by Kate Adams
Once we were back in the kitchen, I put my hand out. ‘Come on, then, where’s this gift?’
He handed me a narrow paper bag with string handles. ‘You might have already bought it for yourself, but if so, I doubt you’ll mind having two.’
I reached in and pulled out a bottle of Twenty Trees Gin. The small distiller – and by small, I mean one man and a garden shed – had been at the food festival and I’d had a taste. It was delicious. Mark was right, I had bought myself a bottle, but I was so impressed that I was very happy to have a second ready and waiting.
I handed him a couple of glass tumblers and the bottle I’d already opened. Setting him to making us both drinks, I returned to preparing a salad and the swordfish steaks I was going to serve. After we’d raised a toast to gin distillers everywhere, Mark sat at the table and watched me chop a multi-coloured array of tomatoes.
‘Nice job above the fireplace. Have you ever thought about moonlighting as an interior designer?’ From where he was, Mark could see into the sitting room and he’d spotted the four splotches of paint on the chimney breast. I’d moved in twelve months ago and had been slow at making my mark on the place.
‘I know, I know, I just can’t decide.’
‘Between white, white, white or white? Tough choice.’ He had a thoughtful look on his face, but I knew he was teasing.
‘Get up close and they’re very different. I want the room to feel bathed in light, but not too sterile.’ I handed him a pencil. ‘Go and rank them, I’m sure you have an opinion.’ He went through and stared intently at the wall while we continued our conversation through the doorway.
‘I saw you sniffing around the gardeners’ yard today, do you have any updates for me?’ he asked as he wrote on the wall.
‘Not really, but I have a question. Were you aware of the rumour about Elliot’s girlfriend having an affair?’
He nodded. ‘Most people were, but it’s old news.’
‘Any idea who she slept with?’
‘Not a clue, and it was probably better that no one found out. I’m sure we’d have had a murder on our hands a couple of years ago if that had got out. Why?’ Mark returned and sat back at the table, the pencil tucked behind his ear.
‘I’m trying to find things that link back to Ben. Guy, Kyle and Elliot are the most closely associated with him, plus they all had a good idea of where he would be on Saturday morning. Kyle is the first one I’m inclined to rule out. When I spoke to him after Ben was found dead, he seemed genuinely shocked and upset. I really don’t think it was him, although his alibi is a bit shaky.
‘Guy has Malcolm as an alibi and the time he signed in at reception matches his story. They were discussing a restaurant project in Paris, although Malcolm seemed a bit cagey about it, and I’m not sure I’d want advice from Guy. If Guy’s involved with, or even just supportive of a company rebranding someone else’s product as their own, then he’s not a very ethical businessman. Who knows what he gets up to in London? I know for sure I wouldn’t want to eat at any restaurant he was involved with.
‘There’s the dodgy business with the coffee which could be behind this, but as far as we know, Ben might have supported the whole thing. It might even have been his idea, so I don’t think he was killed because he was against them doing that. Elliot, on the other hand, had the opportunity, and he clearly had an issue with Ben, but we don’t know any details. Then, of course, there’s Bruce Keen. If he has found out what the Silver Bullet lads were up to, then he’s certainly got a motive; I just don’t know if it’s enough to make him want to kill someone over it.’
‘Did Bruce have the opportunity?’ Mark asked.
‘Possibly. He was at the festival that morning to meet me, but I have no idea what time he arrived. He has enough contacts among the stallholders for someone to have signed him in as one of their team. There’s often a change in staffing at the last minute, so sometimes our security staff are told how many people are coming from one organisation, but not given their names. It’s not great and the security team shouldn’t be doing it, but it’s the reality. He’s also been taking a lot of interest to how the investigation is going. When he came to drop off some samples, it was all he would talk about. It’s all just swimming around in my head.’
‘You do realise…’ Mark let his thought hang temptingly in the air for a moment. ‘If Elliot was out of Robin’s sight for thirty minutes or so, then no one saw Robin either. His alibi has just gone to pot.’
I’d already thought of that. ‘True, but I checked the shepherd’s hut and you can see where he’s repaired the windows. He’s in the clear.’
‘Oh.’ Mark looked deflated. ‘I’ve no idea then. I need food. Maybe then I’ll be able to think straight’ – he smirked – ‘although that would be a first.’
We spent the rest of the evening discussing Bill and Mark’s ongoing debate about where they were next going on holiday and who we should attempt to set Joyce up with. Neither topic reached any conclusion. At one point Pumpkin wandered into the room, hoping for a chunk of swordfish. I’d already saved her a big piece and put it on a saucer for her. Once she had finished trying to lick the enamel off the plate and was satisfied there wasn’t even so much as a sniff of fish left, she leapt from floor to window ledge to the top of the fridge and took a bath while keeping half an eye on us.
Mark was impressed. ‘I would have thought she’d need a hydraulic lift to make it up there.’
I offered Mark coffee.
‘Aren’t you missing something?’ I looked at him blankly. ‘There’s no dessert?’ He looked genuinely horrified. It had completely slipped my mind, but then I had spent all day feeding him cakes, pastries and any other sweet goods that didn’t make it from the oven to the display cases fast enough to avoid his gaze. I could have argued, but his desire for ‘something naughty’ was stronger than any argument I could present.
‘Get your coat,’ I ordered him.
‘What? I only asked where dessert was, you don’t have to kick me out.’
‘Get your coat, we’re going over the road. I’ll buy you one of those crème brûlées you love so much.’
Despite it being a warm evening, we opted to stay inside at the Black Swan. We grabbed the seat in the large window that overlooked the beer garden and I went to order a crème brûlée and a glass of white port for Mark – I figured that the port would make up for me neglecting to make dessert. For myself, I opted for summer berry pudding and a decaf coffee.
As I returned to our seats, Mark pointed in the direction of the beer garden. I followed the line of his finger and saw Guy sitting on his own under a large umbrella. His attention was focused on his phone.
‘Inevitable, I suppose, he is staying here.’
‘Why is that?’ asked Mark. ‘If Silver Bullet is a local company, why didn’t he go home once the festival finished?’
‘The company is local, but he’s not. He lives in London and leaves Kyle and Ben – well, Kyle now – to manage things here. He seems to come along for the fun stuff. The police told him he had to stay around.’
Our desserts and drinks arrived and Mark tucked in. Between each bite, he cleaned the spoon as thoroughly as Pumpkin had cleaned her saucer. He didn’t speak until his dish was empty.
‘That filled the spot, thank you. Chin-chin.’ He clinked his glass against my coffee cup. I was about to ask him if he had a busy day tomorrow when his eyes swivelled from one side of the room to the other. I turned to see what had caught his attention.
‘Don’t look,’ he hissed. ‘Wait, I don’t want them to know I’ve spotted them.’ He’d dropped a little lower in his seat, using my head as something to hide behind.
‘Oh for heaven’s sake, it’s a pub. Everyone is always checking out everyone else, especially the locals, and I like to consider myself a local now.’
I turned to see the back of Guy’s head at the bar. He was handed two pints, one of which he passed to a man standing next to him. Then he led the way thr
ough the door that accessed the bedrooms.
I turned back to Mark. ‘Do you recognise him?’
‘No, never seen him before, but they’re pretty pally. I watched him arrive. They had one of those man hugs – you know, lots of back slapping but keeping about an inch apart, just in case someone should think they’re anything other than men’s men who do manly things and love the ladies.’
I laughed at his description; I knew exactly what he meant.
‘Wait here, I might be able to find out.’ Mark drained what was left of his port and got up. I watched him out of the window as he walked down the centre of the garden and through a wooden gate. From where I sat, I could just see the corner of the car park and the first four spaces. One of them was filled by a racing green Jaguar, and Mark slowly circled it. He nodded a few times and scratched his chin, to all intents and purposes looking like a car buff who was impressed with what he saw. In reality, I didn’t know anyone less interested in cars, but he was doing a fine job of looking otherwise. He got closer and peered in through a window, then moved to the rear window and did the same. Finally, he stepped back, gave another nod of approval, then sauntered down the path and back into the pub.
‘You’re a natural.’
‘What?’ It came out as a grunt as he landed on the seat.
‘You looked like a true petrol-head.’
‘Ha, it’s all these years of pretending that my tour groups have just asked the most interesting questions I’ve ever heard. It hones my acting skills. Now, do you want to know who Guy’s pal is or not?’
‘You know?’
He looked very pleased with himself. ‘There’s a stack of paperwork on the back seat and a couple of his business cards are scattered on the passenger seat. Guy is currently meeting with Chester Manning, an antiques dealer from Buxton, specialising in rare antiquities.’ He folded his arms and sat back. ‘You, my darling girl, owe me a drink.’
Chapter 15
Despite the events of last night, and the gin and tonic I’d eventually succumbed to at the pub, I’d managed to get a decent night’s sleep, which was a good thing; the cafés were packed. The continuing good weather was bringing people to Charleton House in their droves, and no matter how warm it got, they still wanted a cup of hot tea or coffee.
I started by helping the Stables Café team set up, leaving them to it as they were swamped by a group of dog walkers who had started their day early. Then I hot-footed it back to a meeting in the Garden Café, where I reprimanded a couple of staff members for the scruffy state of their shoes. In the Library Café, I threw half a dozen trays of pastries in the oven, prepared what felt like hundreds of single-serve quiches, and then gave the team a hand clearing tables. I was hot and sweaty, but happy. This was one of the many reasons I loved my job. I couldn’t spend all day in an office or in meetings, or I’d go crazy. Nor could I spend all day on my feet in a café, but combine all these things and I was in my element.
I was carrying a tray piled high with dirty dishes when Mark appeared. He was followed by a group of about ten elderly women, covered head to toe in floral prints, and every one was wearing straw hats with purple ribbons around them.
‘Well, girls,’ he called out across the group, ‘I must say goodbye to you, but as promised, I am leaving you with easy access to tea and cake.’
The women oohed and aahed with relief.
‘I can highly recommend the chocolate croissants, and they do a mean lemon drizzle cake here. There’s a large table in the corner that’s free, so why don’t you make yourselves comfortable and I’ll arrange for someone to come and take your order.’
As a rule we didn’t do table service in the Library Café, but we sometimes made an exception if Mark appeared with a group that he had clearly become fond of and wanted to go the extra mile for. I fetched a staff member and sent them over to the table.
Once Mark had freed himself from the overly eager octogenarians, he walked over to me and dramatically leant on my shoulder.
‘They are adorable, every one of the old dears, but I am exhausted. I haven’t been drilled so thoroughly or laughed so hard in years.’
‘I’ll refuel you, don’t worry. Go and say goodbye to your fan club and I’ll prepare your favourites.’
I watched as Mark returned to his group. All eyes were on him as the women thanked him and told him how wonderful he’d been. His hands were clasped, his arm held firmly, and he was kissed until his cheeks were covered in bright pink lipstick. They all insisted on photos being taken, and after he’d fought off their attempts to give him tips – and no doubt a few offers to take him home – he was released and joined me at a small table on the far side of the room. I handed him a napkin and he discreetly wiped the lipstick kisses from his face.
I laughed. ‘That’s a very eager fan club.’
‘Bright as a button, every one of them. I almost feel sorry for their husbands.’
‘Or wives,’ I added.
‘Of course, one shouldn’t assume, although based on their fawning over me, I doubt it. I don’t know what it is about little old ladies, they’re like moths to a flamer.’ He waited to see if I got the joke.
I groaned. ‘That’s dreadful.’
‘But true. Now back to the most important business of the day – do you have a plan?’ He sank his teeth into a chocolate croissant.
‘Not really. I looked up Chester Manning on the internet when I got home. His website isn’t very extensive, it just looks like your average antiques store. There are a few auctions coming up and there’s a link to a very old newspaper interview he did, talking about French side tables from the eighteenth century, but nothing of any interest.’
‘Nothing that links him and Guy?’
‘Nothing at all.’
I waited while he gulped down half his mug of coffee in one go; I must have been staring.
‘What? I’ve been talking non-stop all morning, I’m parched.’
I caught the eye of the team member who had just carried a tray of cakes over to Mark’s group. ‘Can you bring him another coffee? I’m concerned he’s going to pass out if we don’t get more fluid in him.’
The young woman looked at him; all my staff were used to Mark. ‘You do realise coffee dehydrates?’ she advised him, the smallest hint of humour detectable in her voice.
‘You do realise I know your boss quite well and I’m sure she expects nothing but “yes sir, no sir” from all her staff?’ he replied.
‘Feel free to add pepper into his coffee, maybe some chilli powder.’ I smirked at Mark as the grinning server walked off to the kitchen. ‘I love my staff like you love your old ladies. Look, I don’t have any meetings in my diary this afternoon, and I was thinking’ – I scanned the room – ‘this place could do with some antique French side tables. Maybe some lamps, perhaps even a couple more armchairs. It’s a nice day out there, so we should go and browse some antiques. I’ve heard about a place in Buxton that might be worth checking out.’
‘I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do. Why don’t you collect me from my office when you’re ready? I’m sure I’ll have got my strength back by then.’
I decided that if the morning had been anything to go by, the Stables Café was going to be bursting at the seams come lunchtime, so once I’d packed Mark back to his office and arranged for his tour group to receive a discount on their bill, I set off up the back lane to help out. It was a challenge to walk along this short, private lane without being stopped multiple times by colleagues for a catch up, which was lovely, but meant I always needed to add at least ten minutes to any journey. Today was no exception, although I didn’t mind too much. The Stables Café team wasn’t actually expecting me; I would just be an extra pair of hands.
As I walked under the archway that led into the courtyard housing the café, I spotted a familiar face sitting at one of the outside tables. A young woman had a Jack Russell dog at her feet and a small child in a pushchair next to her. As I got closer, I recogni
sed her as Carla – Elliot Forrester’s girlfriend who had picked him up from work yesterday. I assumed the young girl was Isabella.
I looked around, but there was no sign of Elliot.
‘Hi, Carla?’
‘Yes?’ She looked up from feeding the young girl carrot sticks, looking confused and clearly not recognising me. But then, why would she?
‘I’m Sophie, I work here. I cross paths with the gardens team quite a lot, so I know Elliot.’ I was stretching the truth so far it could snap at any point, but I needed her to relax. It seemed to work.
‘Oh, hi. I don’t think he’s mentioned you, but I guess this place is so big.’
‘It is. I’ve been here just over a year, but I still get lost on my way to meetings.’
Carla laughed. ‘I know the feeling. I used to work here and I never went anywhere without a map. I thought I’d get my head around it, but I never did.’
‘Do you miss it?’
Carla offered Isabella a small sandwich from a box she’d retrieved from under the pushchair.
‘I do, but Elliot keeps me up to date on what’s happening, and I still see old friends when I come and collect him.’
This was my chance. ‘That must be nice. I’ve already made some great friends here. It’s a wonderful community.’ Carla nodded as I talked. ‘You really see that at times like this – everyone’s been so supportive.’ I stopped and waited to see if she would react, but she didn’t seem to pick up on what I was getting at, so I kept going. ‘It was such a shock when that stallholder was murdered. Just awful, but everyone pulled together. Ben – that was his name. So sad.’
Carla went pale and stared down at her feet. She definitely knew him; there was no way she would have reacted like that if he had been a stranger.
‘I’m sorry, was he a friend? I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t realise.’