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THE WHITE GLARE OF fluorescent bulbs and the clinical smell of disinfectant added to the feeling of unreality that had settled over Hettie. The on-duty veterinary nurse had been startled into action by their arrival. Through rushed X-rays Alexander confirmed that Doris’s radius and ulna were fractured. Now it was just the two of them in the room, with only the hum of the lights to disturb the silence. Doris was sedated. Alexander smoothed her cast, and his skill reassured Hettie. ‘I’ve given her some shots of painkillers and antibiotics, and we’ll take more X-rays in a week.’ He paused and looked up.
Hettie nodded at him.
‘What, or who, were you shouting at?’
‘Fuck knows. I think I was having a barmy moment.’
He turned back to Doris’s cast. ‘So why did you ask me if I’d been hanging around at Hardacre? And why were you asking Grace if Julian Greaves was back?’
‘Is he?’
‘Yes. He’s living up on the Hillview estate with Lucy.’
‘Right. I know where I’m going next then.’ Hettie tilted her chin and leant back against the stainless steel cabinet. Her anger was a sharp relief after the fear she’d felt earlier.
‘I’m not sure that would be a good idea.’
She didn’t answer.
‘You should call the police if you think there was someone at Hardacre.’
‘The police already know.’
‘So it’s not the first time?’
‘Nothing like this. Just some odd events, a couple of things in the mail. We’ve got CCTV now, and I’m keeping an incident diary.’ She scuffed her foot on the floor. ‘Why were you there anyway? Did you know Monica was away?’
‘That will harden in a few minutes.’ Alexander took off his surgical gloves and ran his hand over Doris’s wiry head. ‘I don’t know who Monica is. I called up to tell you that Greaves was back. I rang and left a message but you didn’t call back.’
‘I didn’t get a message. Monica’s my new groom. She answered the door when you...’ she stopped, and looked away from him.
Alexander gave Doris a last pat. ‘She’ll have to stay in tonight. I’ll hand her over to the nurse and run you home.’
The windscreen had frosted again. They sat with the engine running, waiting for the glass to defog. Hot air blew through the car. Hettie rubbed her eyes and leant against the headrest. Alexander wiped the glass ineffectively.
‘Don’t take Julian on. Leave it to the police.’
‘If he hurt my dog...’ She glared at the dashboard.
‘Do you want me to stay at the bungalow tonight?’
‘Yes.’
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MOST OF THE HOUSES’ lights were off as they drove through the village. The road was clear of traffic. It was warm in the car, and Hettie’s eyes fell shut. He stretched his neck and looked at her curled in the seat, her face turned away from him. If Greaves had been at Hardacre, he’d find the bastard himself and beat a confession out of him. He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. He didn’t want to scare her any more than she already was, but it was hard to understand how Doris had got those fractures from running across a field.
He pulled up in front of the bungalow. ‘We’re here.’
She blinked at him and stretched her arms in front of her. He wanted to hold her. He killed the ignition and got out of the car.
Pig whined at the bathroom door while Hettie took a shower. He sat at the kitchen table, lifted Kitten off a copy of Horse and Hound and leafed through the pages. The cat settled on his lap. Hettie padded barefoot to the bedroom, swaddled in towels, the skin of her shoulder bared where one had slipped.
‘I poured you some wine. I thought you might need it.’
She came back out in a long-sleeved nightshirt and eyed the glass. ‘I actually feel a bit sick. I might just hit the sack.’
‘I’ll kip on the sofa.’
Her skin was flushed from the shower, and she smelt of talcum powder. ‘Would you stay in my bed?’
He nodded and braced himself for a night of sleepless frustration. ‘You go. I’ll follow you in.’
He stripped to his boxers in darkness. Hettie’s back was turned beneath the duvet. He lifted a corner and tried to slip in without disturbing her, but that was impossible in her single bed. His foot grazed her calf, and he felt the heat of her thighs. He pressed his eyes shut.
Hettie moved closer, moulded her body to his. Her still-wet curls smelt of shampoo. He wound an arm around her, but it was Hettie who took the hesitant hand that curled across her ribcage and lifted it to her breast, and it was Hettie’s lips that parted to gasp encouragement when his palm brushed her nipple. Kneeling up, she drew her nightshirt over her head.
He traced her spine with his fingertip, and she trembled. Their lovemaking was tender, a warm exploration, a sharing. The sensuality moved him. He saw the shine of a tear that escaped from her closed eyes and kissed the moisture from her temple.
The fall of their climax left him bereft. He wrapped his arms around her.
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HE WAS DISORIENTED when he woke in the wrong bed, his legs tangled with Hettie’s. He’d fallen into a cleansing, dreamless sleep, and rational thought was slow to return. Dawn filtered through the curtains. He rolled away from her and rubbed a hand across his eyes.
Hettie stirred as he got out of the bed. ‘Shit, what time is it?’
He wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or to herself. He felt under the duvet for his boxers then rooted on the floor for his watch and held it towards the window. ‘Six fifty. I shouldn’t be here.’
She swung out of the bed, taking the duvet with her. ‘Neither should I. What time can I call the surgery?’
‘I’ll look in on Doris when I get there and ask someone to call you.’ Alexander pulled his sweater over his head. She still had her back turned to him, fumbling with her clothes behind the duvet.
His gut knotted, but he had to say it. ‘This didn’t mean anything, me staying here. You know that, don’t you?’
She stood motionless for a moment. ‘Don’t panic, Alexander. I promise last night meant nothing to me either.’
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘I know what you meant. Go to work.’ She dropped the duvet and turned to face him. ‘Thank you for mending Doris. I’ll wait to hear from the surgery.’
He hovered in the doorway. ‘And you’ll tell the police, about last night?’
‘I’ve had better, but I don’t think it was bad enough to call it a crime.’
He felt a snatch of irritation. Why wasn’t she taking this seriously? She should listen to him, not shake him off with wisecracks.
Hettie shrugged her arms into her sweatshirt. ‘Yes, I’ll tell them, and I’ll put it in my incident diary.’
‘What’s the point of a diary? Surely your history with Greaves is evidence enough. Do you want me to take a look around before I go?’ He nodded his head towards her. ‘You’ve put that on inside-out.’
‘No, I don’t. Go, check my dog.’ She dragged the sweatshirt back off.
Why wouldn’t she meet his eye? That turn of her head, it was too deliberate. She was hiding something. He sighed. ‘You haven’t told the police about Greaves, have you?’
‘It’s none of your business what I have or haven’t told them. You don’t get to choose which bits of my life you stick your oar into. Pun intended, by the way.’
‘You’re a bloody fool.’ He snatched his jacket.
‘Takes one to know one, Melton!’
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HE SHOULD HAVE KEPT out of it. He’d muddied the waters again now, complicated things. Hadn’t he learnt yet he couldn’t be with Hettie without losing control of his senses? But what if he hadn’t gone there yesterday evening? What might have happened then? He scowled, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.
He was driving too fast. The modern estate to the east of the village was a warren of cul-de-sacs, and he realised he didn’t actually know which house he was looking for. He knew Lucy’s car though, and he leant forwards over the steering wheel, scanning the vehicles parked in front of attached garages and those lining the kerb. It was too early for house calls, and he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing there. Nor did he understand why he was quite so angry with Hettie again.
There it was, a blue Clio. At least he hoped it was the right one. He angled his car across the pavement and leapt out. The Range Rover door was still open when he crossed the patch of grass in front of the house and hammered on the door with the side of his fist.
Nothing.
He hammered again, then thrust his hands into his pockets to stop himself. He backed away from the house to look up at the windows. Did a curtain move upstairs? The sound of the catch on the door drew his attention back there. Lucy was still in her nightclothes. He suffered a moment of guilt at how startled she looked. ‘I’m here to see your brother.’
‘He’s not here.’
‘I think he is.’
Lucy looked everywhere but at him, her hand still on the door.
‘I just want to talk to him.’
She shook her head, her voice a whisper now. ‘He isn’t here, Alexander. Please go away.’
Alexander looked up at the window where he’d seen the curtain move. ‘Greaves!’
Lucy closed the door.
‘If I so much as fucking suspect you’ve been near Hardacre I’ll be back here to drag you out by your fucking ears!’
Curtains twitched in both the neighbouring houses.
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THERE WEREN’T ANY BEER cans, no evidence at all of his having been there last night. Hettie checked first thing before she fed the horses, and they were banging on their doors by the time she carried the buckets out.
Pig was under her feet, lost without Doris. She scruffed his head. ‘Poor little man, don’t worry, she’ll be back soon.’
She leant over Lockie’s door as he ate his breakfast. ‘Sorry, Lockstar. I messed you about yesterday. Scared you in the arena and then scared you in the stable. How many weeks has that set us back, eh, big fella?’ Lockie walked to the door and nudged her shoulder with his nose, smearing her coat with slobber and half-chewed feed.
‘Fair comment.’ Hettie kissed his warm muzzle.
Zoe was late to arrive. Hettie was just about to call her when she turned up, on foot and breathless. ‘Sorry I’m late! Some twat wedged a beer can through the spokes of my bike. Took me ages to get it out and then the wheel was knackered.’