The Unburied Past by Anthea Fraser Page A

delivery. However, since all their products were routinely frozen to avoid the need for preservatives, the actual cooking schedule didn’t vary much. The two large freezers gradually filled with ready-packed cakes until the requisite delivery day, when orders were loaded into the van and driven round the county by one or other of Angie’s three brothers, all of whom worked in their father’s wholesale business. Fortunately he had no objection to lending a helping hand to his daughter and her partner. The van itself – an expensive though necessary early purchase – was kept in the small yard behind the house, whose existence had been one of its main selling points. The yard provided access to an alleyway used principally by the dustmen, which meant that the van could be loaded directly from the kitchen and driven out via the alley, confining all business activity to the back of the house.
    At lunchtime, when they returned to their living quarters for a half-hour break, Kirsty took the opportunity to swallow a couple of headache pills. ‘It’s been coming on all morning,’ she said in response to Angie’s raised eyebrow. Partly due, she admitted privately, to increasing anxiety about the unsolicited gifts coming her way.
    Angie was on her wavelength. ‘Look, if you’re really worried about all this, you should tell the police.’
    â€˜What could they do, when I’ve no idea who’s sending them?’
    â€˜It’s harassment, after all, and they should at least know about it.’ She hesitated. ‘And without wanting to worry you, whoever it is obviously knows your address.’
    Kirsty shivered irrepressibly.
    â€˜Look, take the afternoon off,’ Angie suggested. ‘We’re ahead of schedule and I can easily cope with what’s left.’
    â€˜Would you mind?’ Kirsty asked gratefully. ‘I’m sure a little fresh air would work wonders.’
    â€˜Well, it’s dry for once so go and relax in the park for an hour or two – it’ll do you good. And on your way home, call in at the police station.’
    Accordingly, after lunch Kirsty set off on foot for the park in the town centre, a paperback in her handbag.
    Lacy Park, referred to in tourist brochures as ‘the green heart of Westbourne’, was named after Sir George Lacy, a Regency businessman who had founded the town, and was much appreciated by its residents, containing as it did a bowling green, tennis courts, greenhouses of exotic plants and stretching lawns where, in summer, office workers took their lunchtime sandwiches.
    Two crescents of handsome Regency buildings curved round the park on either side, housing such institutions as the town hall, banks, Westbourne’s premier hotel and the main library. Very few commercial premises were permitted in this enclave, and those that were – an eminent department store, a high-class delicatessen and a coffee house that had been there from the beginning – were unable, even if they wanted, to alter the frontage of their premises – a decree made by Sir George and reiterated some hundred years later by a diligent town council.
    At the southern end of the park, in the gap between the crescents, a road led uphill less steeply than its northern counterpart, and it was here, in a commanding position over the town centre, that the buildings and grounds of Westbourne College were situated.
    The office workers had departed by the time Kirsty reached the park and it was given over to young mothers with their children, elderly residents on benches and business people hurrying across it from one crescent to the other. She was making for her favourite place, a secluded spot overlooking a fountain, when she rounded a corner and almost collided with a man hurrying from the opposite direction. They had both started to apologize when they broke off in startled recognition, and Kirsty found herself face-to-face with