A Bitter Feast(43)

“Him.” Jack set the wineglass on the bar with such a smack that the couple with the shepherds looked up at him curiously and the dogs raised their heads. Lowering his voice, he said, “That one, showing up here, with his silly hat and coat. Ordering Viv’s food and sending it back to the kitchen with his little comments. ‘Tell Chef the pastry is quite soggy,’ and that on her steak and Hook Norton Pie. Everyone knows Viv makes the best pastry in the county. Or, ‘Tell Chef the pork is overdone,’ on the Todenham Manor cutlet.”

“Was he friendly with Nell—Mrs. Greene?”

“I never saw him speak to her.”

“But they left together?”

“No.” Jack pulled another wineglass from the overhead rack. Nodding at Gemma’s drink, he said, “Get you another?”

“Oh, gosh, no thank you.” Gemma hadn’t realized she’d finished it. She felt a bit light-headed. She wondered why Jack was suddenly less forthcoming. There was no sign of Booth, and Bea still seemed to be busy in the other dining room. “I understand he left his coat.”

“That he did. Walked out on his check, too.” Jack flushed. “That sounds petty of me, considering, but at the time . . .”

“I understand,” Gemma assured him. “Did he seem in a hurry?”

Jack glanced round, then seemed to come to a decision. Dropping his voice almost to a whisper, he said, “More like royally pissed off. There was . . . a bit of a row. In the kitchen.”

“He was in the kitchen?”

“Got up from his table, came round the bar, and blew right past me.”

Gemma was surprised. She thought Jack could have stopped a small tank.

As if he’d sensed her criticism, Jack shrugged, looking down. “He’d been hanging round all day. He was in the courtyard with Chef when I got to work, so last night I figured he had her permission. But next thing I know there’s a crash and he comes storming out again and goes straight out the door.”

“You didn’t go after him?”

“He’d left his things. I thought he’d just gone out for a smoke or something. And I went in the kitchen to make sure everything was okay. Viv had dropped a pan of chips. A right mess, it was.”

“What about Mrs. Greene?”

“She stayed for a while longer, just drinking coffee. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes. It crossed my mind to ask if she was all right, but with everything else . . .” He looked at Gemma, his hands finally still. “If only I’d spoken to her, asked her if she was okay . . . I had no idea I’d never see her again. I feel I’m somehow to blame.”





Chapter Twelve

The arrival of new customers took Jack’s attention. Gemma gave him a wave of thanks and headed for the exit. It was getting on towards dinnertime and the place was filling up. Surely Melody and Doug had finished helping with the unloading of Viv’s van. And where were Duncan and the kids?

When she stepped outside, she saw that dark clouds had begun to build up again, bringing an early twilight. The breeze had died and the perfume from the rambling roses that grew on the side of the kitchen extension hung heavy in the air. She was about to round the corner into the courtyard when she heard voices. Peering past the roses, she saw Viv, standing by the kitchen steps, and with her the man who’d sat glowering next to Kincaid all through the luncheon. Something in their body language made her stop, half shielded by the twining rose canes.

“You have to tell me what’s wrong, Viv,” the man said, sounding not angry but distressed. “Did I do something to upset you?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I promise it’s nothing to do with you. I’m sorry if you thought that. It’s been a horrible day.” She stepped into his arms and rested her head against his shoulder for a moment. Then, with a glance towards the kitchen, she stepped back. “I thought I’d left it all behind, my old life. I should have known I couldn’t—” She shook her head.

“Addie said you knew the fellow who was in the car with Nell.”

“I worked for him, years ago. But—it was . . . complicated. I’ll tell you, but not now. And not here.” Viv turned away, but the man reached out and caught her arm.

“Viv, did you still have feelings for him?”

“Feelings?” Viv pulled away and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “Yes. I hated his guts.”



When Kincaid and the rather sticky children followed the ENTRANCE sign and rounded the end of the pub, he saw Gemma apparently sniffing the pink roses that adorned the side of the building. She jumped guiltily and came towards them with a bright smile. “I was wondering where you’d got to.”

“You know you’re allowed to smell the roses, love,” he teased.

She gave him an arch look and bent down to Charlotte, who was holding out an enormous scarlet leaf.

“We found this for you, Mummy.”

“We didn’t pick it,” Toby offered. “It was on the ground.”

“That’s even nicer than ice cream,” Gemma told them.

“I had strawberry,” said Charlotte. “I tried to bring you some but it melted.” She held out the splotchy front of her T-shirt as evidence.

They had all had ice creams, and perused the gift shop at the Old Mill to the sounds of 1940s jazz. Kincaid had bought a book on local walks. Afterwards, they’d examined the mill wheel, then meandered along the Eye, looking for trout in the clear water and picking up leaves dropped by the creeper growing on the walls of the inn.