She put her head out of the window and called, ‘Can I give you a lift?’
‘That’s good of you.’ He was happy to walk, but as usual curiosity got the better of him. No harm in a short detour: Miranda wouldn’t be counting the minutes until his return. ‘If you could drop me off in the village?’
‘No problem, I’m just on my way to Tasker’s. Jump in.’
He clambered in beside her, taking in a faint freesia fragrance as she bent towards him to move a sheaf of travel brochures off the passenger seat. He hadn’t taken much notice of Jean Allardyce until now and hadn’t fully realised that, although timid and inconspicuous, she was a pretty woman with full lips and porcelain blue eyes. He found himself clenching his fists at the thought of Allardyce beating her.
‘Booking your holidays?’ he asked as she tossed the brochures into the back.
She smiled. ‘Just weighing up the options. A harmless fantasy. Ever since I was a child I’ve had this dream of journeying across the Prairies, seeing the hidden corners of Indian Country. I blame Laura Ingalls Wilder, I used to love her tales about the pioneers.’
‘You wanted to explore a different world?’
‘Yes, it would be a dream come true. Places with names like Plum Creek and Silver Lake always seemed more enticing than Grizedale and Ullswater.’ After looking each way with an unnecessary care that, he suspected, was a habit, she eased the Land Rover out into the lane. ‘I suppose you find that hard to understand.’
‘We all need a change, once in a while.’
‘You’re right. I’ve spent my whole life around here. I’ve seen nothing of the world. Nothing.’ Her voice faltered. ‘You won’t believe this, but I’ve only ever been to London once, and that was on a school trip to see Madame Tussaud’s and the Tower.’
‘Miranda will tell you that you haven’t missed much.’
‘They say that familiarity breeds contempt.’
‘Maybe not contempt, but…’
‘I think contempt is the right word,’ she said, unexpectedly fierce. ‘Never mind, you’ve both taken a risk, leaving your jobs and your friends, starting all over again. It’s very brave. Sometimes I wish I’d had that kind of courage.’
‘I don’t think we were brave. Rash, yes.’
‘I suppose that at least you knew Brackdale. You were friendly with Barrie Gilpin.’
‘That’s right. He was a good companion.’
She said tightly, ‘It’s a shame that everyone remembers him — the way they do.’
‘Your husband is very sure that Barrie killed the girl.’
‘Tom’s very sure about everything.’ She added, as if it was an explanation, ‘He was in the forces, you know.’
Daniel kept quiet, guessing that she hadn’t picked him up out of mere altruism. She needed someone to talk to. He was aware of her trembling in the seat beside him, as if she were worrying that it was a step too far even to hint that her husband’s judgment might not be perfect. Her eyes were locked on the road ahead, although even when it straightened, her speed did not exceed twenty miles an hour. Her natural caution was, he suspected, allied to a conscious fear of the consequences of doing the wrong thing. Anger welled up inside him as he contemplated the ways in which the strong may subjugate the will of the weak. But even if Allardyce used his fists to cow his wife, at least he had failed to rob her of the capacity for independent thought.
After a few moments she said, ‘I felt sorry for Barrie, but after he died, there was nothing more anyone could do for him. Tom said it was all for the best.’
‘Not if Barrie weren’t guilty.’
‘No, no.’ Her voice broke. ‘It ruined his mother’s life, you know. Wrecked it. The way people turned from her, if she went into the village. No wonder she hid away. She was almost a hermit, by the end. The innocent always suffer, don’t they?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘They suffer most.’
‘And yet, that’s Tom’s point. He says it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie.’
‘Do you agree?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said unhappily, slowing as they approached the market square. ‘I simply don’t know.’
Joe Dowling, his tan apparently replenished by a spell under the sun lamp, came out of The Moon under Water, watering can in hand. He smirked at Jean Allardyce, but treated her passenger to a scowl. Jean edged around the marked-out spaces, but there was no sign of a gap in the rows of cars. A yellow Alfa had double-parked opposite Tasker’s, and Daniel saw Tash Dumelow checking her rosy lipstick in the rear view mirror. As she caught sight of them, a broad smile spread across her face and she waved energetically in greeting.
Daniel waved back and said to Jean, ‘What’s she like to work for?’
‘Over the years, Tash has been very kind to Tom and me.’ To his surprise, Jean’s reply was neither perfunctory nor dutiful, but oddly elegiac. ‘We don’t see that much of Simon, but they make a lovely couple. Tash may not have been to the manor born, but you couldn’t wish for a nicer boss.’
Remembering the bitchiness of the Senior Common Room, he said lightly, ‘So life in the Lakes isn’t all bad, then?’
‘Probably not,’ she said. ‘You really shouldn’t take any notice of me. I’m — not myself at the moment.’
‘Thanks for the lift, anyway. If you could drop me off around here…’
Greatly daring, Jean halted the Land Rover precisely over the double yellow lines. Daniel wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d told him it was the first time in her life she’d flouted the parking regulations. Perhaps he was a good influence on her. She’d be farting in public next.
‘Will this do?’
‘Perfect. It’s very good of you.’
‘Think nothing of it,’ she said absently. He could tell that her thoughts had flown away. To the little house on the prairie? ‘I suppose it’s true what they say. All good things must come to an end.’
Chapter Thirteen
The cottage was quiet as he reached their new front gate. His legs and back were aching after the long walk: too many years sitting in libraries, hunched over old manuscripts. He glanced at his watch: quarter-past five, a later return than he’d intended. At least Wayne’s rusty white van had disappeared, so there was no one else in the house. Pausing on the threshold, he took in a draught of air. Time to put things right with Miranda.
She was curled up on the living room sofa, in her white gown, listening to Sheryl Crow. As he walked in, she glanced up and gave him a little smile. He sat down beside her, so that their legs touched, and put his arm around her shoulder, feeling the bone beneath the towelling.
‘I was about to have a bath,’ she whispered.
Something was bothering her, he knew her well enough to be certain of it. Wanting to let her share it in her own time, he said nothing and waited.
‘I feel dirty.’ She bent towards him, so that her face nestled against his. He felt the dampness of tears on his cheek.
‘What is it, Miranda?’
‘It’s — well, it’s Wayne.’
A cold apprehension fingered him. ‘What about Wayne?’
‘After you’d gone, I went to bed. I felt so drained, I needed some sleep. When I woke up, it was after three o’clock and I had a headache. I came downstairs for something to eat and an aspirin and he was in the kitchen, making himself a drink. We were chatting, it was all very friendly, I didn’t even mind that he’d stopped work. He was telling me that he was a keen angler, describing the excitement an angler feels when he catches something. I told him a bit about life in London. And then, just as I was starting to feel okay — well, he made a pass.’
Daniel tightened his grip on her. ‘What did he do?’
She closed her eyes. ‘He put his hands around me. I think he must have gone into the village for a drink at lunchtime whilst I was asleep. He pulled me towards him, his breath smelled of beer.’
Daniel could picture the young man’s leering face, as he decided to take advantage of his opportunity. So many if onlys were passing through his mind.
Miranda kept talking, the words coming out faster as she remembered. ‘It was just as if I was a carp he’d caught and he was reeling me in. I screamed and slapped his face. Daniel, I was out of my mind, I didn’t know what he was going to do to me. He and I were all alone here and I didn’t have a clue when you’d be back.’