of the British Council office in Spring Gardens and rang through. It was a long chance that Trevor Malcolm had remained in the organization he’d started with in his early twenties and, even if he had, a long chance that he was still there. As Carole knew to her cost, there were a lot of early retirements around. And, in the unlikely event that Trevor was still employed by the British Council, he would almost certainly be working abroad.
But her gloomy prognostications proved unfounded. When she asked for the name, she was put through without hesitation and the girl at the other end certainly knew who she was talking about. But Trevor was out at a meeting. He’d be back after lunch…“Probably best to leave it till three-thirty or so.”
Oh well, thought Carole as she put the phone down, might give him a call then. But she didn’t think it with great determination. Whatever she’d felt about the case the night before had dwindled away into a vague residue of dissatisfaction. It was a police matter. Unidentified bones were their job.
¦
Only shortly after that, her doorbell rang. Jude was standing there, swathed in a long burgundy velvet coat. A peach-coloured scarf was wrapped around her face so high that only her bird’s-nest of blonde hair and her brown eyes showed over the top.
“Came round to say sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“For being a wet blanket last night.”
“Oh, I don’t know that you were. You were just sensible.”
“There are already enough sensible people in the world without me joining their ranks. No, I was just feeling down.”
“You? Down?” It was a novel concept. Jude always seemed to be on top of everything.
“Yes. Some bloody man.”
“Which bloody man?”
“Doesn’t matter which when they behave like that. They’re all the bloody same, aren’t they?”
“Well…Surely you can tell me what – ?”
But this new window for an insight into Jude’s private life was quickly closed. “Never mind. Perdition to the lot of them, eh? I want to make amends by taking you out for lunch…”
“What?”
“And I have to confess, Carole, my motivation is not entirely altruistic. I just had a call from Gillie Lutteridge, and I promised to go and see her. So I’m offering you lunch in the Hare and Hounds at Weldisham…”
“In return for a lift up there?”
“Exactly.”
After some havering, Carole decided not to take Gulliver, in spite of the agonized importunity in his endearingly stupid face. He still couldn’t be trusted up on the Downs, and he would hate being shut in the Renault behind the Hare and Hounds while they had lunch.
¦
There was a man leaving the pub as they reached the door. He wore a grubby denim jacket over a tartan working shirt. He crossed to a tractor with an enclosed cab that was parked opposite the pub.
“Who’s that?” Jude whispered. “You looked like you recognized him.”
“Name’s Nick. He was in the Hare and Hounds first evening I came here. One of the Estate workers, I think. Extremely taciturn…or he certainly was that night.”
Inside the pub, although it was only twelve-thirty, tables were already full of pension-happy lunchers munching their way through the Home Hostelries blackboard specials. There was also a figure standing by the log- effect fire in the main bar whom Carole recognized from the Forbeses’ dinner party.
“Hello, Harry,” she said, as Jude went to get the drinks and order the food.
He gave her a bemused look, unfocused, as if he had already been drinking. “Oh yes…” he said vaguely. But even using it vaguely, his voice was loud.
“We met at Graham and Irene’s last Friday.”
He nodded, recollection slowly returning. “Of course. Caroline, wasn’t it?”
“Carole.” Big impression she’d made.
Harry Grant grinned. “I’m actually in here waiting to see Graham. Always comes in for his pre-lunch snifter. Isn’t that right, Will?”
The manager, who had just given Jude her change, looked across. “Sorry?”
“I said Graham always comes in for a pre-lunch snifter, isn’t that right?”
“Every day, regular as clockwork.” And Will Maples turned back to chivvy one of his barmaids.
Jude was standing beside her with their two glasses of white wine. “This is my friend, Jude.” Ridiculous, thought Carole, I still don’t know her surname. I really must ask. “Harry Grant.”
“Nice to see you.”
A grin spread across Harry’s broad face. He fancied Jude, Carole could tell. Jude was the type men fell for. Whereas she…Her exploratory use of ‘feminine wiles’ on Barry Stillwell felt a bit shabby in retrospect.
“All well with you and Jenny?” asked Carole, not sure whether she was deliberately mentioning his wife’s name to stop him ogling Jude.
“Yes, yes, fine.” He turned his thick neck and slowly refocused on her. There was no doubt. He had been drinking. “More than fine, in fact.” He raised a half-empty pint in salute. “I am celebrating my return to ‘the land of my fathers’.”
“You mean you’re Welsh?” asked Jude.
He found this funnier than it was. “No, no, no,” he said finally, wiping the spittle from his lips. “I was born here in Weldisham…and I’m coming back to live right here in Weldisham.”
Carole understood immediately. “You’ve got the planning permission on your barn?”
“Exactly. The application has finally been accepted. Yesterday’s meeting. Composition of the Planning Committee had changed a bit, one or two people I knew had joined…Suddenly they’re looking on my plans with a much more friendly eye. As everywhere else in the world, round these parts it’s not what you know, it’s who you know. And when I was growing up here, the only people I knew were Lennie and Nick. They might have been good at building forts and things, but otherwise…useless people. Now, though, I know the right people. At last I know the right people. So now all the toffee-nosed prigs of Weldisham are going to have Harry Grant as their neighbour…like it or not!”
He didn’t realize how much his excitement had raised his voice and looked embarrassed by the silence he’d created in the pub. He leaned close to Carole and Jude and confided, in an elaborate whisper, “So that’s why I’m waiting in here for Graham Forbes…just for the pleasure of seeing him laugh on the other side of his face.”
Triumphantly, Harry Grant swilled down the rest of his beer and turned back to the bar. “Think I could manage another of those, thank you, young Will.”
Carole and Jude made good the opportunity to take one of the few remaining empty tables. The developer didn’t seem to notice their absence. He stayed leaning against the bar, making desultory conversation with Will Maples when the manager wasn’t busy serving his customers.
Harry Grant wasn’t on his own for long, however. Detective Sergeant Baylis came into the bar and joined him. The meeting did not appear to have been prearranged, but Carole remembered that the two of them had grown up together in the village. They’d have plenty to talk about. Two Weldisham boys, both resentful that they couldn’t live there any more. Except, of course, for Harry Grant that exclusion was now at an end.
Lennie Baylis ordered a pint and got another one for Harry. To the scrutiny of Carole’s beady eye, once again no money seemed to change hands. What was the hold that the sergeant had over Will Maples? Was she witnessing some minor level of police corruption? And once again, Baylis didn’t seem to suffer from the ‘not while I’m on duty’ attitude to drink.
Carole chided herself. After the previous night’s exhibition, she should be a little more wary of leaping to conclusions. She kept an eye on the bar, but although the two men were deep in conversation, she had no inkling of what they might be discussing. Once or twice, Harry Grant turned round to look at the door and then consult his watch. Graham Forbes was evidently late for what she remembered he’d called his ‘pre-lunch tincture’, and so the developer’s moment of glory was postponed.
Downing the remains of his pint, Detective Sergeant Baylis turned away from the bar, and that was the first time he noticed Carole. With a word to Harry, he came across to join them.
