“I haven’t been very helpful, I’m afraid.”
“On the contrary,” said Roz, pushing herself out of her chair, ‘you’ve been extremely helpful. Thank you very much.”
They walked into the hall together.
“Did it never seem odd to you,” Roz asked as Geraldine opened the front door, ‘that Olive should kill her sister?”
“Well, yes, of course it did. I was terribly shocked.”
“Shocked enough to wonder if she actually did it?
In view of all you’ve said about their relationship it seems a very unlikely thing for her to do.”
The wide grey eyes clouded with uncertainty.
“How strange. That’s just what my mother always said. But if she didn’t do it, then why did she say she did?”
‘1 don’t know. Perhaps because she makes a habit of protecting people.” She smiled in a friendly way.
“Would your mother be prepared to talk to me, do you think?”
“Oh Lord, I shouldn’t think so. She hates anyone even knowing I was at school with Olive.”
“Will you ask her anyway? And if she agrees, phone me at that number on the card.”
Geraldine shook her head.
“It would be a waste of time. She won’t agree.”
“Fair enough.” Roz stepped through the door and on to the gravel.
“What a lovely house this is,” she said with enthusiasm, looking up at the clematis over the porch.
“Where were you living before?”
The other woman grimaced theatrically.
“A nasty modern box on the outskirts of Dawlington.”
Roz laughed.
“So coming here was by way of a culture shock.” She opened the car door.
“Do you ever go back to Dawlington?”
“Oh, yes,” said the other.
“My parents still live there. I see them once a week.”
Roz tossed her bag and briefcase on to the back seat.
“They must be very proud of you.” She held out a hand.
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Wright, and please don’t worry, I shall be very careful how I use the information you’ve given me.” She lowered herself on to the driver’s seat and pulled the door to.
“There’s just one last thing,” she said through the open window, her dark eyes guileless.
“Can I have your maiden name so I can cross you off the school list Sister Bridget gave me? I don’t want to go troubling you again by mistake.”
“Hopwood,” said Geraldine helpfully.
It wasn’t difficult to locate Mrs. Hopwood. Roz drove to the library in Dawlington and consulted the local telephone directory. There were three Hopwoods with Dawlington addresses. She made a note of these with their numbers, found a telephone box and rang each in turn, claiming to be an old friend of Geraldine’s and asking to speak to her.
The first two denied any knowledge of such a person, the last, a man’s voice, told her that Geraldine had married and was now living in Wooling.
He gave her Geraldine’s telephone number and told her, rather sweetly, how nice it had been to talk to her again. Roz smiled as she put down the receiver. Geraldine, she thought, took after her father.
This impression was forcibly confirmed when Mrs. Hopwooci rattled her safety chain into place and opened the front door.
She eyed Roz with deep suspicion.
“Yes?” she demanded.
“Mrs. Hopwood?”
“Yes.”
Roz had planned a simple cover story but, seeing the hard glint in the woman’s eyes, decided to abandon it. Mrs. Hopwood was not the type to take kindly to flannel.
“I’m afraid I bamboozled your daughter and your husband into giving away this address,” she said with a slight smile.
“My name’s-‘ “Rosalind Leigh and you’re writing a book about Olive. I know. I’ve just had Geraldine on the phone. It didn’t take her long to put two and two together. I’m sorry but I can’t help you. I hardly knew the girl.” But she didn’t close the door. Something curiosity? kept her there.
