“Oh,” said Carole dismissively. “Well, I suppose if you want to spend a steaming hot day traipsing round Covent Garden looking at crystals…”
In her neighbour’s absence, Carole felt restless. As a result, Gulliver got an extra walk, which he was almost too hot to appreciate. And he had the dressing changed on his leg, which had nearly healed. But Carole still felt ill at ease. Even though she had found a rather good free online computer course, her attention kept straying from the screen. She was keen to learn more about the mysteries of the laptop, which she no longer even pretended to resist, but she just couldn’t sustain her concentration.
Partly, she knew that she was a little jealous of Jude. Carole Seddon had amazingly sensitive antennae for slights, particularly in the area of criminal investigation. Although she fully accepted the logic of Jude’s meeting Dan Poke on her own, she didn’t like feeling excluded from any part of their enquiry.
There was also an unease in her mind, similar to that which Jude had felt over the weekend, a sense that there was something obvious she wasn’t seeing. There was another connection to be made somewhere in relation to the deaths of Ray and Viggo, but she couldn’t for the life of her work out what it was.
It was in the early evening, after a long, hot and frustrating day, that the lightbulb finally came on in Carole Seddon’s brain. She had once again Googled Home Hostelries and was ploughing through the endless links offered when she came to a reference to another local pub.
The Hare and Hounds in Weldisham. Of course! That had been made over in exactly the same way as the Middy in Portsmouth. And in fact it had been in the Hare and Hounds that she’d first heard the words Home Hostelries some years before. It must have been one of the first pubs bought by the chain.
Carole decided that she would take Gulliver for yet another walk, this time on the Downs near Weld-isham. And then she would have a drink in the Hare and Hounds. She didn’t know what she was expecting to find there, but it was the nearest place with a Home Hostelries connection. And going there would give her the illusion of contributing as much as Jude to their investigation.
¦
The bar run by Garcia had been exclusive before Notting Hill attained maximum trendiness, and it had become more exclusive as the area became richer. The decor hadn’t changed in all that time; it was still predominantly black, the contours broken up by darkly tinted mirrors and the gleaming steel of the bar.
A famous television actress was sharing a bottle of wine – and by the appearance of their intimacy would soon be sharing more – with a very recognizable
Garcia greeted her like a long-lost sister and, once she had caught up with news of his very extended family, Jude took her drink to a shadowy corner table and sat down to wait for Dan Poke.
¦
While she was walking an ecstatic Gulliver on the Downs near Weldisham, Carole asked herself why she had come there. And the only answer she could come up with was the feeble one of ‘instinct’. Oh dear, she was beginning to think like Jude. Next thing she’d be talking about the ‘auras’ and ‘atmospheres’ of places, about ‘synchronicity’ and other mumbo-jumbo.
But something still told her she was right to have come to the village. Going to another Home Hostel-ries pub might provide some clue, some connection to ease the confusion of her speculations. The trip was a form of research.
There were already quite a few customers at the pub, but because of the heat most of them were sitting at tables outside. The wine list was, of course, identical to that they had consulted in the Middy, so Carole once again ordered Maipo Valley Chardonnay. She went for a small one this time, righteous because she was driving.
The girl who served her, purple-haired, nose-studded and wearing a mulberry shirt with grey logo across the breast, was perfectly friendly, but not much use as a research source. She handed over the change and Carole had just started on, “I used to come to this pub a long time ago…” when the girl said, “Sorry, I must serve that customer over there.” Carole took her drink to a table near the bar.
¦
“Hello, darling.” Dan Poke arrived in the bar and, as he kissed Jude full on the lips, he squeezed the flesh of her waist. He confirmed she was all right for a drink – she had hardly touched hers – and moved towards the bar.
“One of the girls will take your order,” said Jude.
“Oh. Right.” He came to sit opposite her. Jude felt she had scored a small victory. Dan Poke clearly hadn’t been to the club before, and he did look slightly ill at ease in the unfamiliar environment. Jude had a minimal territorial advantage.
He was dressed in grubby jeans and T-shirt. The grey ponytail hung lankly, greasy with sweat, and there was thick stubble round the square of his beard. He’d certainly not made any effort to smarten himself up for her. Once again, Jude was struck by what an unattractive man he was.
As promised, one of the waitresses appeared and he ordered a Belgian beer. “Don’t bother with a glass, love. And, to save you asking, yes, I am Dan Poke.”
“Oh,” said the girl without interest, and returned to the bar.
“I’m surprised you don’t offer her one of your cards,” said Jude.
“Oh, come on, darling, I do have standards.”
“She looks very pretty to me.”
“I don’t mean standards about that. I mean I have standards about not handing out my cards when I’m actually on a date with another woman.”
“How very gracious of you.”
“Yeah, one of the last old-fashioned gentlemen.” He smiled what some woman must once have told him was a seductive smile. “I’m very glad you rang me.”
“Well, you interest me.”
“Yeah, a lot of women find that,” he said complacently. “And they tend to get even more interested after I’ve shagged them.”
An experiment I am not going to put to the test, thought Jude. But she said, “I found your act very interesting when I heard it in Fethering.”
“Probably a bit naughty for a sleepy little shithole like that. But I was only doing it to help out an old mate.”
“Ted Crisp.”
“Right.”
“You heard about the murder that happened that night, didn’t you?”
“Course I did. All over the bloody media, wasn’t it?”
“What did you feel about it?”
“Feel about it? Why should I feel anything?”
“Well, it did happen straight after your gig.”
“So what? Doesn’t make me responsible for it, does it? Hot night, people had drunk a lot, a fight broke out. At least, that’s how I heard it happened. Anyway, you start fighting, people are going to get hurt. Reflection of the society we live in. Binge-drinking and all that. I’m not saying it’s a good thing, but it’s nothing to do with me. That night I just done me act and pissed off before the trouble started.”
“Off to a woman in Brighton, I heard.”
“Yeah.” He smiled at her lecherously. “I’m afraid I do suffer from an overactive libido.”
“Bad luck,” Jude commiserated as though she were sharing his joke.
“Fortunately, though, I know how to get treatment for the condition.” As he said this, he placed a hand unambiguously on her thigh and moved it upwards.
Jude shuddered inwardly. He really was such a repellent little creature. She could never understand men who, in the teeth of the evidence, regard themselves as irresistible to women. Dan Poke, she felt sure, was the sort who, when she did finally express her deep lack of interest in going to bed with him, would mark her down as a lesbian. No woman of normal tendencies could resist his charms.
On the other hand, she had to admit that she had played up to his self-image. Ringing him had been tantamount to presenting herself as a piece of meat for his enjoyment. And she would probably need to maintain
