The Crow Trap (15 page)

Although Rod still seemed engrossed in Dostoevsky.

“What about this? Mullet baked with shallots and new potatoes.”

“Yes,” she said. “Anything.”

They sat in silence until the food had arrived and they’d begun to eat.

“Tell me then,” she said at last. “If Neville Furness isn’t into blackmail, what is he like?”

“An ordinary, decent bloke. A bit lonely. A bit shy.” He smiled. She could tell he was trying to please her. “He could do with a good woman. If he was the monster Barbara makes him out to be, do you think I’d have taken him on?”

“You might if you thought he’d be useful.” “No,” he said quietly. “Of course I want the business to grow. It’s how I measure what I’ve been doing, my achievement. But not at any price.”

“Why did he leave Holme Park?”

“I don’t know. I mean, not exactly. I can tell you how it happened if you’re interested?”

“Yes,” she said defiantly. “I am interested if that’s OK with you.”

“I had some preliminary meetings with Robert and Olivia Fulwell about the quarry. The approach came from them. At least I think probably from her. Furness was in on some of the discussions. I was impressed.

I also had the feeling that he wasn’t happy. The relationship between him and Mrs. Fulwell was … strained. I offered him a job. He accepted.”

“What did Lily Fulwell make of that?” His calm explanation reassured her. She was starting to relax, to enjoy the idea of Godfrey poaching Neville from Lily.

“I don’t know. It was none of my business.”

An idea occurred to her. “Do you think they’d been having an affair?”

“Like I said. None of my business.” Unusually he poured himself a second glass of wine. He looked tired. She pushed away her plate, still littered with fish bones, twigs of thyme, and reached across the table, a repeat of the gesture which had first brought them together.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have questioned your judgement.”

He seemed about to say something but lost his nerve at the last minute.

They spent all afternoon in the restaurant, finishing the wine then several cups of coffee. In the end Rod took their money and asked them to see themselves out. He’d long ago put up the closed signs and locked the door. Anne had the feeling again that Godfrey was building up to some confidence, but it wasn’t until they were out on the street that he seemed prepared to speak.

They’d wandered into the town centre, towards the secure car park which they always used. Anne, waiting for him to spit out whatever was bothering him, saw her reflection in the window of a shop selling cut price shoes. She looked so wretchedly old that she thought: he wants to get rid of me, that’s what he wanted to say. That’s why he picked that fight. At just that moment he started to speak.

“It’s Barbara.”

“What about her?” Anxiety made her aggressive, shrill.

“I’m not sure I can stay with her. Not indefinitely.”

“What are you saying?”

He stopped in the middle of the pavement. All around them were jostling women, kids on their way home from school. The stream of people eddied round them, took no notice. They were used to couples making a scene in the street.

“I’m asking what you feel about that.”

“I didn’t mean to come between you. That wasn’t my intention.”

“No. It’s nothing to do with you. It’s Barbara. You don’t know how much I owe her … “

“If you hadn’t married her you’d still be a craftsman, chiselling stone?”

“It’s not just that.” He became impatient because he’d lost his drift.

He raised his voice but still the crowds moved on, unheeding. “What I mean is that being grateful isn’t enough. What I mean is, I’d rather be with you. Not yet. When Felicity is a bit older. More independent. When this business with the quarry is settled. I need to know how you feel about that.”

It was only then that she realized he wasn’t giving her the push.

“You mean openly, publicly?”

“Marriage, if you want it.”

The next morning when he left her at the end of the lane to walk down to Baikie’s, she felt about fifteen again. She’d not slept. Godfrey had fallen asleep quite suddenly in the early hours and she’d lain awake listening to his quiet breathing. It was the first time they’d spent the night together. But still she felt she had the energy to work all day. And that she’d do anything Godfrey Waugh asked her to.

Chapter Eighteen.

If it hadn’t been for occasional trips out to meet Godfrey, that week after the funeral would have driven her demented. Being trapped in Baikie’s with the two other women was worse than being back at school.

She even considered moving back home despite the long drive to the survey area, but Jeremy had returned from London and seemed installed in the Priory for a long stay. He seemed chastened. Perhaps one of his love affairs had gone sour, or perhaps it was one of his business ventures, but he was in little boy mode, in need of comfort, and she didn’t have the patience for it. Not now.

Rachael she could have handled. Even though Rachael was a frustrated bitch, uptight and heartless, at least she was sane. But ever since she’d come across Grace staring at the estate workers’ cottages at Holme Park, Anne had realized that she was as mad as a snake. Anne wasn’t given to whimsical fancies, but being woken at night by the rustling of Grace’s night clothes, the padding of her feet on the bare floor, made her seriously worried. She wouldn’t have put it past Grace to lose it altogether, and if someone was going to wake up with Grace’s penknife through her ribs, she didn’t intend it to be her.

So she told Rachael in the pub that she was going to move into the box room It might not have a lock, but at least she could wedge a chair under the door and she wouldn’t have to put up with Grace’s midnight wanderings. The pub had been Rachael’s idea. She’d been on management courses. She probably saw it as a team-building exercise. But as Grace spent all evening in the public phone box in the street outside and Anne used the opportunity to tell Rachael what she thought of Grace, it was a bit of a failure.

“Have you seen her records?” Anne demanded. She’d had a lot to drink in a short space of time, though she could tell Rachael disapproved.

She needed it.

“Not yet. Not in detail.”

“We’re talking fantasy here. I mean real fairy-tale time. The other day I saw her miles outside the survey area. Miles from the nearest river if it comes to that. Where did you get her from anyway?”

Rachael muttered something about it being Peter’s decision. Anne thought Rachael wasn’t really management material despite the courses and the degrees.

The next day she felt she needed cheering up. The vegetation classification had been going well. The quad rats in the peat bog had proved interesting. There was nothing so special that the development of the quarry would be threatened, but she’d enjoyed the variety of species there. She had a hangover and could afford to take time off.

The last time she’d seen Godfrey, he’d presented her with a mobile phone, so they could keep in touch. She hadn’t told the others and when they were around she kept it switched off. There was no real reason for the secrecy she could have said she’d bought it herself but she knew what would happen. Rachael would consider it communal property and suggest that whoever was going furthest into the hills should borrow it as a safety measure. If Anne objected she’d be made out to be a heartless monster. Well, bugger that, she thought. If Peter Kemp wasn’t such a tight bastard he’d have provided mobiles for them all. Another reason for wanting a room of her own was so that she could charge it up without anyone else seeing.

That morning Rachael drove into Kimmerston for a meeting with Peter and the developers. Grace, more together than she’d been for days, actually had breakfast with them and volunteered the information that she’d be out all day. As soon as they’d left Anne called Godfrey on her mobile.

“Can you come out to play?”

“I don’t know … “

“You weren’t planning to be at the meeting with Kemp Associates, were you?”

“I hadn’t realized there was a meeting. Neville must have fixed it.”

“If Neville’s as good a bloke as you say, get him to drag it out. Keep Rachael out of the way and give us longer.”

“I can’t involve him.” “Why not? If he knows already.” She paused. “Have you got a pen?”

“Of course.”

“Write down this shopping list. You can call at Tesco’s on your way over.”

“You’re expecting me to come over to Black Law?”

“Why not? They’re both out.”

“Well … ” he said. “Someone might see.”

“So what? You’re entitled from time to time to look at the development site.”

“I want to see you.”

“Then come.”

When he arrived he was laden with carrier bags like a suburban husband.

He seemed quite comfortable with the role. She thought he must have been shopping for Barbara. Like a suburban housewife she unpacked the groceries. He held out a polystyrene tray of chicken pieces wrapped in cling film

“Shouldn’t these go in the oven now, if we’re going to eat them at lunchtime?”

“Are you joking? I’ll do them later. I’m not wasting time cooking when I’ve got you to myself.”

It was a grey and misty day and she’d lit a fire. They had a picnic in front of it. She’d ordered salad, bread, a lump of Stilton, olives, chocolate.

“All the things,” she said, “I love most in the world.”

And me?” “You?” she said. “Oh, I don’t think I could fall for anyone who fishes for compliments like that!” But she pushed the tub of olives out of the way and pulled him down beside her instead.

They were at the undignified stage of events. His trousers undone but not fully off, her bra undipped but dangling from one shoulder, when Grace arrived. They heard the kitchen door open then shut and they froze. Godfrey started scrabbling for his clothes then, but it was too late. She came straight in and saw them. She stood in the doorway staring, her eyes blank, not quite focused, as if she were thinking of something else altogether.

She didn’t say anything. Not even “Sorry for disturbing you1 which Anne thought was a bit of a cheek. She just turned round and went out.

Anne was tempted to let her go. What did it matter if she told the world she’d been shagging Godfrey Waugh in Baikie’s cottage? Then she thought it could make things difficult, and not just for Godfrey. Anne fastened her bra and pulled on her top. In the kitchen Grace was standing, writing on a sheet of paper from out of her notebook.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” Anne said.

Grace didn’t reply.

“What are you doing here anyway?”

“I’d forgotten to leave details of my route and my ETA.”

“Look,” Anne said, ‘ what happened just now.”

“None of my business, is it!” She can’t have recognized him, Anne thought, or she’d have said something.

“None of my business who you mix with.” So then Anne wasn’t quite sure.

“Look,” Anne said again, and even she could hear the desperation in her voice. “He’s married. With a child. No one knows about us. You won’t say anything?”

Grace looked at her. Anne couldn’t work out at all what the other woman was feeling. Contempt perhaps. Pity? Envy?

“No,” Grace said at last, “I’ll not say anything.”

“Thanks.” Anne was surprised at how relieved she suddenly felt. She wanted to make a gesture. “Why don’t I cook a meal later? For the three of us. Something special. It’s about time we made an effort to get on. OK?”

Grace shrugged. “OK.” She walked towards the door, paused, gave the ghost of a smile. “I’ll let you get on then.”

For the attempt at humour, for letting her off the hook, Anne could have hugged her.

But when Anne returned to the living room Godfrey was fully dressed.

His shirt was buttoned to the neck, his tie knotted.

“What are you doing? I’ve got rid of her.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing. And she won’t say anything.” She paused. “And I believe her.”

“I should never have come. I told you it was a risk.”

He looked at her pathetically, reminding her of Jeremy, irritating her so much that she said: “Anyway, I thought you wanted to go public.

Isn’t that what you said after the meal on the coast?”

“Not now. Not like this.” He looked around the grubby room, with the remains of the meal scattered across the floor.

“Fine,” she shouted. “That’s fine! Because I’m not into commitment either. Never have been.”

They stared at each other.

“I’m sorry.” She reached out a hand, touched the cotton of his shirtsleeve. “Finish the wine at least. Our first row. We should celebrate.”

“No.” Then more gently, “I’m going to walk up to the lead mine. Then if anyone recognized the car there’s an excuse for me being here.”

“Who would recognize it? You’re being paranoid.”

“I want to go. I want to see the site again.”

“I’ll come with you then.”