The Seven Stars (7 page)

But not now. Finishing her tea
, she collected an armful of books and went downstairs, opting for the privacy of the television lounge rather than the open hallway. As Stella had said, a well made-up fire burned in the grate, lighting the gloomy room. The glass door to the garden room was closed.

Helen seated herself in an easy chair by the fire and switched on the standard lamp that stood beside it. Then
, opening the first of her books, she settled down to read.

*

DCI Webb leaned back and surveyed the canvas in front of him. He had spent most of the previous day sketching out in the hills, warmly wrapped against the January weather. Today, in considerably more comfort, he was attempting to develop the sketch into a watercolour, though not entirely to his satisfaction. Shades of green were notoriously difficult to reproduce, and he was debating whether to wash over them and try again when the doorbell rang.

He glanced at his watch as he went to answer it. Four o
’clock on a Sunday afternoon: Hannah, keen to regale him with details of last night’s party?

But when he opened the door it was to find DI Ledbetter outside.

‘Chris! Come in. What are you doing in this neck of the woods?’

‘
Hello, Dave. I thought you’d like to know we’ve found the hit-and-run car.’

‘
That’s great — where?’

‘
Your Duke Street multi-storey. It’s only been there since Friday, so they must have kept it hidden for ten days.’

‘
Well, things should start moving now. Is it too early for a celebratory beer?’

‘
I’d give my soul for a cuppa.’

‘
You’re on.’

Ledbetter leant against the counter while Webb filled the kettle.
‘It was stolen,’ he continued, ‘which is par for the course. Reported missing the day of the accident, from outside a house in SB.’

Webb put a couple of mugs on the table.
‘Is it damaged?’

‘
Nearside headlight gone for a burton. SOCO have been working on it all afternoon.’

‘
Fingerprints?’

‘
Plastered all over it; let’s hope some of them are on file.’

‘
I suppose we can be glad they didn’t sit on it any longer; it could have stayed in a lock-up pretty well indefinitely.’

‘
I reckon they wanted shot of it. Thought if they dumped it somewhere, it couldn’t be traced back to them — or him, if it was a solo job — or even her, come to that.’

‘
Since the car was stolen, my bet’s on a young lad,’ Webb commented. ‘And he must have known he’d hit her — he’d have seen her at the last minute if not before. A theory was put forward that he might have stopped, seen she was dead and panicked.’ Hannah’s idea.

‘
But she wasn’t obviously dead, was she? The young couple who found her phoned for an ambulance.’

‘
True.’ Webb carried the two mugs through to the living-room, Ledbetter at his heels. ‘Think there’s a chance it wasn’t an accident?’

‘
Always possible, but anything deliberate would be tricky in that fog. Like, how did the prospective killer know where she was, or which side of the road she’d be on? Personally, I can’t see anyone crawling along in that weather on the off chance of finding someone to run over.’

‘
Perhaps they’d had a row, she stormed off and he went after her?’

Ledbetter was unconvinced.
‘Anyway, it’s a start, and about bloody time.’ He picked up a mug and walked over to the easel, surveying the picture propped up on it. ‘This the latest masterpiece? You’re a clever devil, aren’t you? I couldn’t paint to save my life.’

‘
I’m glad my life’s not dependent on that,’ Webb retorted. ‘There’s still a lot of work to be done on it.’

They chatted for several minutes while they drank their tea
, then Ledbetter put down his mug. ‘I’d better get back for what remains of this day of rest. Good to see you, Dave; I’ll keep you informed of any developments.’

As Webb closed the door behind him
, he realised that he still did not know how Hannah’s evening with Charles Frobisher had gone. Which, he reflected morosely, might be the way she wanted it.

*

When Helen came down for dinner just before seven, it was to find a crowd of people gathered round the bar. In addition to her four hosts and Michael Saxton, there were two she hadn’t seen before, a small girl in her twenties with a tangle of blonde, highlighted curls, and a tall, loose-limbed man. He had dark, curly hair and deep-set grey eyes, which regarded her with open curiosity as she approached.

Gordon Cain was behind the bar
, and smiled as he caught sight of her. ‘Ah, Mrs Campbell — welcome back! Can I offer you a drink on the house? We have friends in for dinner this evening. Let me introduce Caroline Budd and Dominic Hardy.’

They nodded to her and she smiled in response
, then turned to Gordon. ‘That’s kind of you. I’d like a sherry, please.’

The blonde girl pushed her own glass across the bar top.
‘And fill mine up too, sweetie, while you’re at it.’

‘
I hear you’re taking a course at Melbray, Mrs Campbell?’ Kate Warren commented in her husky voice.

‘
Yes, that’s right. On antiques.’

Dominic Hardy raised an eyebrow.
‘Are they a hobby of yours?’

Resenting his
patronising manner, Helen answered levelly, ‘Rather more than that; I worked in a London auction house before I was married, and then at a local antique shop till the recession caught up with it. Now both my children have left home, I’m hoping to take it up again.’

‘
Good for you,’ he said lazily, looking her up and down. Again she felt herself bridle, but almost immediately he smiled, and any hint of superciliousness was lost in undoubted charm. He raised his glass to her, his eyes holding hers. ‘Here’s to success. May you and your antiques flourish!’

‘
Thank you,’ she stammered, and was grateful when someone made a comment and she was no longer the focus of attention.

‘
I didn’t expect to see you again,’ said a voice behind her, and she turned to find Michael Saxton.

‘
Nor I you,’ she replied. ‘I saw the course advertised when I was here last week, but I hadn’t seriously considered taking it.’ She glanced round. ‘Is Mr Pike not joining us?’

‘
No, he goes home to Blackpool at weekends.’

‘
A long way to commute, isn’t it? Why doesn’t he move down here?’

‘
Not worth it; he’s only on a short-term project, then he’ll be off north again.’

‘
And you don’t go home at weekends?’

‘
No home to go to,’ Saxton replied, and smiled at her embarrassment. ‘Oh, it’s not as bad as it sounds. I’ve bought a small watermill not far from here and am having it converted into a house. In the meantime, this is my base.’

‘
How long have you been here?’

‘
Three months now. I’ll miss the standard of cooking when I have to do for myself. Perhaps I should also take a course, on how to vary my diet of baked beans and fry-ups.’

‘
It sounds a bit limited.’

‘
It is. My daughter keeps plying me with Cooking-for-One type recipes, but frankly I’m not interested enough to bother.’

‘
Have you just the one daughter?’ Helen asked.

‘
Yes, and one son. And in case you’re wondering, my wife and I split up last year.’

‘
I’m sorry,’ she said awkwardly.

‘
Don’t be; we should have done it years ago.’

She was silent
, wondering uncomfortably if this was a glimpse of how Andrew might be, if and when they separated: lost, adrift, living out of tins. Probably so, she thought; the last time she was away, he’d existed on toast and cornflakes.

She
realised Michael Saxton had said something, and looked up hastily. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘
I said, what about you? What family have you?’

‘
Also a son and daughter. Penelope’s at Broadshire University.’

‘
Hence your appearance last week?’

She nodded
, but before she could elaborate the call came to go through for dinner.

This time
, the long table was laid with crystal and silver, and tall green candles burned in the holders. Helen found herself placed between Gordon Cain, at the foot of the table, and Michael Saxton. Conversation was animated and general, the food excellent and the wine plentiful. More than once, she caught Dominic Hardy’s eyes on her across the table and felt a flicker of gratified amusement.

Suddenly he leant towards her.
‘How long are you here for? Sorry, I don’t know your name?’

‘
Mrs Campbell,’ Stella said automatically.

‘
My dear girl, I’m not going to call her “Mrs Campbell” all evening!’

‘
It’s Helen,’ she supplied quickly. ‘Do please use it, all of you.’ She’d been conscious, last time, of being the outsider, with the others on first-name terms.

‘
Fine — Helen, then. How long are you staying?’

‘
Till a week on Saturday — it’s a two-week course.’

‘
By which time you’ll know all there is to know about antiques?’

She said steadily
, ‘Obviously it’ll be superficial, but at least it should get me back into the swim.’ She met his eye squarely. ‘What do you do, Dominic?’

He sipped his wine
, surveying her over the rim of the glass. ‘As the phrase has it, I’m something in the City.’

‘
You don’t live round here, then?’

‘
God, no! I’d die of boredom!’

‘
Dominic likes to be in the thick of things,’ Kate said drily. ‘He lives in one of those luxury apartments near St Katharine’s Dock. The reason we’re graced with his presence is because he drives Caro up to see her father, who’s not well.’

‘
And while I’m here, I take the chance of dropping in to keep these dear folk
au
fait
with what’s going on in the wide world.’

‘
We were at school together,’ Nicholas said, by way of explanation, ‘though Dom was a contemporary of my younger brother.’

‘
How is Ben?’ Caroline asked. ‘We haven’t seen him for ages.’

Helen sat back
, letting the conversation wash over her. She felt tired and pleasantly relaxed, anticipating with pleasure both the antiques course which lay ahead and evenings such as this, spent over good food in interesting company. How lucky she’d stumbled on this place.

Thinking back to her last visit
, she said into a sudden lull, ‘Did you ever hear any more about the girl who was knocked down?’

The silence that greeted her question made her look up
, in time to catch hastily averted eyes.

‘
God, yes,’ Gordon said under his breath. ‘That was the night you were here, wasn’t it?’

‘
Well?’ Helen pressed, idle curiosity submerged in a sudden need to know.
‘Did
you hear anything?’

‘
We did indeed,’ Nicholas Warren said soberly. ‘She turned out to be a girl who worked here, on her way home.’

Helen stared at him aghast.
‘Not Molly?’ she exclaimed involuntarily.

Everyone looked at her in surprise.
‘How did you know her name?’ Gordon demanded.

In her mind
’s eye, Helen saw again the running girl and the large, pursuing figure of the man who called after her. In the circumstances it seemed wiser not to explain, and she made herself say lightly, ‘One of you mentioned her last time. But how awful. Is she getting on all right?’

Stella said on a high note
, ‘No, she isn’t. She was dead by the time the ambulance arrived.’

Helen went cold. So when she
’d seen Molly, she thought sickly, the girl had been running to her death. She gave an instinctive shudder, then realised they were still watching her.

‘
How — how dreadful for you,’ she stammered. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘
Yes, it was the hell of a shock,’ said Gordon after a pause. ‘The devil of it was that she was normally here in the mornings, but she had a dental appointment so she’d switched to the afternoon.’

There was a brief silence
, broken by Kate’s calm voice. ‘Well, if everyone’s finished, shall we leave the table?’

With an undercurrent of relief
, chairs were pushed back and everyone got to their feet. Michael said something to Gordon, and through the open doorway Helen saw them walk across the hall to the bar. By the time she herself reached the hall, the others had disappeared and Michael stood waiting for her, holding two glasses of brandy.