Juliet had arrived at work late, having stayed at home to take a call from Michael Robinson, who’d said he wanted further advice on how to deal with the media prior to another press conference he’d arranged early that morning. When she reached the station, Tim and Ricky had already left for Silverdale Farm. Andy Carstairs was going out, too, and she saw him only briefly before he disappeared.
She was grateful that she’d therefore be able to spend a few hours on her own, catching up with paperwork and trying not to think too much about the meaning of the previous evening’s events. She knew how curious her colleagues could be, and how mercilessly Tim, in particular, would quiz her if he thought she was withholding something of interest about herself. The fact that he had no right to pry into her private life didn’t seem to occur to him (though, to be fair, he had always entrusted her with a great deal of personal information about himself). She didn’t resent Tim’s inquisitiveness: she just felt unequal to dealing with it now. Her mind was in too much of a turmoil for her to be able to articulate even the briefest account.
She had barely had time to seat herself at her work station before a voice came booming over the banisters.
‘Ah, Armstrong, good morning! I was afraid you were off sick, or something. Could you come up here? There’s something I need your help with.’
Juliet prickled immediately. Of course she’d co-operate by helping Superintendent Thornton; workwise, she’d do just about anything for him that didn’t compromise her integrity. But how dare he suggest casually that she might be ‘off sick, or something’? She, who had not taken a day’s sick leave since she’d been in hospital with Weil’s disease almost four years previously and never asked for time off, except annual leave, on any other pretext whatsoever. She thought about taking issue with Thornton, pointing out the injustice of his remark, but decided that at present she didn’t have the energy to carry it through. She resolved to raise it on another occasion, when she felt mentally stronger.
She stood up slowly and had just reached the foot of the stairs when the Superintendent’s phone rang.
‘Ah... perhaps you’d better wait until I’ve taken this call, Armstrong. I think I know what it’s about: I’ve been expecting it. I’ll give you a shout when I’m ready.’
‘Just send me a quick e-mail, sir. That would be easiest.’ She saw a flicker of horror crossing Superintendent Thornton’s face before he retreated back into his office. Beleaguered as she was by her own emotions, Juliet smiled despite them.
She was nearly back at her desk before she realised she had had nothing to drink that morning except a glass of water and turned into the small, galley-like kitchen to fill the kettle. While she was waiting for it to boil she ran rapidly over the previous night’s events in her mind.
The evening had got off to an unpromising start with the appearance of the young lout at her window and Jake Fidler’s arrival while she was still in an agitated state, with her hair wet, no make-up and wearing ancient clothes. He hadn’t seemed to mind any of this – though he had been annoyed about the intruder – and the trip to Cambridge had been one of the most enjoyable car journeys she could ever remember. She had worried she’d spoilt it a little by talking too much about the victim commemorated by the roadside shrine – it was the copper in her coming out and she knew it could be unsettling – but again he’d taken it in his stride. They’d quickly forgotten about it when they reached the theatre and settled down to enjoy the play, which had been spectacularly good. Then they’d gone for a simple one-course meal in an Italian restaurant. Then he’d driven her home. And then he’d kissed her.
That was all. She hadn’t invited him in and he hadn’t suggested that she should do so. He’d kissed her, watched her into the flat, and then driven away. It was as simple and unremarkable as that.
At least, it would have been simple and unremarkable for most women. For Juliet, it was as if she’d been plunged into an earthquake. The fact was, she’d enjoyed that kiss very much indeed. And, like a teenager obsessed with her first boyfriend, she could think of little else besides when she might see Jake Fidler again.
Juliet was thirty-six. There’d been other boyfriends, but for four years or more her most intense relationships had been with women. At the beginning of that period she’d arrived at the conclusion that she was gay, although acknowledging it continued to make her uneasy. This wasn’t because she was ashamed of her sexuality. It was, however, true that although she had derived a great deal of pleasure – and, ultimately, also much pain – from the time she’d spent with her female partners, she had also known, almost from the start, that each of those relationships had lacked something. She was still trying to understand exactly what she was searching for to attain fulfilment. Despite the euphoria triggered by the previous night’s date, she was not naïve enough to think that Jake Fidler could provide her with all the answers. Instead, a new thought was growing in the back of her mind: a most unwelcome one. If there was one thing of which she was certain, it was that there could be nothing more beautiful or desirable than fidelity. Although, generally speaking, she was both liberal and tolerant in her views, she was unwavering in her opinion that those who cheated on their partners deserved only the most profound contempt. How ironical – not to say tragic – it would be to discover that she was bisexual, and needed a partner from either sex.
‘Armstrong!’
Superintendent Thornton’s voice broke through her thoughts. Preoccupied though she had been, she noticed immediately that his tone was different from when he’d summoned her a few minutes before. He sounded… panic-stricken.
‘Armstrong! Are you there? I need you to come up. NOW!’