“I wouldn’t say ‘chums.’”
“You’ve talked to her. You’ve phoned her before. Why not give her another call?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It’d would look pretty insensitive. I mean, at a time like this. Her husband’s being questioned as part of a murder enquiry. The last thing she’s going to want is inquisitive phone calls from people she hardly knows.”
“I’m not so sure, Carole. From what you said about the state of her marriage, her husband’s not her favourite person.”
“There’s a difference between not liking someone, and wanting to see them arrested for murder.”
“I wonder…” Jude scuffed her boot in the grey shingle as she thought about this. “Of course, your approach needn’t sound insensitive.”
“I don’t see how.”
“It could sound caring.”
“Caring?” Carole echoed sceptically. “Please explain.”
“Well, there are two possible approaches. Either you can pretend you’ve heard nothing about Alec’s arrest…”
“That’d be clumsy, rather than caring.”
“…or you can say you have heard this rumour…and you can’t believe it’s true…and aren’t people appalling the way they slander perfectly innocent citizens of this country…and can Hilary please reassure you that it’s complete rubbish.”
“Hm.” Carole wasn’t going to concede too quickly that this approach might work, but she was coming round to the idea.
“What time did you say her shift at Allinstore was?”
“Four to eight every weekday, except Wednesdays.” Carole looked at the neat little watch on her wrist. While she could recognise the strength of Jude’s argument, everything inside her protested at the idea of just ringing Hilary Potton out of the blue. “Probably too late to catch her today. By the time I’ve got back home to the phone.”
“I’ve got my mobile with me.”
“Hello. Is that Hilary?”
“Yes.”
“This is Carole Seddon. You remember, we met in the Seaview Cafe.”
“Oh yes, of course.”
Carole felt very aware of Jude sitting with her in the rusty seafront shelter. She had never liked making phone calls with other people present. During her Home Office career, she had been hugely relieved when she became senior enough to have her own office with a door that closed. And she was glad she had left the Civil Service before open-plan office accommodation became universal. Even though she knew Jude to be the least judgmental person in the world, Carole still wished she was on her own.
“Look, I’m sorry to trouble you with a call right now, because I know you’ve got to be at Allinstore shortly-”
“Don’t worry about it. I won’t be going into Allinstore this afternoon.”
“You’re not ill, are you?”
“No. I’m afraid something rather dreadful’s happened. Over the weekend my husband-my nearly ex- husband-was taken in for questioning by the police…”
“No.”
“…in connection with the murder of Walter Fleet.”
So much for Carole’s worries about how she was going to initiate the conversation-or indeed invent a reason for her call. But that wasn’t her primary thought right then. She was more struck by Hilary Potton’s manner. Although the woman was relaying extremely bad news, there was no doubt that she was doing so with great relish. Whether this was just because Hilary enjoyed being at the centre of her drama, or because what had happened confirmed her worst suspicions about her husband’s character, Carole had no means of knowing.
“Anyway, given that situation, Carole, I am absolutely determined to be at home when Imogen gets back from school. I mean, I hate to think what kind of whispering and innuendo she’s had to put up with from the other kids. They can be so cruel. I didn’t want her to go to school toady, but she insisted. So I need to be here for her. As a result, I’m afraid this afternoon Allinstore will have to whistle for my services.”
“Yes. And of course it wouldn’t be much fun for you, would it? Like poor Imogen at school. With everyone who came into the shop whispering and nudging about what had happened-you know, knowing that you were Alec’s wife?”
“I suppose it would be rather horrid. I hadn’t really thought about that aspect of it.” But she sounded as if she had. And she didn’t sound appalled; in fact, Carole suspected, the image was not without its attraction. Her inkling that Hilary Potton might be a bit of a drama queen was strengthened.
Having had the subject so painlessly broached for her, it was time for a bit of subterfuge. “But it must be dreadful for you, Hilary. The police must’ve made a mistake, mustn’t they? Surely they have no evidence to link Alec to the scene of the crime, do they?”
“I wish I could say that was true, Carole.” She didn’t sound that unhappy about the situation, though. “I’m afraid they did find something-obviously I can’t tell you the details, but…It doesn’t look too good for Alec, I’m afraid.”
“How on earth does that make you feel?”
“Ghastly, of course. And yet at the same time it does confirm some of my worst fears-you know, about Alec. I mean, when we first got married, I didn’t realise how unstable he was. I came to see that over the years. I mean, there was the philandering-which I mentioned to you-and that’s never a particularly encouraging indication of a man’s character. But over the last months Alec has been getting increasingly unpredictable-sudden mood- swings-you know what I mean? And his behaviour…I mean, he’s been very…I don’t know what the word is…‘clingy’ where Imogen’s concerned.”
“Clingy?”
“Yes, sometimes he behaves more as if she were his lover than his daughter.”
“You’re not suggesting…”
“Oh, good heavens, no. At least I don’t think he’d ever touch her in that way. Mind you, I don’t really know what to think about Alec now. If he’s capable of murdering someone, then I suppose there are all other kinds of things he might…” Hilary Potton’s words petered out, as though she were taking in the implications of what she’d said. A speech that had started off as a defence of her husband had ended up as a pretty thorough indictment.
“So you think he is capable of murder?”
“I don’t know. He keeps getting these sudden rages and jealousies. He’s certainly capable of having got it into his head that there was something between Walter Fleet and me.”
“But he didn’t have any justification for that, did he?” asked Carole, phrasing her question with care.
“Good heavens, no. Nothing concrete. I mean, Walter did fancy me-there was no question about that. You know, we women can always tell when a man’s interested, and Walter was certainly interested. Constantly putting his arm round me, holding my hand when it wasn’t quite necessary. I didn’t mind. I even, probably, flirted with him a bit. Nothing serious, just fun. Being married to Alec, I found it quite a pleasant change to have a man saying nice things to me. But, as I say, there was nothing there, just a bit of frivolity. But maybe Alec saw me and Walter together at some point when he was chatting me up and”-Carole could feel her shudder down the phone-“well, with what tragic consequences.”
“So you do actually think your husband killed Walter Fleet?”
“I’d love not to think that, Carole. I’d give anything not to think that, but…I’m afraid the facts may be against me. Of course, I’ll go on believing in his innocence as long as I can…” She trailed off without much optimism.
The next question was a tricky one. Carole had to find the right way of putting it which would not reveal her private knowledge of what the police had presumably found in the stables at the Dalrymples. “Hilary…you don’t know how the police found the evidence against your husband? I mean, where they found it, or whether someone tipped them off about where to look?”
