A dip in the hydrotherapy pool. Pedicure. Manicure.
Still in bathrobe and slippers, afternoon tea. You get rid of all those toxins and replace them with refined sugar, refined flour and saturated fat. And you risk another glass of champagne.
I said casually, ‘You must wish Ken was away every weekend.’
‘Why should you say that?’ she asked sharply.
‘No reason at all – except that this is such a wonderful way to pass the time.’
‘Well, it is of course.’ She didn’t sound entirely mollified. ‘More shampoo?’
‘Best not: I’m light-headed enough as it is. But please – you go ahead.’
She did. She was obviously less worried about her licence than I was. After a swig, she leant forward confidentially. ‘Actually, he’s really touchy these days, Jane. He can be quite nasty and sarcastic. That’s why we’ve had all these treatments on his card. To teach him.’
No need to say I didn’t follow her logic. ‘Joy, I’m so sorry. Is he unwell, maybe? Worried about something?’
‘How should I know? He’s never there to ask. And if I try he snaps my head off. We’ve been married forty years, Jane, and suddenly I don’t know him.’
‘Could it – could it be an age thing? He’s older than you, isn’t he?’
Her eyes widened. ‘You think I should talk to the doctor?’
‘If that’s what you’ve been thinking anyway.’ I hesitated. ‘He’s never been … unkind … to you? Stopped you seeing friends or neighbours?’
She snorted. ‘He seems glad to be rid of me. But he’s never … they say your husband – ex-husband … hit you. He’s never done that. It’s just that he’s so absorbed in his boats it’s as if I don’t exist any more.’
‘I’m so sorry. But if you talk to anyone it ought to be to him first, oughtn’t it? And then you can decide what to do. But – and I’m sorry to sound so headmistressy – if you want any more champagne, I can run you home so you don’t have to drive.’
She giggled. ‘I don’t want to be pulled over and breathalysed, do I? Actually, you know what, Ken was the other night. We’re on the way back from some Masonic do and there’s this blue light and suddenly Ken’s pulling on to the hard shoulder. He just about passed the breath test. Goodness knows how. And guess who the policeman was? The one who fancied you. Eoin. Eoin – what’s his other name? Connor, that’s right. I did wave’ − she demonstrated a little twiddly finger gesture − ‘but he didn’t seem to recognise me. Blanked me, more like, actually. Anyway, that was that. He and Ken shook hands and that was it. Imagine if he’d been banned from driving! Ken, I mean. All the publicity.’
‘Awful.’ My personal view was that drink-drivers should be put in the stocks, but perhaps I shouldn’t share it just now. As for the handshake, I just didn’t want to speculate.
She waved away the offer of a top-up from an assiduous waiter and ordered coffee – yes, and green tea for me.
It was only when I went to change and see what I might be able to do with my hair, left in lank rat’s tails, that I could check my phone. Two texts from Elaine, the first asking me to call her, the second telling me to call her.
Can’t − still being pampered.
OK, Meet me for Turkish at 7.00. Will get you home if you want to get pissed. x (Park in our car park – security are expecting U. x)
Who could resist an invitation like that? I responded.
But I had to send another text, this one to Enid: Dear Dolly, so sorry I won’t be back to share your supper this evening. But I promise to bring back any juicy bones I can lay hands on.
By the time I’d sent that another arrived from Elaine: No. Use public car park. I’ll see you at the Turkish. 7.30.
Since I had time to kill, and couldn’t be bothered to go and shop for England at Ashford’s Outlet shopping centre, I took myself to see Will. I obviously wasn’t the first that day: Eeyore, still wearing the medal, sat out of range, but Pooh was propped at the end of the bed, with that rather vapid smile on his face. I straightened his t-shirt and, propping him on my lap, sat on the visitor’s chair. He smelt of perfume: presumably one of the women from Will’s past had recently hugged him. It would be good to meet her, all of them in fact, because what they told me about him in his prime would help me to work out what I felt should happen next – please note the euphemism. What would happen to Eeyore and Pooh when he didn’t need them any more? I found myself weeping into Pooh’s fur – it was much easier to be sentimental over him than over Will.
But it was time to talk. No, I wouldn’t worry him with any serious news: instead I tried to give a very upbeat account of my time in the spa, with a decidedly exaggerated version of Joy’s tipsiness. But my heart wasn’t in it. She was doing her best to be my friend, and her long marriage was in an unhappy phase. That was certainly no laughing matter. It was, as I told Will, time to meet up with Elaine.
I was paranoid enough to suspect I was being followed from the multi-storey car park I’d chosen as being nearest to both Ashford police station and the Turkish restaurant. If I was, whoever was tailing me was good – changing pace, walking on the opposite pavement, heading quite deliberately towards the police station were all in vain. In my mind’s ear I sensed inexorable footsteps. Eventually I gave up the game and simply strode out – courtesy of all those pre-school runs! – towards the Turkish restaurant, where the handsome waiter greeted me as if I was an old friend and pressed a large glass of red wine on me as soon as I was installed at the table Elaine had reserved.
Lloyd Davies had once passed on an old police trick: you sit with your back to the wall and face the door because it’s better to see any danger than have it creep up behind you. There was a nice buzz about the place, and the tables were already filling up so well it looked as if Elaine had been wise to make a reservation, especially if she had planned to turn up late. Fifteen minutes drifted into thirty, and thirty into forty. My phone calls went straight to voicemail and she didn’t respond to any texts. I’d have quite liked to stalk out in fury, but that would have involved walking on my own back to the car – which I wasn’t in a fit state to drive, anyway, not with all that heavy-duty red wine, though I had consumed a fair amount of bread and a lot of huge juicy olives. I had a frisson of anxiety – what if Elaine had to scrub the whole meal and had forgotten her promise to get me home?
After an hour, I was just about to bail when Elaine ran in, almost knocking a tray of meze out of the waiter’s hands.
‘Have you ordered? Why in hell not? I texted you …’ In response to my bemused face, she grabbed her phone. ‘Er, I saved the bloody text in drafts, didn’t I? Shit. Look, it seems I’m going to be working late, very late – so yes, please, a nice fat kebab to take out,’ she told the waiter. ‘My usual. Usual before the diet,’ she added with a grin. ‘You want one too, Jane? Put everything she’s had on my bill, please. No argument, Jane. Where’s your coat?’
We’d actually got outside, clutching our cholesterol kit, before I managed to ask her what she expected me to do now. ‘I’ve drunk too much to risk driving,’ I pointed out.
‘Hell, and I said I’d get someone to drive you back. And now we’re as busy as shit. Where are you parked? No, you can’t leave it there all night or you’d have no wheels in the morning – only joking, but it’s not the best lit car park in the world, is it? Tell you what, I’ll walk round with you to pick it up and I’ll stow it in our car park, after all – that’ll have to do. And you’ll have to get a cab home. Sorry.’
‘And a cab back in tomorrow,’ I pointed out dryly. ‘This isn’t working out very well, Elaine, is it? OK, let’s go. Can’t you talk as we walk? Because there’s also stuff you maybe ought to know – about Ken Penkridge.’
‘Sorry – you’ll have to slow down. I don’t do power-walking. And I’m sorry to have messed you about. As for tomorrow’s cab, come in early and we’ll go and have breakfast – my shout – and I can pick your brain and maybe by then I’ll have stuff
I can share with you.’
‘That’d be great.’ We were almost by my car. I handed over my keys. ‘There you are. See you tomorrow. And I’m sorry to have snapped: I’m very hungry, that’s all.’
A figure turned towards me. ‘Hungry? Jane? Well, so am I. I came in to get a takeaway. Lules is at her godmother’s for the weekend – yes, I had to take Snowdrop too! – and I didn’t fancy anything in the freezer.’
Elaine asked briskly, ‘Will you be going straight back to Wray Episcopi, Mr Petrie? Cos if you wouldn’t mind a short diversion, you could drop Jane off. I might as well take that kebab too, Jane.’
A distant but embarrassing recollection darted into my mind of that scene in Persuasion when Anne Elliot, walking in Bath with Charles Musgrove, suddenly finds herself forced into the company of Captain Wentworth. On the other hand, they were in love with each other, so there were no parallels at all.
‘Elaine! Honestly!’ My expostulation sounded like that of a fifteen-year-old.
‘No problem,’ Petrie declared as quickly as if he was embarrassed too. ‘What shall we do about food, Jane?’
‘That table at the Turkish place is reserved till nine,’ Elaine declared helpfully, getting quickly into my car and shutting the door rather too firmly. She didn’t lower the driving window. I never drove that fast in a car park.
I hope the wave I gave her was ironic. I was angry, but tried not to show it: after all, Petrie had even more reason to be annoyed. For Elaine to transfer me to the care of a man about whom I really knew very little, some of which wasn’t at all good, was outrageous of her. It might even have put me at risk. Or did Elaine know good things about him she hadn’t deigned to share with me? ‘I really do apologise for my friend,’ I said.
I expected a shrug. I got a smile. ‘Don’t. It’s nice to have a bit of adult company.’
‘But not necessarily to have it wished on you in that high-handed way. I’m more than happy to take a taxi. Sorry – that isn’t very gracious, is it?’
‘Not really. I take your point, though.’ He gave a formal bow. ‘Jane, I’d be delighted if you would eat with me and accept a lift back to Wrayford. In whichever order. The thing is,’ he added more normally, ‘I don’t want to get back home too soon. Irana’s girlfriend has come over for the weekend and I thought I’d give them some space. The … bedroom noises … are pretty loud. Thank goodness Lules isn’t there! Actually, there’s a nice pub a couple of miles south of Wray Episcopi where I sometimes take Lules as a treat. Or would you really prefer Turkish?’
A load of very laddish lads came bundling towards us, already stroppy with booze.
‘You know what,’ I admitted, ‘towns like this might not be the best place to be on Saturday nights.’
He opened the passenger door for me and then paused to make a phone call before getting in himself.
‘Table booked,’ he said, easing out of the car park. Looking at the groups milling round, he added, ‘I think it was a wise decision to get out now. I just hope the Green Grass is OK tonight.’
‘The Green Grass?’ I squeaked. It was regularly judged as one of Kent’s top-three gastropubs. ‘It’s amazing you got a table at such short notice.’
‘The landlord’s a mate of mine. He’s very fond of Lules, too. She’s even had sleepovers with his daughters there. Nice girls – not like the ones she seems to have fallen in with recently.’ He snorted. ‘You try to do what’s best for your kids, you know. And I didn’t see Lules as the sort of high-achieving kid who’d do well at a hothouse private school. Anyway, I guess there’d be cliques and bullying there.’
‘And no Snowdrop to snuggle up to when things got bad,’ I said.
‘Right. I just wish Snowdrop was a hamster or a guinea pig. The way she rides – madness. I get so cross with her – well, you’ve seen. Tell me, how do you get kids to obey without yelling and swearing and letting yourself down?’
‘A degree, a post-grad course and a job title giving you authority. And the weird thing is, parents have the toughest, most demanding job in the world – and they get no preparatory course for it.’
‘I suspect it’s more than that, you know. I gather you’re a really firm cricket umpire? Oh, you hear everything in a village.’
Should I take a risk? ‘Maybe if you’re a native. It takes a long time for gossip to filter through to incomers. I don’t even know what you do for a living.’
‘You didn’t look me up in Lules’ file?’ It was hard to tell if he was pleased or disappointed. ‘Though it’s not as if you had a lot of time, is it? What with one thing and another.’
I took another risk. ‘I do rather hope you’re not one of the Mr Biggs of the criminal world who seem to have settled in half of Kent. Whoops! Sorry, I sank a glass of wine while I was waiting for Elaine and it might be the alcohol talking.’
‘Jane, I’m so law-abiding I’ve never had so much as a parking ticket and I even fill in my tax returns on time!’ he said, full of self-mocking righteous indignation. He added, ‘Actually, if you don’t you get fined. No, I work freelance in the arts world.’
‘Oh, you’re not Banksy? No, wrong part of the world, I suppose.’
‘Not art, arts. Music, actually. Music production, before you ask if I’m a secret pop star.’
‘I thought you had to be a “yoof” to be one of those.’
‘Touché!’ He parked neatly in the last space outside a picture-book pub laden with peg-tiles. ‘Anyway, here we are. I’m afraid we may have to make a run for it,’ he added, as a gust of wind hurled rain at us.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Inside was as cute as the outside, with rough plaster and swags of hop bines and old wooden agricultural tools. We had a table tucked into an alcove, which he said was Lules’ favourite. His constant references to his daughter kept the key low – but there was a frisson, I was fairly sure of it. Was it welcome? Until I knew more of what Elaine had found out – and of course Lules’ grim discovery had been on her father’s land – whom could I trust? My instincts seemed to have deserted me and though common sense told me that Elaine wouldn’t have entrusted me to a possible murderer or accomplice, I told myself to be cautious. Unsurprisingly the silence that had drifted over us while we looked at the fairly short menu seemed hard to break, even when we’d placed our order – guinea fowl for both of us – receiving apologies that for once the vegetables weren’t home-grown because of the bad weather. We agreed what we’d drink with the meal, and that we might as well start on it now. And I asked for a jug of tap water. I’d drunk my units for the day already, of course, but didn’t want to sound too pious.
At last he said, ‘Actually, I was a bit embarrassed by DI Carberry. Elaine. I’d have preferred to do the inviting myself, because I … I had thought of inviting you to dinner before, but … Circumstances have been very strange, haven’t they? Apart from anything else, you’ve been under so much pressure, and Lules has had to be my main – my only – priority.’
I nodded. ‘Absolutely. I’m really glad you spared her Irana’s sound effects.’
‘I was worried about you, too, actually – there’s only so much anyone can deal with. But you look much better tonight.’
‘So I should hope,’ I said, laughing. ‘I’ve spent a whole day at the Mondiale being tarted up.’
His face fell. ‘So, you were going on a date with her?’
‘Elaine! No! She’s got a very tolerant husband who is presumably used to being abandoned at restaurants and then having his meal and his car confiscated. I just had a girlie day out at the Mondiale being pampered. I think Joy had had a row with her husband and wanted to take it out on his credit card,’ I added unnecessarily. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, and especially shouldn’t have mentioned any names.’
He looked at me seriously. ‘Given where you live, that wouldn’t be Joy Penkridge, would it, and Ken?’
‘Forget it. Please. I was wrong to—’
‘No problem,’ he said dismissively
. ‘I know them both reasonably well – and I’m actually quite concerned about Ken.’
‘Look, Rufus,’ I said slowly, ‘Joy’s done me nothing but kindness.’
‘Recently, at least,’ he corrected me quickly. So he knew about their quite valid complaints about my garden – and maybe something else? Before I could ask he continued, ‘But I take your point.’
‘Another point is that I don’t want to say anything I shall regret when I’m sober.’
‘Do you ever? Sometimes you give the impression that you take words out and look at them before you utter them. Which is not a criticism. And there’s always a wariness about your eyes. And I wondered … Another thing rumour has told me is that things have been … very tough … for you. An ex-husband in jail. And a child by someone who should have been looking after you but who scarpered.’
My face felt stiff as I smiled. ‘Five out of ten so far. Yes to the ex-husband; absolutely no to the second. If you’re referring to Zunaid, I love him dearly but not because I’m his mother. In fact, the ex-husband made—made it impossible for me to have any children of my own.’ Why was I telling him something I never, ever mentioned? I said more firmly, before he could start sympathising, ‘But shit happens. And it happened once more when a guy I was beginning to like ended up in a PVS.’
‘Yes. I heard about that too. And that you still visit him.’
‘As all his friends do.’
A plate of charcuterie for sharing arrived, thank goodness. It was all getting way too personal.
I waited till we’d eaten half the pate and might need to negotiate the fate of the third of three gherkins. ‘I shouldn’t have snapped at you, Rufus, when you mentioned Ken. In fact, Joy’s worried about him too. Says he’s moody and offhand with her. I said she should talk to him. Maybe talk to the family doctor. Do you know anything I should pass on to her in a kind and very indirect way?’
Head Wound Page 20
