The Malcontenta

6

Kathy and Belle sat at the table-tennis table discussing the systems analyst’s progress while the others stood by the tall windows, waiting for the morning sessions to begin.

‘I’d really be better staying with the guys on the computers back at headquarters, Kathy. Why don’t you fax the interview sheets through to me as they appear?’

In the background, Kathy could hear Gordon’s voice: ‘“What can you see?” he asks, and the naturopath says, “Well, I can see that you’ll be taking a long journey across the ocean and meeting a tall dark stranger.” ‘ He got some laughter, not uproarious.

‘Would that be secure?’ Kathy asked.

‘Oh sure. Send it direct to the fax in my office. Here’s the number. And have one of your people send it at this end — don’t just leave it for the office staff here.’

From the background Kathy heard another male voice, louder and deeper.

‘… packs his old dad off to a home. The first morning in the home the old bloke wakes up with an erection, see? A nurse comes in to give him his pills and when she sees his condition she leaps on top of him and has it off with him.’

Kathy said, ‘OK, Belle, let’s do that. I think I’d better get this lot into the right frame of mind for this morning.’

‘… in the middle of the following night he has to go down the corridor for a leak. He’s in the bog when one of the male nurses comes in, pounces on him, throws him to the floor, and rapes the old bugger. Well, next morning he phones his son. “Get me out of here,” he begs, and explains what’s happened. So the son tells him to be patient. “You win some, you lose some, Dad,” he says. “That’s all very well,” the old bloke cries, “but these days I only get one erection a year, whereas I have to go to the bathroom three times a night!’“ General laughter this time.

Kathy groaned.

‘Good luck,’ Belle grinned at her, making for the door.

Another voice began, ‘What about the two nurses who …’

‘Come on,’ Kathy called to the group of police officers. ‘Bring your chairs over here.’

Reluctantly they broke up and came to join her. She took them over the arrangements for the day.

‘I’ve been through most of the interview sheets from yesterday and we haven’t got a lot, as far as I can see. Everybody’s so bloody polite. Nobody’s got anything much to say about Petrou except that he was “nice”, his death is “shocking”, the Director is “wonderful”, the clinic is “splendid”. I want you to go back in your mind over the people you saw yesterday and try to identify anyone who might be able to tell us more about what’s really going on here, anyone I can follow up on today.’

They thought for a moment and then someone spoke. ‘I saw a Mrs Martha Price, Sarge. One of the patients, a widow, in her sixties. She practically lives here, been coming for years. I got the impression she knows the comings and goings, and what the staff get up to. You might try her.’

‘OK. Anyone else? There was a woman complaining at the desk the first time I came here. Cochrane, I think her name was. She might not be as reserved as the others.’

‘Doris Cochrane. I saw her. Hardly got anything out of her.’

Picturing the huge detective towering over the old lady, Kathy could imagine why.

‘What about staff?’

‘How about Rose Duggan? She’s a physio like Petrou, and seemed to know him pretty well. She’s engaged to the Estates Manager character that found the body.’

‘All right. Now look, if there’s anyone you come across this morning that you think could be telling us more, give them to Gordon when you’re done with them. And for goodness’ sake try to get them to tell you what they really think of all this.’

‘Of course we all want to speak well of the dead, Mrs Price.’ Through Ben Bromley, Gordon had managed to acquire a separate interview room for Kathy. Its small dimensions gave the meeting an intimacy which suited her. ‘But it’s very important that we form an accurate picture of what Mr Petrou was like. No one is perfect, after all, and we need to be aware of any of his failings as well as his good points.’

Mrs Price wasn’t going to be rushed. The change from the usual routine was welcome, and she was going to make the most of it. She folded her hands on her lap and looked thoughtful. Kathy noticed that the finger joints were swollen with arthritis.

‘What sort of failings did you have in mind, officer?’

‘Well, I’d rather you told me. I imagine you must have got to know him and the other members of the staff pretty well over the past months.’

‘It is true,’ she conceded, ‘that I’ve probably spent more time here in the last few years than anyone else, except staff of course. Since I developed my condition — ’ she glanced down at the walking stick beside her chair ‘- I’ve found it a great comfort to spend time here, and of course I’ve enjoyed the company of the regulars and the staff. I suppose I have got to know them quite well. But, as my late husband used to say, I see the good in people, and they respond to that. I wouldn’t like to be thought of as someone who goes around talking about people’s failings: She looked disapprovingly at Kathy as if she found her questions seriously lacking in good taste.

‘Yes, of course. “Failings” is the wrong word, really. I suppose what we’re trying to find, to understand, is anything in Mr Petrou’s private life, in his relationships with people, that might have put pressure on him, caused him stress or anxiety, might even have driven him to take his own life.’

‘Of course I’ve tried to think about that, as you can imagine. Tried to remember the poor boy’s state of mind over the past week or two. The trouble is, he seemed perfectly as normal. Cheerful — he always had a bit of a joke with his patients, you know. And what the Americans call “laid back” — not tense or anxious at all. Suave, I’d call him, suave. I don’t think he was any different lately.’

‘Well, that is a mystery, then.’

‘Yes …’ She seemed to hesitate. Kathy waited patiently, letting her find the words.

‘All I can think … It couldn’t have to do with anyone in the clinic, you see. But he had friends outside. All I can imagine is that if he had a problem of some kind … perhaps it was to do with someone outside.’

‘What do you know of his friends outside?’

She frowned. ‘Nothing really. I remember one morning, the first treatment session of the day, he looked very tired, and I teased him, you know, said he looked as if he’d been burning the candle at both ends. And he laughed and said yes, he’d been out with his friends “up West”. I remembered the expression because he seemed rather proud of it, as if he’d just learned it.’

‘Did you take it that his friends were from London, or that they’d just all gone up to the West End for the night?’

‘I … I’m not sure really. I suppose you could have taken it either way.’

Doris Cochrane was even less forthcoming, and as she tried to get her to talk, Kathy realized that it hadn’t been the other detective’s fault that he’d been unsuccessful with her. She sat on the edge of her seat, a frail, bird-like figure, staring at Kathy nervously and mouthing as few words as possible.

‘We met briefly yesterday morning, Mrs Cochrane, you may remember. You were at the reception desk when I arrived.’

She said nothing.

‘You remember? You were trying to make arrangements to leave early. I couldn’t help overhearing. Did you manage to fix things up in the end?’

An indistinct shake of the head.

‘That’s too bad. You obviously haven’t been very happy here.’

The old lady’s face frowned anxiously. ‘I’m quite all right, thank you. It doesn’t matter.’

‘I wondered what particular things about the clinic hadn’t agreed with you.’

‘I told you, I’m quite all right.’

‘Was it anything to do with Mr Petrou?’

‘No!’

‘I understand you liked him. You particularly asked for him rather than the women physiotherapists.’

‘Please, I don’t want to talk about this.’

‘Why not? What’s the matter, Doris? Can I call you Doris? My name is Kathy.’

It didn’t matter what she called her. The old lady’s lips were pressed tight shut as if they had been instructed to let out as little as possible.

‘But even though you asked to have Mr Petrou again for your second week, I see that in fact you were given someone else. Is that the reason you were upset with them?’

‘No! No! No!’ she cried vehemently. ‘It was nothing to do with that! I don’t want to talk any more about this. Please stop it!’

‘All right, Doris,’ Kathy sighed. The woman was obviously distressed. ‘I won’t keep you any longer. If you think of anything you’d like to tell us, you will get in touch with me, won’t you?’

The slight figure got to her feet. At the door she turned and looked back over her shoulder at Kathy.

‘Dr Beamish-Newell …’ she began, and then stopped.

‘Yes? What about Dr Beamish-Newell?’

‘Dr Beamish-Newell will be angry with you for pestering me.’

Rose Duggan was a welcome relief. Just a year or two younger than Kathy, she was open and frankly interested in what was going on. Thinking about the dispirited figure of the man who had found Petrou’s body, Kathy found the contrast between the engaged couple extraordinary. Rose was sturdy and quick, her dark eyes sparkling, her face animated and expressive.

‘Being called back to see the boss, does that mean I’m in trouble, then?’ she grinned. ‘Me and Doris Cochrane.’ She rolled her eyes.

Kathy immediately felt better. ‘She’s not easy to get across to, is she?’

‘I’m afraid Doris has one or two wires loose, poor dear. I wouldn’t worry about her.’ She spoke with a broad Ulster accent, tougher and more urban than the southern Irish, but still warm and companionable to the ear.

‘I wanted to speak to as many of the people as I could who would have known Alex Petrou best,’ Kathy said.

‘I don’t know what Doris has been telling you, then, because she didn’t know Alex at all.’

‘No, that was a mistake,’ Kathy said. ‘But you worked closely with him, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, I did.’ Tears suddenly welled in Rose’s eyes. She took a tissue from the pocket of her tunic and dabbed at them for a moment. ‘I’m sorry. I had a wee cry for the man yesterday. It just suddenly springs up on you, doesn’t it? It takes time to accept… that he’s really gone.’

‘You liked him.’

‘Oh, sure. He was a charmer. You couldn’t help liking him.’

‘Somebody said that he wasn’t very thorough in his work, though. You never found that a problem?’

‘And I can guess who would have told you that, right enough. The ice queen. Oh no, he’d leave things for other people to sort out for him, but then he’d make it up to you. You couldn’t be mad at him.’

‘Did he have any special friends?’

‘Not really. He liked to go out with a crowd. And he had friends in London. He did start to go out with one of the girls in the kitchen, right at the start when he first came here, but that didn’t last long.’

‘Is she still here?’

‘No. She left months ago. Went up north.’

‘Tell me about the friends in London.’

‘I don’t know anything about them, really. I never met any of them. I had the impression they might have been Greek. Just sometimes he went up to town. I don’t think anyone from here went with him, though.’

‘There’s a suggestion he was gay.’

‘Oh no!’ Rose looked shocked, then laughed. ‘Who could have said such a thing? I’ll bet it was some old lady who thinks any man who has a pigtail or an ear-ring is queer. Honestly, this place!’

‘You said in your interview that you saw him last on Saturday night. Could you tell me about that?’

‘Yes, we — that is, the four of us girls living in the cottage together — we went out last Saturday night, just to get away for a couple of hours, you know, nothing planned. We went in Trudy’s car to a pub in Crowbridge — there’s nowhere in Edenham — and while we were there we bumped into Alex. He was with another bloke, name of Errol.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘He was older than Alex, bit of a wet blanket, I thought, and he left not long after. Alex stayed with us, and we all went on to a club he knew in Crowbridge. We left not long after midnight and came back here.’

‘You’re sure Alex came back at the same time?’

‘Yes …’ she hesitated. ‘I came back with him, as a matter of fact. The other three girls wanted to leave first, so I said I’d get a lift back with Alex on his bike, which I did. It wasn’t that long after they left. Maybe twenty minutes or half an hour. I shouldn’t have, I know. I didn’t have a helmet.’ She shot Kathy a guilty little smile.

‘When we got back it was about one. Dr Beamish-Newell doesn’t like staff coming into the main house after eleven in case it disturbs the patients, so Alex slept on our sofa and was gone the next morning before any of us were up. I never saw him again.’ Her eyes filled slowly with tears once more.

‘You didn’t go out with Mr Parsons, then, Rose? The two of you are engaged, aren’t you?’

‘Geoffrey’s doing an Estates Management degree course by correspondence, you know. He’s had a lot of assignments to do lately, and so he hasn’t been able to get out as much. He had to get one finished by Sunday evening, to catch the post first thing Monday. He doesn’t mind me going out with the girls when he’s so busy.’

‘So you didn’t see much of him on Sunday either?’

‘That’s right. As I told the other officer, we all had a lie-in on Sunday — it was about eleven before we were up and about. Two of the girls left to visit relatives for lunch, but Trudy and Geoffrey and I had an omelette together in our house about one-thirty. Geoffrey had had to spend half the morning getting one of the drains unblocked, and he was in a bit of a lather about getting his essay finished. He went back to get on with it soon after two, and I spent the afternoon doing some ironing and writing some letters. Geoffrey came over again at five-thirty, after he’d done his rounds like he does each evening. He said he’d just about finished his work, thank goodness. I cooked him a steak and he went back to finish off his assignment about seven. Trudy and I spent the rest of the evening in front of our TV.’

‘Rose, have you any inkling of what might have happened to Alex? How he came to be in the temple that night?’

She shook her head slowly, reaching for her tissue again. After a moment she got control of her sobbing and said quietly, ‘I just don’t understand it, I really don’t. He was a lovely man. Not the moody type. It must have happened very suddenly, his decision. Could he have got some terrible news from home, perhaps? From his family in Greece?’

‘We are trying to contact them. But why the temple? Did he ever express any interest in it?’

She shook her head. ‘Horrible place! A dreadful place to do such a thing! All alone in the dead of night, poor man.’

Kathy made her way back to the games room feeling deflated, empty of ideas. The teams had almost finished the last of the interviews and only two patients were left in the room, an elderly couple conferring with a woman constable on some point of memory. As she came into the room Kathy saw them look up, interrupted by a burst of laughter from a group of detectives nearby. From among them a man’s voice emerged, distinct and crude: ‘… and both of the old ladies are suffering from Alzheimer’s disease.’ The elderly couple exchanged a disapproving look as the voice continued. ‘They’re watching a dancing programme on the box, see, and one old dear says to the other, “Oh, ain’t that lovely. Do you remember the minuet?” and the other replies, “Gor blimey, no. I can’t even remember the men I faked.”‘

A look of horror spread across the faces of the elderly couple as the word sunk in. They struggled to their feet and scurried out of the room.

‘Terrific, Kenny,’ Kathy said, weary and angry. ‘Next time, tell it with actions.’ The group froze for a moment when they saw her face, then rapidly dispersed. Gordon came over to her. ‘Would you like some instant, Kathy?’ He sounded anxious. ‘We got ourselves an urn. You take milk and sugar?’

She sighed. ‘Just milk, Gordon. Then get everyone round here.’

He did as she told him, and then she began. ‘So, what happened to Petrou on Sunday evening? No one saw him after Mr Long left him, around four. He just disappeared and turned up the next morning hanging by the neck in the temple crypt. No one had an inkling he might have been contemplating suicide. What now?’

Someone yawned, another stretched. They were tired; this stage of the operation was over, and they were reluctant to start pondering the next. Gamely, Gordon said what everyone was thinking. ‘I reckon we’ve got to look outside, Sarge. Try to find his friends in London, the places he went to in Crowbridge and Edenham.’

‘If he had a visitor that evening, I suppose they could have been mistaken for one of the people coming to the recital and not been identified by anyone,’ Kathy said. ‘But where would they have met? Parsons says he heard no sound from Petrou’s room all the time he was working next door later that evening. Anywhere else he’d have been spotted, surely.’

‘In the temple?’

‘In the dark?’ someone objected.

‘Alternatively, could he have slipped off to meet someone? Visitors’ cars were coming and going from about six forty-five. No one seems to have heard the motor bike leave, but it’s possible he could have done.’

‘The tank was full when we looked at it on Monday morning,’ Gordon said.

‘Although he was using it on Saturday night,’ Kathy added. ‘Maybe he filled it up on Sunday evening. We could check garages. Then the pub and club in Crowbridge that Rose mentioned, see if he went back there. And try to track down this Errol.’

‘There’s a gay pub here in Edenham,’ someone said. It was Kenny, Kathy noticed, the comedian. ‘Is that right?’

‘Yeah, so my informants tell me.’ Someone at the back sniggered. ‘It’s called the Jolly Roger.’ Louder laughter. Kathy’s eyes narrowed, wondering if he was having her on.

‘No, straight up. It’s on the other side of the High Street from the Hart Revived, down a side lane.’

‘Is that a side lane or a back passage, Kenny?’ a voice called out.

‘I think you lot need some fresh air,’ Kathy said. She set about organizing their tasks with Gordon.

It was after six that evening by the time Kathy left the clinic. She had faxed the last of the reports through to Belle’s number, unsure whether anyone would be there at the other end to pick them up. As she handed over the keys of the interview rooms to the woman at reception, she saw the patients filing into the dining room for the evening meal, their routine now re-established. One man gave her a quick glance out of the corner of his eye, frowning as if willing the last of the intruders to go away.

The rain was holding off, but the wind was chill, giving the autumn smells the bitter edge of winter. She hurried to the car, turned on the engine, lights and heater, and drove off, her headlights swinging across the dark meadow towards the stone bridge. When she reached Edenham she drove slowly down the High Street and, sure enough, spotted the Jolly Roger off a turning to the right.

Formerly called the Plough, the brewery had tried to increase its modest turnover by transforming it from a rather drab little village pub into a themed bar. For some reason which no one could now remember, they had chosen a seafaring theme, and the interior was fitted out with timber-panelled walls punctuated with brass portholes, red and green navigation lights, framed charts and blackened fishing nets. The doorway to the former snug bar, now renamed the Poop Deck, was guarded by a replica cannon, which regularly caught the shins of customers when the place was busy. Kathy opted for the main bar, glad that it was almost deserted.

‘What can I get you, luv?’ The barman was young and good-looking. He wore a white collarless shirt and a black apron tied at the waist. He regarded Kathy with a severe expression, one eyebrow arched. Kathy didn’t normally drink beer, but the overheated atmosphere of the clinic had dried her out.

‘Half of lager, please.’

‘Stella?’

‘Fine. Maybe you can help me. I’m looking for someone.’ ‘Aren’t we all, luv?’

‘Yes, well. You ever see a foreign bloke in here, dark, in his twenties, your sort of build? I’ve got a picture.’

The man glanced at it over his arm as he drew the lager.

‘Nice. What’s he done, run off with someone?’

‘He’s had an accident. I’m trying to contact his friends. His name’s Alex, Alex Petrou. Mean anything to you?’

The barman took his time to shake his head. ‘What made you try here?’

‘He worked at the Stanhope Clinic up the road. I just thought he might have come in here for a drink.’

The man looked at Kathy carefully. ‘Well, I’ll ask the regulars if you like. Want to leave the picture?’

‘All right. I’ll put my phone number on the back.’

Kathy handed it over and sat on a stool at one end of the bar. An evening newspaper was lying on the towelling mat. The discovery of a murder on a suburban train was making the headlines. To date she had been happy that the press hadn’t made much of Petrou’s death, but maybe it was getting to the point where some wider coverage might help trace his movements on Sunday night, if he had left the clinic. Kathy sipped her beer and thought about it. She didn’t take any notice of the customer who had arrived further down the bar until he ordered a Scotch. Then she looked up, surprised by the harsh Geordie vowels of Tanner’s voice.

‘Hello, Kathy,’ he said, putting his wallet away, not even looking round at her. Then he turned towards her and smiled. There was something about his smile that made her feel even more uncomfortable than his hostility.

‘Still hot on the trail, eh?’

He came over and sat on the stool next to her.

‘What progress do we have to report today?’

‘How did you know I was here, sir?’ She heard her voice sound distant and tight.

‘Maybe I didn’t. Maybe I always drink here. Tasteful decor.’ His lip curled in distaste as his eyes travelled round the room and fastened on the barman. ‘Genial host.’

Kathy decided to play it straight. ‘We finished interviewing everyone at the clinic today. Belle Mansfield is processing the data. I hope to hear something from the pathologist tomorrow. We’re following up the possibility that Petrou left the clinic on Sunday evening and met someone. The tank of his motor bike — ’

‘Alternatively,’ Tanner broke in, as if he hadn’t heard her speak, ‘I might just have heard that one of my sergeants had taken to frequenting gay bars. That sort of thing tends to get around, especially if the sergeant is a she.’

Kathy didn’t reply. For several minutes they sat in silence. Eventually Tanner said, as if making idle conversation to a stranger, ‘What’s this Stanhope Clinic like, then?’

Kathy didn’t really know how to reply. What was it like} It wasn’t really like anything. It had its own peculiar personality, hard to describe. In fact, coming away from it, Kathy realized how strongly that personality had begun to form itself in her mind. She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. It’s not a con. I think everyone there believes in it, the naturopathic thing, quite genuinely. You should ask the Deputy Chief Constable. He’s on the Board of Trustees.’

‘I did. He said I should take my next leave there. Do me the world of good, he said.’ He drained his whisky. ‘Get the poisons out of my system.’

Kathy smiled. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said I didn’t think it would be that easy.’ He got to his feet, buttoning up his raincoat. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Show me.’

‘Show you?’

‘Yeah. I’d like to take a look.’ ‘But it’s dark.’

‘All the better. It was dark when it happened, wasn’t it? Whatever it was.’

Kathy followed him out to the street. He had opened the passenger door of his Granada for her and was getting in behind the wheel on the other side. Reluctantly she got in beside him.

She directed him back through the dark lanes towards Stanhope. When they arrived at the house he pulled into a space in the front car park.

‘They’re probably still at their evening meal in the dining room,’ she said. ‘We can have a look round the rest of the house.’

‘I don’t want to go inside,’ he said. ‘Show me this temple.’

‘There won’t be much to see …’ But he was already getting out of the car.

‘What about a torch?’ she asked. ‘Do you have one?’

He ignored her, moving off between the trees towards the west wing. She followed. As they came to the building she pointed out features that were barely visible in the dark. There was the flight of stone steps leading down to the access door to the basement, from which Petrou might have come if he had walked from the gym directly to the temple. Here was the gravel path, one branch leading round the end of the west wing and up the rise towards the temple.

Tanner barely spoke, occasionally giving a grunt. His feet crunched on the gravel as he led the way. It was so dark that, even though their eyes had partially adjusted, they were almost at the foot of the temple steps before they could make out the dark mass of the building in its dense grove of foliage.

This is how it would have been. It was a night as dark as this, no rain till dawn, but heavy cloud cover, mist forming in the hollows.

Kathy watched the black outline of Tanner mount the steps. He was almost invisible between the columns. He muttered something.

‘What?’ she said.

‘Come here.’

She went up the steps and found that he had parted the tape that the SOCO team had left across the front of the building to keep people out. She couldn’t see what he had used to cut it.

‘You got the key?’

‘Yes.’ She felt in her pocket and brought it out. ‘Open it up.’

She did as he said, easing the door open. It scraped on the threshold, and the sound echoed in the cavernous interior. ‘Go on.’

The darkness was so intense that moving forward felt like diving into black water. She took short steps, conscious of the sound of Tanner’s breathing close behind. He had a smoker’s wheeze, which she hadn’t noticed before.

It seemed to take an age shuffling down the nave towards the rail over the organ. All the time Kathy was thinking how stupid this was. Why hadn’t he brought a torch if he intended coming here? The darkness was so heavy, so pervasive, that it was hard not to become disoriented, to feel panic. When they reached the end she seized the rail with relief, feeling her heart pounding, and said, ‘There’s a rail in front of you. Wait here and I’ll go downstairs and turn on the light.’ She sensed him just inches away, unseen.

She groped her way to the top of the spiral stairs, banging her shin once on a chair, then descended quickly and found the switch. After the darkness, the feeble organ light seemed remarkably bright.

‘So,’ Tanner said when he joined her, ‘describe it for me.’

While she did so he strolled around, hands in pockets.

‘Where were the things you found on the ground? The whip and mask?’

She showed him and he crouched over the spot.

‘What did Pugh make of them?’

‘Nothing yet. He said they looked clean, unused. But he won’t know till they get the tests done.’ He stood up, thinking, silent.

Marooned together in that dimly lit pit in the darkness, Kathy had a sudden impulse to confide in him, to ask his opinion about the possibilities that had begun to form in her mind. But just as she was about to speak he turned his face towards her, and the chill of his expression choked the words in her throat. Then without speaking he strode away to the foot of the stairs and disappeared. She waited for a few moments to let him reach the top and then switched off the light. The darkness struck her blind and she hesitated before following him up the stairs. But waiting didn’t bring any relief, and she began to climb.

She didn’t know what had happened to him. She could hear no sound when she reached the top, no footsteps, no breathing. She shuddered and strode out, risking the chairs, judging the paces to the centre of the nave, then turning and making out the faint grey blur of the doorway at the far end. She moved towards it as fast as she dared, reaching it with a sigh of relief. Still no sign of him.

‘Sir?’ she called into the darkness.

Nothing. She closed the door behind her, stepped out into the night and hurried down the steps. Her eyes were fixed on the lights of the house across the lawn, when she suddenly became aware of a dark shape coming at her from the bushes to her right. She half turned as a hand came out of the darkness and grabbed her right upper arm hard. She was swinging round, about to scream, when she heard Tanner’s voice.

‘You didn’t lock the door.’

She froze, knowing he had intended to frighten her. His face was close, and she could smell his smoker’s breath.

‘You should lighten up, Kathy,’ his voice different, a hoarse whisper. ‘You take things too seriously. Just relax.’

For a moment she was convinced he was going to do something — hit her or kiss her, she wasn’t sure which — then his hand released her and his shadow slid silently away across the lawn. All her muscles were rigid and she began to shiver. What the hell does he want? She turned and paced back towards the temple, restraining the impulse to run. At the steps she stumbled, banging her head against one of the stone columns. She swore and forced herself to calm down, take her time. After locking the door she thought, / can’t face driving back to the pub with him. But when she returned to the car park she saw that his car was no longer there.

The receptionist looked up in surprise.

‘Oh! I thought you’d gone.’

‘So did I,’ Kathy said. ‘I had some trouble with my car. Could you get me a taxi, do you think?’

‘Certainly.’ She peered at Kathy’s forehead. ‘You’ve had a scrape.’

‘I bumped into something nasty.’

‘Would you like Dr Beamish-Newell to look at it for you?’

‘No,’ Kathy said, too quickly. ‘No. Thanks for the thought. Just order a taxi, please.’