‘It was good of you to phone,’ he said, handing her the glass. ‘So — you were working late?’
‘I’m off duty now,’ she said carefully. ‘As you may have deduced from the change of outfit.’
In sweatshirt and jeans, she looked even slimmer than when they’d met in the morning. Smaller, too. Almost fragile. He pulled his eyes away from her and took a draught of beer.
‘Since we spoke this morning, I’ve heard I’m not the only one making waves. Your detectives have been quizzing Leigh Moffat and her sister.’
Cradling her chin in her hand, she smiled and said, ‘I told you, news travels fast in these parts. So you’re already plugged into the Brackdale grapevine?’
‘Not exactly. In fact, I suspect I’m in danger of becoming persona non grata the length and breadth of the valley. Leigh came round to the cottage specially to rebuke me for making a song and dance over my Barrie-Gilpin-is-innocent campaign.’
‘Did she now? I suppose you wouldn’t like to tell me more?’
He made a show of weighing up her request, but could see no good reason to refuse. ‘Why not? It’s not as if we spoke under the seal of the confessional.’
‘Fire away, then.’
As he recounted the conversation with Leigh, her face remained a mask. When he’d finished, she just said, ‘Interesting.’
‘Why do you think she’s so worked up?’ he asked.
‘Oh, women are strange creatures,’ she said with a faint smile.
‘Thanks, but I already knew that.’ He finished his drink. ‘I presume you’re not going to take me into your confidence?’
‘Nothing to tell.’
‘That I doubt, somehow.’
‘Can I buy you another drink?’
He glanced at his watch. ‘You said you don’t have long.’
She gave a lazy shrug and picked up their glasses. ‘Half of bitter, was it?’
‘I’ll settle for an orange juice this time. I’ll need all my wits about me if you’re going to interrogate me any further.’
She laughed. ‘I hope you don’t feel I’ve lured you out here on false pretences.’
Settling back in his chair, he said, ‘Am I complaining?’
Unexpectedly, she blushed. ‘I will talk to you more about your father. If not tonight, then soon. Promise.’
He watched her thread her way through a crowd of burly young men in hiking gear. If she was aware of their admiring glances, she gave no sign of it. The bearded Methuselah at the bar leered at her shamelessly but she took no notice. She moved with a purpose; he guessed that everything she did, everything she said, had a particular direction in mind. Many bosses might feel threatened by a subordinate with drive, especially a woman subordinate with drive, but he was sure his father would have encouraged her. He’d have been a good mentor. Might even have been a good father, given the chance.
When Hannah returned with the drinks, she asked how he was acclimatising to life in the Lakes. ‘Missing the dreaming spires yet?’
‘Not me. These days they dream too much about tuition fees and graduate debt. This place suits me fine, even if I have ruffled a few feathers.’
‘How about your partner? Miranda, did you say?’
‘Yes, Miranda.’ He took a taste of his drink. Fresh orange, not the carbonated crap he’d become accustomed to at his local in Oxford. ‘Funny thing is, if it weren’t for her, we wouldn’t have moved here. She was passionate about it. But it’s not been easy for her, living in a lonely cottage surrounded by nothing but trees and water and building materials. Very different from Islington. Less happening, fewer people to talk to. She’s not as anti-social as me.’
‘I can’t believe you’re anti-social.’
‘Seldom happier than when I’m on my own, lost in a book. Miranda loves company. Apart from a not totally successful dinner at Brack Hall, we haven’t mixed much.’
‘But you’ve become friendly with the Dumelows?’
‘I bumped into Tash in the village and she invited us over to the Hall. I blotted my copybook by arguing Barrie’s case. Miranda wasn’t best pleased. I guess she’s hankering after the social whirl.’
‘The other man’s grass?’
‘Something like that.’ A bawdy joke caused the hikers to erupt in an ear-splitting guffaw; perhaps a jukebox would have been preferable, after all. ‘We always want what we haven’t got.’
‘You’re right.’ A faraway look had come in her eyes and he wondered what was passing through her mind.
‘No one’s immune, I suppose. I was talking to a woman yesterday, a farmer’s wife. She’s spent all her life in the Lake District, the place must be part of her body and soul, and yet she was telling me how she yearned to get away. She has this romantic notion about the old pioneers, travelling across the prairie.’
Suddenly he had Hannah’s full attention. She leaned across the table and said, ‘Can I ask who that was?’
He blinked. ‘She’s called Jean Allardyce. I met her at Brack Hall. She and her husband…’
‘I’m acquainted with her husband. He and I talked this afternoon.’ She hesitated. ‘His wife wasn’t at the farm and he didn’t seem to know when she’d be back. What exactly did she tell you?’
Taking his time, he repeated as much of what Jean had said as he could remember and told her of Tash Dumelow’s concern about her apparent disappearance. As he talked, he was acutely aware of Hannah’s intense concentration upon him. In other circumstances, he might be flattered that an attractive woman was hanging on his words. But he didn’t fool himself: what interested her was the information he had to impart.
‘You’d make a good witness,’ she said when he’d finished.
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
‘You should. So how would you describe Jean Allardyce? Thirties, timid, quietly spoken? Local accent?’
‘Yes, she has fair hair and blue…’
‘It was her voice I was especially interested in.’
‘May I ask why?’
She swilled the water around in her glass. ‘Let’s just say that a woman has made a phone call to us and we’d like to talk to her again. Snag is, we don’t know her name, but Jean Allardyce is a candidate. She’s not available for us to interview, though Tom Allardyce reckons he expects her back any time. But ask him where she’s gone or when she’s likely to return and he doesn’t have an answer.’
‘Shit.’ He bowed his head.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘What if something’s happened to her?’ He swallowed hard. ‘What if…someone has decided she knows more than she should?’
‘From what you say, she was toying with the idea of getting out of Brackdale. Tash Dumelow’s story backs that up. She’d packed a suitcase.’
‘She wanted to unburden herself to me. Sounds like she was seeking for help. If I’d spent more time talking to her…’
‘You’re not reproaching yourself?’
‘Why not? If only…’
‘Stop it.’ She reached across the table and laid her hand on his. Her palm was warm. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself, it’s ridiculous. For all we know, she’s checking in at Heathrow at this very moment. Destination: the Little House on the Prairie.’
‘You really think so?’
‘Well…’
‘The truth is, I could have done more.’ His voice had become hoarse. ‘Should have done more.’
She withdrew her hand and looked him in the eye. ‘You take things seriously, don’t you? So did Ben. Too seriously, most people used to say. I’m not criticising, the same people would say I suffer from the same fault. But it is a fault, make no mistake. You can’t take everything to heart. If you’re not careful, it becomes unbearable. You’re not responsible for Jean Allardyce. Okay?’
When he nodded, she stood up and said, ‘Good. That’s settled, then. Look, I really have to go. I’m sorry, but I never intended to stay this long. You’ve been incredibly helpful and I do appreciate it.’
‘One of these days,’ he said wryly, ‘you must tell me more about what it was like, working with my father.’