she saw no one.
Then, just as she reached the trees, she heard the sound of a vehicle’s engine in the lane. It cutout quite suddenly, then doors slammed. All her terror at Friday’s shots returned. She slipped off the path and made for a thick clump of hazel and brambles and hid. She was trespassing, and it might be the person with the gun. Thank heavens she’d been cautious enough to park her own car back on the road, and the newcomer wouldn’t be looking for her.
Soon she heard a woman’s voice, then the lowertones of a man. More than one person, then. From her leafy hiding place, she glimpsed them approaching, her eyes widening in surprise. It was Marcia Vane, today in tight white jeans and a low-necked top. She was accompanied by a tall, broad-shouldered man of forty, dressed more for the golf course than a country walk. What were they doing here at this hour on a Sunday morning?
They passed Jude’shiding place and she watched them stop at the breach in the barbed-wire fence. The man gave an irritated cry and hunkered down to examine the broken wire. When he stood and spoke to Marcia, Jude could only hear shreds of their conversation.
“… definitely been cut whoever … they couldn’t drive it in here.” The man threw open his arms, indicating the clearing. “… a few trees, I reckon.” Now theyboth stared up at the tower. The man walked across and gave the door an exploratory prod with his polished shoe.
“Heck of a job, John…” Marcia drawled. So he was Marcia’s client, John Farrell. Or, Jude judged, by the intimate way she took the man’s arm, something more than that.
Jude took the opportunity of their turned backs to melt away through the trees in the direction of the lane. Theywere clearly up to something, and she sensed it was better that they didn’t know she was a witness.
CHAPTER 10
Jude arrived home in Greenwich at nine o’clock that evening, exhausted, but needing to ready herself for an early start the next day. The christening, at a church near St. Alban’s, had been followed by a big boozy party that had gone on all afternoon. By the time she left at six, the end-of-weekend traffic had brought the motorway to a standstill, then after her turn-off it had beena slow crawl across East London.
She unpacked, made her favorite comfort food—cheese on toast—and checked her e-mails while she ate. There was a reply from Cecelia, which she clicked on at once.
Hey, Jude (I adore writing that!),
It’s really good to hear from you. I’d love to meet up. Jude, it’s the most amazing coincidence, but I’m working at the Royal Observatory down the road from you for a short time! Is there any chance you could meet me there after work one evening and maybe we can go for a drink or a meal in Greenwich? I’m pretty free—Danny’s in Boston—so pick your day!
Much love,
Cecelia
She replied to this, explaining the situation and perhaps optimistically suggesting the next day, Monday, and was just logging off when her BlackBerry rang. It was, at long last, Caspar.
“We’ve been in meetings all day,” he said. “And we’ve just had dinner in this amazing restaurant with the other guys. How was Norfolk?”
“It was fine, thank you,” Jude said in her chilliest tone. He hadn’t been in touch at all since … Thursday, she supposed. But then she hadn’t called him, either. What did this say about them both?
“How were the star books?”
“Definitely worth the trip.” Hereye fell on the box containing the observation diaries that had somewhat riskily spent the day locked out of sight in her car trunk.
“Good … Good … And your sister and everyone…? Hey … you wouldn’t believe who we saw in the restaurant. Johnny Depp.”
“No!” She forgot her coolness.
“Yes. With his wife and some other guys.”
“Really? What’s he like in real life?”
“Pretty ordinary, I’d say. Nothingthat a well-cut suit can’t do.”
“Oh, Caspar! You’re just jealous. Did
Then, just as she reached the trees, she heard the sound of a vehicle’s engine in the lane. It cutout quite suddenly, then doors slammed. All her terror at Friday’s shots returned. She slipped off the path and made for a thick clump of hazel and brambles and hid. She was trespassing, and it might be the person with the gun. Thank heavens she’d been cautious enough to park her own car back on the road, and the newcomer wouldn’t be looking for her.
Soon she heard a woman’s voice, then the lowertones of a man. More than one person, then. From her leafy hiding place, she glimpsed them approaching, her eyes widening in surprise. It was Marcia Vane, today in tight white jeans and a low-necked top. She was accompanied by a tall, broad-shouldered man of forty, dressed more for the golf course than a country walk. What were they doing here at this hour on a Sunday morning?
They passed Jude’shiding place and she watched them stop at the breach in the barbed-wire fence. The man gave an irritated cry and hunkered down to examine the broken wire. When he stood and spoke to Marcia, Jude could only hear shreds of their conversation.
“… definitely been cut whoever … they couldn’t drive it in here.” The man threw open his arms, indicating the clearing. “… a few trees, I reckon.” Now theyboth stared up at the tower. The man walked across and gave the door an exploratory prod with his polished shoe.
“Heck of a job, John…” Marcia drawled. So he was Marcia’s client, John Farrell. Or, Jude judged, by the intimate way she took the man’s arm, something more than that.
Jude took the opportunity of their turned backs to melt away through the trees in the direction of the lane. Theywere clearly up to something, and she sensed it was better that they didn’t know she was a witness.
CHAPTER 10
Jude arrived home in Greenwich at nine o’clock that evening, exhausted, but needing to ready herself for an early start the next day. The christening, at a church near St. Alban’s, had been followed by a big boozy party that had gone on all afternoon. By the time she left at six, the end-of-weekend traffic had brought the motorway to a standstill, then after her turn-off it had beena slow crawl across East London.
She unpacked, made her favorite comfort food—cheese on toast—and checked her e-mails while she ate. There was a reply from Cecelia, which she clicked on at once.
Hey, Jude (I adore writing that!),
It’s really good to hear from you. I’d love to meet up. Jude, it’s the most amazing coincidence, but I’m working at the Royal Observatory down the road from you for a short time! Is there any chance you could meet me there after work one evening and maybe we can go for a drink or a meal in Greenwich? I’m pretty free—Danny’s in Boston—so pick your day!
Much love,
Cecelia
She replied to this, explaining the situation and perhaps optimistically suggesting the next day, Monday, and was just logging off when her BlackBerry rang. It was, at long last, Caspar.
“We’ve been in meetings all day,” he said. “And we’ve just had dinner in this amazing restaurant with the other guys. How was Norfolk?”
“It was fine, thank you,” Jude said in her chilliest tone. He hadn’t been in touch at all since … Thursday, she supposed. But then she hadn’t called him, either. What did this say about them both?
“How were the star books?”
“Definitely worth the trip.” Hereye fell on the box containing the observation diaries that had somewhat riskily spent the day locked out of sight in her car trunk.
“Good … Good … And your sister and everyone…? Hey … you wouldn’t believe who we saw in the restaurant. Johnny Depp.”
“No!” She forgot her coolness.
“Yes. With his wife and some other guys.”
“Really? What’s he like in real life?”
“Pretty ordinary, I’d say. Nothingthat a well-cut suit can’t do.”
“Oh, Caspar! You’re just jealous. Did
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