A Question of Guilt (13 page)

‘What would you like?' Josh asked, and that did feel strange. Tim had known what my tipple was – of course!

‘Bacardi and Coke, please.'

‘Why don't you sit down and I'll bring it over.'

I picked my way to a vacant table in a nook beside the fireplace, only to find it had a ‘Reserved' sign on it. I was about to look for somewhere else, but Josh was signing at me from the bar: ‘It's OK – that's ours.'

‘You reserved a table?' I asked when he came over with the drinks.

‘Thought I should. It can get pretty busy on a Friday night.'

‘But – aren't reservations for diners?'

‘Probably. But we're having something to eat, aren't we?'

‘Oh Josh! You didn't say anything about eating!' I groaned. ‘I've already had tea.'

‘Oh.' He looked crestfallen. ‘Couldn't you manage something?'

My heart sank. I seemed to have been doing nothing but eating all day – apart from the missed lunch. But not only had Josh reserved a table, I was pretty sure that he had been waiting for this meal, and was very hungry.

‘Well, something light, perhaps – a starter, maybe,' I said tentatively. ‘But don't let that stop you.'

‘Don't worry, it won't.' His expression told me he meant it, and I found myself laughing.

What was it about Josh that made him such easy company? Strangely I felt as if I had known him forever and my anxiety over what we'd talk about, and how I should behave, was fast receding.

Josh fetched some menus and I chose a goat's cheese tartlet from the starters menu, whilst he selected a rib-eye steak with all the trimmings.

‘So,' he said when we'd placed our order, ‘I know next to nothing about you, Sally.'

‘And I know next to nothing about you.'

‘Then perhaps it's time we introduced ourselves properly.'

‘Go on then. You first.'

‘Josh Williams. Photographer. Thirty-five years old. Divorced. No children. That's about it.'

‘Divorced?'

‘'Fraid so. Nothing spectacular. It just didn't work out. One of the drawbacks of the job, I expect. Irregular hours.'

‘Not that irregular, surely?'

‘Oh, you know – evenings, weekends, bank holidays . . . Anyway, it was all pretty amicable. We're still quite good friends. Your turn.'

‘Sally Proctor. Recently split from long-term boyfriend, and, as you already know, a journalist by profession.'

‘Yes.' He was looking at me thoughtfully. ‘An
investigative
journalist.'

‘Not really.'

‘A
wannabe
investigative journalist, then.'

‘Perhaps.' For some reason this was making me a bit uncomfortable. ‘How long have you been with the
Gazette
, then?' I asked, trying to change the subject.

‘About nine months. So no, I didn't know Dawn Burridge, if that's what you're asking.'

At that moment the food arrived – my tiny plate with a tartlet nestling in a bed of rocket and frisée lettuce, and Josh's huge platter overflowing with steak, chips, mushrooms, tomatoes and peas.

‘Let's forget about Dawn Burridge,' I said.

‘And enjoy our food,' Josh was unwrapping his cutlery from the napkin it was rolled in.

‘Yes – let's.'

But I thought that what I really wanted was not so much to enjoy the food as to enjoy Josh's company.

It was a very long time since I'd felt that way about anyone.

We'd finished eating and were enjoying liqueur coffees when I heard a mobile chiming.

‘Oh sorry – that sounds like mine.' I pulled it out of my bag, wondering if it was Alice. ‘I'd better get this. I'm half expecting a call.'

‘Go ahead.'

I clicked the phone open.

‘Hello? Sally Proctor.'

I waited expectantly. But once again, there was nothing but silence at the other end of the line. Well – I say nothing. Actually I could distinctly hear someone breathing.

‘Is that Alice?' I asked. No reply. ‘Alice, if that is you, please speak to me,' I said. ‘Look, all I want to do is ask you a few questions about Dawn. I know you might find it upsetting to talk about her, but I need to know . . .'

I never got any further. The line had gone dead again.

‘Damn!' I clicked the phone off, set it down on the table. ‘That's twice that's happened!'

Josh was looking at me quizzically, and I explained.

‘I'd really like to talk to her, ask her about Dawn's friends . . . and enemies,' I finished. ‘She worked with her, she's the perfect one to help me. But when it comes to the point, she just won't speak. It is so frustrating!'

‘She hasn't said anything at all?' Josh asked.

‘Not a word. All I can hear is breathing.'

‘You're sure it is her?'

‘Who else would it be? And the very fact that she is so reluctant to speak to me makes me think she must know something. She seems frightened, and I don't know why. Unless, like me, she thinks there's a connection between the fire and Dawn's death. That Brian Jennings was wrongly convicted, and whoever set the fire did it with the intention of getting Dawn out of the way, either by killing her, or by frightening her off. And when that didn't work, they found another way.'

Josh huffed breath over his top lip in a silent whistle.

‘You really think that's a possibility?'

‘Well, one thing is absolutely certain. The hit-and-run driver couldn't possibly be Brian Jennings. And I think it's highly suspicious that she should be killed like that so soon after she was apparently targeted in the fire.'

For a long moment Josh was silent.

‘I'm beginning to be convinced I'm on to something,' I said.

Josh opened his mouth to say something, then simply shook his head and looked down at his coffee.

‘What?' I asked.

He looked up at me again, his expression very serious.

‘Are you sure this is a good idea, Sally?'

‘What do you mean?' I asked, puzzled.

‘You could be playing with fire here.' He raised a hand in acknowledgement of the unintended pun. ‘I'm not sure you've thought this through. ‘Look, suppose you're right, and Brian Jennings was wrongly convicted – that has to mean someone else was responsible, someone who thinks they've got away with it. How do you think they'll react if they find out you're asking awkward questions? If there is anything to find out, and if the real culprit thinks you're getting anywhere near the truth . . . do you really think they wouldn't do whatever was necessary to stop you? And if there really is a link between the fire and the accident that killed Dawn, then that just makes it all the worse.'

His words were chilling, and with a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach I realized he was right. I'd been so caught up in the excitement of investigating my story I hadn't stopped to consider the implications of what I was doing. But, to be honest, even now it didn't feel real.

‘There's probably nothing in it at all,' I said breezily. ‘I'm just chasing shadows.'

‘If you say so.'

‘In any case,' I added defiantly. ‘I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself.'

‘That may very well be what Dawn thought,' Josh said.

Though we left it there, for a little while that sobering conversation cast a cloud over the evening, and I couldn't help wondering, too, about the two mysterious phone calls. Had it been Alice on the line, and, if so, why didn't she say something? Or was it someone else entirely? Silent phone calls did happen sometimes, I knew – perhaps the first one had been a wrong number, or just a shot in the dark, and when I answered the caller knew they had reached a female, and had rung the number again for the sheer hell of it. I couldn't really believe it was more sinister than that, and yet it was another coincidence that it should have happened today, when I'd been making enquiries about Dawn Burridge. No, on balance it had to be Alice. But I really couldn't understand why she would ring my number twice only to change her mind about speaking to me when I answered.

I had no intention of letting it spoil my evening, though. I was enjoying myself too much. Josh and I had connected in a way I couldn't remember ever connecting with anyone before. I hadn't felt this relaxed with Tim when I'd first met him, rather I'd been in awe of his glamour, and nervous of putting a foot wrong. This was quite different. Besides fancying him, it felt as if we'd known one another for years instead of days. Worrying about the phone calls, and Josh's warning, could wait for another day.

We left the King William soon after ten and were pulling into the farmyard by half past. The security lights came on as we drove in, illuminating Scrumpy racing madly back and forth at the end of her leash and barking like crazy.

‘Are you sure that dog is safe?' Josh asked jokingly.

‘No, can't you see she's a cross between a pit bull and a Rotty?' I quipped.

‘Hmm. Well, I shall make sure I'm wearing my motorcycle leathers when she's not tied up, whatever you say.'

I didn't know which part of that statement surprised me more – the motorcycle leathers or the implication that Josh would be back. I took up the safest option.

‘You have a motorbike?'

‘My guilty pleasure. I've had motorbikes ever since I was old enough to get a licence. It was one of those that sound like sewing machines, and I practically had to get off and push it up steep hills.'

‘You've got something a bit bigger now, I take it.'

‘Just a tad. A Ducati.'

‘A Ducati!' I was impressed.

‘You know them?'

‘Of course I do. I can't pretend to know much about motorbikes, but I certainly know the Ducati. Big and powerful with racing-style handlebars.'

‘That's the one. I'd offer to take you for a spin, but I don't suppose that's on at the moment.'

‘Hardly,' I said ruefully. ‘Even if I could get on, there wouldn't be anywhere to stow my crutches.'

‘In which case,' Josh said, ‘my best offer is another ride in a boring old Peugeot. What about Sunday?'

My heart had given a little skip.

‘I don't have any other plans,' I said, trying to conceal my delight.

‘Shall we say Sunday afternoon, then? We'll go for a drive somewhere, then stop off for a drink and a bite to eat.'

‘Sounds good to me.'

‘Right – that's a date.' Josh got out of the car and came around to the passenger side. I already had the door open and was manoeuvring myself to the edge of my seat. He took me by the elbows, easing me out to a standing position. And then, almost before I realized what was happening, he kissed me.

It didn't last long, that kiss, but wow – did it pack a punch! His mouth was hard on mine, the length of his body pressing me back against the car, with his hands protecting me from the cold rim of the door frame. For a moment I felt nothing but surprise, then, suddenly, I was very aware of him. My hands were on his shoulders; I could feel the well-defined muscles beneath his jacket, and unexpected desire was stirring deep inside me. It was so long since I'd been kissed by anyone but Tim, and that had become so familiar I'd almost forgotten how exciting it had been in the early days. Now, I wanted Josh's kiss to go on forever; I wanted to drown in it.

All too soon, he released me.

‘OK?' His eyes met mine, teasing. ‘I'll get your crutches.'

I remained leaning against the car. The farmyard seemed to be spinning around me; I looked up, over the barn roof to the inky blackness, and the stars seemed to be spinning too. I must have had one Bacardi and Coke too many, I told myself. Or the liqueur coffee had proved to be the last straw.

Josh came with me to the door.

‘Do you want to come in for a coffee?' I asked.

‘Better not. I'll see you on Sunday, then? Say about half two?'

I thought – hoped! – that he might kiss me again, but he didn't. He waited until I'd unlocked the door and stepped inside, then he turned with a simple, ‘Good night then,' and went back to his car. I watched as he did a quick and competent reverse arc and his tail lights disappeared down the track, then I went in, closed the door, and stood for a moment catching my breath.

I couldn't believe the way I was feeling – exhilarated, happy, still a little wobbly. I couldn't remember a time when I'd felt quite like this, it was so long ago. It
mus
t be the alcohol that was to blame – mustn't it? But when I got into bed the room didn't spin around me as the farmyard and the stars had. I simply felt good, glowing and warm inside too, and there was a little buzz of something like anticipation of things to come. For the first time since I'd begun my investigation, it wasn't Brian Jennings, Dawn Burridge and Lisa Curry who were on my mind as I drifted towards sleep.

Once – I've no idea what time it was – I stirred, drowsily thinking I heard my phone ringing. But by the time I was awake enough to think clearly there was nothing but silence, and before I knew it I was asleep again.

Saturday is Farmers Market day in Stoke Compton and Mum always has a stall there selling fresh produce in season, eggs from her flock of hens, and jars of home-made pickles and preserves. For a couple of weeks now I'd been well enough to go with her, though I had to take one of the folding garden chairs with me, as I couldn't stand for too long.

This Saturday was to be no exception. By the time I came downstairs at half seven, Mum had already loaded most of her stock into the boot of her car and was bustling about with a thick coat over her warmest jumper and slacks.

‘Are you coming with me today, Sally?' she asked.

‘I planned to.'

‘That's good. It's a help, having you there to take the money when we get busy. Can you get your own breakfast? I've still got a few things to do. Bread's in the toaster, kettle's on the boil. And you'll need something warm on if you're going to be sitting about it the cold. It really is nippy this morning,' she added.