‘It was summer; there wasn’t much snow.’
Again Banks noticed that tiny twitch of a smile at the corners of her pale lips. ‘That would be about ten years ago, wouldn’t it?’ he asked.
Penny nodded slowly. ‘Ten years, almost exactly. Yes. But things changed. Michael went to university. He was eighteen. I went away. Years passed. Harry came into some money and bought the house. I’d been back about eight months then – sort of return of the prodigal daughter. Black sheep. Most people had no time for me, but Harry always did.’
‘What do you mean they had no time for you? Where had you been? Why did you come back?’
‘That’s a long story, Inspector,’ Penny said, ‘and I’m not sure it comes under the heading of relevant information. Briefly though, I spent about eight or nine years away, in the music business. Mostly I was homesick, despite all the fun and a moderate amount of acclaim. Finally, I got very cynical, and I decided it was time to come home. People weren’t friendly because they can’t accept anything modern around here and they no longer knew how to behave towards me. I’m sure they made up stories to suit their opinions. They didn’t know who or what I was, so they made a lot of assumptions based on what they read in the Sunday papers about the music business – and I don’t mean the Sunday Times, either. To them I became a degenerate, a scarlet woman. In fact, I always had been – they couldn’t admit they’d ever been wrong about me. Does that answer your questions?’
She paused but didn’t look at Banks for a response. ‘It was very hard for my father, but he took me back. Why don’t I live with him? Is that what you were going to ask next? For my sanity, Inspector, my mental health. He’s just a bit too solicitous of my welfare, shall we say. And I think I’m a big girl now. It seemed best for both of us if I took this little cottage. Surely you can understand that?’
‘Of course. There were rumours, too, weren’t there?’
Penny laughed. ‘Oh, you know about that as well, do you? See what a nice close little community our village is? Well, don’t be embarrassed, Inspector, ask me. Go on, ask me.’
Her bright blue eyes glittered with anger. Banks said nothing. Finally, Penny gave him a scornful look and turned away to pull another cigarette from her packet.
‘So only your father and Harold Steadman were kind to you?’
‘Yes.’ Penny hesitated. ‘And Jack Barker, too. He’d been here a year or so by then, but he knew nothing of what had happened. Not that it would have mattered to him. He’s a friend, too.’
‘And now?’
‘Oh, now?’ Penny laughed. ‘People are beginning to say hello again.’
‘Do you still see Michael Ramsden?’
‘Not much. Only when he calls in at the Bridge or drops by with Harry. Sometimes when you drift apart you never really drift back together.’
‘And you can’t think of any reason why anyone would want to harm Mr Steadman?’
‘None at all. I’ve told you.’ Penny’s smooth brow creased in thought and she shook her head sadly. ‘He wasn’t greedy or scheming. He never cheated or lied.’
‘What did his wife think of your relationship?’
‘Emma? Nothing much, I should imagine. Probably glad to get him out of the way.’
‘Why do you say that? Were they unhappy together?’
Penny looked at him as if he’d just crawled out from under a stone and blew her smoke out angrily. ‘How should I know? Ask her.’
‘I’m asking you.’ Things were taking the kind of turn he had hoped to avoid, but with someone as anti- establishment as Penny Cartwright, he reflected, it was bound to happen. She had been toying with him all along. He pressed on: ‘Still no answer?’
‘I told you, I don’t know,’ she said. ‘For God’s sake, what do you want me to say?’
‘Was their marriage normal?’
‘Normal! Ha! What the bloody hell does that mean? Yes, I suppose so. I’ve never been married myself, so I’m hardly the best person to ask.’
‘Were they happy?’
‘I should think so. As I said, I don’t really know. It’s not as if I was his confidante or his shoulder to cry on.’
‘Did he need one?’
Penny sighed and rested her head in her hands. ‘Look,’ she protested tiredly, ‘this is getting us nowhere. What do you want from me?’
Banks ignored her question and pressed on: ‘What were you to Mr Steadman?’
‘Harry and I were friends. Just friends; I told you. We had interests in common.’
‘And his wife didn’t object?’
‘She never said anything to me. Why should she? Harry never said anything, either.’
‘You do know her, then?’
‘Of course I bloody well know her. Harry and I weren’t carrying on a clandestine relationship, like you seem to think. I went to their house for dinner plenty of times. She was always very kind and charming. She was a good cook, too.’
‘What did you talk about?’
‘When Emma was around?’
‘Yes.’
‘Nothing much. Just the usual stuff. She didn’t really share Harry’s passions. She likes music – mostly classical, though. Christ, what do you talk about when you go to someone’s house for dinner?’
‘Were you having an affair with Harold Steadman?’
At last, the inevitable question. And Banks felt a fool the moment it was out. If he had been expecting a burst of pent-up anger or a howl of derisive laughter in reply, he couldn’t have been more surprised. His question seemed instead to deflate the interview of all its mounting tension, and Penny gazed at him steadily, a spark of amusement in her sapphire eyes, as if, in fact, she had goaded him into bluntness.
‘No, Inspector,’ she said, ‘I was not having an affair with Harry Steadman, or with anyone else, for that matter. In fact, I’m not having an affair with Emma Steadman, or with my father, either. Everything is exactly as I’ve told you. I just didn’t feel that way about Harry, nor he about me, as far as I could tell.’ Banks thought Steadman must have been mad. ‘He didn’t excite me physically,’ she went on, lighting another cigarette and walking around the small room as she smoked it. ‘Only my mind, my imagination. And I liked him very much. I think he was a good man, a bright, sweet person. Perhaps I even loved him in a platonic sort of way, but that’s as far as it went.’ She tossed her hair back and sat down facing him, chin held high. Bright tears shone in her eyes but they never began to flow. ‘There you are, Inspector,’ she said with dignity. ‘I’ve bared my soul for you. Aren’t you pleased?’
Banks was moved by the obvious intensity of her feeling, but he didn’t want to let his disadvantage show.
‘When did you last see him?’ he asked.
Her eyes reflected a chain of options running through her mind. It was a phenomenon Banks had often observed in people who were trying to decide quickly whether to lie or tell the truth.
Penny opened her mouth, then closed it. She took a final drag on her cigarette, ground it out half smoked and whispered, ‘Saturday. Saturday evening.’
‘What time?’
‘About nine.’
‘After he’d left the Bridge?’
‘Yes. He dropped by here.’
‘Then why the hell didn’t you tell me before? You knew damn well you were holding back important information.’
Penny shrugged. ‘You didn’t ask me. I didn’t want to get involved.’
‘Didn’t want to get involved?’ Banks echoed scornfully. ‘You say you liked the man, that he helped you, and you couldn’t be bothered to help us try and find his killer?’
Penny sighed and began to wind a strand of hair around her index finger. ‘Look, Inspector,’ she said, ‘I know it sounds shabby, but it’s true. I don’t see how his visit to me could help you in any way. And, dammit,’ she
