o
top of the pile, only because they were the most recent. Of course, Diane Fry spotted them. She didn’t miss much.
‘The Histor of Peak District Aircraft It’rccl’.v,’ she read. “I wonder why you’ve developed a sudden interest in this subject, Ben?’
Cooper didn’t feel the need to reply. But that didn’t stop her.
‘The war was a long time ago, Ben,’ she said. ‘In fact, I can’t
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understand why people call it the war. There have been plenty of others since then.’
‘Not wars that affected so many people,’ said Cooper. ‘Not wars that changed the whole country.’
‘It you say so. But it’s not really old men you’re interested in, is it?’
‘Sorry.”
‘Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but there’s a bit of added interest in this for you, isn’t there? A bit of excitement on the side? A Canadian by the name of Alison Morrissev?’
‘What are you talking about?’
Fry smiled. ‘Ben, make sure you keep your head. Keep your (ocus on what’s important. Just because vou’re living on your own, you shouldn’t be tempted to seek out the first person who pays you a bit of attention. It doesn’t work.’
‘It has nothing to do with you.’
‘It has, if it affects the way you do your job, Ben. And at the moment, I’ve got doubts about that. You’re letting yourself be distracted too easily. You’re spending too much time on someone else’s pet project. That’s not what you’re paid for. We can’t afford to have you swanning oft interviewing old
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soldiers to satisfy that Canadian woman’s obsession. Do you understand what I’m saving?’
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‘I’ll do it in my own time/ he said.
‘Make sure that you do, Ben. Because I’ll he keeping an eye on what you’re up to.’ ‘Right/
o
Cooper found himself breathing a hit too hard. He couldn’t hclieve that Dianc Fry had chosen to walk into his new Hat on the day he moved in and try to humiliate him. He had to either throw her out or iind something to help him to calm down.
‘Would you like a coffee while you’re here?’ he said.
‘There i; a kitchen, is there?’
‘Of sorts.’
‘Thanks, then.’
Cooper went to make the coffee. First he had to find the hox that the kettle was in, then unpack the shopping for the instant coffee and the milk, which he knew he should have put into the fridge straight away. His ears were straining for sounds of Diane Fry moving around in his new sitting room, hut he heard nothing. Perhaps she had seen all she needed to sec from the doorway and was reluctant to sit on the chairs, even if she could do so without touching his clothes. He realized he hadn’t thought to get any sugar, and he turned to ask her if she took it in her coffee. But he didn’t hothcr. There was no douht in his mind that she took it unsweetened.
But when he got hack to the sitting room, he found Frv
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unpacking a hox of pictures. She was arranging them on the walls, lining them up neatly on some tacks left hy the previous tenants. She had found a cloth, too, and was wiping the glass covering a Richard Martin print of a squeeze stile with Win Hill in the background.
‘Have you got a hammer?’ she said.
‘Er, yes. Somewhere.’
‘I think this one needs to go on the wall over there.’
‘You’re probably right.’
Cooper found the hammer for her and perched on the edge of one of the armchairs with his coffee while he watched her fix the picture in exactly the ri^ht spot. She did the job as she did everything, with the correct procedure and no unnecessary fuss. And the finished job was perfect, precisely aligned and level. He
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had to admit that it was the ideal spot tor the print. If he had been left to do it himself, it would probably have taken him several attempts until he hit on the right arrangement.
‘Don’t forget your coffee, Diane,’ he said.
‘Yes, in a minute.’
She was absorbed now, poking through the box for more pictures, peeling away layers of newspaper to see what she could Hnd. She rejected some rather ordinary fox-hunting prints, then found a bigger picture at the bottom oi the box, well wrapped in tissue paper to protect it from damage.
Cooper knew which picture it was. He wanted to tell her to cover it up and put it back in the box; he wanted to say that he didn’t want her handling it. Rut he held his breath and said nothing, waiting to see her reaction. He expected a comment, at least. Anyone else would have said something — muttered some meaningless platitude, some embarrassed words of sympathy while avoiding his eye.
