Chapter Twenty-Six

JULIET WAS PREPARING for her second Fenland Folklore meeting in four days. For the first meeting, she’d dressed carefully to look smart but inconspicuous. Tonight, she decided to wear something more flamboyant. Knowing it would be cold at Moose Hall, she chose a cashmere sweater with broad horizontal stripes in pastel colours and teamed it with black jeans.

The bell of Juliet’s flat rang punctually at 6.15 p.m. She felt like a schoolgirl on her first date. When she opened the door, Louise was standing there laughing and holding out a bottle of wine. Her hair, normally tucked into a smooth chignon for work, flowed onto her shoulders.

“Friendship present,” she said. “I thought you might like a glass later, when I bring you home. I’ll only be able to have a small one myself, of course. I won’t be breaking any laws!”

“Thank you,” said Juliet, smiling. She’d never seen Louise like this before – giggly and light-hearted. At the hospital her demeanour was serious and dignified, almost austere. “Come in for a moment?”

“Better not,” said Louise, glancing at her watch as Juliet took the wine. “We ought to go if we’re to get there in time. You’re looking very nice. I love that jumper.”

Juliet felt her face flush. “I’ll just grab my coat.”

Seated in the semi-circle of hard chairs arranged round the small dais at Moose Hall were mostly the same people Juliet had met previously. She couldn’t see Richard Lennard. Perhaps he’d been held up, or maybe he was meeting the speaker somewhere before the meeting started.

The slight, very pale woman who’d been given a bit of a put-down by Richard Lennard on the last occasion left her seat and came across to talk to them.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m Veronica Start. I was going to introduce myself to you on Monday, but you disappeared too quickly. You’re Juliet Armstrong, aren’t you? And I’m guessing this must be Dr Butler.”

“Yes,” said Juliet. “But how do you know?” She’d had no inkling that this woman was Councillor Start’s daughter-in-law. She seemed not to be the kind of person who would agree to accept a sinecure. Perhaps she really did work for the company.

“No mystery. I’m the membership secretary. Yours are the only two applications we’ve had this month.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Louise, holding out her hand. Juliet noted that she’d resumed her usual reserved manner.

“You’re a teacher, I believe?” said Juliet. “At the High School?”

“Yes. I teach modern languages. Now it’s my turn to ask you how you know!”

“There are some biographical details in the Fenland Folklore literature. So Richard Lennard is one of your colleagues?”

“Rather more than that! He’s my boss.” She pulled a self-deprecating face. “Talking of Richard, I can’t think where he’s got to. I knew he was taking Miss Ferguson for tea before the meeting, but they both should have arrived by now. Richard’s usually a stickler for punctuality. Should we sit together?”

She led them to the far side of the horseshoe of chairs.

“I need to be able to get out,” she explained. “Richard or Miss Ferguson might need my help.”

The statement seemed to make her nervous. As Juliet and Louise squeezed past her somewhat awkwardly, she tucked one leg behind the other in a convoluted movement and removed a pair of spectacles from her handbag. As she did so, she pushed back the sleeves of her jumper. For a moment Juliet was transfixed by the revelation of an ugly red mark on her arm. She looked away, but not before Veronica Start had noticed. Pulling the sleeve down to her wrist, she gave a false little laugh.

“I see you’ve noticed my scald. Stupid of me! I was draining a pan of potatoes and managed to pour boiling water right over me.”

Louise leaned over and gently pushed back the sleeve again.

“You should really go to A & E with that, or at least visit your GP,” she said. “It looks nasty to me.”

Again the mirthless laugh. “It’ll be fine. I did it a couple of days ago. It’s getting better now, honestly.”

“Still . . .”

“I’ll just go and see if everything’s ready for coffee afterwards,” said Veronica.

“That’s not a scald,” Louise whispered to Juliet. “It looks as if she’s been burned with an iron to me.”

“Do you mean it wasn’t an accident?”

“Could have been, though if the edge of the burn shows the mark of the tip of the iron, as I think, it’s pretty unlikely. And why try to hide what kind of accident it was, anyway?”

Juliet looked grave. Evidence of domestic abuse both distressed and infuriated her.

The audience remained unentertained for a further ten minutes, gradually growing more and more restless. One or two of its members had already left, disgruntled, when a dumpy little woman came bursting in, looking cross and dishevelled. She was wearing a checked coat in some shaggy fabric and had a trilby-style hat pulled low over her forehead. As far as her bulk and build would allow her, she strode to the front of the hall and negotiated the considerable step-up to the podium.

“Is anyone in charge here?” she demanded. She removed the hat, showing a scarlet-veined face under flattened grey curls.

Veronica Start appeared from somewhere, looking anxious and appeasing.

“Miss Ferguson?” she said. “Didn’t you manage to find Richard?”

“As you can see, I did not ‘manage to find him’, as you put it, because he wasn’t there. Spalding station’s not exactly Clapham Junction, is it? I would’ve seen him if he’d turned up.”

“There must have been some mistake – perhaps it’s my fault. I apologise.”

“Well, I’m here now. I took a taxi in the end. And I’d like a cup of tea. Then I’ll get on with my talk.” She turned to the audience and said in a gentler voice. “I’m very sorry to have kept all you good people waiting.”

While Veronica hurried away, Miss Ferguson unloaded a large sheaf of papers from the capacious bag that she carried and arranged them on the lectern. She placed a pair of wire-framed glasses at the end of her nose and humorously observed the audience over the top of them.

“There’s no need to look so worried. Bark’s worse than my bite. Since there doesn’t seem to be anyone here to introduce me, I’ll just get on with it. I’d like to talk to you about local place names. You have some truly extraordinary ones round here. You can hear the magic in them, can’t you? Pode Hole, Gedney Drove End, Sutterton Dowdyke . . .”

It was an engaging talk: Mary Ferguson had soon captured the audience’s attention. They hung on her words as she discussed the etymological roots of local place names and what they could disclose about the remote history of the area. Ten minutes after she’d begun to speak, almost everyone had forgotten about the small contretemps that had heralded her arrival and lost sight of the fact that Richard Lennard was still not present.

After she’d delivered the speaker’s tea, Veronica Start returned to her seat. Turning away from Juliet, she took out her mobile and rapidly tapped out a series of text messages. Juliet pretended to be entirely absorbed in the lecture, but flicked a glance or three sideways. She guessed at Veronica’s purpose. She wondered if whatever it was Richard Lennard was doing had either made him too preoccupied to remember the Fenland Folklore event or, since no reply seemed to be coming through, if it had separated him from his phone.

Veronica was finding it hard to concentrate on what Mary Ferguson was saying. She scribbled a few notes. Juliet was also having difficulty in paying attention, even though the subject was fascinating. She glanced at Louise, who had seemed a bit fidgety at first, but now the speaker had moved from place names based on topography to ones based on the names of early inhabitants, she was entirely engrossed.

The lecture lasted about three quarters of an hour. Veronica Start rose to her feet and was about to deliver a vote of thanks when Mary Ferguson, having taken a large gulp from her glass of water, asked if there were any questions. Immediately four or five hands shot up. Veronica’s reaction of anguish mixed with impatience was almost palpable. She sighed, slid her mobile out of its pouch and pressed a few keys quickly. Juliet decided she must be re-sending one of the messages she’d composed earlier. Once more, there seemed to be no reply.

When Mary Ferguson had finally satisfied her audience’s curiosity, she beamed at Veronica, her earlier disgruntlement evidently forgotten. Veronica stepped forward with alacrity.

“Miss Ferguson, on behalf of all the members of Fenland Folklore, I’d like to thank you for a most stimulating and fascinating account.”

There was enthusiastic applause.

“And now, may I get you a taxi?” Veronica continued, Juliet thought with as much haste as she could get away with.

“Should we leave?” said Louise to Juliet. “I have to start work at six tomorrow morning and it’s quite a long drive home.”

Juliet agreed with only a slight hesitation. Most unusually, she found herself torn between her personal and professional life, but a moment’s thought told her that she had no right to question Veronica Start about Richard Lennard’s non-appearance and no rational reason for believing that he was out breaking the law.

“Yes,” she said. “Let’s go. We’ll stay for coffee another time. As you say, it’s getting late now. I’m sorry you have to take me home – it’s a bit out of your way.”

“I’m more than happy to do that. We’re going to have a glass of wine together, remember?”

But once both were seated in Louise’s car they seemed to run out of things to talk about. There was an awkward silence before Louise suddenly said, “Do you think that you should report that burn on Mrs Start’s arm?”

“I’m not sure. What do you think? Can you be sure that it’s the result of abuse?”

“Not one hundred per cent, no. But it’s more likely than not. Do you know anything about her husband?”

“No, only that he works for his father, who’s quite well-known around here. Councillor Start – I don’t know if you’ve met him? He owns a property development business.”

“As it happens, I have met him, but only recently. He came to the hospital to visit Ruby Grummett when I was doing my ward rounds. An oily individual, a bit full of his own importance.”

“I didn’t know he’d been visiting her. I wonder . . .”

By this time, Louise had parked the car and they were climbing the steps to Juliet’s first floor flat. Louise placed a hand gently on Juliet’s arm.

“No more shop talk!” she said. “We’re as bad as each other, but no more tonight. We’ve only got half an hour or so before I’ll have to go. Let’s talk about something pleasant.”

Juliet was rummaging in her bag for her key.

“What do you suggest?” she asked as she opened the door.

“Ourselves, perhaps,” Louise replied. “I only know a very little about you. I’d like to know a lot more.”

As Juliet shut the world behind them she felt light, carefree. Rarely could she remember having experienced this combined sense of peace and trusting friendship. She blotted out completely all worries relating to her job. She even managed to forget – albeit temporarily – the figure who almost always loomed largest in her thoughts, DI Tim Yates.