She stripped the bed and put the sheets and pillow cases in a pile at the foot of the stairs, dusted the chest of drawers, polished it with beeswax. Then she stood on a chair to clean the bedroom window, lowering the sash so she could reach outside. Her mood was lifting already. She caught herself humming the snatch of a song which James had brought home from school. She fetched a broom from the cupboard in the kitchen and swept under the bed, pushing the dust ahead of her over the bare wooden boards into a pile. She gathered the pile into the dustpan, realized she hadn’t brought bin bags with her and carried it carefully downstairs.
She washed the tiles in the bathroom, scrubbed the top of the oven and inside the kitchen cupboards, brushed more dust into a pile. Then she decided she needed coffee. There was a jar of instant in the cottage and some powdered milk, but she deserved better than that. She left the cottage open to air and went back to the house. The long grass was feathery against her bare legs as she walked across the field.
She put the kettle on and checked the phone. One message. It was Samuel. Bland and distant as he always was. Perhaps you could phone me back if you have a minute. Nothing urgent. But even that contact thrilled her. She thought he wanted to meet, imagined walking into the house in Morpeth, him greeting her. She dialled his direct line. No answer. She was disappointed, but pleased too. She’d try again later and it would be something to look forward to. Delayed gratification. She poured the coffee into a Thermos mug. She thought she would take it to the cottage, drink it sitting on the step looking out over the water. She recognized how childish the morning had been. Mary Barnes would have spring-cleaned the cottage a few months ago, would do it again if Felicity told her Jo was coming to visit. This morning she’d been behaving like a little girl playing house. At the last minute she remembered she’d need a bin bag and went back to fetch it.
Drinking the coffee she thought of Samuel, his long bony spine and his slender back. Behaving like a girl again, she thought. Really, it’s time I grew up. But she smiled to herself. She went back into the cottage and closed the windows. She flushed the toilet to wash away the bleach. She scooped up the dust in the pan and tipped it into the bin bag. And saw something glittering. She set down the pan, stooped and picked the object out. A ring. Very attractive. Blue-green stones in an oval silver setting. An art deco design. Vaguely familiar. It must belong to one of the girls, she thought, pleased to have rescued it. Joanna probably. It was the sort of thing she’d love. How careless of her not even to realize it was missing.
It wasn’t until she was back at the house, in their bedroom, on the wicker chair next to the phone, preparing to call Samuel again, that she remembered where she’d seen the ring. It had been on Lily Marsh’s finger. Felicity had noticed it when Lily had reached out to help James with his violin after they’d got off the bus. She’d coveted it secretly even then. It must have been loose on the young woman’s finger, slipped off sometime during the guided tour. Felicity set it on the bed. The quilt was of thick white cotton and the ring looked magnificent against it. She was tempted to keep it. She slipped it onto her own middle finger. It fitted perfectly. Who would know? Since her friendship with Samuel, all sorts of wickedness seemed more possible. She relished the idea of behaving against type, against the expectations of her family and friends who would have described her as a very good person. With the ring still on her finger, she dialled Samuel’s number. He answered immediately.
‘Parr.’
‘It’s Felicity. Returning your call.’ She always identified herself though she knew he must recognize her voice. Even when there was nobody to overhear they maintained the pretence that there was nothing between them but friendship. Until they were alone together in his house.
‘It was good of you to get back to me.’ He paused. ‘How are you?’
‘Well,’ she said. ‘You know . . .’
‘And James?’
‘Oh he’s fine too.’
‘I wondered if you’d heard any more from the police.’
‘They went to see Peter at work yesterday.’
‘The inspector came to me too. At the house.’ Felicity felt a moment of disgust. It was almost sacrilegious, that big, ugly woman sitting among Samuel’s lovely things. He continued, ‘I’m not entirely sure what she wanted.’
She didn’t know what to say to that and found herself coming out with the inconsequential information which was still at the front of her mind. ‘I’ve just found a piece of jewellery belonging to Lily Marsh. A ring. It was in the cottage. She must have dropped it while I was showing her around.’
‘Have you told the police?’ She was surprised by the urgency in his tone.
‘No, not yet.’ She kept her own voice light, playful. ‘It is very pretty.’
‘You can’t think of keeping it!’ He was shocked. ‘You must tell them. Straight away. If you don’t, they’ll think you have something to hide.’
‘It can’t be that important. They know she was in the cottage.’
‘All the same,’ he said. ‘They’ll see it as evidence.’
‘All right. I was only teasing.’ She thought he could be very high-minded and preachy.
‘And I was only thinking of you.’ This was as intimate as he got on the phone and she was surprisingly moved. ‘Please phone Inspector Stanhope. Now.’
‘All right.’
‘Promise?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I promise.’ Then, ‘Are you free this afternoon?’
‘No, I’ve got a meeting.’ She couldn’t tell whether he was telling the truth or whether he was still nervous about them being together. Perhaps he imagined the inspector knocking at his door, demanding to be let in, while they were making love. How he would hate that, being caught when he wasn’t entirely in control. She thought that her relationship with Samuel was something which had also been quite changed by the discovery of Lily Marsh’s body.
‘I must go,’ he said. ‘I’m wanted on the desk.’ He ended the call without properly saying goodbye.
She sat for a moment, looking out of the window at the lighthouse shimmering in the heat haze, then picked up the telephone again to speak to the police.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Vera arranged to meet Ben Craven in a day centre for psychiatric patients. He spent one day a week there meeting the clients who’d been discharged from hospital. It was on the edge of a coastal town which had once been famous for its docks. Now, it’s only claim to fame was as the drugs capital of the north east.
On the way, she stopped at the library in the town centre, a Gothic red-brick building, with a clock tower and a huge painting in the lobby of a ship in full sail. She found a collection of Samuel Parr’s short stories on a shelf marked LOCAL AUTHORS. She wasn’t sure what he’d think about being displayed in that way. Was it an honour? Or did it mean he wasn’t good enough to go on the shelves with the real writers? She stood browsing for a moment, but couldn’t find the story she’d heard on the radio. In the end she decided to take it out anyway. When she handed over the book and her ticket the library assistant said, ‘Such a lovely man. He came here to give a reading last year. He’s one of our staff, of course.’
That made Vera think of her last conversation with Samuel Parr. He’d said he’d tell her what Lily had been reading. Still curious, but also interested what Parr’s response to the request would be, she decided to follow it up. Sitting in the car she phoned Morpeth Library and asked to speak to him.
‘Ah yes, Inspector. Let me just check the system. What was the name? Lily Marsh?’