some gardening task. Gazing out across the marsh, she breathed the damp earthy-smelling air and tried to blot out Alex’s grief. When Dawn had been alive, Fern had been able to fantasize that Alex’s affair with Dawn was merely a passing infatuation, that he would come to his senses and return to her. Now there was no questioning the depth of his feelings for Dawn Arrowood. Her death had not given Alex back to Fern, but had taken him from her in a way she could never have imagined. And if Alex was unable to go on, how then could she?
At the sharp click of the front door closing, she turned back to the house. Jane came across the drive towards her.
“I’ve persuaded him to stay,” Jane told her. “Not that it matters much to him where he is, at this point.”
“I don’t think he should come back to London. If Dawn Arrowood was killed by her husband because he found out about Alex, Alex could be next.”
“Surely you can’t be serious.”
“That’s what our friend Otto says, and he’s known Karl Arrowood for a long time. Is it worth taking a risk?”
Jane seemed about to argue with her, then she sighed. “I suppose you’re right. What about you? Will you stay with him?”
With sudden resolution Fern said, “I’ll take the train back to London, if you’ll run me to the station. If anyone asks, I’ll say I haven’t seen him. And the sooner I go, the better.”
“I think you’re overreacting, but I don’t see what harm it can do. I’ll just get my keys while you say good-bye to Alex.”
“Why don’t you tell him for me?” Fern asked, suddenly feeling that she would rather face a murderer herself than the look in Alex’s eyes.
CHAPTER FIVE
In the nineteenth century Notting Dale was still known as the Potteries after the area’s gravel pits and the Norland Pottery Works on Walmer Road. It was also known as the Piggeries—the district had 3000 pigs, 1000 humans, and 260 hovels.
—Charlie Phillips and Mike Phillips,
from
Notting Hill in the Sixties
T HE INSISTENT BURRING OF THE PHONE FINALLY PENETRATED Gemma’s consciousness. “Mummy,” she heard Toby say, very near, very seriously. “The phone’s ringing.” Forcing her eyes open, she found her son staring at her intently from a few inches away.
“Uh-huh. Get it for me, would you, sweetie?” She propped herself up on the pillows as Toby obediently trotted over to the table and lifted the cordless phone from its cradle. A glance at the clock told her it was not yet eight. Taking the phone from Toby, she had just time to think
oh God, not work, please
, when she heard Kincaid’s voice.
“Not still asleep, are you?” he asked with annoying cheerfulness.
She didn’t dignify that with an answer. “What happened to you last night? I waited up for ages.”
“Sorry about that. The prospective tenant I had lined up for the flat came round for a viewing. Apparently, he was so enthralled with the place that he couldn’t bring himself to go home. By the time he left, I was afraid I’d wake you if I rang.”
“Very considerate of you,” Gemma said grumpily, unmollified.
“I’ll make it up to you. How about if I bring over Sunday breakfast? I can stop at the bakery down the road. Bagels and cream cheese?”
“The sort with everything on them?”
“If you’ll provide the coffee.”
“You’ll have to live with decaf.”
“If I must,” he said with an exaggerated sigh.
“Deal.” Gemma rang off, her temper considerably improved, and pulled Toby to her for a hug.
B Y THE TIME K INCAID ARRIVED , G EMMA HAD SHOWERED, DRESSED, SET the small table, and made fresh coffee in the
cafetière
. Once they’d settled at the table with their bagels, she said, “I take it the prospective tenant accepted, then?”
“Formally. Signed a contract. And he wants in the flat right away.”
Gemma eyed him warily. “What do you mean by ‘right away’?”
“Next Sunday we’ll be having breakfast in our new home.
At the sharp click of the front door closing, she turned back to the house. Jane came across the drive towards her.
“I’ve persuaded him to stay,” Jane told her. “Not that it matters much to him where he is, at this point.”
“I don’t think he should come back to London. If Dawn Arrowood was killed by her husband because he found out about Alex, Alex could be next.”
“Surely you can’t be serious.”
“That’s what our friend Otto says, and he’s known Karl Arrowood for a long time. Is it worth taking a risk?”
Jane seemed about to argue with her, then she sighed. “I suppose you’re right. What about you? Will you stay with him?”
With sudden resolution Fern said, “I’ll take the train back to London, if you’ll run me to the station. If anyone asks, I’ll say I haven’t seen him. And the sooner I go, the better.”
“I think you’re overreacting, but I don’t see what harm it can do. I’ll just get my keys while you say good-bye to Alex.”
“Why don’t you tell him for me?” Fern asked, suddenly feeling that she would rather face a murderer herself than the look in Alex’s eyes.
CHAPTER FIVE
In the nineteenth century Notting Dale was still known as the Potteries after the area’s gravel pits and the Norland Pottery Works on Walmer Road. It was also known as the Piggeries—the district had 3000 pigs, 1000 humans, and 260 hovels.
—Charlie Phillips and Mike Phillips,
from
Notting Hill in the Sixties
T HE INSISTENT BURRING OF THE PHONE FINALLY PENETRATED Gemma’s consciousness. “Mummy,” she heard Toby say, very near, very seriously. “The phone’s ringing.” Forcing her eyes open, she found her son staring at her intently from a few inches away.
“Uh-huh. Get it for me, would you, sweetie?” She propped herself up on the pillows as Toby obediently trotted over to the table and lifted the cordless phone from its cradle. A glance at the clock told her it was not yet eight. Taking the phone from Toby, she had just time to think
oh God, not work, please
, when she heard Kincaid’s voice.
“Not still asleep, are you?” he asked with annoying cheerfulness.
She didn’t dignify that with an answer. “What happened to you last night? I waited up for ages.”
“Sorry about that. The prospective tenant I had lined up for the flat came round for a viewing. Apparently, he was so enthralled with the place that he couldn’t bring himself to go home. By the time he left, I was afraid I’d wake you if I rang.”
“Very considerate of you,” Gemma said grumpily, unmollified.
“I’ll make it up to you. How about if I bring over Sunday breakfast? I can stop at the bakery down the road. Bagels and cream cheese?”
“The sort with everything on them?”
“If you’ll provide the coffee.”
“You’ll have to live with decaf.”
“If I must,” he said with an exaggerated sigh.
“Deal.” Gemma rang off, her temper considerably improved, and pulled Toby to her for a hug.
B Y THE TIME K INCAID ARRIVED , G EMMA HAD SHOWERED, DRESSED, SET the small table, and made fresh coffee in the
cafetière
. Once they’d settled at the table with their bagels, she said, “I take it the prospective tenant accepted, then?”
“Formally. Signed a contract. And he wants in the flat right away.”
Gemma eyed him warily. “What do you mean by ‘right away’?”
“Next Sunday we’ll be having breakfast in our new home.
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