in earlier, returned for another look at the Georgian silver. She was showing them a tray of spoons when she became aware of a figure standing behind them and to one side. She glanced at him, then blinked. ‘Oh! Hello.’
‘Hello,’ Brock said. ‘I wonder if you could tell me if this is Pre-Raphaelite?’ He pointed to a silver locket in the cabinet beside them.
Suzanne smiled, feeling rattled by his sudden presence, but answered deadpan. ‘Oh no, a bit later. Art Nouveau, probably around 1900'
She took it out of the cabinet and placed it on the counter, and the Dutch couple turned to peer at it.
‘I like it,’ said the Dutch woman. ‘Are you going to buy it?’
‘I think I may. For a colleague at work. She’s getting engaged.’ Brock turned back to Suzanne. ‘I’ve caught you at a busy time.’
‘Yes.’ She looked at the grandfather clocks ticking against the far wall. ‘I’ll be closing in half an hour.’
‘Why don’t I go across to the King’s Head and wait for you there?’
The Dutch couple exchanged a glance, eyebrows raised.
‘Good idea. I’ll wrap your locket and bring it over.’
In the event it was an hour before she appeared.
‘Sorry. Couldn’t get away.’ She thought how serious he looked, stooped over his pint, and felt anxious suddenly, aware of a cold space between them. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine. Your G and T may be a bit warm. Want me to get you another?’
‘No, this will do very well. Cheers.’ She took a gulp then began to blurt out how glad she was he’d come, but he spoke at the same time, head still bowed.
‘So how was your friend?’
‘Rather sad. She got divorced recently and she’s not coping very well. She’s taken to the bottle in a big way. I wished I hadn’t gone. It doesn’t work sometimes, renewing old friendships. We’re not the same people.’
He looked up at her, as if trying to work something out, and she added, ‘I would much rather have gone to the Old Pheasant with you. You were upset, weren’t you?’
He hesitated a moment, then reached out his hand and stroked hers. ‘Just feeling a bit fraught. It’s been a heavy few weeks.’
‘I know.’ She squeezed his fingers. ‘Who’s getting engaged?’ She nodded at the gift-wrapped locket she’d brought.
‘No one yet, but there’s a rumour going around that Kathy’s got herself a new man.’
‘That is good news. Let’s hope he’s better than the last one. How’s she getting on with her murder case?’
‘The poisoning?’ She heard the reserve in Brock’s voice. ‘I think we’re getting there.’
‘I’m sorry I blundered in like that, David. I had no idea the situation was so sensitive. There’s no suggestion that Douglas Warrender was involved, is there?’
He waited a couple of beats, then said, ‘Warrender? I don’t think so. Why?’
‘I’d just hate to think… after me getting tangled with them again… you know.’
‘But you’re not, are you?’
‘What?’
‘Tangled with them-are you?’
‘No! Of course not. I just feel embarrassed about the whole business.’
‘Well, don’t be. I’m sure your old flame is in the clear.’
‘Oh good.’
‘Let’s forget all about it.’
‘I will. That’s a promise. Shall I ring the Old Pheasant?’
‘Already done,’ he said.
•
The next morning, long after Brock had driven off back to London for his Monday morning briefing, Suzanne got a call from Angela Crick.
‘You got home all right then, Suzanne? I felt so guilty about making you miss your dinner on Saturday. Why don’t we do it again next weekend and I’ll make it up to you?’
‘Oh, that would be nice, Angela, but it’s so busy here in the shop at the moment. I was rushed off my feet when I got back. Maybe we could leave it for a while.’
‘Oh well. I had something else to tell you about Dougie Warrender.’
‘Really? What was that?’
‘I remembered more about the girl in India, the nurse’s daughter. It’s funny how things come back to you when you’re doing something else. I was putting the bottles out in the recycling bin. They come today, you see… Anyway, I noticed this little green bottle, and it just triggered this memory. It all came flooding back. Poor Jack.’ She sighed.
‘What memory, Angela?’
‘Don’t you want to save it till we get together again? It is rather juicy.’
‘No, please, tell me now.’
Angela giggled. ‘You are interested in him, aren’t you? Well, according to Jack…’ Angela’s voice dropped to a whisper, as if telling a children’s ghost story, ‘Dougie got her pregnant and then murdered her, with poison, from a little green bottle.’
The line went silent. Finally Suzanne said, ‘I don’t believe it.’
Angela laughed again. ‘No, of course not. I’m sure it was all rubbish, but according to Jack it’s what people said at the time. Mind you, Jack was always trying to shock me with outlandish stories.’
‘But what did he say happened, exactly?’
‘He claimed Dougie told him that the Warrenders had to hush it all up and leave India and come back to the UK, like me being packed off to boarding school. Notting Hill must have been a bit of a shock for them, in those days, after India. No wonder Dougie made up whopping tales.’
Suzanne felt a tight pain in her chest, and realised she was holding her breath. ‘What kind of poison was it? Do you remember?’
‘What kind? I haven’t the faintest. What does it matter? It was just gossip and scandal-mongering, that’s all.’
Angela went on for some time, but Suzanne didn’t take in much of what she said. When she finally hung up she sank into a chair, wondering what on earth she should do. Then the bell on the shop door tinkled and the Dutch couple came in. ‘All right now,’ the man said, ‘we’ve finally made up our minds.’ twenty-six
M y darling, it’s five days since you left and already it seems forever. I console myself with our secret knowledge. Every day I feel it growing inside me, a part of you, feeding on me. But I am lost without you. Yesterday was miserable. Tony spotted me in the university library and threatened to make a fuss about my scholarship unless I agreed to a tutorial. Loathsome man. I had to go to his room where he demanded to know what I was working on. I fudged and he hectored, oh how he hectored, a dreary repetitive rant about how I am on the wrong track. Little does he know! He demanded to see my Cornell paper, but I said it wasn’t written yet, though I don’t think he believed me. He made the foulest cup of coffee I’ve ever tasted, and afterwards I was very sick. I had to go home and lie down. It wasn’t like the usual morning sickness, much worse. I’m sorry to sound miserable. I just miss you so.
Your M.
‘Two days later she miscarried,’ Kathy said, as Brock looked up from the printout. ‘There are lots more like that, as well as copies of her work documents.’
‘Can we be sure it’s genuine?’
‘That’s the thing, isn’t it? He handed the memory stick over to me, knowing we’d read this. I’ve sent it to the lab, to see if they can establish when the text was written or amended.’
