‘Shorts? Coming visiting in shorts?’ Aunt Cassie demanded. ‘Goodness me! When I played tennis we used to go to the club properly dressed and change there. We wouldn’t have gone through the public streets wearing shorts. And what do you call that vest thing?’
Time to sidestep. Kate was wearing an admittedly skimpy top and shorts because it was a hot evening, that was all. It was a shame the self-tanning lotion had gone streaky in places, but her legs still looked good. ‘Come on, Aunt Cassie, you told me you used to wear daring dresses for tennis. You were going to look out your photos.’
‘Well, I haven’t had time. You’ve no idea what it’s like at this place. Come here, go there. Oh, you’ll tell me it’s all for my own good, but they’ve got this idea we should be out in the garden in this weather. And they gave us a barbecue last night.’
Kate laughed. ‘That’s wonderful, Aunt Cassie.’
‘It may be if you like meat that’s black on the outside and bloody in the middle. Actually, the sausages weren’t bad. Or the salmon.’
Salmon! Some barbecue. But Aunt Cassie was paying enough for this residential home: she was entitled to salmon, yes, and caviar too.
‘I should think this hot, dry weather’s good for your arthritis,’ Kate suggested.
‘I’ve known it worse,’ Cassie conceded. ‘So when are you going to show me this new garden of yours, then? You promised, but I expect you’ve forgotten all about it.’
Forgotten! Fat chance of forgetting. Cassie raised it each time she came.
‘I’ve got the car outside waiting for you,’ Kate said.
‘But it’s time for Coronation Street. You wouldn’t want me to miss that.’
Kate shook her head. ‘I’d forgotten about that. What about tomorrow night?’
‘They say they’ll have something special for us. Some kids from the Conservatoire are going to play in the grounds for us. A little concert. I can’t let them down, now, can I?’
‘We’ll try and make it this weekend, then.’ Kate smiled. ‘Now, shall I fix you a gin?’
‘If you like. Then you might as well push off. But you can see me down to the TV room before you go. It’s nice to have a bit of company while you’re watching,’ she added plaintively.
‘I’m sure it is. Now, shall I carry the drink for you?’
Cassie shook her head vehemently. ‘I’ll have that now. Or they’ll all want a glass, won’t they?’
Kate wasn’t sure which part of her anatomy Graham Harvey’s wife noticed first, as they came upon each other at the door leading to the car park. Flavia Harvey was rather more modestly dressed, in long skirt and loose blouse. Both women wore sunglasses and sun-hats, Kate’s a stylish Greek straw to the other’s cotton floppy, so there might conceivably have been a reason for Mrs Harvey’s apparent failure to recognise Kate. But Kate – there must be some of Aunt Cassie’s cussed DNA in her genes – decided to both recognise and greet the other woman. No. Kate was the other woman. Mrs Harvey was Graham’s lawful wedded wife.
Kate whisked off the dark glasses. ‘Hello!’ She smiled. ‘How are you? And how’s Mrs Nelmes?’
It was easier to ask after Mrs Harvey’s mother: at least Kate knew what to call her. She was loath to address anyone she knew by their title plus surname, but she was fairly sure that ‘Flavia’ would be objectionably intimate.
‘She finds the heat distressing.’ There was a hesitation. ‘And your great-aunt?’
‘Pretty crotchety.’
‘It’s a sad thing, growing old.’
Kate risked a caustic grin. ‘But it sure as hell beats dying young.’ Like Robin. And to her horror, tears came to her eyes. Damn! After all this time! She turned quickly away.
To her amazement, Mrs Harvey put out a hand, not quite touching her arm. ‘I heard. I’m sorry.’ She went quickly inside, leaving Kate no time to say anything.
Who was it told people to go and dig in their garden? Some French philosopher. Rousseau or Voltaire. Just at the moment, it didn’t matter which. The d-i-y store Kate passed on the way home still had pots of herbs, and, grabbing a selection and what she was sure was really a strawberry grower and some potting compost, she breezed up to the checkout as if the operator hadn’t been drumming her fingers and sighing ostentatiously for the last five minutes. That was what she’d do for the rest of the evening. Dig in her garden.
Something might grow. She dug and raked till she had a fine tilth: lettuce seeds here, radish – why not – here. Rocket? Well, it cost enough in sophisticated salad packs, so why not grow her own? Mindful that the local cats had queued on the fence, with, she would swear, feline lavatory rolls under their arms, while the garden was being planted, she watered the little plot and criss-crossed canes over it. As for the pot, at least the little tufts of basil, thyme, marjoram and coriander would bring some instant green and might cultivate – she winced at her own pun – her still elementary cooking skills.
‘Are you all right?’ Graham asked as soon as he’d fastened his seat-belt. ‘My wife said you looked upset last night.’
She nodded: if she concentrated long enough on finding a gap in the traffic steaming past, eventually she would find some acceptable explanation. Mentioning Robin’s name might not be the most tactful thing. But then, Mrs Harvey might have put her upset in context.
‘Cassie seems to be going downhill,’ she said at last, pulling in between a bus and a people carrier. ‘She’d have been better off in her own home, I’m sure.’
‘It was her choice. And – with due respect – your house wouldn’t be ideal for someone with mobility problems. You both know you couldn’t have looked after her, not with your job. She didn’t like having that nice black family next door, so how she’d have coped with those new Asians the other side I don’t know.’
‘No, not one for cosmopolitanism, Cassie.’
‘And she always looks remarkably well to me,’ he concluded positively. Graham made a point of visiting not just his mother-in-law but Cassie as well. Usually at a time when he knew Kate wouldn’t be there.
‘Even so …’
‘Mrs Nelmes plays up something shocking,’ he added. ‘To hear her carry on, she’s at death’s door, and totally neglected. And every time we raise our concerns, the staff laugh at us. They took her and some more old biddies out for a run in the country the other day. They even had a drink at a pub! Mother-in-law, a life-long tee-totaller, nipping sherry! But my wife and I have never heard about it, not from her. You ask Cassie what she’s been up to.’
‘She did moan about having to go to a barbecue. And she’s compelled to listen to an alfresco concert. Kate grinned.
‘There you are,’ Graham said. ‘If I were you, I’d take a left here. It’s a longer way round but the traffic jam at the far end is usually marginally shorter.’
Would anyone have judged from their conversation that they were lovers? What if instead of turning left, she turned right, back to Kings Heath and her bedroom? The way he was sitting, her hand brushed his knee every time she changed gear. What if the brush became a stroke?
The answer was easy enough. He wouldn’t cope with either. Not in broad daylight, not at eight-fifteen in the morning. The relationship had to be on his terms. Maybe she could encourage him to change those terms, but it would all have to be done terribly slowly. And in the full knowledge that however hard she tried, they might never change at all.
One kiss. That was all they had. And she’d had to contrive that, leaving her notebook under a file on his desk and, after dutifully leaving his room with the others, having to dash back for it. She’d been careful to sit where they couldn’t have eye contact without meaning to, had made a point of arguing her corner when it was clear he disagreed. And had drifted out talking about tennis to DI Sue Rowley, the best boss she’d ever had, with no exception. She’d even popped into the squad office to pick up any stray post and pass the time of day with the folk in there. It was then, only then, that she dared smack a hand to her forehead and ‘remember’ the notebook.
At least now she knew he’d wanted her as much as she’d wanted him. Even if that knowledge would have to keep her going all weekend.
Derek smiled as he picked up his raincoat. ‘You’ve been a real mate, Kate. Shifting that lot. I never thought you’d do it, not without help.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t take my word for it. I mean, whole cases could stand or fall and—’
‘OK. I’ll run an eye over everything before I discuss it with the gaffer.’
‘Discuss what with the gaffer?’ Lizzie demanded, materialising apparently at will, like a smile-free Cheshire cat.
‘These cases,’ Derek said, putting down his raincoat.
Lizzie sniffed. ‘I thought you were supposed to be talking to that Cornfield scrote, Power.’
As if she herself hadn’t double-booked Kate.
‘I tried phoning first, this time. Or I would have done, if I could have found a number for him. The dead woman’s phone is still live. But there was no reply—’
‘So you just gave up.’
Kate flared. ‘Rather than waste any more time, I thought I’d work on this backlog. I suspect the DPP won’t be impressed by those but might buy these.’ She patted the files. ‘Ma’am,’ she added. Christ, on a gorgeous afternoon like this, wouldn’t she rather have had a gentle stroll out to Edgbaston and a gentle stroll back, with nothing achieved between the two? She’d spent five solid hours in an overheated office picking up the threads of other people’s work, and this was what she got.
Lizzie looked at her coldly, but said nothing. ‘So when are you proposing to see him?’
‘Monday morning, if that’s acceptable to you.’ She tried to keep her voice pleasant and low.
‘Graham Harvey can dispense with your services, can he?’
‘This morning’s meeting with him, Inspector Rowley and DC Roper tied up everything before the case goes to the County Court. I was involved in other cases which may necessitate further such meetings, ma’am. Subject to your permission.’ She bit back another ‘ma’am’; it would sound insolent. Which is what she would have liked to be. Flaming, blazing insolent.
‘I take it he’ll approach me in the usual way.’
‘I’m sure he will, ma’am.’
Lizzie nodded and left. Derek caught Kate’s eye, touching his lips. Kate nodded. She couldn’t have said anything anyway. She turned back to her desk, giving one more superfluous adjustment to the tidy piles. Derek gathered his case and raincoat and walked noisily to the door. Nodding, he stepped back.
‘She’s gone. Come on, you need a drink.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You might be. Lizzie’s not. And that is what we’re going to talk about. What we’re going to do about Lizzie.’