‘Could I take your name?’
‘Sophie Blackstock. I’m here with my husband Paul. He’s already been interviewed by your colleague. I’m not sure why you need to speak to me.’
Holly smiled, an attempt to reassure, to put the woman at her ease. ‘These are just a few routine questions. You’re here at Brockburn because you’re a friend of Mark and Juliet?’
‘Of Mark,’ Sophie said. ‘I’d never met Juliet. Mark and I were very close at one time. We went to university together.’ A pause. ‘We job-share now at the theatre, though I’m on maternity leave at the moment.’ There was another hesitation. ‘It’s the first time we’ve left the baby for a night. When I saw the weather I wanted to cancel, but Paul said it would do us good to get away.’
Perhaps, Holly thought, this was the cause of the anxiety: a new mother separated from her child, even more delayed now because of the murder.
‘This won’t take long, I promise, and then we’ll let you get home.’ Holly had taken a dislike to Paul Blackstock, although she’d never met him. ‘Could you take me through your movements yesterday?’
‘We arrived at about five-thirty. Paul wanted to set off even earlier, but he couldn’t get away from work until four. We were probably some of the last to arrive.’
‘Did you see any cars on your way?’
Sophie thought. ‘We followed a tractor for the last mile or so. That was great because it cleared a path in the snow, but it turned off before we came to the house and then the drive was really treacherous.’
‘You didn’t see a smaller, white car? It had been driven by Lorna Falstone, the young woman who was killed.’
‘Lorna Falstone? That’s the name of the victim?’
‘Yes.’ Vera had given out the name when she talked to the group. Sophie must have heard it.
Holly saw that Sophie was very pale and that her hands were trembling. ‘Did you know her?’
There was a moment of silence.
‘Sophie?’ Holly pressed.
‘I’ve met someone with that name and it would be too much of a coincidence not to be the same woman. She said she came from the wilds of Northumberland.’
‘Where did you meet her?’
‘In a private hospital in Cumbria. I was working there, running some drama workshops. The clinic specialized in treating people with eating disorders and Lorna was a patient. The workshops were part of the therapy.’
‘Are you saying that Lorna had anorexia?’ Holly’s spirits lifted. This was new information, and she’d been the person to discover it.
The woman nodded.
‘When was this?’
Sophie spoke immediately. ‘Five years ago. Nearly five years. I know because it was where I met Paul, my husband.’
‘Was he a patient too?’
Sophie gave a little smile and shook her head. ‘God, no! He’d hate it if anyone suggested he had a mental illness. His little brother Nat was there. Paul was a regular visitor.’
‘So, Paul might have met Lorna?’
‘He might have done. Visitors were encouraged to mix with the patients. There were social evenings. Some even joined in the drama sessions, which is how we got together. Not Paul’s thing at all, but he’d have done anything to get Nat eating again.’
‘Did it work?’
Sophie shook her head again. ‘No. Nat did enough to get home, but then he became ill again.’ She paused for a beat. ‘He had a massive heart attack and he died.’
Chapter Eight
At midday, just when Juliet was wondering if they’d be expected to provide lunch, Vera was back in the dining room to say that the party guests could all leave. Once they’d cleared snow from windscreens, they drove off with waves and shouted words of thanks. The house seemed suddenly very quiet and Juliet had a moment of intense relief. Harriet had retired with some dignity to her room. The forensic experts were in the tent by the body. Thomas was pottering around in the kitchen, occasionally pulling himself up on a chair and walking a few steps before looking around, expecting applause. The house felt as if it belonged to the family again. With the child in the kitchen, like a real family.
Dorothy had made soup and they sat round the big table to eat. Not Harriet. When Juliet went to tell her that lunch was ready, she said she’d rather eat in her room. ‘Could you bring me something up, darling? I really can’t face Vera just now. Whenever I see her, I’m reminded of the odious Hector.’ So Juliet had trotted up the stairs with a tray, and for one moment thought she was being treated more like a maid (in the time when they did have real staff in the place) than the woman running the house. Then she told herself not to be such a snob and to get over herself.
The experts came in from the cold, rubbing their hands to bring them back to life. There was a tall stern serious one, the doctor, and a little jolly one. Neither of them talked about their work, though earlier, when they were leaving their boots in the scullery, Juliet had seen them whispering to Vera. They’d just finished eating and there was more tea, more coffee, then the front doorbell went. It was cracked and discordant and always reminded Juliet of a bell ringing for a funeral. She went to answer and saw a woman standing there: she was cheerful, dressed for the weather in boots, down jacket and a hand-knitted bobble hat. Late thirties maybe, but still with the look of a student. Red-faced, no make-up.
‘Hiya. I’m Helen Clough. Social worker. I think you’re expecting me. I’m here for Thomas.’
Juliet should have been expecting her, but she’d put the
