A Bitter Feast(17)

Well, needs must. She’d have to get used to it, at least for the time being. He hadn’t heard from anyone about the dog and had no idea who to contact. He’d ask Addie at the luncheon.

He checked his phone for at least the tenth time that morning, but there was nothing from Addie, and still no call or text from Viv. Damn it, he was starting to feel like some kind of stalker. When he’d gone to the pub last night, he’d found only the waitstaff, closing up. Jack, Sarah said, had left early, and Viv had gone to bed, big day tomorrow and all that. When he’d rung Viv again from the courtyard, his call had gone straight to voice mail.

His irritation had turned to unease. They might not have an official relationship, but Viv had certainly never avoided him. Something was wrong, really wrong, and he’d sworn in frustration because he’d no idea what it was. The news about Nell had been bad enough without this added worry.

Leaving the pub, he’d gone back up the lane to Nell’s cottage and let himself in with the key neatly labeled NELL with sticky tape.

Of course she’d labeled her key, he’d thought. Organized to a T, that was Nell. It had been her one fault in training Bella, always wanting to follow the rules. Sometimes, with dogs and sheep, you had to follow your instincts.

Was it instinct that had failed her on the road?

He’d entered the dark house with reluctance. It felt intrusive, and he hadn’t been able to shake the idea that Nell might just be asleep, that there had been some terrible mistake. But the cottage had been silent, and Bella had been frantically happy to see him, and to go out. When she’d finished her business, she jumped willingly into the Land Rover. Going back into the house for the dog’s bed, he’d stood for a moment in Nell’s kitchen. The place was as neat as Nell herself. The only thing out of place was a copy of the Times folded to the day’s crossword, half finished, pencil beside it. He’d closed the door and locked it firmly behind him.

Now, he shut the dogs in the kitchen and drove the Land Rover down to the pub. The village was starting to fill up with walkers, cars lining every available space on the verges, but the pub’s “customers only” car park was still empty. There was a half hour yet to morning coffee. But Viv’s van, he saw immediately, was already gone.

Going in through the main door, he found Jack already behind the bar, his usually cheerful face set in a scowl. The pub smelled welcoming, like coffee and baking bread. Viv had told him that morning coffee was a growing moneymaker for pubs, and that it was well worth it to stock top-tier coffee and serve fresh-baked pastries. The scents, however, were obviously not working their magic on Jack this morning. “Did you see them?” he asked, before Mark could even greet him.

“What? Who?” asked Mark, stopping at the bar.

“Bloody police.” Jack shook his head. “Asking about Nell Greene. Have you heard what happened to her?”

Mark nodded. “I’ve got her dog. Addie Talbot rang me last night.”

“Addie? How did the Talbots find out before anyone else in the village?” Jack sounded incensed.

“No idea. But it’s a dreadful thing. I still can’t believe it.”

Jack picked up a wineglass by the neck as if he might strangle it. “Did Addie tell you there was a bloke in the car with Nell?”

“No. I only heard the crash was at the Bourton T-junction—”

“He was killed, too, this bloke, but apparently the cops don’t know who he was. No ID. The thing is, Nell was here last night, on her own.”

“She said she might come. I meant to, but—”

“They gave me a description of the guy in her car. He was here, too.”

“What?” Mark stared at him. “You’re not suggesting that Nell picked up some stranger?” He couldn’t imagine anything less likely, but if his own ex-wife had taught him one thing, it was that you could never be certain what people might do.

“Stranger to her, maybe. But not to some.” Jack polished the wineglass with renewed force.

Baffled, Mark said, “What are you talking about?”

“I told them,” said Jack, “to ask Chef.”



Viv stared at Gemma, her expression blank. Then she let out a puff of breath and slumped against the work top. “That’s terrible. Poor Nell.”

“Did you know her well?” asked Gemma.

“No, not really. But she was . . . nice.” Viv grimaced. “That sounds a bit ‘faintest of praise,’ but she did seem to be a genuinely nice person. Done wrong by her ex, if rumors are anything to go by, although she never said so herself. I’d chat with her when she came in for a meal, if I wasn’t too busy. She was interested in food. And she seemed a bit lonely. She’d been so excited about this luncheon,” Viv added, her eyes glazing with tears. “Sorry.” She sniffed and wiped a hand across her eyes. “It’s just the shock.” Straightening up, she said, “We should be getting on with things,” and led the way out the door onto the terrace.

“Oh, it looks lovely,” she breathed, gazing at the tables, now covered in red-and-white-checked cloths. Addie was laying each place with an assortment of vintage china and glassware. “Addie must have raided every Oxfam shop in five counties for this much stuff.”

Looking up, Addie called out, “The plates for the salad course are in the scullery.” Then, she came to them, saying, “Oh, dear. Gemma’s told you about Nell.”