‘How did you find this place?’
‘I was house-hunting.’
‘The house is for sale?’
‘Not exactly.’ He gave a sudden wide grin. ‘Not any more.’
‘You’ve bought it?’ It seemed to her an astonishing thing to do on the spur of the moment. He hadn’t even been in Shetland that long. She thought of Perez, the agonizing there’d been over his future, where he would live. She admired Wilding’s ability to take a life-changing decision so lightly.
‘Once I saw it I had to have it. I tracked down the owner and put in an offer. A very good offer. I don’t think she’ll turn it down. It was left to an elderly woman who lives in Perth and she hardly ever visits. I can’t show you round the house. I haven’t got a key yet. I’ll hear for certain at the beginning of next week. I would like to see what you make of it. It’s to be a project. I was hoping you might advise on the design.’
So, she thought, we’ll have more excuses to meet. Still she wasn’t sure what she felt about that. Of course he hadn’t bought the house just to provide an opportunity to spend time with her, but still she felt she was being manipulated, that she, like the house, was one of his projects.
Now the food was spread out on the rug. There were squares of pâté and little bowls of salad, chicken and ham and home-made bread.
‘I do hope you’re not a vegetarian,’ he said. ‘I should have asked.’ He smiled and she could tell he knew already the food would be to her taste. He must have asked around – Bella or Martin. She supposed she should be flattered that he’d put so much preparation into the lunch, but found the careful planning disturbing. And he had made the assumption that she would accept the invitation to eat with him, since the food must have been ordered before the call was made. But she drank more wine and turned her face to the sun. She wasn’t in the mood to pick a fight.
‘What a terrible business that murder was,’ he said. ‘Do the police know yet who he was?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I haven’t heard the news today.’
‘But wouldn’t you hear before the rest of us?’ He reached across her to fill her glass again. ‘I understand that you’re a close friend of the inspector.’
She sipped the wine. She wished she wasn’t lying down. It was hard to challenge him, spread out at his feet. She pushed herself upright, sat cross-legged so she was facing him.
‘Who told you that?’
‘Hey.’ He held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘I asked Bella if you were seeing anyone. She mentioned the cop. That was all.’
‘It didn’t stop you asking me out to lunch.’
‘It’s lunch. I wanted someone to share this place with me. You didn’t have to accept.’
She felt suddenly that she was being ridiculous. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I should never drink at lunchtime. It’s always a mistake. This is all lovely.’
‘Is it true then? You and Perez . . .’
He was looking at her, squinting into the sunlight.
‘I don’t think,’ she said sharply, ‘that’s it’s any of your business.’
‘Does that mean I still have a chance then? Of winning a place in your affections?’
She looked at him. She couldn’t make him out. Was he teasing her? Was this innocent flirting? Or something more sinister?
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘My affections are definitely taken.’
‘What a terrible pity. You need some fun in your life and Inspector Perez doesn’t seem a lot of fun. I’d help you to play.’
She didn’t answer that. He piled mackerel pâté on to an oatcake and handed it to her.
‘Does Perez ever talk to you about his work?’
‘There’s not usually very much to talk about,’ she said. ‘Nothing interesting.’
‘But this is murder. We’re all interested in that.’
‘I don’t think I am. I want the murderer caught, of course. But I didn’t know the victim and I’m not involved in the case to any extent. It’s Jimmy’s job and nothing to do with me.’ She wondered now if he’d just brought her here because he was curious about the investigation.
‘I’m fascinated. I’d have thought you would be too. You used to be a journalist! And art’s about the experience of extremes, don’t you think?’
‘I’m too chilled to think anything,’ she said, smiling, trying to lighten the mood.
He seemed to realize that it would do no good to push it. ‘Somewhere in here there’s a very good chocolate cake.’ And he went on to entertain her with stories of publishers’ parties and the sexual activities of famous novelists, so she almost forgot that there’d been any awkwardness between them.
He was the one to say they should make a start back or she’d be late to pick up Cassie. She was surprised at how quickly the time had passed. She stood up and brushed the crumbs and sand from her clothes and followed him up the steps to the house.
‘You will take it on, won’t you?’ he said. ‘The house, I mean.’
‘I’ve never done interior design,’ she said.
‘That doesn’t matter. You have an artist’s eye. I know you’ll make a good job of it.’
She stood looking at the house, imagining how she would do it, saw it completed, the windows open to the sound of the waves and the seabirds, full of people for a house-warming party. Another glimpse of her old life. He couldn’t have thought of anything better to tempt her.
She laughed and refused to give him a real answer. ‘When it’s yours we’ll talk about it again.’
Chapter Twenty-five
Perez had thought he might go back to Biddista when he left the care centre, call in to the Manse and see if he could find Roddy on his own. He felt he understood the young man a bit better now, still believed Roddy might have information that could help with the inquiry. But the news that Sandy had tracked down the victim’s lift made that impossible. How could he justify any delay to Taylor?
He found Stuart Leask at work behind the check-in desk in the ferry terminal at Holmsgarth. He was young and gap-toothed with untamed red hair. The terminal was quiet and echoing. It would be three hours before people would be allowed on to the boat.
‘Do you mind chatting here?’ Stuart said. ‘Only I’m on my own till Chrissie gets back from lunch.’
Perez leaned against the desk. ‘Sandy Wilson said you gave a chap a lift to Biddista the night of the Herring House party. Can you tell me what happened there?’
‘I was just coming off duty and this guy came into the terminal. I mean the Hrossey had long gone and I was about to leave, but I asked if I could help. He wanted to know about car hire. I said he’d left it a bit late, there’d be no one in the office until eight the next morning.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘Skinny. Pleasant enough. English. He was wearing black trousers and a black jacket. A bit crumpled, but as if it was supposed to look like that. And bald, but as if that was intentional too.’
‘And did he seem OK in himself? I mean, not distressed or confused.’
‘Not at all. As if it was all a bit of a joke, having missed his lift to Biddista.’
‘He said he’d arranged for someone else to take him?’
‘Aye, he’d booked a taxi but the guy hadn’t turned up.’
‘I still don’t see how you ended up taking him.’
Stuart looked embarrassed. ‘I offered. I know, it was just stupid. Marie, my lass, says I’m just a sucker and people are always taking advantage. But he was a nice guy and I wasn’t doing anything else that night and he paid me what the taxi would have charged.’
‘Did you go straight from here?’
‘Aye, but we had to go and pick up his bag first.’