I went straight to the shop, put a closed notice on the door and dragged Lenny out for a drink. Displacement therapy made me think more clearly.
We sat in a boozer where the food was hit and miss and, more often than not, ‘unavailable’. Lenny drank high-octane cider, the petrol analogy no joke: not only did it rot guts, but dissolve teeth. This did nothing to dissuade a fruit fly intent on death by drowning while drunk. I was too preoccupied to drink the hard stuff so nursed a lime and soda. Probably explained why it took Lenny so long to prise more than a couple of sentences from me. What was the link between Scarlet and Charlie Binns, and Binns and Bowen? If Bowen didn’t visit Binns, who did? Binns was the weak link. He held the key, but he was dead. I stayed silent; mind freefalling.
“Sure you don’t want a proper drink?” Lenny eyed my glass as if I were drinking drain fluid.
“I’m all right.”
“You’re definitely not. You need to talk, Molly.”
“Do I?” A dangerous, defiant note entered my voice. Not quite certain how it got there. I was done with talking.
If Lenny had taken a tight swig and looked offended, I couldn’t have blamed her. She told me about a sale from the shop’s website and we discussed delivery arrangements. It felt odd to talk about something normal and routine and graspable. Undeniably, a small part of me was desperate to cling to the things that gave meaning and form to my life despite Scarlet’s death bending and bashing them out of shape.
We fell into awkward silence. I retreated into the shadows, the pub the kind of place where sunshine rarely penetrated. I doubted it had been refurbished since the smoking ban. A thick, claggy atmosphere heavy with dirt and sweat, and punctuated by the clatter of a fruit machine at full throttle. I welcomed it. Anything to drown out the chaos in my head. I never had Scarlet down for the suicidal type, if there were such a thing, let alone a person who would callously take the life of another in some crazy act of passion or revenge.
Lenny took a long swallow of cider with no visible ill effects. “You had a posh visitor at the shop this morning,” she said brightly.
“Me?”
“His teeth were that white they nearly blinded me.”
“Sounds like Chancer,” I said puzzled. “Did he say what he wanted?”
“To check if you were all right.”
“That’s because I made a fast getaway from Zach’s yesterday.” Although why Chancer would want to track me all the way to Malvern seemed beyond the call of duty.
“And what does Mr Colgate do when not hanging out in clearance shops?”
“He’s a banker.” A profession I put on the same dizzy level as dark arts and magic. As a teenager, Chancer had shown a remarkable head for figures and percentages.
“Might have guessed. Typical ex-schoolboy with sociopathic tendencies.”
I let out a nervous laugh. “You’re not serious?”
“Deadly.”
“Unlike you to go all chip on the shoulder. Considering his folks practically live in a stately home, I think he’s incredibly grounded.”
“Ever visited?”
“Several times.” I remembered Chancer’s dad, Stephen, a man possessed with a fierce, daunting intellect, which served him well at the bar. Apart from Dad, everyone else was terrified of the man, including Chancer. On the rare occasions I’d seen Stephen Chancellor laugh, it was always at someone else’s expense, usually his sons. I didn’t know how Stephen’s wife, a gentle, kind-hearted woman, put up with him.
“Pretty easy to see why you’ve got the hots for Chancer,” she teased.
“I have not.”
“Minted, good looking, what’s not to like?”
“The fact he’s still married, for one.”
“Still?”
From the mischievous way she spoke, Lenny scented blood. “He and his wife are having difficulties,” I said, madly underplaying it.
“What’s his missus like?”
“Beautiful, brilliant, bloody good at cricket. Played for county, once upon a time.” Lenny made to stick her fingers down her throat. I pictured Edie: one of those delicate looking creatures that exuded vulnerability. Underneath the fragile exterior she was a demon cricketer.
“So you and Chancer—”
“Go back decades.”
“How old is he?”
“Same age as Zach.”
“I’d never have guessed.”
I knew what she meant. Pushing forty, Chancer had already started on the slippery slope into middle age. Zach, with his washboard abs and simpler lifestyle, had largely kept his youthful appearance, despite his history of drugs.
“Why does he hang around with Zach?” She didn’t say ‘loser’, although her tone implied as much.
“Like I said, underneath that brash exterior, Chancer is a decent, loyal individual.”
“Yeah, right.”
“It’s true. He and Zach have been mates for years.” I told Lenny about the day Chancer came to my rescue after Zach lured me into a tunnel in their grounds.
“Lost in the pitch-black, it frightened the crap out of me. I’ve been afraid of dark enclosed spaces ever since,” I confessed.
“Nice brother you have there.”
“Chancer seems to think so. Zach was best man at his wedding.”
“Came out of rehab to do the honours, did he?”
Had anyone else said it, I’d have torn off several strips. But this was Lenny. I glanced around the bar, caught my breath. Lenny sat back and spread her legs astride. “Before I forget, did you call Mr Noble?”
I described the conversation, how off-beat he’d been and what we’d agreed.
Lenny jolted forward, fine eyebrows rushing up to meet her hairline. Seems she could be shocked after all.
“But, Molly, this is mad. You’re in no fit state. Let me sort him out.”
“What else am I going to do? Mope at home?” I had no intention of sitting around. “Anyway, I’ve agreed it with Rocco.”
“Rocco?” she exclaimed.
“Not his fault his parents had weird taste. Bearing in mind some of the names foisted on kids today, it’s not that peculiar.”
“Might not be in L.A. but this is Worcestershire.” She looked hugely amused. “And if he’s paying, what else does he expect?”
“What are you implying?”
“Isn’t it obvious? He fancies you.”
“What’s wrong with you? Me and Mr Noble have barely exchanged more than a few paragraphs.”
“So back out.”
“I can’t.” Except I knew I could. I knew I should.