Five
'That's an odd couple,' said Jeffrey Benson a week later. It was the day after the weekly meeting of the Dembley Walkers. He was referring to a certain Mr and Mrs James Lacey, who had turned up and said they were eager to join the walkers. Jeffrey and the others were in the Grapes at lunchtime, a somewhat more relaxed group than they had been in previous days. All were getting used to frequent interrogations and diggings into their past by the police. Kelvin was feeling quite euphoric because the police had not discovered Jessica's visit to him or the subsequent row, and Jeffrey was beginning to feel at ease because he had not heard a word about entertaining any Irishmen.
'Bourgeois,' said Alice, heaving her great bottom on the imitation medieval chair in the lounge bar. 'They've got money. That was a Gucci handbag she was carrying.'
'There's something a bit common about her, really,' said Deborah, who secretly, thanks to several warm telephone calls from Sir Charles, felt she was becoming an authority on the upper classes. 'He's all right, though.' She giggled. 'Quite attractive, I think.'
'But dae we want them with us?' demanded Kelvin. 'We can hardly fight the good fight wi' a couple o' Tories tagging along.'
Gemma said uneasily, 'Do you mean we're still going to have to face up to angry landowners, even though Jessica's dead?'
'Why not?' demanded Alice. 'Jessica was a bit of a bully, but when you look at it, she had the right idea.'
Deborah stared into her glass of orange juice. She suddenly did not want to be part of a group that went in for confrontations. And yet, the walkers had meant friendship and a cause. What if Sir Charles did not call her any more or want to see her? Then everything would have been for nothing, she thought sadly, and she would be alone again. She found it hard to make friends, considering the quieter, milder teachers, the ones who might be considered her own sort, not glamorous enough.
Peter Hatfield and Terry Brice unexpectedly came to Gemma's defence. 'I think it's Gemma who has the right idea,' said Terry. 'We could have lovely walks...'
'Lovely walks,' echoed Peter plaintively.
'...if only we just settled down to enjoy the countryside.'
Jeffrey stretched and yawned. 'Oh, this Saturday should be mild enough. There's a pretty walk listed in one of the books. Most of it goes through farmland and the book says that it's well signposted.'
'What year was the book published?' demanded Alice suspiciously.
'Nineteen thirties. But they update these publications, for God's sake, or it wouldn't still be on sale. It's quite a long walk. Do we take the cars out to the beginning of it?'
But the rest decided they were proper ramblers and should walk the whole distance. They agreed to meet outside the Grapes at nine in the morning on Saturday.
'We'd better tell the Laceys,' suggested Deborah.
'Where do they live?' asked Peter Hatfield.
'Got a flat in Sheep Street,' said Terry. 'Here' - he fished out a notebook - 'I wrote it down with their phone number. That James Lacey was ever so nice to me. I'll phone him.'
'Oh, suit yourself,' said Peter sulkily.
It was Agatha who took the phone call later that day. She wrote down the meeting-place and the time and then went happily back to preparing a special dinner for James.
To her initial disappointment, the flat had proved to be much larger than she had anticipated, having three bedrooms. She had fantasized about there being only one bedroom. James would sleep on a cot-bed on the floor. 'God, this thing's uncomfortable,' he would moan. 'I wish I had that nice double bed to sleep on.' And Agatha would say huskily, 'Why not join me?' And he would, and then, and then...
But all that had happened was that he took one bedroom, she had another, and there was the third bedroom in between. Also, for the first few days, she had seen little of James, for he kept remembering things he should have brought and running back to Carsely to get them. But tonight they would have dinner together.
Agatha had bought ready-made food from Marks & Spencer, removing it from the foil dishes and putting the contents into pretty oven dishes to make it look as if she had cooked everything herself. She had candles on the table. Candlelight might be corny, but it hid the signs of ageing. How maddening that middle-aged men did not need to bother about wrinkles, or did not seem to. She had good breasts and had invested in a silk blouse with a plunging neckline and a black silk skirt which was very flattering to her still somewhat thickened figure.
As she busied herself polishing the wineglasses until they shone, she realized with a guilty little jolt that so far she had not really been doing her job properly, and that was finding out all she could about the walkers. James had gone to the local library to look through the national press files for articles on Greenham Common and see if Jessica's name had been mentioned. She, Agatha, should have been with Deborah or some of the other walkers instead of polishing wineglasses and losing herself in fantasy. Well, just this one evening. Tomorrow she would get down to work.
James was getting weary of searching the files. He had found a mention of Jessica's being arrested after cutting the wire of the perimeter fence at Greenham Common, but among the names of the other women he could not find one of any of the other walkers. He had hoped that if someone had been part of Jessica's past, there might be something there to tie her in with the murder. He sighed. It was all very far-fetched.
'We'll soon be closing up,' said a voice at his elbow.
He looked up and saw a pretty young librarian standing there. She had long straight blonde hair and a doll-like face. She was wearing a very short, very tight skirt and high heels. Must cause chaos when she goes up on the ladders, he thought.
'I'll leave it,' said James. 'I could do with a drink.'
'So could I,' said the librarian.
The invitation came automatically. 'Like to join me?' asked James.
She held out a hand. 'My name's Mary Sprott.'
'James Lacey. Where would you like to go?'
'There's a pub next door. I'll get my coat.'
To do James justice, had Agatha said anything about a special dinner and that she expected him home at a certain time, he would have been there. But the last exchange with Agatha had been of the 'See you this evening' variety. So, wondering in an amused way whether he looked like a dirty old man, he escorted Mary Sprott to the pub.
'I haven't seen you around Dembley before,' she said. 'Are you new to the town?'
'Recently arrived.'
'In business?'
'No, I'm retired.'
She batted her eyelashes at him. 'You look ever so young to be a retired gentleman.'
'Why, thank you,' said James. 'What would you like to drink?'
'Rum and Coke, please.'
'Right, back in a moment.'
As James stood at the bar waiting for his order of drinks, he saw the walkers seated at a round table in the far corner. He waved to them. Peter and Terry raised limp hands. The rest just stared. Oh, dear, thought James. We're not going to get very far with that lot if they've taken a dislike to us. He wondered whether to buy them all a drink to ingratiate himself, but decided against it. He was beginning to get a feeling that he and Agatha were floundering about in an investigation which the police could do so much better with all their records and files. If Jessica had known any of them before her arrival in Dembley, then the police would soon trace it.
As he returned to Mary carrying the drinks, he saw looks of cynical amusement on the faces of the walkers and realized with a jolt that he was supposed to be a married man.
'Thanks ever so,' said Mary. She leaned towards him and whispered, 'You see that bunch over at that table?'
