work is not to your taste, Chief Inspector. But your partner was impressed.’
‘Then I bow to his expertise.’
Wanda sat back in her chair and put her hands behind her head. The body language of negligent command.
‘So, you have reopened the file on poor Bethany Friend, and you want to speak to Nathan and me, and presumably anyone else who had the slightest acquaintance with her?’
‘More than slight in Mr Clare’s case,’ Hannah said. ‘He and Bethany were in a relationship not long before her death.’
‘I wouldn’t read much into that, if I were you. Nathan has had countless relationships, he’s famous for it.’
‘And you and he…?’
Wanda wasn’t fazed. She’d prepared for this conversation, and she didn’t mean to lose control.
‘…are consenting adults, Chief Inspector. Which is all that I intend to say on the subject. As for Bethany, I met her through work, as I met hundreds of other people.’
‘You were friends.’
‘She was a pleasant girl.’ Her tone was neutral. Wanda didn’t do displays of emotion, except when she was pissed or angry or both. ‘Pretty, and rather naive. Reserved in manner, but charming once she got to know you and started to thaw.’
‘Did you know that she had temped for your husband?’
‘George?’ Wanda’s eyes widened. ‘No, she never mentioned it.’
Hannah sensed the news had come as a surprise to Wanda, but she decided to persist. ‘Really? Did George not mention it either?’
‘No, why should he? Bear in mind, he and I hadn’t met at the time I knew Bethany. And we never discussed her.’
‘Sure about that?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘And how about Bethany’s stint working for Stuart Wagg, did that pass you by as well?’
‘What on earth are you driving at, Chief Inspector? Do you interrogate everyone you meet about all their previous employments? Me neither. Bethany flitted all over the place.’
Time to change tack. ‘You said she was naive?’
‘Easily led.’
‘Who tried to lead her?’
‘I didn’t pry into her life, Chief Inspector. We were different ages; when we talked, it was mostly about the latest book we’d read.’
‘What else can you tell me about her?’
‘Nothing additional to the statement I gave after she died.’
‘You must care about what happened to her?’
‘Nobody ever proved that she was murdered. For all I know, she committed suicide.’
‘Was it in her character to kill herself?’
‘I was a work colleague, not her psychiatrist. We didn’t even share the same employer. My firm had the contract to promote the university’s image and Bethany and I met because she was typing for the director of communications, and sat in to take notes of our reporting sessions.’
‘And you hit it off together?’
‘We discovered we had similar tastes in literature. She wanted to write, while my creative urge is confined to printing. But a love of books is a bond.’
‘And she never confided in you about her personal life?’
‘No.’
‘There were no rows between you?’
‘Why would we quarrel? We weren’t competing against each other.’
Time to give her a shake, even if it meant the kiss of death for any hope of cooperation.
‘Not even over Nathan Clare?’
Wanda frowned, but gave no sign of being rattled. Her annoyance resembled that of a long-suffering mother whose child embarrasses her in public.
‘That’s a ridiculous suggestion.’
