Clare could see that the fields opposite Daisy Cottage were flooded and she elected to put on her wellies, rather than her usual trail shoes. She had a new pair of dark jeans which fitted beautifully but they looked wrong against her well-worn anorak, with its pockets full of dog treats and poop bags. There was a new red Holland Cooper coat with a soft furry hood in her wardrobe. She’d hardly worn it, having bought it in the January sales last year. Even the sale price was far above what Clare would normally spend but she found the coat irresistible. She turned round, admiring it in her bedroom mirror then grabbed a new scarf – a Christmas gift from her sister – and whistled to Benjy.
It was a lovely morning. The sun was struggling above the horizon but the sky was blue and the wind light. As Clare drove along Bogward Road, swerving round puddles, she saw the first shoots of winter jasmine brightening house walls. It wouldn’t be long before the snowdrops were showing too. It had been a cold start to the year but every day that passed was a day nearer spring. As she left the town the road began to rise up and she glimpsed the North Sea. The sun was glinting off the tips of the waves which sparkled and danced in the breeze. She drove on, passing rows of green-coloured holiday homes in the St Andrews Holiday Park set high on Kinkell Braes. The road moved inland and after another mile or two she approached the field and signalled to pull in.
She was one of the first to arrive, earning a nod of approval from Isobel who was setting out marker cones.
‘Criss-cross walking today,’ she announced and Clare’s heart sank. Benjy could never manage to pass another dog without barking and jumping at it, and it was Clare’s most hated of all the activities. But at least she had Ralph’s owner to look forward to. She took up position with her back to the sun so she could see him approach. And then another woman arrived with a husky straining at the leash and Clare’s attention was taken up with trying to keep Benjy calm.
It was Benjy who spotted Ralph first. Clare was chatting to the husky’s owner who was admiring her red coat when she felt Benjy’s tail beating against her legs. She looked up and saw Ralph racing down towards the training area on an extendable lead. But it wasn’t the good-looking man who held the other end. It was an even better-looking woman. She was olive-skinned, with good hair. The kind Clare had seen in magazines like Country Living. Dark, shiny and thick, it hung down past her shoulders, the wind catching her French-girl fringe as she staggered after an ebullient Ralph. In contrast to Clare she wore a battered waxed jacket and faded blue jeans tucked into an old pair of riding boots and suddenly Clare felt ridiculously overdressed.
She had an easy smile and seemed full of fun, and Clare’s heart sank to her boots. To add insult to injury, Benjy seemed to sense her disquiet and he jumped up to lick her hand, placing a pair of muddy front paws on her new red coat. She couldn’t remember off-hand if it was washable but, somehow, she doubted it. Maybe people who wore these coats didn’t have to worry about such things.
The woman came over to Clare, smiling broadly, her hair blowing softly in the wind. Clare’s own hair, she remembered, needed washing and was scraped back roughly with an old hair tie.
‘This must be Benjy,’ she said, bending to rub him behind the ears. Benjy responded by wagging his tail furiously and licking her on the hand.
Traitor, Clare thought, forcing a smile. ‘Hi,’ she said, ‘I’m Clare.’
‘Lesley,’ the woman said, passing the dog lead behind her back as Ralph made to investigate the husky. She glanced at Isobel who was herding a couple of German Shepherd owners into the ring then turned back to Clare. ‘It’s usually my husband who brings Ralph but he’s working today.’ She inclined her head slightly towards Isobel. ‘I think she’s a bit scary.’
‘Very,’ Clare said.
Lesley laughed. ‘We can be bottom of the class together, then.’
It was the longest dog training session Clare could remember and she escaped quickly at the end, the first to reach the car park. For once she made no attempt to clean Benjy’s muddy paws. He jumped up to the front seat, smearing it with mud and grass, and stood patiently while Clare strapped him into his harness.
At home she settled him by the radiator and ran upstairs to change. Her red coat was streaked with muddy paw marks and she saw from the label that it would have to be dry-cleaned. ‘Maybe it’ll brush off when it’s dry,’ she said, more in hope than expectation. Then she changed into a work suit and, taking a bag of crisps from the kitchen, she headed for the station.
‘Nearly finished checking the WhatsApp group,’ Chris said, as she shrugged off her coat.
‘Any likely suspects?’
‘Nope. And no sign of Jessica Peters, either.’
‘We have to find her, Chris. It’s important.’
‘Yeah, they are trying, Clare.’
‘Surely one of the group members is still in touch with her – or knows something about her?’
‘Good point,’ Chris said. ‘I’ll get the guys to ring back round and see if any of them can help.’
‘Fancy a trip into town?’
‘To do… what?’
‘I’d like to call in on our restaurateur. See what he has to say for himself.’
‘You’re not going to call him out on the Cayman Islands thing?’
‘Not yet. I just want to see what he says about that appointment.’