The Healers

Chapter Seventeen

Win wished they had invited guests for lunch as usual. She and Daniel seldom communicated now unless they had an audience. This seemed not to trouble Daniel but Win always felt tense and wretched when they were alone together in the house. She wondered how long she could carry on. Magda hadn’t said anything directly but Win could tell she thought the marriage was a mistake. It was all right for her, Win thought bitterly and irrationally. She’d lost her husband before it had had a chance to go wrong.

It had occurred to her recently that she should leave Daniel but she knew she lacked the courage to be that decisive. She kept hoping things would get better. There were the two children to consider. Then there was the project at Laverock Farm. That would be a challenge, something they could work on together. She tried to convince herself that it would bring them close again.

When the telephone rang summoning Daniel away it was a relief. One of his patients had gone into labour. She had fought for home delivery. She had found a sympathetic midwife and she wanted him there to help with pain relief. He went out cheerfully. He especially liked being present at births. It made him feel important and the patients were always very grateful. He said that Win shouldn’t wait up for him. The contractions had only just started and he might be up all night.

In her paranoia she wondered if the patient in labour was an excuse and really he had arranged to spend the night with another woman. The idea started as an idle fancy but after an hour of worrying she became convinced by it. When the children were settled in the kitchen for their tea, she went to his desk and checked his diary. There was a woman he had supervised through pregnancy who had reached full term so she supposed she would have to believe him.

As she was returning the diary to the desk a photograph fell out. It had been slipped between the leaves at the back of the book. She had seen it before, might even have taken it. It was of the boys, playing in the garden last summer. They were splashing in a round, inflatable paddling pool and beside them, stretched out on a striped towel, was Faye Cooper. She was turned towards the children, shouting at them perhaps to take care. Win told herself that there was nothing suspicious about the photo. Daniel had kept it because it was a good one of the boys. All the same she took it back with her into the kitchen. There she cut it up into very tiny pieces and threw it into the bin.

Ramsay took the afternoon off. He needed time away from the case. He went first to his cottage in

Heppleburn. It seemed as cold and unlived in as if he had been away for a month and behind the door there was a pile of junk mail and free newspapers. From there he phoned Prue. He was tempted to turn up at her house to surprise her but he thought she should be given the opportunity to make an excuse if she did not want to see him. He still lacked the confidence to take that for granted.

Prue said of course he must come and even to him she sounded delighted.

“Anna’s off for the day with some chums,” she said. “So we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

Anna was Prue’s teenage daughter. She was nice enough but she did tend to get in the way because she made Prue feel inhibited. As if, Prue told him, I was the teenager and she was my mother. And she definitely disapproved of Prue going out with a pig, even an enlightened pig like Ramsay. She would be off to university in the autumn and then things would be easier.

Prue was waiting for him and her inhibitions had disappeared with her daughter. He found her giggly and flirtations. She ran them both a bath so hot and deep that the old-fashioned bathroom, with its enormous enamelled tub and copper taps, was filled with steam. As usual her bedroom was a tip, with piles of clothes on the floor and an unmade bed, but there was a bottle of wine in a cooler and two glasses on the dressing table.

“Are you sure the phone’s not going to ring?” she said suspiciously as she straightened the bottom sheet and wiped away a few biscuit crumbs.

“Certain. No one knows I’m here.”

“What would your mother say?” She stretched across him to pour a glass of wine. “Sex and alcohol in the afternoon. And on a Sunday.”

“Stop talking,” he said.

They stayed there until it was dark and the orange street light came in through the half-closed curtains. He sat up and smiled at her.

“What, if it comes to that, will your daughter say?”

She pulled a pantomime face of horror. “Shit,” she said, ‘she’ll be back in ten minutes.”

Then there was a scramble of pulling on clothes and more giggling. When they heard Anna’s key in the door they were sitting at the kitchen table, sober and respectable adults, drinking coffee.

“I’m just going to start supper,” Prue said. “Do you want some?”

“No thanks. I’ve already eaten.” Anna ignored Ramsay and went off to her room. To work, she said. To express her disapproval, thought Prue.

“Your friend Maddy,” Ramsay said. “Do you think she’ll be in tonight?”

“Why?” She had her head stuck in the fridge, looking for inspiration for supper. “An omelette all right? And sauteed potatoes?”

“Fine,” he said. “Is there enough for Maddy?”

“Why?” she asked again. “You’ve never bothered much with my friends before.”

“You said she went on one of the weekend retreats organized by the Alternative Therapy Centre in Mittingford.”

“That’s right.” Now he had her full attention.

“We think Val McDougal, the teacher who was murdered on Monday, was there too.”

“And you want me to invite her round here so you can ask her questions about it? Not very professional that, is it?” In her present mood he could not tell whether her indignation was genuine so he decided to play safe.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Perhaps it’s a bad idea. I just thought it would save some time. And she might remember more if we talked informally.”

“Would I get to see the great detective at work? You wouldn’t send me upstairs with Anna?”

“Of course not.”

“I’ll phone her then.”

Maddy was younger than Prue with waxed, spiked hair. She worked as a solicitor and Ramsay had come across her occasionally in court defending delinquent teenagers with a passion, dedication and humour which made her unpopular with some of his colleagues. When she arrived she was out of breath, clutching a bottle of red wine and a handful of leaflets, eager to be involved. Ramsay was always surprised when other people thought his work exciting and glamorous.

“I’m not sure I can be much help,” she said. “I haven’t even seen the homoeopath lately.”

“I thought you swore by her,” Prue said.

“Yeah well, she did help at first. But she always seemed so glum and I thought: if it doesn’t even work for her what am I going to get out of it? I didn’t want to end up looking as miserable as Win Abbot.” She grinned. “Besides, I’ve passed through my natural therapy phase. It’s tap dancing and bungy jumping now.”

“But you did go to Juniper Hall?”

“Yeah, last autumn.” She pulled out a leaflet from the pile she’d brought. “This is the publicity material. I thought you’d be interested.”

Ramsay took it from her and read out loud: ‘“An opportunity for real movement on a personal level and substantial healing on a planetary level. At Juniper Hall we expect fun, affirmation, sharing, creativity. We can work together to heal the global issues closest to your heart.”

“Oh, Maddy,” Prue exclaimed. “You weren’t taken in by all that crap, were you?”

“Don’t knock it,” Maddy said seriously. “Not entirely. I’ve seen screwed-up, unhappy people change in a weekend, become more positive, somehow freed up, able to accept themselves.”

“And how does this miracle take place? Just by talking?”

“Talking, sharing, meditation.” Maddy opened the bottle of wine. “Magda Pocock was in charge. Have you ever met her?”

Ramsay nodded.

“She’s the one person who makes all those claims seem possible.”

“Was Val McDougal there?”

“Yes,” Maddy said. “I just knew her as Val. When I saw her pictures in the paper earlier this week I thought she was familiar. I couldn’t place her then but I definitely met her at Juniper.”

“Did she tell you why she was there? Talk about her husband, her family?”

“She might have done,” Maddy said. “But after all this time I can’t really remember.” She paused. “Something happened, you see, which cast a shadow over the whole weekend. Nothing else seemed so important after that.”

“What was it?”

“There was a fatal accident. Juniper Hall is a big old house. It’s got a swimming pool. A young girl went swimming by herself late at night and drowned.”

“I don’t suppose you remember the girl’s name?”

“Yes,” Maddy said. “It was Faye Cooper.”