“Well, whatever did cause the fire,” said Carole, “I’m sure the police investigations will discover it.”
“I wouldn’t have thought it was a police matter. There was no criminal involvement. And no one got hurt.”
It was Carole’s turn to look incredulous, before the realization came to her that Anna did not actually know about the death in the inferno of Gallimaufry. The murder.
They had now arrived at the top of the beach, where the straggling grass of the dunes gave way to the stretch of pavement which was rather grandly known as ‘the Promenade’. Anna was busying herself with reattaching the lead to her Black-Watched Westie. They had nearly reached the parting of the ways.
Carole wished desperately she could suggest they go somewhere for a cup of coffee, but she couldn’t have chosen a worse time to put that idea into practice. At eight o’clock on Boxing Day morning there would be very little open in the entire British Isles, certainly nothing in Fethering.
But the Promenade did feature some glass-walled shelters with rusty metal frames. So terrified was she of her recurrent image of an elderly person sitting in one that in normal circumstances Carole kept well clear of them. But these weren’t normal circumstances. With uncharacteristic boldness, she took Anna’s arm and led her to sit down. “There’s something I must tell you. I’m afraid it’s not very good news.”
Gulliver had wandered off down to the shoreline. Perhaps he’d seen the other dog being put back on its lead and was trying to postpone his own similar fate. Anna looked a little surprised at being led into the shelter, but she didn’t say anything. Carole asked if she had heard any news on the radio or television the previous couple of days.
“No, I try to avoid the media. It’s all bloody Christmas stuff, everyone full of bonhomie, comedians dressed up as Santa Claus. I can’t stand it.”
Here was further confirmation of the isolation in which Anna had spent the holiday, but Carole didn’t comment. She simply passed on the information about the discovery of Polly’s body in the wreckage of Gallimaufry, and the subsequent revelation that the girl had been shot.
There was no doubting that this was all news to Anna. She went very white, accentuating the bright redness of her lipstick, and it was a moment or two before she could reply. Finally she managed to say, “How ghastly.”
“Yes. Did you know Polly?”
“I knew of her. I’ve never met her. Ricky talked about her sometimes. Did you really say she’d been shot?” Carole nodded grimly. “Ricky must be in a terrible state.” Anna said that almost as though the thought gave her comfort.
“I don’t know how he’s taking it. My friend Jude – she’s the one I was in the shop with last week – she’s spoken to Lola, but that was just when we’d heard that Polly’s body had been found in the shop. Before we knew she’d been shot.”
“It’s ghastly,” Anna repeated, shaking her head as if she could dislodge the unsettling image of the murder.
“What’s odd is why Polly came back to Fethering. Ricky had apparently taken her to Fedborough Station to catch a train back to London. You don’t have any idea why she might have changed her plans?”
“I told you, Carole, I never met her. All I know is that Ricky had a child from one of his previous marriages.”
“Do you know how many marriages he’s had?” Carole knew the answer – Jude had told her – but she thought it might be worth finding out how much Anna knew about Ricky’s past.
“Certainly three. There may have been more. He seems to have gone through relationships like an emotional wrecking ball.”
“Three including Lola?”
“Yes. He was married very young to the girl next door, or at least only a few doors away. Can’t remember what her name was, but they split up when he moved up to London and started in the music business. Then there was a second wife whose name I don’t know either, but I think she was the mother of Polly. Whether Ricky was Polly’s father or not, I don’t know. Finally, after, I’m sure, various and diverse entanglements, he met Lola.”
Carole couldn’t see any reason to tell Anna about Ricky’s other wife. Instead she asked, “And, from what you can gather, that’s a happy marriage?”
The woman’s face froze, as it had done when the subject arose of where she had lived before Fethering. “I have no idea. From what the public sees, everything seems to be fine.”
“But you don’t – ?”
“I don’t know anything more about them than you do!”
Carole took the hint and changed the subject. “How many people have keys to Gallimaufry?”
“Well, Lola does, obviously. And – ” She stopped at the sound of her mobile ringing. The haste with which she snatched it out of her pocket suggested that she was expecting someone to contact her. When she recognized the number, disappointment flickered across her face and she rejected the call. She replaced the phone in her pocket and stretched out her arms. “I must be getting back.”
“Sorry, you were just telling me who had keys to the shop…”
“Yes.” For the first time the look she directed to her interrogator was edged with suspicion. “Why do you want to know?”
Carole shrugged sheepishly. “Just natural curiosity.” Before Anna could say anything, she went on, “I’m sorry, but Fethering’s a very nosy place.”
“You don’t have to tell me that.”
“No, and with something like this happening…a murder…well, I’m afraid you’re going to get a lot of questions like the one I’ve just asked you, Anna. So I suppose you have to decide whether you’re going to just ignore them all or come up with some answers.”
Carole knew this apparent ingenuousness was a risk, and she waited tensely to see how the woman would react. Fortunately, she’d chosen the right approach. “You’re right,” said Anna. “I’d better practise my act, hadn’t I? All right, let’s start with the keys at Gallimaufry…Lola has a set, Ricky has a set, I have a set. There’s also a spare set hidden at the back of the building, in case of emergencies. But I’m not going to tell anyone where they are.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.”
“No.” Anna was silent for a moment, then said, “I’m still having difficulty taking this in. You say Polly was shot?”
“It was on the television news.”
“Ricky must be in a dreadful state. I can’t begin to think what the situation must be like up at his place.”
“Not the most relaxed it’s ever been, I would imagine.”
“He must be totally preoccupied by the tragedy. Not able to think about anything else.” And again there seemed a perverse note of satisfaction in Anna’s voice. She shook her head in bewilderment. “But Polly…shot dead…”
“Yes.”
“God, that’s amazing. I mean, why on earth would anyone do that?”
“The very question all the inhabitants of Fethering – not to mention the investigating police officers – are asking.”
There was a silence. Unaccountably, Carole found herself tempted to ask how Anna had actually spent her Christmas. She felt sure it had been in bleak solitude, as her own had been for the past few years. But the urge towards empathy was stopped by the remembrance that her own Christmas the day before had been enlivened by the presence of Stephen, Gaby and Lily. To probe into Anna’s life might be intruding on private grief.
So, instead, she pressed on with another investigative question. “Did you know either Ricky or Lola before you moved to Fethering?”
For some reason, this was a step too far. With a curt, “No. Now if you’ll excuse me I must be on my way,” Anna had gathered herself up, brought her snoozing dog up to its feet, and set off into the village.