Snow Angel

by JJ Marsh

  “He loves me.” Adrian answered without thinking. “He puts up with all my weaknesses and supports my strengths, even though I’ve got more of the first than him. He’s tenacious. He goes after what he wants with everything he’s got and never gives up. I love Will because he’s his own person. He doesn’t accommodate me or expect me to do the same as him, we just fit. He’s skilled and ambitious and talented and driven by an urge to do the right thing. He has other attributes but I guess they’re not relevant here.”

  Neither man met the other’s eyes.

  Matthew spoke. “Your husband-to-be has a passion, much like my not-quite-wife. They will always do what they’ve been trained to do, whether retired or off-duty or on holiday or even asleep. Like collies to a shepherd’s whistle, they are conditioned to respond and cannot do otherwise, because their minds are trained to investigate. They are unable to stop themselves and we shouldn’t even expect them to try. You and I have to understand that their job will always come first. If you don’t appreciate that now, your marriage will be far less happy that it should. So to answer your question, no, it’s never going to stop. That said, this particular disappearing act is most likely my fault. I asked her to look into my friend’s death and even after I called her off, she hurls herself into the fray, taking Will with her.”

  Adrian lifted his head. The dusk had descended, making Matthew a shadow silhouetted against the evening sky. “Which is why you love her. Thank you, Matthew. You’ve made me feel far better than I did an hour ago.”

  The professor heaved himself to his feet with a groan. “Mission accomplished. I’m off home, if I can cadge a lift. As soon as either of us has news...”

  “Of course. Thank you.”

  Matthew patted his shoulder and opened the door to leave.

  Adrian grabbed his jacket. “Hang on. I’ll come downstairs with you. If I stay up here on my own, I’ll just fret.”

  He locked the room and followed Matthew down the poky little staircase. As they reached the last flight, raised voices could be heard from the bar.

  “...without asking me!”

  “Just calm down, Tanya. She has a right to know.”

  “Why? What is the point of telling her now?”

  “Because Beatrice knows we’ve been keeping them apart and she doesn’t! We always play fair!”

  “Does Dad know?”

  “Does Dad know what?” asked Matthew, stooping as he ducked under the lintel to the public bar.

  All heads snapped in their direction and Huggy Bear ran across the floorboards, tail wagging in greeting. Adrian took in the scene. In the centre of the room, two sisters stood opposite each other in a confrontational stance. Catinca perched on a bar stool, drinking something blue which matched her maxi dress. With her silvery hair curling over her shoulder, she looked like a mermaid. On the other side of the bar stood Frankie, her lovely face creased in concern.

  The tension caught the interest of the clientele. The whole room was silent, all eyes on the family drama.

  Matthew glanced behind him at the empty snug. “Tanya, Marianne, in the back, please. We do not air our differences over family business in the public bar. Catinca, Adrian, you too. Come this way, everyone. Frankie, could we have a pot of tea, please?”

  Adrian closed the door after they had all trooped into the room, the two sisters’ faces like granite. Frankie placed a tea tray on the bar and retreated.

  “Am I to understand,” said Matthew, in a quiet, moderate tone, “that Marianne has seen fit to inform your mother of who will be present at the wedding tomorrow?”

  Marianne scowled. “Yes, Marianne has. Just like you saw fit to tell Beatrice why we’d been sneaking around.”

  “That’s different!” Tanya exploded. “Beatrice caught us in the act. It was either hurt her feelings or tell her the truth. Mum didn’t need to know and I can’t help thinking you only told her to stir the shit. What is your problem?”

  “Tanya, please keep your voice down.” Matthew accepted his tea from Adrian. “I confess I don’t really understand why you would share that information with Pam, especially now we have everything organised so their paths need not cross. Marianne?”

  Catinca caught Adrian’s eye and glanced at her watch. He blinked in acknowledgement. Buttonholes from florist, cake from bakery, cars to be confirmed, guests to be welcomed, gifts to be stored, groom to be found. Gotta get on, mate.

  “I told Mum because we promised to treat them equally. She understood why we kept it quiet and why I was telling her now. She’s not planning on coming to Silverwood tomorrow. Everything is fine. There’s no risk of Mum turning up for some reason. So I have no idea why Tanya’s making such a hysterical fuss about it.”

  “Because,” hissed Tanya through clenched teeth, “we are trying to work as a team. As a family. One of us goes off to do her own thing and we all suffer.”

  Matthew nodded. “I understand your motivation, Marianne, but I think Tanya has a point. Best to talk to us before taking unilateral action. I intend to say the same thing to Beatrice when she and Will resurface. Now there’s a substantial list of duties to be completed, so I suggest we all get back to work. Catinca, will you direct the troops? I would appreciate it if someone could drive me back to the cottage so I can find that Stubbs woman. Huggy Bear, come.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Despite the weather, traffic and rumbling stomach, Beatrice managed to tick off the majority of her errands by half past two. On her way back to the cottage, a large delivery van rounded the corner and blocked her route. There was a passing space a few hundred yards behind her so she reversed and allowed the van driver precedence. He gave her a wave of thanks as he manoeuvred his white truck past and carried on his way. Beatrice put the Volkswagen into first gear and attempted to get back on the tarmac.

  The wheels spun, gaining no purchase. She twisted the wheel, backed up a little more and tried again. The engine whined but nothing moved. She closed her eyes, swore with considerable violence and turned off the engine. No traffic of any kind could be seen in either direction along the lane. She reached for her handbag, planning to call Matthew for some help in getting out. Her phone was missing. She emptied the entire contents onto the passenger seat but her mobile was absent. She was on her own.

  Gloves on, coat buttoned, she got out of the car and examined the front wheels. Large grooves under the left and the right semi-buried in snow. She began gathering sticks, twigs, leaves, anything to shove under the tyres. With the snow still falling, it was hard to tell how much she’d need. She dug away at the sludge beneath her car with ever colder hands and finally decided she’d done enough. She got back in the VW and fired the engine.

  “One, two, three!” she whispered and tried once more to drive out of the rut. There was a slide forwards but the wheels spun uselessly once more and she was going nowhere. She attempted to do the same in reverse but she just dug herself further into the mud.

  “Right!” she yelled. “Stay there, you stubborn bastard! I’ll bloody walk the rest.”

  She was shoving her purchases into a canvas bag when the sound of an engine reached her ears. She dropped the turkey onto the back seat and turned towards the lane. Round the corner came Rose’s Land Rover, the word Defender emblazoned its bonnet. Beatrice imagined she could hear trumpets and almost cried with relief.

  “Rose!” she called, waving her arms. “Rose! Over here!”

  The huge beast pulled over and Beatrice saw the driver’s profile. Not a little old lady, but the striking features of Gabriel Shaw. He put on his hazard lights, switched off the engine and jumped out.

  “DI Stubbs! In a bit of bother?” he called, his smile warming her even at that distance.

  “Gabriel. I’m so pleased to see you! That wretched van, I had to back up, got stuck and can’t get this damn thing to move an inch, even after chucking half the hedge under the tyres.”

  He stooped to look under the car. “You need dragging out of there. I’ll get the t
ow rope. Half a tick.”

  He sprang into action, moving the Land Rover forward, attaching a bright yellow strap to its underside and lying in the snow to fix the other end to something underneath her vehicle. She stood beside the car like a spare part.

  “Get in now and let’s take it slowly. Handbrake off, switch it on, put it into first and when you feel a bit of solid ground, give it some welly. Careful you don’t spin too fast and bump into me.”

  Within thirty seconds, she was back on the road. Gabriel’s brake lights came on and she stopped her car behind him, remembering to put on her hazard flashers.

  “Gabriel, you are an ... umm ... absolute star. Can I give you something for your trouble?” she asked, as he set about detaching the tow strap.

  “Don’t be daft. What are neighbours for?” He looked up at her from the ground with that knee-melting smile.

  “Let me buy you a pint, at least. Will you be in the pub on Christmas Day?”

  He rolled up the strap. “I do like a pint before me Christmas dinner. Which pub?”

  “I had The Angel in mind.”

  “Yeah, OK. I’ve been avoiding that place just lately but don’t need to no more.”

  Beatrice threw him a sharp look but his smile was still in place, his face open and honest.

  “Then it’s settled. I am buying the drinks. Thank you so much and merry Christmas!”

  “Same to you, DI Stubbs. Take care now.”

  The rest of the journey back to the cottage, although alarming at several points after Gabriel had driven off with a friendly toot of the horn, was precarious and snow-clogged. But once she pulled into their short driveway, she saw it had been cleared and the parking spot swept. Bless Matthew and his ‘rugged manly tasks in the garden’. There was no sign of him or Huggy Bear, so she put the turkey in the fridge and spotted the remains of a chilli con carne in a pot on the newly cleaned hob. But before satisfying her hunger, she took her purchases upstairs, wrapped and packed them away, ready for the morning.

  When she’d finished, she came downstairs with every intention of stuffing herself while reading some more of Vaughan’s diary. Sending grateful thoughts to Matthew, she warmed the chilli and tore off a chunk of crusty bread. The diary was still in its hiding place under her chair cushion so Beatrice settled down at the kitchen table to read the remaining few entries before Vaughan Mason’s unpleasant death.

  Publishing is so fucking PREDICTABLE! Some trust-fund twat – Simple Simon’s replacement at Carson Chambers – called me today with ‘a few comments’ on the outline I sent. In honeyed tones, Priscilla, Ariadne, Nectarine, whatever she calls herself, told me that ‘certain themes might hit an OFF note in the current environment’ (she pronounced it ‘orf’) and that the editorial team ‘expressed some discomfort at the portrayal of women’. If I am willing to rework the central narrative as a story of gradual male enlightenment, CC might reconsider in the New Year. I told her to Fuck Orf and opened a bottle of claret. Tomorrow I’m going to phone that Coat-tails Johnny of an agent and have him offer it to the highest bidder. Carson fucking Chambers are emasculated crowd-pleasers and they can stick their feel-good chick-lit up their prissy pink arses.

  4 Dec. New face at the game tonight. App developer, whatever that is. I don’t have a clue what the hell he’s talking about most of the time but his wallet speaks for itself. Reeled him in like a red snapper. Best of all, you could see it in his face. Next time, he was thinking, I’ll get him next time. Ha!

  Dumpling appeared like a dustball from beside the Aga and rubbed his head against her leg.

  “Am I forgiven?” She stroked him and went to the fridge. “Have a slice of ham and let’s never speak of it again.”

  The cat accepted the peace offering and with calm grace, leapt onto Matthew’s chair and turned to observe her, licking his lips.

  Weds 5. Stroke of luck this morning. One of the hideously unattractive cleaners with verbal diarrhoea let slip she also works at The Angel. Five minutes of sophistry later, I gained the mobile number of Lil S. Spent all morning sending her romantic text messages. Try tossing those on the fire, light of my life.

  Thursday. Bloody awful hangover after golf club party. Bumble and Dopey brought their wives, both of whom pulled faces like a smacked arse as soon as they saw me. I wear it as a badge of pride. Those career shrews mistrust a man who does exactly as he pleases and gives their browbeaten husbands a glimpse of what fun life can be.

  Crossed paths with The Black Widow just as I came out of the butcher’s. First time since I dumped her. She’s still sulking. Shame really. The fact is, even if I hadn’t got my heart set on Lil S, I couldn’t afford her. Professionally or privately. She said she wanted to give me a Christmas gift with THAT look in her eyes. Almost turned her down but I haven’t had a decent shag in weeks. One last time can’t hurt. Agreed to pop into the practice tomorrow for one last session on the couch. Champagne and caviar and Mason rides again! Tally ho!

  December 7: Christmas card from G along with classic corporate gift of port and cigars. When the fuck has she ever seen me smoke a cigar?! Complete absence of invitation to New York, which I suppose is not surprising after that fracas two years ago. Or was it three? Who gives a shit?

  That was the final entry. To all intents and purposes, those were the last words of literary giant Vaughan Mason. Who gives a shit? Beatrice closed the book, slipped it back in its envelope and thrust it into her handbag. Face like a smacked arse. She let out a short laugh and took another bite of bread.

  Two minutes later, Dumpling lifted his head and turned his absinthe eyes to the window. They listened to the front door opening and Huggy Bear barrelled into the room, jumping up at Beatrice.

  “Hello, pooch, did you have fun? Down now, good girl, I’m eating. Matthew, you are such a darling for leaving me some lunch. I was starved!”

  Matthew stood in the doorway, blinking with the same kind of bewilderment as the cat. “You’re here. Where’s Will?”

  Beatrice swallowed a mouthful of chilli. “No idea. I’ve not seen him since lunchtime. Surely he’ll be at the pub with Adrian or maybe at the hotel welcoming guests? Have you two been for a walk?”

  “No. Frankie gave me a lift home from The Angel. Adrian is terribly worried. Apparently Will went off to join you this morning and still has not returned. None of us can get a reply from his phone and you left yours in the hairdresser’s in Crediton. We thought you’d both had an accident.” He lifted up her mobile.

  Beatrice stopped chewing. “Oh that’s where it is. I’m sorry. I must have left it there this morning. Will should have been back hours ago. The signal’s not great where he was going, which explains why you couldn’t get through. Though why he’s taking so long, I have no idea.”

  Matthew didn’t answer but handed over her mobile. “Check your messages. And if you know where he is, please call Adrian. It’s getting dark, the weather’s getting worse and everyone apart from you is extremely concerned.”

  He stomped back into the hallway to take off his boots. As she entered her pass code, she distinctly heard him mutter, “Bloody woman,” before the messages began.

  Beatrice abandoned her food to listen. Messages from Adrian, Tanya, Matthew and one from the florist about the buttonholes, but no feedback from DS Quinn on his unofficial interview.

  Matthew stood over her, hands on hips.

  “There’s not a single message from Will and I can’t say I’m surprised. He’s busy. I know he was going shopping after he finished doing a favour for me. Let me make a quick call and see what time he left there. Hold on.”

  “Hullo? Anyone home?” Mungo stood on the threshold, bearing a large Harrods bag. Whatever it contained caused Huggy Bear great excitement.

  “Come on in, Mungo!” called Beatrice, pressing Gaia’s number. “You look like Santa Claus with that sack. Huggy Bear, get your nose out, that’s very rude.”

  She led the way into the kitchen, listening to the ring tone from Gaia’s landline,
but she didn’t pick up. Beatrice considered her next move and ate another forkful of chilli.

  “Tea?” Matthew asked his friend.

  “Don’t mind if I do. After the day I’ve had, I jolly well deserve a cuppa.” Mungo dumped his bag on the kitchen table. “Santa Claus doesn’t work half as hard as me, Beatrice. My dear wife had me delivering presents all over Devon. Those are yours, by the way, and she’s even added a little something for the new arrivals. I am utterly exhausted, I tell you. Driving is no joke in this weather. Damn and hell blast, but those roads are treacherous.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” said Matthew. “Perhaps I might let the dog have hers now. Otherwise I fear we’ll have no peace.”

  He selected a substantial chew from Mungo’s bag and handed it to Huggy Bear. She sniffed once, grabbed it and scampered off to her bed.

  Beatrice swallowed. “You’re right about the roads. I got stuck in a rut and would still be there now had it not been for Gabriel Shaw towing me out.”

  Matthew glanced over. “You didn’t mention that.”

  “You didn’t give me a chance.”

  Mungo, with classic diplomacy, continued. “Ah yes, the Shaw boy has the right kind of vehicle for these conditions. The military use them, you know. Deserts, mountains, all sorts. Tough as old boots, a Land Rover. Whatever are you eating, Beatrice?”

  “Chilli con carne. There’s some left if you’re hungry. It’s not just the military. Favourites with police forces all over the world.”

  “Thank you, I’ll pass. Spicy food plays havoc with the gout. Yes, I had one once, you know, when I was working on the farm. That was a magnificent workhorse. None of this new soft-edged business. Mine was a boxy old-school Defender in classic army green.”

  “Gabriel’s is black. But yes, it is a Defender.”

  “I think you’ll find his is a Discovery. The newer model. It is black, though, I grant you. Ah, tea and biscuits, just what a body needs.”

  Matthew placed the teapot, three mugs and a plate of mini Christmas cookies in front of them. “Enough of the petrol head talk. What are we going to do about Will?”