This, though, was much more than that. He wondered, the dread burning hot within him, if she were really ill. What if she had something seriously wrong with her and had not told him? He tried to get his imagination under control as his mind ran swiftly through a list of dreadful illnesses which could cause someone to be physically sick.
He continued to fret as he climbed into the big double bed beside her. Moonlight shone through the window on to them. Being careful to move as little as possible he studied her drawn face, the parchment skin, the slight furrow in her brow. God, he loved her. She was lying quite still, her features passive, as if she were asleep, but Freddie suspected somehow, he could not have explained why, that she was not really sleeping.
He lay like that, watching her for at least an hour. Constance was an icon to Freddie. She was his rock. He knew he had handled the problem with William well, better than his wife for once, but he wasn’t sure if he could ever give Constance the kind of support she had always given him, wasn’t sure if he was capable of that. She was the one who listened to his problems. And if she ever had any of her own she never let on. She was certainly never ill.
Eventually, fitfully, Freddie drifted into troubled sleep.
By his side Constance stirred. She studied Freddie closely, as if making sure that he was truly asleep, and then slipped carefully out of bed. She spent most of the rest of the night sitting in the armchair in the spare bedroom gazing at the moon.
Josh heard her moving, trotted tentatively upstairs and nosed his way into the room. The bedrooms were normally out of bounds to Josh. But the dog knew this was not a normal night. Not only did Constance make no effort to order him downstairs, yet again she seemed virtually unaware of his presence.
Josh wrapped his warm furry body around her legs and rubbed his moist nuzzle into the palm of her hand. There was no response. The Labrador moved away, tail down, and lay on the rug by the window, whimpering his hurt.
Josh did not sleep either. The dog’s every nerve was twitching. The hair on the back of his neck bristled. There was something happening that he did not understand. All night long his soft brown eyes remained fixed on his mistress’s face, lit by the white gleam of the moon.
In the morning Freddie woke to find an empty space next to him in the bed. He started into a sitting position. Where was she now? This was another break in his treasured routine. He always got up first. Then he always brought Constance her mug of tea in bed.
He pulled on his dressing gown and, anxiety gnawing at him like a hungry mosquito, set off downstairs, in search of his wife.
He found her in the kitchen, teapot in the hand.
‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘Thought I’d give you a treat and bring you a cuppa in bed for once. You beat me to it.’
She smiled at him warmly, but Freddie thought he could still see lines of tension around her mouth which were not usually there.
He went to her and kissed her. Was it his imagination that she was not quite as responsive as he had grown to expect?
He took the tea she offered him and sat down at the table to drink it.
‘Do you feel all right this morning?’ he asked. ‘I was worried about you last night. I wondered what had made you sick.’
‘Something I ate, I’m sure of it, I told you.’ She was all reassurance. ‘I feel absolutely fine today, I promise you.’
He nodded, hoping with all his heart that she was telling him the truth.
‘I suppose I’d better get the Volvo into the garage so that Bert can check it out,’ he remarked casually. ‘We don’t want the same thing happening again, do we?’
She spoke quickly. ‘I don’t think there’s any need. The AA fixed it properly, I’m sure, that’s why it took so long. They said the car was fine now.’
Her voice was back to normal. She was busying herself with everyday tasks, already preparing a load of washing for the machine.
‘Are you sure nobody...’ he paused, seeking the right words and not really finding them, ‘...bothered you out there?’
‘Darling, I’ve told you. It wasn’t very nice sitting alone in the dark with ten-ton trucks hurtling by, but I was perfectly OK. Really.’
Still Freddie remained uneasy.
‘Do you think you ought to go and see Jim Forbes? I’ll take you to the surgery, if you like. Have a check up, just to make sure you’re all right?’
‘Freddie, I’ve told you, I feel fine. I don’t need a doctor. Look, it’s market day, that bloody man from the ministry is coming to check out the piggery again, and we’ve both got a busy day ahead. Stop fussing, will you?’
He held up both hands as if in resigned apology. Constance, it seemed, was her brisk businesslike self again.
Six
Mrs Pattinson was a creature of habit. She had a regular booking with Avon Escorts from which it was highly unusual for her to deviate. She was also quite meticulous about her arrangements. She routinely called Paolo at Avon to confirm her appointment as soon as she arrived at the Crescent Hotel, even though she must always know that the agency would already have her in the diary.
It was therefore a surprise to hear from her at any other time than her usual day. She wanted Charlie — fast, she said.
‘I’ll do my best, Mrs Pattinson,’ said Paolo in his broad Bristol drawl — he was of Italian descent but West Country born and bred.
As he spoke he consulted the computer. Avon Escorts was a business just like any other and kept proper records — when it suited, of course. The situation was just as Paolo had thought.
‘Thing is, Mrs Pattinson, Charlie’s on a day off today. Wouldn’t you like a nice change? I’ve got this new lad on the books, lovely boy ’e is, only nineteen, but you should see the build on ’im...’ Paolo paused as if making it clear that his last remark was open to all kinds of interpretation.
Mrs Pattinson’s voice on the other end of the line was cool and firm.
‘It’s Charlie I want,’ she said, and it may have been Paolo’s imagination but he reckoned there was already a slight sexy huskiness in the way she spoke. ‘I’m sure he will come to me.’
Paolo wasn’t so sure, but he knew that Charlie regarded Mrs Pattinson as a very special customer, as did he. She regularly coughed up £200 — an extra £150 if she asked for a second boy — without a murmur. The agency took half the fee, that was the arrangement, and half of that went through the business for the tax man. After all, this was a reputable escort agency. The other half went into the back pockets of Paolo and his partner — the man who had put up the money to start Avon in the first place, although he had little direct involvement nowadays.
Paolo also suspected that Mrs Pattinson tipped Charlie generously. The handsome West Indian was a favourite with a lot of the ladies. He was also considerably brighter than most of the lads and lasses who ended up in this game, Paolo thought. On reflection he reckoned there was a good chance that Charlie would break into his day off for Mrs Pattinson. Charlie understood about business, about looking after the customers.
‘I’ll try and track Charlie down,’ he said.
‘I’ll be waiting,’ said Mrs Pattinson. And now Paolo was quite sure of the note of sexiness in her voice.
He quickly dialled Charlie’s home number.
Charlie answered cheerily and then lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
‘I’ve got me mum here,’ he hissed down the line. ‘It was me little sister’s wedding this afternoon. There’s no way I can get away.’