Under a Silent Moon: A Novel (12 page)

“No, no, that’s fine. As long as
you’re
happy?” This to Flora, who nodded.

“I’m going to take a few notes, if you don’t mind,” Andy said, pulling his notebook out. “Right. How about you tell me a bit about Polly. What was she like?”

Flora hesitated, biting back the tears that were ready to fall at the sound of that name. She cleared her throat. “She—she was full of life. She was clever, witty, always smiling. Always happy.”

Flora fell silent, remembering.

“Did you know her too?” Andy asked Taryn, as though to give Flora a moment to collect her thoughts.

“I met her a couple of times. As Flora said, she was very bubbly and fun to be with.”

“Was she seeing anyone, that you know of?”

Both girls looked at each other.

“She saw lots of people,” Flora said slowly. “Nobody serious. Not that I knew of, anyway.”

“Anyone recently? Or maybe she
spoke
of someone in particular?”

Taryn stepped in. “She didn’t talk about who she was seeing, ever. She was always discreet. But you can guarantee there was at least one person. More likely two or three.”

Andy, furiously scribbling, looked up. “You mean she slept around?”

Flora made a little sound, like a sigh, but cross. “No, she didn’t sleep around. She had friends and she usually ended up having sex with them, that’s all. She was always honest about it. But she had lots of partners. It’s not a crime, is it?”

“Not at all. But maybe someone she was seeing didn’t like it.”

He took a swig of his coffee, grimaced, added two sachets of sugar, and stirred; all the while they watched him intently, not speaking.

“Flora, do you know the Fletcher-Normans? They live at the converted barn across the way.”

“I know where they live,” Flora snapped back. Taryn let out a nervous cough. This was getting into awkward territory. “Yes, I know them.”

Before Andy could ask his next question, Tabby was standing. “Excuse me,” she said. “I’m going to the ladies’.”

Flora watched her go, understanding completely why she wanted to leave the table, and yet desperate for her to stay. “Sorry, were you going to ask me . . . ?”

“Yes. I wondered whether the Fletcher-Normans also knew Polly?”

“Everyone knew Polly. It’s a small village, Inspector. And one with a very active social life. Whenever Mum had one of her dinner parties, she included Polly. Polly played some golf at the golf club, sometimes drank in the golf club bar with my father and his cronies. Polly used to use the gym at the country club and half the village is in there most days.”

“And the Fletcher-Normans?”

Flora’s brow furrowed. “I think Brian Fletcher-Norman came for riding lessons. I was living in Briarstone by then and not around much. But I remember Polly saying that he was fawning all over her.”

“Did she mind?”

Flora snorted. “Polly
never
minded that sort of thing. She thrived on attention.”

“Do you think she had an affair with him?”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Probably.”

“And Mrs. Fletcher-Norman?”

“I don’t think she was Polly’s type.”

The policeman looked startled. “I meant, did she know Polly too? Can you remember seeing them together at any stage?”

Flora managed a smile. “I’m sorry, I knew what you meant. It was a little joke. I don’t remember Barbara and Polly specifically. But Barbara was always at Mum’s parties. They both were. Barbara used to get a bit loud when she’d had a few drinks, and we always tried to make sure she didn’t have too many. I believe Brian used to get her to drive whenever they went anywhere that was driving distance, so I think coming to the farm was Barbara’s chance to get let off the leash, as it were.”

He smiled, and then he put in the blinder. “And you, Flora?”

“Me?”

“You and Polly were friends?”

Flora blushed, stared at him. Tears were in her eyes before she could help them. Damn the man. “Bit more than that,” she said, in a very small voice. Two fat tears fell into her lap; she rubbed at her eyes furiously.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice as gentle as he could get it. He put a hand to her knee. She didn’t brush it off. “I’m really sorry. This must be very difficult for you.”

“Yes,” she said again.

“So you were in a relationship?”

“Yes. I suppose you could call it that.”

“Had you been together long?”

“We weren’t really ‘together’ as such. She was with other people. It’s—it’s the way she was. It was very difficult to deal with. But I was in love with her. I hadn’t seen her for a while. Since late August. I went back to my flat in Briarstone and I was busy with work. I only saw her once or twice since then. So it was all over, really.”

“Right.”

Although Flora strained to look, she could not decipher what he’d written.

“Was that why you moved out of the farm?”

Flora swallowed. “Partly. I had some arguments with my dad. He wanted me to get involved in the farm more. Help out with the business. I—I didn’t want to do that.”

“What about Polly? What did she think?”

That brought a smile to Flora’s lips. “She thought I should tell him to shove the farm up his arse. She thought everyone should follow their dreams. Not let anyone tie them down.”

“But you didn’t see her, after you moved out?”

“She was—she was involved with other people. I just couldn’t deal with that anymore. So I let things come to an end. There wasn’t any argument, nothing like that.”

“Did you speak to her on the phone?”

“Sometimes. We kept in touch. Like friends, you know. But that was all.”

“So . . .” he said, flipping back through his notebook, “you moved into the flat in Waterside Gardens?”

“I’ve actually had the flat there for years. I stayed at the farm a lot when I was with Polly, but after we . . . after it ended, I avoided coming to the farm and stayed in Briarstone instead.”

“And you have a studio?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never met an artist,” he said.

I’m not surprised
, Flora thought. He didn’t look like he had much appreciation for the aesthetic.

“You said Polly was involved with other people, when you moved out. Can you tell me who?”

“I didn’t want to know.”

“But you must have had an idea, Flora.”

He waited again. Let him wait. He would hear about Polly from everyone else in the village, let them gossip about Polly—she wasn’t going to.

They were still staring each other down when Taryn came back. She cast a glance at Flora and saw the expression on her face.

“I told him about me and Polly,” she said.

15:14

They’d driven for almost three miles before he spoke.

“Are you okay?”

She was watching the road with a fixed expression, eyes forward. The weather was closing in and it was almost dark. Rain spattered on the windscreen and reflected on her face as they waited at traffic lights.

“Louisa?”

“Hmm? Sorry, I was miles away.” She turned to look at him and for a moment could not look away.

“I asked if you’re okay. You seem a little distracted?”

She managed a smile that didn’t quite go up to her eyes. “It was something somebody said earlier, I can’t even remember what. But it’s making me think about other things.”

There was a long pause as the traffic lights changed to green. The queue of traffic, however, did not move. They were waiting to join the long ranks of the commuters on their way home.

“I’m sorry,” she said at last, “this was probably a bad idea. Bad timing, anyway.”

“I can think of worse places to be.”

She laughed. “Are you sure?”

“So,” he said resignedly, “if we’re going to be stuck in traffic for an hour, you can tell me all about what’s really bothering you.”

Another pause while she decided whether she really wanted to go there or not. After all, she had nobody else to talk to. Jason was as good a bet as any.

“Parental responsibility.”

“Ah.”

“Nobody is ever good enough for their parents, I find. Do you get on with yours?”

“Sure. I talk to them all the time. It’s difficult being so far away sometimes.”

“Are they in . . .” she thought for a moment and then risked it: “Canada?”

He smiled at her. “Yeah. You know, you wouldn’t believe the number of people who assume I’m American.”

“Really? But the accent’s completely different,” she said, glad that she’d made the right guess.

“I think so. But most Brits seem to get them easily confused.”

“How come you’re here?”

He hesitated, looking out of the window. “Kind of a long story,” he said. “I’ve been here six years already.”

He hadn’t actually answered the question but she let it go. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“One brother, older. He lives over here too, works in IT. You?”

“I have a sister and a brother. My sister is happily producing babies. My brother is bumming around Europe at the age of twenty-nine, having never held a job down longer than four months. And they are both utterly wonderful in the eyes of my parents, whereas I am always sadly lacking. I’ve never been able to work it out.”

“Maybe their expectations of you are higher?”

“You’re probably right, but how is that fair? No matter what I do, they always make me feel like a failure.”

“At least it keeps you striving.”

She laughed. “Are you trying to make me feel better, Jason? Because it’s not working.”

“You’re probably too tough on yourself. I’ve no doubt they must be really proud of you and what you’ve achieved. But you’re always pushing yourself to achieve more, and I’m sure that drive is in you, rather than in them.”

He had a point, of course. “I think my mother will be happy when I’m married with two-point-four children, and my father will be happy when I’ve done that
and
got to chief constable.”

“Save that for next year.”

She looked at him, smiling because already she felt better, and the eye contact between them went on until the traffic began to move and someone beeped behind her.

“So what about you? Don’t you feel under pressure to start having kids?” It was the sort of flirting that you could almost get away with when you got to your mid-thirties.

“I’ve fallen behind the field with that one,” he answered. “I guess I’ve been single a bit too long.”

She waited, knowing that if he really did want to participate in this particular conversation, more would come along.

The traffic ground to a halt again. The rain was coming down so fast now the wipers were having trouble keeping up. There was a tension in the air that had nothing do with the storm. Lou felt the warmth of the air, almost thought she could feel him breathing. She felt his eyes on her face again and turned to look.

“Can I ask you something personal?” Jason said then.

“Go on.” She turned her gaze back to the road ahead.

“You and Andy Hamilton—is there something going on?”

“Shit. That
is
personal.”

“Sorry.”

“Why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “Just curious.”

Lou sighed, wanting to be honest but also not wanting to rake over what she still thought of as something sordid. “Yes, there was something going on, but there definitely isn’t anymore. And that’s something I’d like to keep quiet, if possible. How’s that?”

“So you’re not seeing him anymore?”

“No. He neglected to tell me he was married, I found out by accident, and that was that.”

Jason nodded slowly. “Figures.”

For a moment she couldn’t speak.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t going to mention it. And you know I won’t say anything, right? This is between you and me.”

“I’m sorry that you’re seeing me in a really unprofessional light here. I did everything I could to do the right thing . . .”

“I can see that,” he said. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”

“You didn’t,” she lied. She thought she had detected a note of amusement in his voice.

“Good. Is this the place?”

Hardly realizing it, Lou had driven all the way to Morden and they were pulling up on the driveway of Yonder Cottage. There wasn’t a lot of room; two cars and a CSI van were already squeezed onto the gravel. Polly’s car had gone for forensic examination.

They got out of the car. The rain had stopped, and the sun was trying to force its way through the breaking clouds.

“This is Yonder Cottage,” Lou said, although he could have seen that for himself by the slate sign hanging on the wall. “There are two entrances to the farm—you can go further up this driveway, which goes through a farmyard with barns and outbuildings, then curves round to the left, and eventually you get to the farmhouse itself. There’s another drive about a hundred yards further down the road which also goes to the farmhouse.”

High heels sinking into the gravel, picking her way between the puddles, Lou led the way up the road to a five-bar gate on the opposite side. This time a handsome oak sign with gold lettering proclaimed it to be Hayselden Barn. From the road the driveway stretched between manicured lawn and flower beds up to a vast horse chestnut tree, and beyond it a black-timbered former barn.

“There you go,” she said. “Not far, is it?”

He shaded his eyes against the sunshine. Lou was only aware that she was gazing at him like a teenager when he turned his head toward her and smiled.

“They must be seriously loaded,” he said. “All of them. What does Fletcher-Norman do for a living?”

“Some sort of executive, shipping I think. Although he’s supposed to be semiretired.”

They walked back to Yonder Cottage. The road was quiet and Lou could hear birds singing. She unlocked the car but stood for a moment, looking from the cottage up the driveway toward the outbuildings. Somewhere a horse neighed. From the map, you’d imagine that there would be a view of the cottage from the upper floors of the farmhouse, but there were several big trees obscuring the line of sight.

“You want to go someplace else?” he asked.

She was lost in thought, hardly heard him. Then her phone rang and she pulled it out of her jacket pocket. She recognized the number on the display, stared at it for a moment. She wasn’t ready to talk to Hamilton. If it was important, he would leave her a voice mail.