A Question of Guilt (7 page)

‘Sorry I wasn't ready,' I said.

‘It wouldn't be you if you had been, Sally,' Tim said. Though he was smiling, pretending to tease, I sensed that the underlying criticism was real enough.

‘So, are you going to go out somewhere?' Mum asked – hopefully, I thought. ‘It's a nice day. It would be a shame to waste it.'

She was right – it
was
a nice day, the sun shining, the sky a clean-washed blue that had the promise of spring. But I still couldn't manage to walk very far, and even had I been able to, Tim's highly polished shoes were not really suited for trekking along the muddy lane.

‘Suppose we drive up to Deer Leap?' I suggested. Tim cracked a questioning eyebrow, and I explained. ‘It's only about half an hour from here, and there are some fantastic views. It gets quite busy in the summer, but on a Friday at this time of year I wouldn't imagine there would be too many other people about.'

The sort of place where we can talk undisturbed . . .

‘And there are plenty of nice country pubs where we can get a drink and a spot of lunch if we feel like it.'

If we feel like it being the operative phrase . . .

‘Good idea,' Mum said, and I guessed she was relieved she wouldn't have Tim turning up his nose at her scratch lunch of hearty soup or the remains of the weekend roast.

While Tim was finishing his coffee, I got my coat. My heart had come into my mouth at the prospect of saying what I'd more or less decided needed to be said and my nerves were twanging. We set out in his Audi with Classic FM playing on the radio, and when Tim asked me what I'd been up to I told him a little about my investigations, but my voice didn't sound entirely natural and it was difficult to summon any enthusiasm for the subject that had been consuming me with the conversation we needed to have hanging over me. I wondered if Tim would notice I wasn't my usual self, but when I gave him a sideways glance I had the oddest impression that he wasn't really listening to what I was saying.

Deer Leap is a high spot on the Mendips, a broad parking area overlooking a beautiful valley, with paths angling off along the crest of the hill. There was no way we could walk them today, though – they were accessed by stiles in the drystone walls that bordered the parking area that I would have struggled to manage, and in any case, the fields beyond would still be soggy from the recent rain. Instead we remained in the car, parked to give us a panoramic view of the valley below.

Right, I thought – this was it. No more putting it off. Time to take the bull by the horns.

‘Tim,' I said, ‘we need to talk. About us.'

There was a silence. I glanced at Tim. He wasn't looking at me, but still staring out at the view. He was chewing his lip and there were lines of tension in his face, as if he sensed what I was going to say. Then he reached across, switched off the radio, and turned towards me.

‘I know we do. I'm really sorry, Sally. I've been neglecting you, haven't I?'

‘I realize it's been difficult. With your job and everything, and me not able to lead a normal life.' I was trying to do this gently, to avoid recriminations and bad feeling if at all possible. ‘I do understand that, Tim . . .'

‘You do?' His eyes snapped up to mine. There was an expression in them that puzzled me.

‘Yes, of course I do. But . . .'

But it's not just that
, I was going to say.
It's all kinds of other things as well
. . .

I never got the chance.

‘I am truly sorry,' Tim said again, and it occurred to me suddenly that he was apologizing rather too much for simply not coming to visit me as much as he might have done.

‘Tim, there's no need . . .'

‘There's every need. I should have confessed a long time ago. But with you in the state you were, I couldn't bring myself to upset you. It didn't seem right.'

I frowned. ‘What are you talking about?'

His eyes fell away again, his fingers played with the knob of the gearstick. By the time he looked at me again I had a pretty good idea what he was going to say.

‘I'm sorry, Sally, but there's someone else.'

Still it shocked me. Tim had someone else!

‘Oh!' I said stupidly.

‘I met her through work and things have . . . developed.'

For a moment I couldn't think of a single thing to say. Then something inside me exploded.

‘A trolley dolly, I suppose.' I was astonished by how hurt I felt – hurt enough to refer to an air stewardess by such a derogatory term.

‘Actually, no. She's my first officer,' Tim said, almost apologetically.

That took the wind out of my sails all over again, but of course, it made perfect sense. Women weren't only flight attendants now, they were also pilots. And I could just picture the scene – Tim in the left-hand seat, some glamour girl with gold braid on the shoulders of her uniform in the right, cocooned together in a cramped cockpit for hours on end. And then the two of them wheeling their suitcases through customs together, being bussed to the same hotel for overnight stays, sharing a meal and a drink – no, not a drink; eight hours between bottle and throttle was the golden rule. But getting very cosy, nonetheless.

‘How long has this been going on?' I asked tightly.

Tim shrugged. ‘Does it matter?'

‘Yes, actually.'

And it did! Had Tim been seeing her when we were still together? When I was in hospital and he was visiting me, pretending concern? Was she the reason he'd been so ready to suggest I should come home to Stoke Compton to convalesce when I was discharged? Had she moved in with Tim? Was she sleeping in the bed we had shared? It mattered a great deal. And explained a whole lot more.

‘I met her last summer,' Tim said.

‘So she's the reason you haven't been able to find the time to come and see me. And there was I believing you when you said you just couldn't fit me into your busy schedule. I suppose she's the reason you wanted me out of the flat, too.'

Tim said nothing, and I knew I'd hit the nail on the head.

‘What a fool I've been!' I said bitterly. ‘Making excuses for you to everyone. Even to myself. I knew things weren't good between us, but I never imagined you were cheating on me . . . well, not to this extent . . . How could you do it, Tim? How could you just string me along? And don't say it's because you felt sorry for me, please. Because that would just be adding insult to injury.'

From the way Tim's mouth opened and closed I knew he'd been on the point of saying exactly that.

‘You bastard,' I said softly. My hands were tightly clenched on my knees because what I really wanted to do was hit him.

‘We didn't get seriously involved until a couple of months ago,' he said lamely.

‘And that makes it all right?'

‘Well, no, but . . . I've said I'm sorry, Sally, and I am.'

I shook my head, laughed without humour.

‘You know what is so funny about this? I was actually going to tell you that I wasn't sure that I wanted to be with you any more, and I was worried about doing it. Worried about hurting you. Well, more fool me.'

‘
You've
met someone else?' Tim looked, and sounded, as shocked as I had felt a few minutes ago.

‘Hardly,' I said dryly. ‘But if I had I'd never have done this to you. I'd never have crept about behind your back, lied to you, cheated on you . . .'

The look of relief on his face was so palpable I had to once again restrain the urge to hit him. The conceit of him! He couldn't bear the thought that I might have actually decided that I preferred to be with someone other than him – his ego simply couldn't stand it. What on earth had I ever seen in him?

‘So,' I said, getting my temper under control. ‘I suppose the reason you're coming clean now is that you want to set up home with this . . . woman.'

Tim had the grace to look a bit shamefaced.

‘Well . . . yes.'

‘And you want me out of the flat. Permanently.'

‘Oh, good gracious, no! I wouldn't expect you to leave, Sally. The plan is for me to move in with Paula. She has a cottage in Winton – very convenient for the airport. But don't worry, I'll pay my whack of the rent on the flat until you can find someone else to share with you, or are in a position to afford it yourself.'

‘Well thanks, but I couldn't possibly accept it,' I said stiffly, my pride kicking in.

‘I insist. I wouldn't leave you in the lurch while you're incapacitated.'

‘Hopefully that won't be for much longer. I mean it, Tim – I don't want your money.'

‘We'll see about that. But thanks for being so understanding, and taking it so well, Sally.'

I snorted. Actually, I hadn't taken it well at all. Given that I'd been agonizing over how I was going to end things myself I should have been grateful that he'd handed it to me on a plate. Instead, I was surprised how hurt I was, knowing he'd been sneaking around with someone else – falling in love with her – while I was coping with the devastating consequences of my accident.

I had no intention of letting him know that, though. His ego was quite big enough already.

‘Right,' I said, sounding far calmer than I felt. ‘I suggest we go and have a drink and a spot of lunch somewhere and sort things out.'

‘All right, if you feel up to it . . .'

‘Might as well get it over with,' I said. ‘Then we can both get on with our lives.'

Things were reasonably civil between us by the time Tim took me home to Rookery Farm, and we'd sorted out a lot of the practical issues. Tim would move out of the flat we shared, and would be gone by the time I was fit to return. I was still stubbornly refusing to accept any financial help from him with regard to the rent and so on, and I knew I'd have to sit down and do my sums as to whether I could afford to keep it on alone or whether I'd have to look for a flatmate – something I'd really prefer to avoid if at all possible.

Mum was in the kitchen, cleaning eggs ready for her stall at the farmers' market on Saturday morning.

‘No Tim?' she enquired as I went in.

‘No. Nor likely to be again.'

‘You've decided to call it a day.' Though she was trying to sound non-committal, I could tell she was actually relieved.

‘Tim beat me to it,' I said ruefully. ‘He's involved with someone else.'

‘I knew it!' Mum stripped off her Marigolds, leaning against the big stone sink. ‘I told you he was making excuses about why he wasn't coming to see you. Well, good riddance, I say.'

‘I know . . . I know . . .'

‘So who is she? How long has it been going on?'

‘Mum – I really don't want to talk about it any more right now. I'll tell you all about it later.'

Though I could see Mum was bursting to hear all the details, she simply nodded.

‘When you're ready, my love. But I will say this. You're a lot better off without that one, so don't go upsetting yourself. Now, why don't you sit down and have a nice cup of tea?'

‘A cup of tea would be good. But . . .' Not only did I not want to talk about what had happened with Tim, I didn't want to think about it, either. And there was one sure fire way of taking my mind off the break-up.

‘Is Dad using his computer?'

‘No. He's out seeing to one of his cows. He had to have the vet to her this morning.'

‘Oh dear!'

‘Yes, he's a bit worried about her. So you can be sure he won't be wanting to get on the computer for the next couple of hours, at least. Go on, you have it. I'll bring your cup of tea in to you.'

‘Thanks, Mum. You're a star.'

I logged on to Dad's computer, pulled up the notes I'd made so far, and read through them. Mum brought me the promised cup of tea and a slice of her famous lemon drizzle cake and I nibbled on it as I added the information I'd gleaned from Rachel last night, including the name of the estate agency where Dawn had worked, and the fact that Lisa had married Paul Holder, the baker who had rescued the girls. I also made a note of the thought that had occurred to me that it might have been Lisa, not Dawn, who was the intended victim of the arson attack, and, armed now with her married name, I had another look for her on Facebook. This time I found her, but her page stated that ‘Lisa only shares some information publicly', and her photograph wasn't a photograph at all, but a white silhouette on a blue background. Could it be that she was a bit paranoid because of what had happened? I didn't know, but it was important that I kept an open mind.

I sat back in Dad's comfortable swivel chair, nursing my mug of tea, and trying to think about this logically. Top of my list of people to see had been Brian Jennings' sister, Marion, but I was having second thoughts about that. It was unlikely that she would be able to tell me anything more than the basic facts, which I already knew – if she'd learned anything of any interest, then almost certainly she would have taken it to Brian's solicitor and an appeal would be under way. Almost certainly that was not the case – it was only a few days since I'd heard her radio interview, and she'd not mentioned any new evidence. What was more, I rather thought that the moment she knew a newspaper reporter was taking an interest she'd go public with the fact, as she would see it as support for her cause. I really didn't want that. Far better if I could talk to the people concerned first. I'd have to admit to an interest in the fire, of course, but if it was known that I was actually trying to find another suspect doors may well slam in my face. I wanted to ask questions as discreetly as possible, and if I became high profile it would be no help at all.

Time enough to speak to Marion later. My first port of call should be Lisa Curry – or Lisa Holder, as she now was – and Dawn Burridge. And before I could do that I needed to know where she now was.