A Question of Guilt(46)

There was still no sign of ‘gorgeous George’, but I wasn’t too bothered. If there had been a mystery man in Dawn’s life, I was beginning to doubt that it was him. It seemed to me that Lewis Crighton fitted that role perfectly. And now I’d happened upon yet another link to Dawn – his glamorous, rather hard-faced wife was a member of the same drama group that Dawn had been in.

I cast a sidelong look at her when my nerve-wracking stint of reading was finished. She was so confident, so polished and self-assured. I wondered if some of that poise might slip a little if she knew that her husband and the pretty Sarah had been ‘working late’ and left the office together. And just how ruthless she could be if she thought her marriage was under threat.

This wasn’t the time, though, for turning over the various possibilities. What I needed to do was establish myself as a bone fide would-be thespian so that when I began to ask questions no one would suspect I had any motive other than curiosity.

We broke for another cup of coffee about nine, everyone piling into the kitchen this time, where Delyth was rattling a jam jar and collecting twenty pence in payment. When I went to drop mine in, she covered the jar with her hand.

‘Not tonight, Sally. You’re a guest. Next time, but not tonight.’

Again I felt a stab of guilt that I was deceiving these people who had accepted me so readily.

‘No George again tonight?’ one of the girls said as she took her coffee.

‘No, don’t know where he is.’

‘It’s strange for him to miss two meetings in a row. Though he’s never been as regular as he used to be since we lost Dawn . . .’ The speaker moved away, and with the buzz of conversation I was unable to hear any more.

Coffee finished, we all returned to our places and play-reading resumed. Thankfully, John didn’t ask me to take a part again, and I was able to study the others and think about the conversation I’d just overheard. Perhaps I was wrong to be so certain Lewis Crighton was the leading man in this mystery – certainly it had sounded as if George and Dawn had been involved in some way. At this stage I really must keep an open mind.

The meeting broke up at about a quarter to ten.

‘Some of us go for a drink in the Feathers,’ Delyth told me as we were putting on our coats. ‘You’re welcome to join us if you’d like to.’

The Feathers was a pub in the Square, but tempting as the invitation was, with the opportunity to be a party to more conversation and general chit-chat, I didn’t think I should take Delyth up on the invitation tonight. Mum and Dad would be expecting me home and would be worried if I was late. I didn’t want to take advantage, either – I couldn’t afford for Dad to decide not to let me borrow his car again.

‘Thanks, but I think I’d better not. Next time, maybe?’

‘I certainly hope so.’ Delyth smiled at me. ‘There will be a next time, won’t there? We haven’t completely put you off?’

‘Not at all! Next Monday?’

‘Oh, we’ll be meeting on Wednesday, too. We always meet Mondays and Wednesdays. Can you make it then?’

‘Yes, of course. I’ll look forward to it.’

Too late I remembered. I had a date with Josh on Wednesday. Well, I’d just have to postpone it. I couldn’t miss the opportunity to become part of the scenery here sooner rather than later, and hopefully he’d understand.

People were drifting out now, some saying their goodbyes, some calling: ‘See you in the pub’ as they went. Delyth left me by the lift, going down the stairs with the lanky youth, who had been waiting to speak to her about something. Only John was left in the hall, going round checking lights and slotting a chair someone had left in the middle of the floor on to an already towering pile.

The lift arrived, I got in, and a few moments later was making my way back to my car. At the corner of the Square I glanced back; the town hall was now in darkness.

A very interesting evening, I thought, unlocking Dad’s four-by-four and clambering in. All in all it had given me a lot to think about, and hopefully that was just the beginning.

I pulled away, out of the Square and into the two-way system. Traffic was fairly light, but the traffic lights were red and, as I waited for them to change, another car came up behind me.

Naturally enough, I thought nothing of it. It was only when I’d negotiated two mini-roundabouts, taken a right turn on to the road home, and clocked the fact that the headlights were still behind me that I began to take notice. Even then I still felt quite relaxed about it, expecting the vehicle to peel off into one of the residential roads or the new estate on the outskirts of town. It didn’t. As I left the built-up area and headed out into the country, the lights were still behind me, reflecting from the central mirror into my eyes.