together, pointed to some possible evidence. Trouble is, Lois considered, I never have time to think things through properly. There’s always Derek, Josie and the boys and endless tidying up in Farnden houses. Still, she reminded herself, it’s my job that gives me the chance to find out more than most, including the police, so I shouldn’t grumble. I just need to concentrate, and not let my mind wander off to Josie and Melvyn, and why Derek hasn’t got that dirty mark off the sleeve of his jacket. Better take it to the cleaners, she decided, and then laughed aloud at her next thought, Better not, might be destroying evidence!
Ridiculous or not, the thought came in useful, and as soon as she had hung up her coat and collected her cleaning things, she had a good look in the hall cupboard where the Barratts hung their coats. There it was, the professor’s Barbour jacket, and it had quite clearly been cleaned. The ticket was still stuck to the lining with a safety pin, and an unmistakable smell of cleaner’s fluid hung about it. So. He hadn’t wasted much time, or maybe Rachel had taken it for him. Why so quickly after the police had announced their intention of revisiting all Farnden people who had any connection with that horrible evening’s events? But then again, why not? He liked to look the part. Perhaps he needed to wear it to a lunch with county friends, or for going away for a weekend’s hunting and shooting. Lois smiled to herself. Derek did a bit of shooting over the fields outside Tresham, but it was a different thing entirely.
Lois walked into an empty sitting room and called “Cooee!” loudly. She had seen nobody since she arrived, and thought she’d better check for any extra instructions before making a start. No answer. She called again, and still there was silence. Funny, not like them to go out and leave the door open. It was so quiet in the house that she felt a shiver of apprehension. Should she look upstairs? Malcolm might be up in his eyrie, or whatever he called it, and not hear her. Halfway up, she heard a sound and stopped dead. It sounded like someone choking, and she called again, “Mrs Barratt! Are you there?” A muffled sound now, coming from the main bedroom. Lois forgot caution and rushed up, opened the door and marched in. An unlovely sight confronted her. Rachel Barratt was sitting up in bed, a rumpled nightdress clutched round her, her hair tousled and her face blotched and swollen. She was gulping and choking, and tears streamed down her already soaked cheeks.
“Whatever is the matter?” said Lois sharply. She had no time for self-pity, and something told her that this was what she was confronted with. Rachel shook her head violently, indicating that her despair was beyond words. “Oh, come on, Mrs Barratt, it can’t be as bad as all that!” Lois was hearty, reassuring. “Better be getting up,” she added. “Else I shan’t be able to do this room.” Again the shake of the head, and Lois gingerly sat down on the bed beside the weeping woman. “Come on now,” she said, softening her tone with difficulty. “Anything I can do to help?”
After a few minutes of silence, the gulps and sobs subsided and Rachel scrabbled under her pillow for a handkerchief, which she used to dab at her puffy eyes. “Gone,” she said finally, and having managed the word, sat completely still, staring at Lois from blank eyes.
“Who’s gone?” said Lois, though she knew. It must be Malcolm. Only Rachel’s beloved spouse could have caused this depth of misery. Though everyone in the village knew that Prof Barratt was a vain and lecherous nuisance where women were concerned, they also knew that his wife either knew nothing about it, or had decided to pretend it wasn’t happening. Not that Lois had ever heard anything serious about the Prof. It was all flirtation in the pub, groping at parties in dark corners, the car parked in field gateways on summer evenings. Nothing regular, no recognised mistress. It was nothing more than a silly middle-aged man unwilling to acknowledge the passing years.
“Who’s gone?” repeated Lois, and this time Rachel focussed her eyes on Lois’s enquiring face.
“Malcolm, of course,” she said, and then added in a stronger voice, “The bugger’s gone. Cleared out. Vamoosed.”
“You mean he’s gone away?”
“For good, he said. And I told him good riddance, and then when I was sorry, it was too late. He’d thrown some things in a suitcase and driven off like a crazy man down the road. He even forgot to put his lights on…”
“Lucky there was nobody about,” said Lois, and then, inconsequentially. “And he forgot to take his Barbour.”
Rachel said, as if there was nothing odd about Lois’s question, “Well, he wouldn’t want that, would he?”
Lois got up. “I’ll make a drink,” she said. “Then you can tell me more about it.” A sharp look from Rachel Barratt, now rapidly improving, brought her back to the status quo, the exact nature of the relationship between them. Master and servant, thought Lois. Still, worth pursuing Rachel while she was vulnerable. She might have something useful to say.
By the time she returned with mugs of strong coffee, Rachel was out of bed and sitting on a stool in her dressing gown, gazing at her ravaged face in the mirror. “God, I look terrible,” she said, taking the coffee gratefully. “Look, Lois,” she said, “do you mind listening for a few minutes? I can’t tell the girls – they’re not here anyway – and I’ve got to talk to somebody.”
And I’m all there is, said Lois to herself. “Yes, of course,” she reassured Rachel. “Carry on. I can stay an extra half an hour today if necessary.”
The thought of paying Lois extra money for her sympathetic ear galvanised Rachel into action. She began to tell a tale of arguments and quarrelling, a big row about nothing at all, and then Malcolm storming out, shouting at the top of his voice. “He could have woken all the neighbours,” said Rachel, as if, on reflection, this was the worst thing about the whole sordid business.
“But what exactly set off the row?” said Lois. Maybe if Rachel could tell her that, it might lead to something important. Any happening out of the ordinary routine of Farnden life was worth consideration. Maybe it wasn’t just an erring husband. There was something about the way Rachel kept stopping mid-sentence, giving Lois sideways looks. She was covering up, Lois was sure of that. But what?
Rachel’s next remarks, meant to be semi-humorous but not fooling Lois, took her by surprise. “He wanted us to go away for a holiday, straight away, and for several weeks. To Russia, of all God-awful places! I said I couldn’t, wouldn’t and didn’t want to go. And what about the girls? Things would have to be arranged, and why couldn’t we go somewhere nice and warm? Not bloody Russia in the winter!”
So was Malcolm running away? And if so, from what? “What did he say next?” prompted Lois keenly.
“He said if I wouldn’t go, he’d go with someone else, and that was it. Holdall from the cupboard, all his clean underpants and socks, and several shirts…toilet things…and he was gone before I could think again. I don’t think he wanted me to change my mind, Lois. It was like he had it all planned.”
This dramatic outpouring threatened to set her off again, so Lois quickly took the mugs, stood up and suggested a warm shower. “Then you can get dressed and come down. I’ll clear up the kitchen, and by then you’ll have decided what to do. Mind you,” she added firmly, “I know what I’d do.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” said Lois. “He’ll be back before you know it. Men always are.” Rachel looked doubtful, but disappeared into the shower obediently, leaving a trail of sodden tissues as she went.
¦
Lois’s house was also silent, but with a warm, welcoming silence, pleasantly scented with the smell of freesias. Derek had brought them home from some job he was doing at a big house in Round Ringford. “Loads of ‘em in the greenhouse,” he had said. “And this kid – daughter of the house, I think – picked these and insisted I took them. Funny kid…”
“But didn’t her mum or somebody say anything?” Lois had asked.
“Nope. Well, the mother’s one them snotty-faced women who don’t give nothing away. But she could hardly make a scene about a few flowers. You could see the kid was goin’ to catch it, though, once I was out of the way.” Derek had chuckled at the memory. “You take ‘em and enjoy ‘em, Lois,” he’d said. “They could spare a few flowers for the deserving poor.”
Now Lois topped up the vase with water, breathed in the wonderful scent, and finally settled down at the kitchen table with her notebook. She had a good two hours before the rest of the family arrived and demanded her services, so she began by reading through once again what she had written.
