A Question of Guilt (16 page)

With that he returned to the task in hand.

‘Don't mind him,' Delyth said, not bothering to lower her voice. ‘Now come and say hello to the others, why don't you?'

She led me towards the group around the radiator, but others were drifting in too. A very thin girl in leggings, a fun-fur gilet and towering heels, two elderly ladies, one so fat she rolled as she walked, a gangly lad with a bad case of acne. The group around the radiator were much of an age – mid-to-late twenties – three men, and two girls, one statuesque, with beautiful ebony skin, the other a pony-tailed blonde. All were casually attired in jeans and sweaters. Delyth introduced me – none of the men was ‘gorgeous George' and I knew I'd have difficulty remembering their names. All responded with friendly ‘hello's, but were clearly more interested in continuing their conversation.

‘I'm going to put the kettle on,' Delyth said. ‘You'd think one of them would have done it, wouldn't you, seeing as they're here. But no. It's left to Muggins. Come with me, if you like.'

‘OK.'

I'd already decided that of the members I'd met so far, Delyth was the one I should concentrate on. Chatty, friendly, she was the one most likely to open up about Dawn. I felt a little guilty at the thought that I was taking advantage of her good nature, but I couldn't afford to have scruples if I was to make any progress with my investigation.

In the kitchen, Delyth set a large kettle to boil, and unlocked a cupboard where mugs were stacked in plastic baskets.

‘You can put some of these out,' she said. ‘We'll want about twenty, I should think.'

I did as she asked and she spooned coffee powder into them from an outsize jar, chatting as she worked.

A head poked round the kitchen door. ‘Do you want any help, Delyth?'

‘No, you're all right, Bella. I've already got a helper.'

But Bella came into the kitchen anyway, and a whiff of expensive perfume came with her. She was an older woman, with perfectly coiffed white-blonde hair and was about fifty, I guessed, though she could well have passed for ten years younger. She was wearing the ubiquitous jeans, but with a great deal of style.

‘Ah, a new member! How lovely!' She extended a hand, be-ringed fingers topped with scarlet nails. ‘I'm Bella Crighton.'

For a second I almost froze.

‘Bella
Crighton
?' I echoed before I could stop myself. ‘Are you . . .?'

Bella arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

‘Lewis's wife? Yes, actually, I am. Do you know him? Oh, stupid question. Everyone knows Lewis.'

‘I don't know him really,' I said awkwardly. ‘I've met him briefly, that's all.'

‘Look, can you two talk later?' Delyth interrupted. ‘We have to get this show on the road.' She was loading mugs of coffee on to a battered tin tray. ‘Take these in for me, will you, Bella? And let me know if we need more. And Sally . . . you go and sit down and make yourself at home.'

She ushered me back into the hall, where John was doing his best to persuade everyone to take a seat in the circle of chairs he'd set out. The two elderly women were already seated; one of them was knitting, her wool in a bag on the floor beside her chair. I took a seat between Delyth and the gangly youth; John was clearly in pole position, with a suitable gap on either side of him to highlight the fact that he was the one in control. He coughed loudly and clapped his hands.

‘Shall we make a start? I thought we'd begin with
Mama
. Gillian – will you begin by reading Katrin? And Bella – Mama. We won't worry too much about the Swedish accents at the moment, but if you do feel like attempting it, then so much the better. And of course we'll have to exercise some imagination when it comes to the children's parts . . .'

The play-reading began and I was surprised at just how good they were. Bella, in particular, was amazing, putting on an impressive foreign accent I assumed must be supposed to be Swedish. To my horror, John asked me if I would read one of the children; I couldn't see any way I could get out of it, and struggled through. But there was no danger that I would be cast, I thought ruefully, even if I hadn't been on crutches!

There was still no sign of ‘gorgeous George', but I wasn't too bothered. If there had been a mystery man in Dawn's life, I was beginning to doubt that it was him. It seemed to me that Lewis Crighton fitted that role perfectly. And now I'd happened upon yet another link to Dawn – his glamorous, rather hard-faced wife was a member of the same drama group that Dawn had been in.

I cast a sidelong look at her when my nerve-wracking stint of reading was finished. She was so confident, so polished and self-assured. I wondered if some of that poise might slip a little if she knew that her husband and the pretty Sarah had been ‘working late' and left the office together. And just how ruthless she could be if she thought her marriage was under threat.

This wasn't the time, though, for turning over the various possibilities. What I needed to do was establish myself as a bone fide would-be thespian so that when I began to ask questions no one would suspect I had any motive other than curiosity.

We broke for another cup of coffee about nine, everyone piling into the kitchen this time, where Delyth was rattling a jam jar and collecting twenty pence in payment. When I went to drop mine in, she covered the jar with her hand.

‘Not tonight, Sally. You're a guest. Next time, but not tonight.'

Again I felt a stab of guilt that I was deceiving these people who had accepted me so readily.

‘No George again tonight?' one of the girls said as she took her coffee.

‘No, don't know where he is.'

‘It's strange for him to miss two meetings in a row. Though he's never been as regular as he used to be since we lost Dawn . . .' The speaker moved away, and with the buzz of conversation I was unable to hear any more.

Coffee finished, we all returned to our places and play-reading resumed. Thankfully, John didn't ask me to take a part again, and I was able to study the others and think about the conversation I'd just overheard. Perhaps I was wrong to be so certain Lewis Crighton was the leading man in this mystery – certainly it had sounded as if George and Dawn had been involved in some way. At this stage I really must keep an open mind.

The meeting broke up at about a quarter to ten.

‘Some of us go for a drink in the Feathers,' Delyth told me as we were putting on our coats. ‘You're welcome to join us if you'd like to.'

The Feathers was a pub in the Square, but tempting as the invitation was, with the opportunity to be a party to more conversation and general chit-chat, I didn't think I should take Delyth up on the invitation tonight. Mum and Dad would be expecting me home and would be worried if I was late. I didn't want to take advantage, either – I couldn't afford for Dad to decide not to let me borrow his car again.

‘Thanks, but I think I'd better not. Next time, maybe?'

‘I certainly hope so.' Delyth smiled at me. ‘There will be a next time, won't there? We haven't completely put you off?'

‘Not at all! Next Monday?'

‘Oh, we'll be meeting on Wednesday, too. We always meet Mondays and Wednesdays. Can you make it then?'

‘Yes, of course. I'll look forward to it.'

Too late I remembered. I had a date with Josh on Wednesday. Well, I'd just have to postpone it. I couldn't miss the opportunity to become part of the scenery here sooner rather than later, and hopefully he'd understand.

People were drifting out now, some saying their goodbyes, some calling: ‘See you in the pub' as they went. Delyth left me by the lift, going down the stairs with the lanky youth, who had been waiting to speak to her about something. Only John was left in the hall, going round checking lights and slotting a chair someone had left in the middle of the floor on to an already towering pile.

The lift arrived, I got in, and a few moments later was making my way back to my car. At the corner of the Square I glanced back; the town hall was now in darkness.

A very interesting evening, I thought, unlocking Dad's four-by-four and clambering in. All in all it had given me a lot to think about, and hopefully that was just the beginning.

I pulled away, out of the Square and into the two-way system. Traffic was fairly light, but the traffic lights were red and, as I waited for them to change, another car came up behind me.

Naturally enough, I thought nothing of it. It was only when I'd negotiated two mini-roundabouts, taken a right turn on to the road home, and clocked the fact that the headlights were still behind me that I began to take notice. Even then I still felt quite relaxed about it, expecting the vehicle to peel off into one of the residential roads or the new estate on the outskirts of town. It didn't. As I left the built-up area and headed out into the country, the lights were still behind me, reflecting from the central mirror into my eyes.

I twisted it to one side, but still I could see the following lights in my wing mirror, and for some reason I began to feel uncomfortable. I slowed down, thinking I'd let him overtake me, but he slowed too. I sped up, but still the lights remained exactly the same distance behind me. I took the fork leading to our lane and checked again; the car was still there behind me. My discomfort was fast mutating into full-blown panic now. That car was following me, I was sure of it.

Josh's warning popped into my mind in a very unwelcome fashion, and I realized just how vulnerable I was. Away from the street lights of Compton, the inky blackness was complete but for the path cut by my headlights on full beam and the following pinpricks, and I was absolutely alone. To meet other traffic on the lane at this time of night was practically unheard of. If my pursuer decided to overtake and box me in there would be no one to come to my aid, and I didn't think I'd be able to reverse to safety in Dad's unfamiliar car – more likely I'd run into the ditch. My heart had begun to beat very fast and I could feel the adrenalin of fear pumping through my veins.

Who the hell was it? And why were they following me? But I wasn't going to hang about to find out. I put my foot down hard and the 4 x 4 shot forward. Not too far to our track now – the trouble was that was even lonelier than the lane – and I couldn't even be sure of being safe when I reached the farmyard. Mum and Dad would probably be in bed – Dad certainly would be. They'd never hear me calling for help. And if my pursuer followed me into the yard he'd catch me easily before I could find my keys, get the front door unlocked and be safely inside.

I was practically sobbing now, my hands moist with perspiration on the steering wheel as I rocketed along the narrow lane between the high hedges, fighting to keep the 4 x 4 on the road around the bends. The entrance to our track was coming up – should I turn into it, or just keep going?

At the last moment the pull of home was too strong. I stood on the brakes and veered wildly to the left. The tyres screeched, mounted the bank, and for a horrible moment I thought I would lose control. But the 4 x 4 was equal to the challenge. With a jolt and a slither I was back on the track.

It struck me suddenly that the darkness was more complete than ever – no reflected lights hurting my eyes. Shaking with terror I checked – nothing. Just the inky blackness. At first, unable to accept I was no longer being followed, I kept my foot down, jolting over the rough ridges and gulleys made by the tractor. Then, as I made it into the farmyard, I slowed and stopped right beside the door, my hand poised over the horn, ready to blare hard enough to wake the dead if the following car appeared again. It didn't, and when I switched off the engine and opened the door, the silence was as complete as the darkness.

For a moment I sat there, waiting for my breathing to steady and my heart to stop thumping, and as it did I began to wonder if I'd blown up this whole thing out of proportion.

The car hadn't followed me into the track – perhaps it hadn't been following me at all. Why would it? Who would do such a thing? But there was no denying that it
had
been there, all the way from Stoke Compton. It
had
adjusted its speed to mine.

Could it simply have been a couple of lads on a night out, having a bit of fun? They'd seen a lone woman in a car, guessed from my reactions that I was rattled, and decided it would be a lark to carry on with the game, and really frighten me.

Well, if that was the explanation, they'd certainly succeeded!

Calmer now, I found my keys, locked up Dad's car and got myself into the house. But the unpleasant feeling lingered.

Was I stirring up a hornet's nest with my investigations? Was I putting myself in danger – the same sort of danger that Dawn had been in? Even now it seemed preposterous. But if I was being targeted, it could mean only one thing – there was something sinister waiting to be uncovered, and I was getting too close to whatever it was for the perpetrator's comfort.

It was all the incentive I needed. I was going on with this if it killed me!

In spite of my fright of the previous evening, I was more determined than ever to pursue my story. Dad, bless him, phoned his local computer man, and as luck would have it, he had a laptop in stock that suited my needs and my pocket. He'd get it all set up for me, he promised, and I could pick it up any time after four.

‘This is getting to be a bit of a habit, Sally,' Dad said, putting his car keys where I would be able to find them if he was out on the farm when I needed them. ‘I reckon you should buy yourself a car while you're at it.'

‘Ha ha!' I'd got rid of my little run-around when it had become clear it would be a very long time before I could drive it – I didn't want it sitting around gathering rust. But there was no way I could afford to go out and buy myself something suitable just at the moment.