A Bitter Feast(56)

“That’s not exactly what she said,” Kincaid corrected, but it had given him an idea. “Let’s find Melody, shall we? Maybe there’s something on the telly.” He urged both children towards the house, Charlotte clutching her rose petals. Doug came out through the sitting room French doors. “Did Melody turn up?” Kincaid asked him.

“No. She said something about finding the gardener. Um, boss, I think maybe I’ve done something a bit stu—”

“Look,” Kincaid broke in. “Could you do me a favor? You heard about the hit-and-run?”

“Ivan told me, yeah, when he was looking for Melody.”

“Ivan’s run Gemma down to the village, to see what she could do for Viv, and Booth’s just said he’d pick me up on the way to the scene. Could the kids hang out with you for a bit?”

“Me?” Doug sounded as if he’d been asked to practice surgery.

Kincaid couldn’t help grinning. “It’s not hard. You had the boys on the train.”

“Yes, but, Charlotte—I don’t know what to do with a girl.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something. I’ve got to go. Booth will be here any minute.” He started to clap Doug on the shoulder, thought better of it when his arm protested. Was the pain getting worse? Probably just his imagination, he told himself, shrugging it off. He didn’t have time for that now. “I’ll owe you a pint,” he told Doug. The children had run out to the lawn with the dogs, so he took his chance to escape, just murmuring, “Back as soon as I can.”

Booth was already waiting in the drive, talking to Ivan, who’d returned from taking Gemma down to the village.

Ivan didn’t ask questions, just nodded and said, as Kincaid got in the car, “Keep us informed, will you?”



When Ivan dropped Gemma and Kit at the Lamb, Gemma saw that although it had gone ten o’clock, the CLOSED signboard was still out in the car park. A disgruntled-looking couple in hiking gear passed them, muttering about wanting their morning coffee. Hearing voices from the courtyard, Gemma and Kit bypassed the main entrance and walked through the courtyard archway.

On the grass near the garden play area, Grace was putting a pretty black-and-white collie through obedience exercises. When the collie saw them and started to bark, Grace firmly put her back in a sit.

Viv, who was sitting on the kitchen steps, rose and came to meet Gemma as Kit went over to Grace and the dog. Viv looked hollow-eyed, even more exhausted than yesterday. Her bright, spiky hair had gone flat, and she hugged herself as if she had a chill. “Gemma, I wasn’t expecting you. Grace said she’d asked Kit to walk the dog with her. I hope you don’t mind me drafting him.” She gave Grace a worried glance, and Gemma guessed that she hadn’t told her daughter the news about Jack.

“Mark didn’t want to leave the dog—that’s Bella, Nell’s collie—on her own all morning. He thinks she’s pining for Nell, and he had to help out a neighbor with a ram.” Turning away from the kids, she said more quietly, “Ibby and Angelica and the servers are all late. I told Grace that’s why we haven’t opened yet. But I don’t want her to be here when I tell them about Jack—” Her voice broke and she wiped trembling hands on her apron. “And Bea—Bea’s in Cheltenham. She goes to church with her father. I texted her saying I needed help with lunch service. I didn’t want to tell her over the phone. She should be back soon. I don’t know what I’m going to do—”

“First things first,” said Gemma. “Kit is happy to go with Grace and Bella, and I can certainly help with whatever needs doing. Or saying.” Putting a light hand on the other woman’s shoulder, she added, “Let’s start with getting you a cup of tea.”

“Yes, okay. Thanks.” Squaring her shoulders, Viv led the way across the courtyard to the kids. Grace, who was demonstrating the dog’s heel, looked happier than Gemma had seen her yesterday. “Listen, love, Kit’s mum is fine with him going with you, but don’t stray too far out of the village. And be—”

“Careful,” Grace mocked her. Her frown returned. “Although I don’t see what you think could be dangerous on a stupid walk. And Kit’s grown up. I’m sure he doesn’t need his mum to tell him what he can do.”

Viv’s face flushed. Before she could answer, Gemma said, “Sometimes he does, actually. But as we’re not leaving until after lunch, a walk is fine. You two have fun.”

Grace gave her a dirty look but turned her attention back to the dog. Kit gave Gemma a raised eyebrow, a look so like his dad’s that it always shocked Gemma. “You go,” she mouthed. “Tell you later.”

“Come on, Grace,” Kit called. “You can show me round.” When the children had disappeared through the courtyard arch, Gemma gently turned Viv back towards the kitchen door and led her inside.

The kitchen smelled of roasting meat and vegetables and fat, a heady, mouth-watering combination that instantly took Gemma back to long-ago Sunday dinners cooked by her mum in the flat above the bakery in north London. Stainless steel bins held neatly prepped vegetables and garnishes, and pots of stock simmered on the big commercial cooker. Several delicious-looking cakes sat under glass covers on a serving counter.

“We do Sunday lunch,” said Viv, “so I start even earlier than usual. But now— How can I— The staff will be here any minute and I have to— I don’t know how I’m going to tell them—” She pressed a hand against her mouth, suppressing a sob.