Hugh Weston appeared at the door wearing his hat and coat as usual.
‘Ladies!’ he said genially. ‘Again! What can I do for you this time?’
‘We’re worried about Rosie,’ said Fran without preamble. ‘She’s been missing since yesterday.’
His face went blank. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, we just wondered if you knew where she went when she left here?’ said Libby.
‘No idea.’ He turned and pulled the door closed behind him. ‘I’m just off for a drink. Join me?’
‘No thanks,’ said Fran. ‘Are you sure she said nothing that might give us a clue?’
‘Nothing. Why should she have done?’
‘How long was she here?’ asked Libby.
He frowned. ‘Not long. I showed her the rest of the house and she left. Didn’t she come back to the pub?’
‘Of course not,’ said Libby, ‘or we wouldn’t be asking you. When we came out of the pub her car had gone.’
‘So why ask me, then?’ He was looking quite aggressive now. ‘She obviously went off on her own.’
‘Yes, but she hasn’t been seen since. Hasn’t been home and she wouldn’t leave her cat.’ Fran sighed and turned back to the car. ‘Sorry we troubled you.’
‘No trouble.’ He was back to normal and holding the door open for her. ‘Do let me know when she comes home. Rather a nice lady.’
‘We will,’ said Libby. ‘Thank you.’
Weston watched as Fran reversed carefully back under the arch and out on to the lane.
‘Well!’ said Libby, blowing out a long breath. ‘That was a waste of time. And obviously the police hadn’t been to see him yet.’
‘We don’t know that. He was unlikely to tell us,’ said Fran.
‘Oh, he would. If the police had already been he would have greeted us with a concerned air and, “So sorry to hear about your friend, ladies.” He’d know we’d know if Ian had seen him.’
‘True. Where now?’ said Fran, halting at the crossroads.
‘Right. Let’s see if we can spot a turning anywhere.’
But there wasn’t, only a track leading to the farm they’d seen in the distance.
‘Actually, it was a bit of a foolish idea,’ said Fran. ‘What on earth did we think we’d find out? We could hardly search the house.’
‘Let’s turn on the radio. There might be something on the local radio,’ suggested Libby.
But the local news bulletin contained nothing about the White Lodge case or Rosie, only more about the two bodies discovered in the Medway area, which had now been discovered to be those of itinerant builders.
‘Oh, well,’ said Libby. ‘Let’s go back to The Red Lion. We could have a coffee with George.’
But before they reached the pub, Libby’s mobile rang.
‘Where are you?’ said Ian.
‘In the car with Fran on the way to The Red Lion. Why, have you found Rosie yet?’
‘No, I’ve just been to see Colonel Weston, and he told me you’d beaten me to it.’
‘Ah.’ Libby glanced at Fran and made a face.
‘When will you keep out of things, Libby? He was warned I was coming, and if there’d been anything suspicious he could have made sure there was no evidence.’
‘But we didn’t say the police knew,’ said Libby.
Ian made an unprintable sound. ‘Don’t be so naive.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Just don’t go getting into anything else.’
‘No. Sorry.’ Libby took a deep breath. ‘What about the cellar?’
‘I don’t know when I’m going to get around to that. You’ll just have to wait.’ The phone went dead.
‘Telling off?’ asked Fran, as she pulled in to The Red Lion car park.
Libby sighed. ‘As usual. And now it looks as though we won’t get to see the cellar.’
‘You didn’t say anything about the cellar.’
Libby told her as they went into the pub and across to the bar.
‘I expect he’ll let you see soon enough – or Ben, at least.’
‘Hmm.’ Libby nodded gloomily.
‘Hello, ladies.’ George beaming appeared at the door from the kitchen. ‘Where’ve you been this time. Not back over to Cherry Ashton again?’
‘Yes,’ said Libby. ‘Can we have two coffees, George?’
‘How’s that old cat of yours, then?’ He asked as he busied himself at the coffee machine.
‘Balzac’s fine, thank you, George.’ Fran hoisted herself onto a stool next to Libby.
‘I’ll tell you what, your coffee’s a darn sight better than at The Red Lion,’ said Libby. ‘Although they do a good sausage pie.’
‘I said they did good food, didn’t I?’ George set their foaming mugs before them. ‘Funny place, though.’
‘Yes. We met the owner,’ said Fran.
‘Oh, Colonel Bloody Weston?’ George rolled his eyes. ‘Thinks he’s God’s gift, he does.’
‘Yes, his manager said he’s a bit of a lad with the women,’ said Libby.
‘Oh, not only with the ladies.’ George leant forward. ‘He thinks he knows everything about everything. That manager of his – the pub wouldn’t be nothing without her – yet he goes on about it as if he did it all. And I’ll tell you, the ladies don’t always like it. I’ve had a couple in here who say they wouldn’t go back.’
‘Why did he buy it?’ asked Fran, blowing froth.
‘Buy it? Lord above, he didn’t buy it! It was part of the estate. He lives in the old Court barn, now.’
‘Yes,’ said Libby, not wanting to admit that they’d been there. ‘Was it a big estate, then? I thought it was just the land between there and the coast road.’
‘His old man owned the whole village.’ George sat down on his own stool. ‘In the family, like. At least, I think so. All those cottages an’ all.’
‘But we met one person who apparently owned one of the cottages,’ said Libby.
‘Oh, yeah. Old man sold a load off over the years, as people died. You still looking into things up there? Shocking, innit? Them honour killings is it?’
‘I don’t think that’s been confirmed,’ said Fran.
‘Said on the news they was all Asian, the bodies, and all female. Stands to reason.’
‘Mmm.’ Libby drank more coffee and licked froth off her upper lip.
‘Well old man Weston won’t like that. Darkies buried on his land? He’ll go loopy.’
‘He’s racist?’ Libby was surprised. ‘But he seems to be quite friendly with another of the residents -’
‘Old Vindari? Yeah, only on the surface though, I bet,’ said George. ‘He’s all right, though. Got a couple of good restaurants.’
Libby and Fran agreed and fell silent.
‘So you’re involved, eh?’ George prompted.
‘Sort of,’ agreed Libby. ‘Although we’ve been told to stay out of it now.’
‘Getting too dangerous, is it?’ Seems to me you two like a bit of danger. I keep an eye on you in the paper. And that young Jane from the
‘You won’t either. They’ve just had a baby girl, Imogen,’ said Libby.
‘Oh, that’s nice. Tell them George said congrats, won’t you?’
‘What did Colonel Weston’s father do?’ asked Fran, out of the blue. George and Libby looked surprised.
‘Do? I don’t reckon he did anything. Farmed the land a bit, although that wasn’t him, it was the tenant farmer, I think he had what they call business interests and he’d been in the war – course, most people his age had been. I think he just came home and played the landed gentry. Sent young Hugh off to boarding school, and then into the army.’
‘He’s a typical product of that sort of upbringing,’ said Libby.
‘Any brothers or sisters?’ asked Fran.
‘What Hugh? Not as far as I know. And what I do know’s general knowledge, anyway.’
‘Business interests,’ said Fran thoughtfully.
