The Crow Trap by Ann Cleeves Page A

were other deceits the impression, for instance, of money. He did have the Priory, which had sounded grand at the time but which had turned out to be no more than a glorified farmhouse built from the stone of a Tudor chapel. And he hadn’t paid for that, it had been left to him by his grandfather.
    By nature Jeremy was wonderfully optimistic. He imported antiques, art, books. Usually he managed to make enough just to tide them over but recently she suspected he might even fail to do that. They never discussed finance. If she asked about money he wagged a podgy finger at her. “Now, old girl. Leave all that to me.”
    Recently there had been fewer plans for the house, less discussion about interior decoration usually he loved talking fabric and furnishing. She wondered, not for the first time, if he was being blackmailed by one of his little boys.
    But Anne resented working for money. It came hard to put in so much effort and receive so little reward. She found it demeaning. For example, she could spend a whole day landscaping someone’s garden and still not be paid enough to buy this dinner. It hurt her pride to be valued so little. She found she preferred to work as a volunteer. That was how she first met Peter Kemp.
    She responded to an advertisement in the Wildlife Trust magazine.
    People with botanical skills were required to help with an English Nature survey. She was sent on a course and shone. Since then she’d worked regularly for the trust as a volunteer, and loved every minute of it. It was like Miss. Masterman’s botanizing expectations all over again.
    Sitting in the restaurant, Anne realized that Godfrey was looking at her, pleadingly.
    Oh God, she thought. He wants to talk about his offspring.
    “And you?” she asked with resignation. “Do you have children?”
    He replied immediately, becoming much more animated than when talking about his business. “We’ve a little girl. Felicity. She’s nearly ten. Very bright for her age. At least that’s what we think. She’s still at the village school at the moment; Barbara says the teachers there are good. Later we’ll have to see … “
    Anne yawned discreetly into the back of her hand. She almost expected him to bring out the photo which he certainly kept in his wallet. Yet this was the moment she decided she could afford to have an affair with him. He would never get too serious. There would be no talk of divorce, of their moving in together. He would do nothing to upset his daughter.
    Now the restaurant was almost empty. It was in Kimmerston, right on the bank of the river. They were alone in an extension built almost entirely of glass. A cold green light was reflected from the water.
    The candle on their table provided the only pool of warmth in the room.
    “Do you have to get back?” she asked. She spoke abruptly. Certainly there was no seduction in her voice. She leant forward over the table and stretched a long white hand towards him. She would never use gloves for gardening or fieldwork and was aware that her hands wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny. There was a stain on her thumb which she couldn’t get rid of, they were scratched, she had to keep the nails short. But she wanted to touch him. He watched the hand slowly approaching his with fascination. When the fingers met she looked up at his face and saw that he was blushing, breathless.
    “Well?”
    His fingers were rough, like hers.
    “I don’t know.”
    “Will Barbara be expecting you?”
    “I could phone. Say I’d been held up.”
    He was stroking the palm of her hand with his thumb. She was surprised by the effect the simple gesture had. She thought she was getting old and jaded, yet here she was, wanting this upright, middle-aged man so much that she was almost fainting.
    “Why don’t you do that? Because Jeremy’s in London and you could come home. For a nightcap. If you’d like that.” She could hardly articulate the words.
    Outside they stood for a moment hand in hand.