‘No worries on that score, Mrs Clapton,’ said Troy with a sympathetic smile.
Sue smiled shyly back. She took off her glasses, which she hated, and rested them in her lap. The lenses were thick as the bottoms of milk bottles. Sue dreamed of one day seeing a film where, after first letting her hair down, the hero remove the heroine’s glasses and says, ‘Hey . . . know what? You look better with them on.’
Barnaby said, ‘I understand you had a guest speaker yesterday.’
‘A rare treat. You’d be surprised how difficult it is to get people considering we’re under an hour from central London.’
‘But this time you struck lucky?’
‘Yes. Everyone was surprised when he accepted. And he was so nice. Not a bit grand. Gave us all sorts of advice and tips. And he really listened, you know?’
‘So the evening was a success?’ She nodded vigorously.
‘No tensions or cross currents that you noticed?’
‘Only Gerald.’ Her face changed as she remembered what had momentarily been crowded out. ‘He hardly spoke, which was surprising. I thought he’d be asking lots of questions because he so much wanted to succeed. He would work over and over his writing trying to make it better.’
‘Was he any good?’ asked Troy.
Sue hesitated. Knowing it was wrong to speak ill of the dead she was certain it could not then be right to speak ill of their achievements. On the other hand she always tried to be honest and it wasn’t as if, in this case, the truth would hurt anyone. Least of all poor Gerald.
‘When Gerald read his stories out they sounded fine. He’d learned how to do it, you see, from all his books. But the minute he’d finished you couldn’t remember a word he’d said.’ This devastating indictment concluded, she suddenly got up as if remembering her manners.
‘I should have made you some tea,’ she said, plucking apologetically at the rainbow laces in her waistcoat.
‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Clapton.’ Barnaby’s hope of a biscuit was more than realised. A cake tin arrived with the tea and it was suggested that he helped himself.
‘Why are you asking so many questions about us?’ said Sue, handing around large mugs.
‘Just background. I understand Mr Jennings didn’t leave with the rest of you.’
‘No - it was funny, that. Brian made the first move, Gerald got the coats and it looked as if there was going to be a general exodus but then, when we were all halfway out the door, Max Jennings sat down again.’
‘Did you get the impression that was a deliberate manoeuvre?’ asked Troy.
‘I don’t think so. Just one of those awkward moments.’
‘Wouldn’t have taken you long to get home,’ said Barnaby. She didn’t reply but watched him with unnaturally close attention, like a participant in a quiz game expecting a trick question. ‘Did you go out again at all?’
‘No.’
‘Either of you?’ She frowned and covered her eyes with her hand as if needing to think. The movement was quick, but not quite quick enough for Barnaby to miss the flare of emotion. Stronger than concern or apprehension. Alarm perhaps. Fear even.
‘It was a bit late for that.’
‘Walking the dog maybe,’ said Troy, leaning forward - for he too sensed they were on fertile ground.
‘We haven’t got a dog.’
She elaborated quickly, using stiff little sentences looping round each other. Brian had gone up straight away. She had had things to get ready for play group. Plus some washing up from Mandy’s supper. Brian was well away by the time she got to bed. She herself couldn’t get to sleep. Too excited by the evening. But Brian, he was asleep the minute his head touched the pillow. And so on and tortuously on.
Barnaby listened, not unsympathetically, for he was aware of her dilemma. Unbrazen people who had something, by no means necessarily criminal, to hide either froze into protective stillness or talked non-stop about anything and everything to keep their tongue from alighting on the matter for concealment. Needing to move things along, he interrupted.
‘Perhaps, being awake, you heard Mr Jennings drive away?’
‘Yes.’ It was one long gasp of relief. ‘Yes, I did.’
‘Do you happen to know when that was?’
‘I’m afraid not. You know how it is, lying in the dark. Time passes at a funny rate.’
‘Sure it was Mr Jennings’ car?’ asked Troy.
‘I can’t imagine who else’s it could have been. It had a very powerful engine and seemed to be revving up practically under our window.’
‘But you didn’t look out?’