Hallie started to laugh. ‘Well you can stop feeling terrible, because I wasn’t talking about Ross!’
Then she abruptly stopped laughing, because Bea had done a double-take and was now raising her eyebrows in Miss Marple fashion.
‘No? So who were you talking about?’
‘No one. Just not Ross.’
‘Come on, I heard the way you said it. You weren’t just telling me it wasn’t anyone, you were stressing that Ross wasn’t the one. You emphasised his name,’ Bea pointed out. ‘Like, it wasn’t Ross, but it was definitely someone else.’ Her eyebrows were still up. ‘See? I know I’m right. I’m not stupid.’
God, she was like a ferret when she got her teeth into an idea. To change the subject, Hallie said, ‘Although we did lose the last pub quiz because you thought the capital of Azerbaijan was Baklava.’
‘And now you’re trying to change the subject.’ Bea was triumphant. ‘But it won’t work. Because I’m not going to give up until I find out who it is.’
‘Well good luck with that.’ Hallie surreptitiously wiped her palms, slick with perspiration, against the sides of her jeans. ‘Because there isn’t anyone. I just made it up to make the girl feel better.’
‘Don’t believe you.’ Narrowing her eyes, Bea tapped her nails against the steering wheel as she gave the matter some thought. ‘OK, is it Brendan?’
Brendan ran the hotel across the river from the pub.
‘Yes, it is.’ Hallie nodded.
‘Shut up, it isn’t. How about Den Simpson?’
‘Yes, it’s Den Simpson.’
‘OK, it’s not him. Is it Steve from the rugby club?’
‘Yes, it’s definitely him. All these years I’ve been secretly in love with Steve Biggins.’
‘No you haven’t. You don’t like his ears.’
Was it any surprise, seeing as they were as weird and curly as cooked snails?
Hallie said, ‘Maybe I was only pretending not to like his ears. Maybe I actually find their curliness completely irresistible.’
‘Don’t you make fun of me. I’ll figure it out sooner or later. Ooh look, there’s Christina.’ Driving past Luke’s cottage, Bea tooted and waved as Christina and Daley emerged from Christina’s car. ‘Anyway, are we going to the pub tomorrow night? It’s Luke’s thing, remember.’
Luke. Hallie inwardly jumped, bracing herself for yet more suspicious questioning, but it didn’t happen. Bea’s interrogation had concluded; this time the subject really had been changed and she’d moved on to tomorrow’s meet-and-greet.
‘We should go.’ Hallie nodded in agreement. ‘Everyone else is. And I know Marilyn’s doing food.’
As she’d guessed they would, her friend’s eyes lit up.
‘Brilliant. I wonder if there’ll be Scotch eggs?’ said Bea.
Luke was in the living room, checking emails on his computer, ensuring that the changeover would be smooth. Yesterday Jennifer, his ex-colleague, had left Carranford and was at this moment aboard a flight to Uganda. Tomorrow evening her replacement at the practice would be introducing herself to the villagers by way of an informal get-together at the White Hart. Which might not be standard GP practice but seemed like a pretty good idea all the same.
Dr Tess Hannigan was about as far removed from her predecessor as it was possible to be. The other week Jennifer West had pursed her lips and said, ‘Hmm, I’m not sure, is she really the kind of person you’d want working here?’ Whereupon Luke had replied with great firmness, ‘Oh yes.’
Tess was in her forties, happily divorced, chatty and friendly, with a frizz of chestnut hair, crimson lipstick and oversized jewellery. Plump, curvy and given to bright outfits and elaborate shoes, she was extrovert but also evidently extremely bright, incisive and hard-working. Most importantly, Luke knew the villagers would like her.
He pressed Print on the computer, and the printer next to him trundled into life.
He’d left the front door on the latch, and now it creaked open as a small, determined animal pushed its way through the gap. Luke turned as Daley came skittering across the floor and launched himself on to his lap.
‘Hey you, hello! Where’ve you been then? Careful now . . .’ He swung round in his chair before Daley’s enthusiastic tail-wagging could send flying the sheets of paper that were being rhythmically churned out by the printer. Then he tickled the dog’s ears and paddled his paws in the air. ‘Look at you, who’s a good boy?’
‘Hi,’ said Christina, watching them from the doorway.