Evadne put the paper aside, rather sorry now she had opened it. She had been trying to put the name Fainlight from her mind. Trying not to dwell on the sad fact of Carlotta’s disappearance. Her heart went out to Valentine. When the nice young constable had asked her if she had known the girl or could give any information about her disappearance, Evadne had mentioned her lovelorn suitor. Then, fearing that she had implied some involvement on Valentine’s part, hurriedly explained that this was purely a matter of observation rather than actual knowledge.
And his poor sister. Oh dear. Evadne sighed aloud. She had heard Louise weeping in the garden of their house on Friday. Evadne had called on behalf of Christian Aid and had hovered uncertainly for several minutes, torn between a natural longing to offer comfort and an anxiety that an intrusion might embarrass or annoy. Louise had always struck her as a very private person. In the end she had walked quietly away. So much unhappiness. Evadne picked up The Times hoping to recapture her pleasant feelings of a few moments ago. She turned to the music page. This was largely taken up by an appreciation of a young and gifted jazz musician who had recently committed suicide.
Evadne sighed again, rather more loudly this time. Mazeppa jumped into her lap, gazed intently into her eyes and gave a long moan of sympathy.
At five fifteen precisely, when Louise Fainlight was quietly breaking her heart and her brother was kneeling on a tiled shower floor in a state of worshipful ecstasy; when Hetty Leathers and her daughter were cracking a bottle of Guinness to celebrate having scraped together the necessary to pay for fifty per cent of Charlie’s funeral (thanks to the Red Lion collection bottle) and the members of the Mothers’ union were preparing their hearts and minds for their genteel and philanthropic endeavours, Detective Chief Inspector Tom Barnaby and Sergeant Gavin Troy presented themselves on the crumbling steps of the Old Rectory.
Lionel Lawrence hardly heard the bell and in any case was in such a state of inner turmoil that he had quite forgotten his telephone conversation earlier that day with the police. Lionel felt like a man who has owned a kitten for years, devotedly caring for it in a kindly if absent-minded manner, only to have it turn into a panther behind his back and bite a great chunk out of his hand.
Obviously Ann would calm down. He would have to be patient, talk to her, maybe even listen a bit. She plainly felt she had some sort of legitimate grievance although Lionel could not imagine what this could possibly be. But he would make whatever promises she wanted and even do his best to keep them. Anything else was unthinkable. To be cut adrift at his time of life, homeless, penniless. What would he do? Where would he go? After years of dedicated compassion towards society’s cast-offs, Lionel realised that now that he was in need of a spot of it himself, there seemed to be no one to turn to. Furious at his wife for putting him in such a position while knowing he could never afford to let it show, Lionel decided to forgive her, as a Christian should, and work hard towards their reconciliation.
The bell rang again and this time it registered. Lionel, still consumed with apprehensive visions as to his future, drifted across the black and white tiled hall and opened the door.
To his annoyance it was the policemen who had been so insolent only a few days ago. He couldn’t quite find the courage to tick off the senior officer and the younger was nosily peering over his shoulder into the house so Lionel settled for staring severely into the gap between them.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ said Barnaby, looking about as unsorry as a man could be, ‘but I believe you’re expecting us.’
‘I most certainly am not,’ said Lionel. ‘What I am expecting in,’ he removed a pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket and locked onto it as if spellbound, ‘roughly twenty minutes is the Ferne Basset Mothers’ union monthly committee meeting.’
‘We spoke on the telephone yesterday.’ Barnaby stepped forward as he said this and Lionel, taken by surprise at the sudden brisk movement, moved hurriedly to his right, investing this brief sidle with an air of intolerable persecution.
‘Arranged to talk to Mrs Lawrence,’ explained Sergeant Troy, by now also in the hall. ‘Fivish.’
‘Ah.’ Lionel did not close the door. ‘Well, she isn’t here.’
‘But will be shortly?’ suggested the chief inspector. ‘You did say she always attended the meetings.’
‘Indeed. It is one of the high spots of her monthly calendar.’
Good grief, thought Sergeant Troy. What a life. He tried to imagine Talisa Leanne’s mother joining a union . Poor buggers wouldn’t know what had hit them. Maureen’d argue the hind leg off a donkey, persuade you black was white. You’d believe a man could fly and if he’d got any sense the minute he saw her coming that’s exactly what he’d do.