by Sarah Ward
Sadler, embarrassed, said nothing.
‘Of course.’ Llewellyn turned to go. ‘In a year or so, given that she really was only a peripheral witness, who knows what might happen. Just be careful. You know the rules and you’re best when you stick to them. Others …’ Llewellyn looked out to where Connie was laughing with a uniformed officer. ‘Is that Morgan Morgan over there?’
Sadler looked confused. ‘Who? That’s never his name.’
‘It is. His family is Welsh like mine. Unlike my father, however, his didn’t pause to think how a name like that would sound to the English.’ Llewellyn peered through the glass. ‘He seems to be getting on very well with Connie.’
*
‘Are you going on a date with Morgan?’
Connie looked at Dahl in surprise. ‘Not on your life. You wouldn’t know but I had a disastrous affair with your predecessor.’
‘I’d heard.’
‘Oh, great. I thought it was old news by now. Who told you?’
Dahl grinned at her. ‘I heard it while I was in Glossop.’
Connie stared at him, her hands on her hips. ‘Oh that’s brilliant. My sex life made it to the outer reaches of Derbyshire. That’s the reason I’m keeping work and my private life separate from now on.’
‘Morgan definitely fancies you. He asked me if you were single. Well, not quite as obvious as that. He asked if you lived alone.’
‘Did he?’ Connie couldn’t keep a note of satisfaction out of her voice. ‘Well, if you meet any nice men who look like Morgan but aren’t coppers, send them my way. Hold on.’ Connie picked up the ringing phone on her desk and listened to the message.
‘Shit.’ She fumbled in her handbag looking for her mobile.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘That was reception. Mayfield’s been trying to call me. She had her baby at three o’clock this morning.’
‘Brilliant. What was it?’
‘A girl, apparently. Is that what she wanted? I don’t remember asking.’
‘I doubt she minded. Should we have a drink to celebrate later?’
‘What do you mean later? After work or much later, say, nine o’clock?’
‘Ah, that.’ Dahl looked embarrassed. ‘You’ve probably noticed I have to leave early some nights.’
Some? thought Connie. ‘Never spotted a thing.’
‘You’re a crap liar. How about after work I take you to meet someone?’
‘Great.’ Connie cheered up. ‘I’d love to meet your mother.’
*
The low autumn sun glinted off the gold trim of the Evening Star. There were more plants than Sadler remembered seeing before, pots grouped together in a profusion of greenery but carefully chosen so that there was nothing left trailing that might trip the unwary. Arranged by someone who knew what they were doing.
‘What do you think?’ Mina’s voice behind him made him jump. She was wearing knee-length denim shorts, probably cut down from an old pair of jeans, and a thin jumper.
‘Aren’t you cold?’
‘I’m freezing but I was in the water earlier in waterproofs looking at the underside of the boat. Don’t come near me as I must smell rank.’
‘Is there a problem?’
‘I wanted to check before winter comes, that’s all. I don’t fancy doing any repairs in the snow.’
‘You’re moving in then?’
‘I’ve got the house on with a letting agent. I’m not burning any bridges but, for the moment, I’m going to live on the boat.’
‘Reconnect with your mother?’
‘Do you know what, I don’t think that’s likely. Whatever I learnt, it hasn’t made me know her any better.’
‘You don’t resent her?’
Mina brushed past him and stepped onto the boat. ‘I don’t want one incident defining her life, just as I don’t want how she died to overshadow who she was. She was more than that. More than the person who decided to play a stupid childish trick in 1957. She led a happy life, of sorts, until she got sick.’
‘She never forgot, though, did she?’
‘No, she didn’t, and neither did Ginnie.’
‘No.’ Sadler looked down. ‘It’s odd how we have a shared history, isn’t it? I only made the connection at the end. Derwent village. It was one of the few things that Mum would talk about. She loved to speak of the village under the reservoir and of how she had seen the church spire blown up. If I’d known all along that Valerie was from Derwent, I might have made the connection.’
‘Lucky for me you did in the end.’ She paused as Sadler held out something. ‘Those again. What are they?’
‘Red campion. The flowers are faded. I thought you’d recognise them.’
‘Who really left them for my mother?’
‘Probably Catherine. She wasn’t all bad. That’s what I want to say. She cared enough to give your mother some flowers. You need to know people are more complicated than just good or bad. I learnt that from my mother at an early age. I never realised she was speaking from experience.’
‘How is she?’
‘Ginnie? My mother is a survivor.’
‘That much is obvious. She doesn’t hate me?’
‘Hate you? Of course she doesn’t. My mother had a past before me. Us children always think our parents’ lives start when we were born. Ginnie had a love affair, a traumatic incident and a hospital stay and she decided not to tell anyone. I think I admire her all the more for it.’
‘That’s good.’
‘That I admire her?’
‘No, that she doesn’t hate me.’ She was smiling at him, embarrassed and defiant.
‘No, Mina. She doesn’t hate you. Can I come on board?’
Acknowledgements
Thanks, as ever, to my agent Kirsty McLachlan at David Godwin Associates and to all at Faber, especially Louisa Joyner, Libby Marshall, Sophie Portas and Richard Fortey.
Thanks to all the bookshops that support my novels, especially those which I’ve visited over the years. Libraries have also been very supportive and I had a wonderful autumn tour in 2017. Thanks to everyone who came along to hear me speak about my books. It’s always lovely to get out and about and meet readers.
Thanks to bloggers, reviewers, friends and relatives who have read and promoted my books and to my fellow Petrona judges.
Special thanks, as ever, to my cousin Pete Westlake for his ongoing patience with my police questions. Also to Tony Butler, to whom The Shrouded Path is dedicated, who has done so much to check my work for errors. He and his wife Judith are a continued support.
Thanks to all my family, including my father who sends copies of my books far and wide. And special love and thanks to my husband, Andy, who is a constant source of encouragement.
About the Author
Sarah Ward is the author of three previous DC Childs mysteries, In Bitter Chill, A Deadly Thaw and A Patient Fury. On her blog, Crimepieces (www.crimepieces.com), she reviews the best of current crime fiction published around the world, and she has also reviewed for various publications. She is a judge for the Petrona Award for Scandinavian translated crime novels. She lives in Derbyshire.
Follow Sarah on Twitter @sarahrward1
Also by the Author
IN BITTER CHILL
A DEADLY THAW
A PATIENT FURY
Copyright
First published in the UK in 2018
by Faber & Faber Ltd
Bloomsbury House
74–77 Great Russell Street
London WC1B 3DA
This ebook edition first published in 2018
All rights reserved
© Sarah Ward, 2018
Cover design by Anna Green at Siulen Design based on the original design by Faber Cover images: girl @ Fox Photos / Hulton Archive / Getty Images; forest bachgroubd © Karina Vegas / Arcangel.
The right of Sarah Ward to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 198
8
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly
ISBN 978–0–571–33243–4