‘Was Winterson convinced?’
‘I don’t know. But I think we can assume she didn’t meet Cornwell yesterday.’
‘So nothing obvious here to explain her disappearance.’
Bliss shrugged. Brent leaned back, fingering his chin.
‘She seems to have been quite excited at working with you. Hero of the Plascarreg.’
Mother of God.
‘She isn’t daft, Iain, and she’s ambitious, which is no bad thing, is it? She’s very solid for her age. Promising. And she isn’t gonna believe everything she reads in the papers.’
‘Well,’ Brent sat up, stacking his notes together. ‘Don’t want to keep you too long under artificial lights, Francis. Do you need fresh air?’
* * *
Maybe Kapoor had put it around about what had happened on the parking lot. Whatever, it seemed to Robin it was like the town was determined to put things right. Before one, people had started to come in, the few people he knew, to wish them luck on the opening day that wasn’t going to happen. Beginning with Gwenda and Gareth Nunne, Gwenda handing Betty a bottle of the Welsh vineyard white, which Robin thought was a nice gesture, but after last night he was glad she’d presented it to Betty.
Suddenly there was like a party atmosphere – yeah, that was how confined the space was. They’d thought about some kind of launch party, but Robin realized that wasn’t in keeping with the spirit of the town, which was all about starting low-key and letting something build. And imagine if they’d done that today, crass-bastard pagans celebrating amidst all the tension.
‘Lord Madoc!’ Gwenda wore a leopard-print dress and a man’s hat with the brim turned up. She’d seized a paperback. ‘Now I remember. This is bloody staggering, Robin. I’m going to send Gore over to check these out.’
But Gore didn’t come. At least, not before someone else did.
‘Listen,’ Robin said when he and Betty were alone at last. ‘I had an idea. How about we give it a week, let these people sign for the bungalow, and then get out there and spend. Build up stock. Pick up what we can from the charity stores and then I call in some favours with every pagan magazine I ever did free artwork for? I’m thinking big display ads in the Lammas editions. I’m thinking, how would the great Richard Booth handle this?’
Betty just stared at him.
‘Well?’ Gingerly, he sat down. ‘Whaddaya think?’
She wore the smock thing he liked, with that kind of Inca design. Her hair was held back by an Alice band. He so wanted her to be happy. In that moment, he believed they could be happy.
Betty said calmly, ‘Either you tell me precisely what happened last night or I’m out of here and I won’t be coming back.’
Jesus…
‘No…!’ Back on his feet, a log-splitter working on his lower spine. ‘What are you… what’s the matter with you, Betty? You really think me and this girl—’
‘No.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t.’
‘I’m sorry about last night, I truly am. I had too much to drink, I was so grateful to Gwenda and those guys for letting me in, I overindulged, I’m walking the streets in like a daze of… of illumination. And I thought I could top it off by squaring things here. Mentally. Emotionally. Too fast, too soon. I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how much.’
Her silence filled the room, breaking him, the way it always did.
‘The only female I saw on the streets was the whistling old lady, Mrs Villiers. Who spooked me. Thought I was someone else. The guy who stinks? You know the way she—?’
Betty stiffened.
‘What else did she say?’
‘She said, “You came back”.’
‘She thought you were the guy who smelled?’
‘She was like…’ He had his hands either side of his head, trying to shake out the memory ‘… like I stunk of what I’d been doing. Something like that.’
Betty said, ‘There was a man died here after a drug overdose.’
‘What? When?’
‘Long time ago. They didn’t find his body for days.’
‘And like, you found this out… when? From whom?’
‘Tom Armitage.’
‘And who the f—?’
‘He used to own this place. I spoke to him on the phone. I did tell you I was getting a vibe. Didn’t know what it was, didn’t want to make a thing out of it until I knew what it was. If it mattered.’
‘We’re not talking to each other, are we? It’s like this place is coming between us. Something doesn’t like us. It was, like, all over me last night.’