answerphone and I’m certain it’s going to be from her. I don’t visit enough for her liking, but when I do she makes me feel guilty.’
‘Do you want to listen?’
‘Right now I’d rather listen to Glenn Gould. And to you. Can I be personal and ask how you and Gemma got together?’ She’d heard it from Gemma already, but his version would be more reliable.
‘I don’t think we did,’ he said with the beginning of a smile. ‘Needed some printing done for my job. Found her firm in the Yellow Pages.’
‘So you visited Kleentext. Who did you meet?’
‘A tough lady on reception.’
‘That would be Hillie. I met her, too. She keeps throwing wingdings, to quote Gem. I think I’ve got the general idea, but I’m not always sure what her expressions mean.’
‘It’s a party, isn’t it?’
‘A wingding? More like some kind of outburst, I think. Yes, from what I saw of Hillie she isn’t the sort to throw a party. Did you get to meet the mysterious Mr Cartwright?’
‘Saw him. He walked through the office. Didn’t speak.’
‘What does he look like?’
‘Dark hair, slicked back. Suit and bow tie. Glasses. Average height.’
‘Bow tie? You know the saying? Dicky bow, no dick below.’ The moment she spoke, Jo wished she hadn’t. It was girl talk, strictly, strictly girl talk, of the sort she’d have a giggle over with Gemma.
‘Haven’t heard that one,’ he said, straight-faced. Then smiled and said, ‘Like fur coat and no knickers.’
‘Much the same, yes.’ He’d spared her blushes and she was grateful for that. ‘And was Fiona about?’
‘I couldn’t tell you. Gemma took over.’
‘I know what you mean. Meeting Gem for the first time is an experience. We were in the same yoga group and for some reason she homed in on me and we were asked to leave for being disruptive. Embarrassing really, but yoga classes are two-a-penny and Gemma’s a one-off. And I’ve interrupted what you were telling me.’
‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘You know the rest.’
‘She chatted you up?’
‘Told me I should get a life. Offered to take me bowling. That’s where you came in.’
‘At Chichester Gate. Wasn’t that a strange evening? Rick being difficult and I’m not sure why. Maybe he was miffed about spending the evening with other people. It’s not as if he and I were close. We’d been out together a couple of times and he kept on about this older woman called Sally he’s known for ages who lives in a big house and cooks a roast for him on Sundays, so I was very much the second choice of date, or so I felt. He was totally open about her. I wonder if he’s told Gemma.’
‘Are they going out now?’
‘Rick and Gem? She’s dead keen. He can lay on the charm when he wants. She cleared it with me. We’ll stay friends. Have one of the biscuits.’
‘Thanks.’
‘They’re total opposites,’ she said, ‘so they ought to complement each other, like the two hemispheres of the brain. I never remember which is the intuitive, creative side, but that’s Gemma.’
‘The left.’
‘And Rick is the analytical one. Put them together and you get something formidable. Gemma talks about murdering her boss- which is pretty outrageous-and Rick thinks of ways to go about it. Her ideas are off the wall, but he thinks it through like a chess player. Creepy. He’s harmless, I’m sure, but I felt uncomfortable that evening we discussed it.’
‘The power of suggestion.’
‘Yes, and when I actually discovered a body not long after, it was very weird indeed. Then, on top of that, Fiona dies.’
The phone rang.
She said, ‘Sod it.’
‘Could be important,’ Jake said.
She picked it up and of course the voice was her mother’s. ‘Didn’t you get my message? Does that machine of yours work?’
She carried it through to the kitchen. ‘I only just came in. Is everything all right?’
‘Where were you, then?’
‘Out for a walk. Does it matter where I was? If you want to reach me, Mummy, I carry the mobile almost everywhere. I wrote down the number for you. It’s tucked in with your credit cards.’
‘You haven’t been listening to the radio, then?’
‘No. Is something going on?’
‘You’d better switch it on. Or look at the television. They’ve identified that poor woman you found on the beach. You’d like to know who she was, wouldn’t you?’
‘I suppose, yes. Did they say how she got there?’
‘It’s still a mystery, apparently, but now they know who she is they’ll soon sort it out.’
‘How did they find out?’
‘From the husband. Why don’t I get off the line and let you hear it for yourself?’
One of Mummy’s better suggestions. ‘All right. Take care.’
She stepped back into the living room. ‘I don’t know if you heard. That was my mother. It seems we ought to be listening to local radio. They’ve named the woman I found at Selsey.’
‘Who was she?’
‘Don’t know yet.’ She crossed the room and switched off Glenn Gould. ‘Do you mind?’ She tuned in to Southern Counties Radio. They were playing Westlife. ‘Damn. Some other station must have it.’
‘Stay with it. They keep giving the news,’ Jake said.
‘I suppose. More coffee?’ She topped up his cup. ‘Mummy said the husband came forward. It’s been at least two weeks and more like three. I wonder why he left it so late?’
The question couldn’t be answered yet. Jake gave a shrug and looked at his watch. Radio bulletins generally come on the hour and half hour.
Jo remained standing, more tense than she expected, gripping her arms to stop them from shaking. She couldn’t explain why she was reacting like this. Hearing the name of the murder victim on the radio wasn’t going to resolve anything. In a subversive way the woman was about to become more real. The sight of the almost naked body draped with seaweed and curled against the breakwater was still vivid in her memory, often returning, but it was just that, a shocking image. Now it was as if the poor woman was about to acquire a personality and make a stronger claim on the imagination.
The music ended, and the news jingle followed. Then: ‘Southern Counties Radio at five o’clock. The stricken tanker in the Solent has been brought under control and is being towed towards Portsmouth. Coastguards report that the spillage of oil is less than was first feared and is being managed with booms. The woman found dead on the beach at Selsey two weeks ago and believed to have been murdered has been named as Mrs Meredith Sentinel of Islington. She was identified by her husband, Dr Austen Sentinel, a university lecturer, who has just returned from an overseas trip. Police are now trying to establish her movements prior to her death.’
Jo picked up the remote and switched off. Just as she’d feared, the dead woman seemed more real, more tragic, now that she had an identity. ‘A lecturer’s wife. I wonder what brought her to Selsey.’
Jake didn’t say anything. He’d taken out his mobile and was texting someone. If anyone else had behaved like that it would have been rude.
‘I mean she must have had a reason,’ Jo said. ‘It’s a long hike from London.’
He didn’t look up from the display.
‘If she came by car they would have found it, surely,’ Jo said, as much to herself as Jake, the thoughts tumbling from her in pity for a real woman, no longer just a corpse. ‘They didn’t even find her clothes. Well, I guess they’ll have more to go on now they know who she was. The husband must be devastated, poor man. Fancy coming home from abroad and finding your wife was murdered.’
Jake stood up. The colour had drained from his face, leaving an unhealthy sallow that picked out the dark hollows and crevices as if a spotlight was on him. ‘I must get home.’
