by Paris, B. A.
‘And you didn’t google her to find out what had happened? You were that disinterested?’
‘I wasn’t disinterested. I recognised her name and I knew what had happened, I remembered the case. Anyone would have remembered it, it was well-documented at the time, in the press, in the papers.’
‘Yet there was never any mention of her having an affair.’
He puts the towel down, comes back to the table. ‘Maybe she didn’t have one. Maybe it was just a rumour.’
‘No,’ I say. ‘She admitted it to Lorna.’ I go to refill his glass but he shakes his head.
‘That must be why her husband murdered her, then. He found out she’d been cheating on him and killed her in a fit of jealousy.’
‘Maybe. Unless it was the other man who killed her.’
He frowns. He seems on edge, but then he’s never enjoyed listening to gossip. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because, according to Lorna, Nina was going to tell him that it was over. And because everyone says that Oliver was the nicest man you could ever wish to meet.’
‘Everyone?’ He pounces on the word.
‘The people here! His friends and neighbours.’
Leo picks up his near-empty wine glass and drains it. ‘If there had been anything suspicious to find, I think the police would have found it.’ He pushes away from the table. ‘I’ve got work to do. I’ll see you later.’
I listen as he goes upstairs and into his study. A moment later, I hear the screech of metal on metal and I know that sound, it’s one of the drawers in the filing cabinet being pulled open. So, the key to unlock it was up there somewhere. Unless – I go out to the hall. His bag is no longer by the front door and his jacket has gone from where he usually hangs it on the newel post. Maybe he carries the key around with him. But why would he do that? His client files can’t be that confidential, can they?
Nineteen
When morning comes, I know I can’t do it. I can’t go to Maria’s. I don’t want to have to pretend that everything is alright between me and Leo and I don’t want to have to face Tamsin. What if she tells everyone I’ve been upsetting Lorna?
‘I’m going to Harlestone for the weekend,’ I tell Leo. ‘I’ll be back Sunday evening.’
He looks at me, surprised. ‘Right, OK. Are you staying with Debbie?’
‘Yes. I need to get away from The Circle for a while.’
‘What about supper at Maria’s?’
‘You can go by yourself, if you like,’ I say, knowing that he won’t.
I phone Debbie.
‘Are you busy this weekend?’
‘Why, are you coming down? Oh God, I’m so happy, you don’t know how much I’ve missed you! Is Leo coming? Do you want to stay here? There’s plenty of room!’
I laugh, immediately feeling better. Debbie lives on her own in a large four-bedroomed farmhouse. She’s never married but has had several men in her life, although she’s now happily single.
‘No, I’m coming on my own and yes, I’d love to stay with you.’
‘Even better! Not that I don’t love Leo, but it means we can really chat and you can tell me all about living in London.’
She makes it sound as if it’s the other side of the world. But like me, Debbie was born and bred in Harlestone. She’s never even been to London, preferring to stay with her horses, running her riding school.
‘Is it alright if I arrive today?’
‘Of course. Are you driving down?
‘Yes, I’ll aim to arrive around lunchtime.’
‘Great!’
I phone Maria and am relieved when my call goes through to her voicemail. I leave a message, apologising profusely, telling her I need a break and have decided to go away for a couple of days. She texts back ten minutes later, saying that she understands, which puts my mind at rest.
Being back in Harlestone is bitter-sweet. As I drive through the village, the brightly coloured hollyhocks standing tall and proud like sentinels against heat-soaked walls and the huge domes of white hydrangeas peeping their heads over garden fences makes me realise how much I’ve missed it. So much has changed in the month I’ve been away. The field of yellow rape that I loved to walk through on my way to the village store has since been ploughed, and I wonder who was the first to tread a new path through the heavy clods of earth.
Debbie, back from a ride on her fearsome horse Lucifer, senses my low mood. While she cleans her riding boots over a sheet of newspaper, I tell her about Leo and how he hadn’t told me the truth about the house he bought.
‘I can’t understand it,’ Debbie says, her forehead creased in bewilderment. ‘What a thing to keep from you. No wonder you don’t particularly want to go back. Even I’d feel uneasy living in a house where someone has been murdered and I’ve got a strong stomach.’ Her boots clean, she goes to the sink to wash her hands.
‘And now I’ve started putting people’s backs up by trying to find out more about the murder,’ I say.
Debbie turns, water dripping from her elbows. ‘Why?’ she asks, reaching for a chequered towel.
‘Because they don’t like me asking questions.’
‘No, I meant – why do you want to know more about the murder?’
‘Because it isn’t as straightforward as people make out. There are rumours that there was a miscarriage of justice, that it wasn’t her husband who killed her.’
‘Have the police re-opened the investigation, then?’ she asks, checking her reflection in the pine-framed mirror that hangs on the wall. Usually wild and unruly, her auburn hair has been flattened by her riding hat, and she remedies this, using her fingers as combs.
‘I don’t think it was ever closed,’ I say.
She frowns. ‘But why are you getting involved? Sorry, Alice, but I can kind of understand that people don’t want to talk about it. You should leave it alone, let sleeping dogs lie.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
I look away. ‘She was called Nina.’
‘Oh Alice.’ She comes over and sits beside me, puts an arm round my shoulder, and gives me a hug. ‘You need to let go.’
I lower my head, ashamed. Debbie was there to witness my obsession with a mutual friend’s daughter here in Harlestone, born long before my sister died, who happened to be called Nina. Although I was always fond of her, I became a little obsessed after my sister’s death, buying her expensive presents and generally doting on her until her mum gently told me that I needed to stop, because it was too much. Stupidly, I had felt hurt and it had ended up spoiling our friendship.
‘I’m trying,’ I say quietly.
‘But even if there was a miscarriage of justice,’ Debbie points out, ‘it’s not your place to go around asking questions, especially on the basis of a rumour.’
‘It’s not just a rumour. I had a visit from a private investigator. He’s looking into the case for Nina’s sister-in-law, who is convinced that her brother was innocent.’
‘Well, of course she is.’
‘But my neighbour told me that Nina admitted to her that she was having an affair with someone. So why couldn’t it have been him who killed her?’
‘Didn’t the police investigate him?’
‘I don’t know.’ I hesitate. ‘The private investigator asked me to keep my eyes and ears open, let him know if I heard anything.’
Debbie’s mouth drops open. ‘He asked you to spy on your neighbours?’
‘I refused,’ I say quickly.
‘I hope so. If you decide to stay in The Circle, and want to be accepted – to belong – you need to keep your head down. And really, you should be focusing on you and Leo, not on the murder of someone you didn’t even know,’ she adds gently.
We spend the rest of the weekend catching up with friends from the village, our plans for a long walk scuppered by a blast of rain and cold air that comes in from the east. It matches my mood as I drive back to London on Sunday afternoon but as I get nearer, I give myself a
mental shake. Being in Harlestone, away from The Circle, has allowed me to get some perspective. If Leo and I are to get over what he did, I need to make the first move.
I park the car on the drive and go into the house. I thought Leo might have come to the door when he heard me arrive but he’s nowhere in sight. I find him in the kitchen, sitting at the table, a glass of wine in his hand, his phone open on one of his news apps.
I clear my throat. ‘Hello.’
He looks up. ‘Hi. Did you have a nice time with Debbie?’
‘Yes, thanks. What about you, did you have a good weekend?’
‘Yes, great.’ He raises his hands above his head, stretching, then links them behind his neck. ‘I played tennis with Paul and then I spent the rest of the time watching stuff on Netflix.’
He looks carefree and relaxed, and a wave of jealousy hits. I swallow it down.
‘Shall I make dinner?’ I ask.
‘I’ve been snacking all day so I’m not hungry. But go ahead if you want something.’
He goes back to the news, oblivious of my eyes on him, oblivious to the frustration building inside me. I’d been about to ask if I could have a glass of wine with him but suddenly, I’m furious. How dare he sit there as if he doesn’t have a care in the world when he screwed up so badly?
‘I’m going to my study,’ I say.
‘Don’t you want a glass of wine?’
‘No thanks.’
‘OK.’
He returns to his screen, seemingly unconcerned. I watch him dispassionately for a moment.
‘You can stay in Birmingham this week,’ I say.
His head jerks up. I’ve got his attention now. ‘Sorry?’
‘You don’t need to come home each evening, you can stay in Birmingham.’
‘But – where are you going?’
‘Nowhere.’
‘What, you’re going to stay here by yourself?’
‘Yes.’
He stares at me like he doesn’t know me. ‘What about Thursday? Do I come home?’
‘I’ll let you know on Wednesday.’
In my study, I go over everything I’ve learned about Nina’s murder. Lorna and Edward heard Nina and Oliver arguing; the next day, Nina admitted to Lorna that she had been having an affair. That evening, according to Lorna, Oliver had come home at 9 p.m. and had gone straight into the house. Twenty minutes later, Nina was dead. That evening, according to Oliver, he had arrived at the house at 9 p.m., had gone to sit in the square for a while and only then had gone into the house. And had found Nina dead. Which was it? Lorna was adamant about what she’d seen. So why had Oliver said he’d gone to sit in the square when he so obviously hadn’t? Had he panicked and said the first thing that had come into his head? Or had he planned it out beforehand, hoping that nobody would be able to say that he hadn’t been in the square, because nobody would be watching from their window at that time of night?
Twenty
Leo takes a while getting ready for work the next morning, giving me time to change my mind about staying on my own. His footsteps are heavier than usual as he moves around upstairs. He’s making his presence felt, showing me how empty the house is going to be without him.
He comes downstairs and drops his bag in the hall with an exaggerated thud. It’s irritating, this over-the-top reminder that he’s leaving for several days. It was how we were meant to be living until his Birmingham contract finished, him leaving on Monday mornings and not coming back until Thursday. Now he’s perceiving it as a punishment.
I stay in bed long after he’s left for work, overwhelmed by a lethargy I can’t shake. The uncertainty of our situation has hit me hard. I’d been so full of hope coming here; a little nervous as to how I was going to adapt to living in London, but looking forward to being with Leo on a more regular basis. Now our relationship seems to be falling apart. Even in the aftermath of my parents’ and sister’s deaths, I hadn’t felt this alone.
It’s the need of a coffee that gets me to my feet. I carry it through to the sitting room and drink it standing by the window, watching the trees start a slow shed of their leaves. It’s gone nine o’clock, I’m late at my desk. A movement catches my eye, Eve coming out of her house. She’s dressed in her running gear and I’m about to knock on the window and wave when Tamsin appears behind her. I step back quickly, but I can still see them. They exchange a few words, then Eve runs across the road and into the square, leaving Tamsin standing on the drive.
Needing breakfast, I go to the kitchen, put some bread in the toaster and search the fridge for honey. A ring at the doorbell startles me; the jar slips from my hand and smashes on the floor, right by my bare feet. I stare at the shards of glass sticking to the bottom of my blue pyjamas, wondering where to begin cleaning up the mess, and the doorbell rings again. Whoever it is isn’t going to go away.
Stepping carefully over the broken jar, I go into the hall, open the door and come face to face with the one person I could do without seeing. Tamsin.
‘Hi, Alice.’ In deference to the colder weather, she’s wearing a white padded jacket and white suede ankle boots. She looks perfect.
‘Sorry,’ I say, conscious of being in my pyjamas. ‘I’m not feeling good. So, if you’re here to have another go at me, I’d rather you come back another day.’
She shuffles from one foot to the other. ‘No, I’m not, I’m here to apologise. I shouldn’t have been so aggressive. I was having a bad week.’
‘It’s fine. But as I told you, I didn’t upset Lorna, she said it was a relief to talk about Nina because nobody did anymore.’
Tamsin nods, and I ignore the image that comes to mind, of Lorna playing with her pearls.
‘I wondered if you’d like to come for coffee on Friday,’ she says. ‘In the morning, around ten-thirty. I know you work but would that be OK? Eve will be there,’ she adds, as if she thinks I might not go if it’s just the two of us.
I’m not keen on interrupting my working day but I can always work through lunch to make up for taking time off in the morning. ‘Thank you, that would be lovely,’ I say.
She looks both pleased and relieved. ‘Great! Well, goodbye, Alice, I hope you feel better soon.’
I watch her as she walks down the drive.
‘You look beautiful, by the way!’ I call.
She turns and gives me a little wave but there’s sadness on her face, as if she doesn’t really believe me.
In the kitchen, I clean up the mess from the broken jar with renewed energy. It’s the house that’s stifling me, I realise. What I need is a blast of cold air. Half-an-hour in the garden will help. I can do some weeding. I enjoy weeding, it’s the kind of task I can do on autopilot, leaving my mind free to wander.
The previous day’s rain makes the weeding easier. I’m halfway up the left-hand side of the garden when I discover a panel missing in the fence between our house and Eve and Will’s. It’s not a problem because the gap is partly covered by thick green foliage. I push it aside and realise that I could walk straight into their garden if I wanted to. Maybe Eve and Nina used it as a shortcut instead of walking across the driveway when they wanted to see each other. I make a mental note to ask her about it when I next see her.
My mobile rings. I straighten up, ease my back. It’s Ginny.
‘Hi, Alice. I’m phoning to see how you are. Am I disturbing you?’
‘No, it’s fine, I’m taking a break in the garden. It’s lovely to be outside. How are you? Did you have a good weekend?’
‘Well, I’m fast becoming a golf widow, which suits me fine. Mark and Ben spent the whole day yesterday on the golf course. Ben came back for a drink afterwards, he was asking about you.’
‘That was nice of him.’
There’s a pause. ‘I’m actually calling because Leo phoned me this morning.’
‘Leo?’
‘Yes. He said that you don’t want him coming home this week, that you told him he could stay in Birmingham. He wanted me to check that you’
ll be alright on your own.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ I say, sounding braver than I feel, because I do have a niggling apprehension about being on my own tonight.
‘Would you like me to come and stay?’
‘That’s lovely of you, but honestly, it’s fine. I need to do this, Ginny, I need to see if I can stay here. We’ve only been here a month, I don’t want to give up yet.’
‘I think Leo’s afraid you might give up on him.’
I sigh. ‘To be honest, I don’t know how I feel about him anymore. I still can’t get my head around him lying to me.’
‘How about we have lunch this week? I’ll take a longer lunch hour.’
‘That will be lovely. When were you thinking?’
‘Either tomorrow or Friday.’
‘Tomorrow,’ I say, remembering coffee at Tamsin’s on Friday morning. ‘Shall we go to the restaurant in Covent Garden where they serve that delicious monkfish. It’s not too far for you, is it?’
‘Neptune? I can walk there in ten minutes. I’ll phone and make a reservation for half-twelve.’
‘Great, see you there.’
The two invitations, plus the weeding, make it easier for me to get back to work. I love the story I’m translating and I become so absorbed in it that it’s three o’clock before I stop for something to eat. The sun has come out and rather than head straight back to work after a sandwich, I decide to go for a walk in Finsbury Park and translate this evening instead. With Leo not coming home, I’ll need something to take my mind off being alone in the house.
Half-an-hour later, I’m on my way, glad to be away from The Circle, from its cloying, claustrophobic atmosphere. It’s the gates, I decide. They make it feel a bit like a prison. If they weren’t there, The Circle would be just another street in London.
The park is glorious in its new autumn colours. I walk for an hour, trying not to think of anything much, then sit down on a bench and watch the world go by. A few people stride along, in a hurry to be somewhere, but most stroll leisurely, especially the mums with young children, or the older couples, some hand in hand. I smile, then feel a pang of melancholy. Will Leo and I ever have children, grow old together? Is it strange that we have never talked about having children? Or was it a conversation we were waiting to have once we’d settled into our new life in London?