“Good idea, though, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Or it would be if we could get someone else to go with Gaby, to look after her.”
“Do you know,” said Carole, “I think that could be arranged.”
“I’ve done it.”
Whatever Gita had done, Jude knew, as soon as she walked into Woodside Cottage, that it was something good. Her houseguest was wearing a biscuit-coloured trouser suit over a jade-coloured silk shirt, and inordinately pointy shoes. The clothes, Jude recognized, were new. That was a good sign. So was the fact that there was not a chink in Gita’s armour of make-up.
“I rang one of the editors.”
“Well done.”
“Don’t know why I haven’t done it before. She’s a close friend, for God’s sake.”
“You weren’t ready to do it before. You are now.”
“Anyway, I pitched an idea to her, on the back of the research I’ve been doing for you and Carole.”
“Oh?”
“A major feature about lifers: how they manage when they’re finally released; how they come to terms with freedom; how the outside world comes to termswith them. The editor loved it. A definite commission. I’m going up to town to have lunch with her today, to talk it all through.”
For the first time, Jude noticed Gita’s luggage on the sitting-room floor. Not just the scruffy nylon knapsack she had arrived with: a smart black wheelie suitcase stood beside it. Also new. However much the fee for the new commission was going to be, Gita had surely already overspent it. But that too was a good sign.
Jude’s friend saw where she was looking. “Got the train into Chichester this morning. A major consumerist splurge.”
“Very necessary. And very therapeutic.”
“You bet.” Gita grinned. Suddenly she was a stunningly attractive woman. “And yes, the luggage does mean I’m about to get out of your hair.”
“You don’t have to.”
“That’s very kind, Jude. And I can never thank you enough for what you’ve done. But it’s time. I need to go.”
Ever since Gita arrived at Woodside Cottage, Jude had been longing to hear such a positive statement. But she still couldn’t help asking, “You sure you’ll be all right?”
“Yes. I’ll go down again, I know. I’m in a manic phase at the moment – I can recognize that. But the medication does control the mood swings a bit. And I’ve rung other friends in London. I’m rebuilding my network. Yes, I’ll go down again, but I’ve got people I can turn to. I can take the burden off you.”
“Gita, you haven’t been a burden.”
“Oh no?” There was a twinkle in the journalist’s eye. “I know you very well, Jude. You volunteered to have me here, and you’ve supported me all the way. But you’ll be glad to have Woodside Cottage to yourself again.”
Jude was not one for polite lies. She nodded a smiling acknowledgement of the truth.
“Well, whenever you need me, I’m just at the end of a phone. You’ve got my mobile number?”
“Of course I have.” Gita Millington looked at her watch. “Must go. The next Victoria train leaves from Fethering Station in a quarter of an hour. And, incidentally, I’m very glad to know that you’re there for me, but don’t forget that I’m also there for you. I’m not expecting you to need me as an emotional support – though if you do, I’m more than ready to take on that role – but if you and Carole need any other research done…” she smiled as she echoed Jude’s words “…I’m just at the end of a phone. Incidentally…”
“Yes?”
“I’ve been very good about not asking why you wanted that research done.”
“You have indeed.”
“But I can’t deny that it’s made me curious.”
“You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t curious, Gita.”
“No.” There was a silence. “I gather, from the fact that you’re not volunteering anything that I’m not going to get any more information at the moment.”
“How right you are. I’m sorry, but what it’s allabout – well, it concerns Carole more than me. I don’t want to betray any confidences.”
“No.” Gita quickly reconciled herself to the frustrations of ignorance. “But when everything’s sorted?”
“When everything’s sorted, which I hope will be very soon, you will know the whole story.”
“Thank you, Jude.”
“And maybe you can get another story out of it. That true crime book you were talking about?”
Gita grinned, accepting the thought. Then another quick look at her watch. “I must – Jude, I can’t begin to thank you.”
“Then don’t.”
And the two women enveloped each other in a huge hug.
? The Witness at the Wedding ?
Thirty
It had been Carole’s intention to leave Stephen’s house as early as possible, catching the first available train from Victoria to Fethering. After her son had hurried off to work, she was on her way out when she heard the phone ring. The thought of answering did not occur to her, but after Stephen’s recorded message, curiosity kept her listening to identify the caller.
It was a male voice. “This is a message for Carole.”
She was thunderstruck, like some haunted victim in a ghost story.
“I don’t know if you are still there, but if you are, please pick up the phone.” With massive relief she had recognized the voice before he identified himself. “This is Robert Coleman. If you are there, please pick up the phone. Or if, by chance, you pick up this message later, please call me on – ”
She picked up the phone. “Hello, this is Carole.”
“Oh, I’m so glad I caught you. Listen, Stephen probably told you that I’m coming to London to be with Gaby. I was just wondering, if you’re still in town, whether you’d care to join us for lunch?”
Carole’s immediate reaction was to say no, she hadto get back to Fethering and Gulliver. But she curbed this instinct. Jude had already seen to Gulliver that morning; she wouldn’t mind taking him out again, if necessary. And, if Robert was willing to talk about it, he probably knew more about the background to the Janine Buckley murder than anyone, except for Michael Brewer.
Robert Coleman’s choice of venue was a club, not one of the patrician Pall Mall ones, but a sensible convenient meeting place for professional men and women, particularly those involved with law and order.
Gaby looked much better than she had when Carole had last seen her. The colour had returned to her cheeks, and some of the verve to her personality. She seemed relaxed with her Uncle Robert. Like her mother, Gaby had always known him as a rock throughout her life, the one stable element in the insecurity of family life. And he responded to his niece’s affection. There was a palpable warmth between them.
When they met, in the club’s rather severe, no-frills bar, Carole’s first question was about Marie. “Is she all right on her own in Harlow?”
“She’s fine,” Robert reassured her. “Pollard’s got a man keeping an eye on her. Anyway, I don’t really think
His emphasis froze the gin and tonic on its way to Gaby’s lips. “Meaning I am?”
“After last night,” he said grimly, “I think there can no longer be any doubt about that.”
Carole thought it was time for a few straight questions. “Robert, you knew Michael Brewer well, didn’t you, before he was arrested for murder.”
A nod of the head. “Which made it all the worse. Something like that’s ghastly, but when you find out the perpetrator is someone you thought of as a friend, well, that doesn’t make it any easier to take.”
“I met someone in Fethering recently who was a school friend of Janine Buckley and Marie.”
He didn’t seem surprised by the news. “It’s a small area. A lot of people never move far away from where
