‘Then I doubt you’ll find a replacement.’
‘I don’t intend to.’
Peter bent to unlock the car and they got in.
‘Nick isn’t possessive, not in the usual way,’ he continued. ‘He’d allow you freedom, but he’d want to know how you used it. Does that make sense?’
‘Peter?’ Rose looked at him steadily. ‘Could he have killed Jenny?’
‘That idea has crossed my mind. However, the police haven’t arrested him.’
‘They suspect me, too.’
‘So I had heard.’
‘Do you think it’s true?’
‘My judgement is not always infallible, Rose, but if you killed Jenny Manders then I’m the Queen Mother.’
‘Thank you,’ she said with such warmth that she felt tears of relief behind her eyelids.
‘Now we’d better make tracks. Do up your seat belt.’
‘What do you mean about Nick? Apart from his being a little possessive?’
‘He can be moody. He likes his own way. God, we’re a selfish lot when you think about it. He doesn’t believe women are equal and, apart from Jenny who was far stronger than most people gave her credit for, he’ll bleed you dry emotionally if you let him.’
‘Do you believe women are equal?’ Rose was
fascinated to learn that she was more interested in Peter Dawson’s personality at that moment than Nick’s.
‘There’s nothing to believe. All men are equal, and I use that term figuratively. It’s not something I’ve come to a decision about, I’ve always known it. You only have to look around you. In some situations it’s the female who keeps things going and in others the male. My own parents were a perfect example of the former.’
Rose would have liked to ask in what way but they had reached Newlyn and Peter was taking the sharp bend on the bridge and she did not wish to distract him. He dropped her at the bottom of her drive and made no attempt to get her to invite him in.
‘Take care, Rose,’ he said through the open window of the car.
‘I will.’
I need something to eat, she decided, and began to arrange the ingredients for something quick and easy. Pasta with a bacon, tomato and garlic sauce. The onions were sweating and their mouthwatering smell made Rose aware just how hungry she was. As she slid them around the pan she thought of Nick. His moodiness had not gone unobserved. How much more pronounced would
it have become if she had got to know him better? He had a temper, too, although he kept it hidden.
Lying in bed she listened to the wind and the familiar sounds of the house settling down: the creak of a stair, the ticking of the heating system as it cooled and the hum of the washing-machine as it reached the end of its cycle.
She had spoken to Maddy, who had been able to provide some of the information Rose wanted. It was certainly food for thought. But for now there was the party to think of and the less metaphorical sort of food to consider.
‘Oh, to hell with it.’ Inspector Jack Pearce scowled at the wall. Missing Rose was one thing, his personal decision not to contact her was another. There was nothing in the rule book to prevent him speaking to her, only his own sense of what was right. What he wanted, what he had hoped for was that Rose, in her distress, would contact him, use his shoulder to lean on. He had forgotten how perversely stubborn she could be.
Each of Jenny’s friends had had the opportunity and possibly the motive to kill her but, as motives went, they were not strong. He was ashamed to admit that if Rose were not involved he would have taken it in his stride. It was, after all, what
he was trained to do. If only there were some easy solution. Mostly there was, he thought, it was knowing where to look for it which was the hard part.
The forensic team was continuing its assiduous work and would not be hurried. Jack knew better than to pester them, it often provoked a slower response.
Against his better judgement he decided he would speak to Rose after all. Apart from an edge to the wind, it was a lovely day. He telephoned first because Rose might be taking advantage of it. He wanted to hear her theory – that she would have one he was in no doubt – but he had to be content to leave a message on her answering machine.
Towards the end of the day another piece of evidence was to hand. The Met had confirmed that the woman they had been asked to interview had not been seen for several days but they were continuing in their efforts to find her. Rather than disappointment, Jack felt only relief. This proved that he was on the right lines.
Feeling the need for a quiet evening in, Jack was about to leave for home when Rose returned his call. His spirits lifted until she spoke.
‘I got your message. Is this business or pleasure?’
‘A bit of both. Are you doing anything this evening?’
‘Yes. Laura’s coming over to help with the food.’
‘The food? Oh, your party. Never mind, it wasn’t important.’
‘Will you be coming, Jack?’
‘Is that a devious way of asking if an arrest is imminent?’ Her light laugh cheered him; her initial words had sounded hostile.
‘Well, is it?’
‘No. But hopefully it won’t be long.’ Jack could almost feel her curiosity oozing down the line and pictured the furrow which dissected her forehead when she frowned with frustration.
‘I wonder if you’re thinking along the same lines as me?’
‘Rose …?’
‘Sorry, Jack. Must go. Laura’s here.’ Only when she put down the phone did she remember the book Nick had so recently given to Jennifer Manders. Did Jack know that the relationship had continued long after everyone thought it was over? If she told him, Nick would think that she had been acting like a woman scorned because she had been jealous. She decided to think about it. Nick may have volunteered the information
already and Jack would start doubting her loyalty to her friends. Rose wondered why that should matter any more.
‘Damn the woman.’ Jack was listening to the dialling tone. He slammed down the phone with a further curse, wondering what Rose was up to.
Peter Dawson was sprawled on his sofa quite unconcerned that two men were searching his cottage and packing a few of his clothes into plastic bags. He reached out and poured himself a malt whisky although it was only ten thirty in the morning. He was quite unconcerned about that too.
‘Do you always drink so early?’ one of the men asked.
‘If I choose to.’ He smiled with a lift of an eyebrow as he read their minds.
Had Rose reported his having been at the mine or had they learnt of Jenny’s visits? It did not take long to establish it was the latter.
‘Why didn’t you come forward at the beginning?’ one of the men asked. ‘We know Miss Manders used to come here.’
‘Your request was for information concerning her whereabouts from after the time she left Stella Jackson’s gallery. I hadn’t seen her for
several weeks therefore I’d have been wasting your time.’ He had no objection to them poking around, there was nothing for them to find, but he was fed up with their company and he needed a chance to think. It would have been nice to stride out across the cliffs and gaze at the sea, to smell the salt and the heady scent of grass as he crushed it beneath his feet. Instead he had to go to Camborne to make a statement. Peter couldn’t understand why, with two of them present, he was unable to do so in the comfort of his own home.
One of the men stared suspiciously at Peter’s cassette player.
‘You won’t find any traces of soil or anything. I wiped it clean when I got back from the mine.’
‘What?’ Both men spoke in unison.
Peter laughed mirthlessly. ‘Just my little attempt at humour. Please, carry on.’ He waved his hand to indicate the entire contents of the room. ‘I’d be grateful if you’d leave the settee.’
He felt quite tired once they had left. Fingerprints had been taken, which he had explained was also a waste of time. They had come out with their trite phrase of ‘for the purposes of elimination’ but all the same he knew that there would probably be some of
Jenny’s around the place. He looked after himself and-kept the cottage clean but not to such an extent that he went around wiping paintwork. He had already admitted that Jenny had been an occasional visitor but they had gone ahead with, their dust anyway. He threw the receipt for the belongings they had taken on to the table.
Later that day, having abstained from drinking more whisky and substituted it with black coffee, he drove over to Camborne, arriving punctually for his appointment. The interview seemed interminably long. First there was the rigmarole of ensuring he understood what was going on then the tediousness of the questions themselves.
‘How well do you know Mrs Trevelyan?’ he was asked, towards the end.
Because he realised that Rose was likely to be questioned he saw no reason not to tell them that he had encountered her at the mine. Peter said he had only followed her because he was worried about her safety. Two pairs of eyebrows were raised sceptically.
‘In what way were you worried, Mr Dawson? You’ve just said you hardly know her.’
‘I don’t know,’ he replied truthfully. ‘I just had a feeling that she oughtn’t to be out there on her own.’
‘An odd thing to think without a reason?’
‘I didn’t think, I said it was just a feeling.’
‘Are you having a relationship with Mrs Trevelyan?’
‘Good heavens, no.’ The question shook him. It was an honest answer but they seemed not to believe him.
‘But Nicholas Pascoe is.’ This came out as a statement.
‘No, I don’t think so. As far as I’m aware they’re friends, no more than that. I think you should ask the lady herself if you really need to know.’
‘Are you seeing anyone at the moment?’
‘Seeing anyone?’ His tone was mocking.
‘A girlfriend? Mistress, whatever?’
‘No. Not at the moment.’
‘Not since Jennifer Manders.’
Peter’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. ‘She was not a girlfriend. It was a very casual thing.’
‘Casual?’
‘Look, I told you earlier, she came to the house on a few occasions. We enjoyed each other sexually, if that’s what you’re after, but it was no more than that. We had nothing else in common other than a desire for sex without emotional ties.’
‘That may have been your wish, Mr Dawson, but most women think differently.’
‘Do they? Perhaps in your experience, not in mine. I’m sure you’ll find I was not alone in having a quick tumble with her.’
‘Meaning what?’
‘I suggest you ask around. My word is only hearsay and that, I believe, is not permissible evidence. Now, your men have ransacked my home, taken away certain of my possessions, and I’ve spent enough of the afternoon here. I would like to leave now.’
‘You are perfectly free to do so, sir. Just one more question? If you’re so keen to be emotionally free of women, maybe Miss Manders became more demanding than you cared for. Did you kill her?’
Peter sighed. ‘No. I did not kill Jennifer Manders.’
‘Thank you. Someone’ll show you out.’
When he left he felt restless. A walk on the cliffs was out of the question now. It would be dark before he reached home and, as there was no moon, it would be foolhardy to risk the narrow path so close to the edge. Perhaps he would get blind drunk and wash the awfulness of the day from his system. On the other hand he could
ring Rose Trevelyan to compare notes. This he did from a public telephone box before deciding whether it was worth going home. She answered on the second ring as if she had been waiting for a call. But not from him.
‘Peter? Where are you?’ Rose could hear background noises which she guessed were traffic.
‘In a call box. I need some TLC. I have been grilled by the police. They tied me to a chair and shone a bright light in my eyes and whipped me with wet towels until I begged for mercy and confessed.’ He was gratified to hear her laughing. ‘So is there any chance of us meeting for a drink or dinner?’ He was surprised to find himself holding his breath while she made up her mind.
‘Not tonight, I’m getting ready for the 31st.’ She hesitated briefly then added, ‘But I’m free tomorrow.’
‘Fine. What time shall I pick you up?’
‘Oh, seven thirty?’
Turning the car around he realised how much he was looking forward to it. There was nothing run-of-the-mill about Mrs Trevelyan, he thought as he headed for home.
Rose’s head was spinning. Another man wants to take me out? she thought, returning to the kitchen. Laura’s suggestive smirk didn’t help. ‘You’ve got flour in your hair,’ Rose told her acidly.
‘Perhaps you’d better take a look in the mirror yourself, girl.’
They had been enjoying themselves, wrist deep in pastry dough as they prepared the cases for flans. Wine glasses stood near to hand, their bases dusted with flour, their stems smeared with greasy fingerprints. At least with Laura Rose could avoid the topic of Jenny Manders.
‘For a woman who, not many days since, was crying into her beer over the inadequacies of men and who vowed to have nothing more to do with them, you’re doing a fine impression of exactly the opposite. You’re on the phone to Jack when I get here and less than an hour later someone called Peter rings up. That’s two, without Nick.’
‘Oh, honestly, Laura!’ Rose made as if to slap her arm and knocked over the bag of flour. A small cloud of it settled on them both and they collapsed laughing.
‘Rose?’ Laura, who was facing the window, frowned over her shoulder.
Rose turned around. ‘What is it?’
‘God, I’m getting as bad as you. For a second I thought I saw someone out there. It was probably my own reflection.’
Rose went to the door and opened it. The sloping garden and drive were deserted. There was nothing but the bone-like rattle of the leafless trees as the wind lifted the boughs. Out in the bay the lights of three trawlers winked as they followed each other in procession. The chug, chug of their engines carried clearly across the expanse of water. ‘There’s no one there,’ Rose said, closing the door again. She made them both supper while they waited for the flan bases to bake.
Spearing omelette on to her fork, Laura watched Rose surreptitiously. ‘Okay, out with it, what’s bothering you? Did you really think there was someone out there?’
‘I don’t know. I went over to St Ives today. They all seem to have hang-ups of some description.’
‘By that you mean your arty friends?’
‘Yes. But I can’t believe one of them’s a murderer.’
‘Can’t, or won’t?’
‘You’re right. I won’t. But I have been thinking about it and they all seem to have had something to gain by killing Jenny, even if it doesn’t amount
to much. But for the life of me I can’t understand why there’s so much mystery attached to the other body. I mean, surely someone knows who it is? I was convinced it was Renata Manders but it seems I was wrong.’
‘It could be absolutely anyone. Not everyone’s lucky enough to have people who’ll miss them.’
‘I know.’
‘Rose, at the risk of sounding like Barry Rowe, leave it to Jack. I know there’s something going through your pretty little head. If there is, tell him. Oh, God.’ Laura jumped up, suddenly remembering the pastry which they could now smell.
Her hands encased in oven gloves, Rose lifted several fluted-sided dishes from the oven. She had borrowed some from Laura. ‘Thank goodness you remembered. That was just in time.’
‘On the other hand,’ Laura continued, ignoring the results of their work, ‘if you think you know something you really ought to tell Jack.’
‘I know.’ But Rose suspected Jack was ahead of her and that all he wanted was some conclusive evidence.
‘But you want to solve it all yourself. I can tell by that grin that you’re dying to show him what a clever girl you are.’
‘Yes. Now are you going to help with the fillings or are you rushing off home now that I’ve fed and watered you?’
‘That depends.’
‘On what?’ Rose followed the direction of Laura’s gaze. ‘I never was lucky in my choice of friends,’ she said, reaching for the corkscrew.
After Laura had left Rose cleared up the kitchen and surveyed the food laid out on the worktops to cool. There was probably too much of it but some could be left in the freezer until the last minute.
Physically tired from her achievements in the kitchen but still on a high mentally from an idea that had crept into her mind, she was not quite ready for bed. She poured the last glass of wine, went through to the sitting-room and settled into the chair which faced the one where David had always sat and where she often pictured him.
Over the telephone she had asked Maddy if she knew of any of Renata’s friends. Maddy had not been in the area very long but she seemed to soak up information like a sponge. And she had been close to Jenny who talked a lot.
‘Jenny told me the name of one. She had a vague memory of her from when she was little but mainly because she was forbidden to go near her
by her father. Alec said she was a bad influence on Renata. Anyway, Jenny always thought there had been something going on between her father and this woman.’