A Bitter Feast(84)

Kincaid had meant to decline the call, but when he saw it was Colin Booth, he murmured, “I’d better get this.”

“Kincaid here,” he answered, then listened, frowning. “Let me call you back,” he said, and rang off.

“That was Booth,” he told Ivan, adding for the doctor’s benefit, “the DI investigating the Lower Slaughter deaths. He’s going to interview Nell Greene’s ex-husband and wants to know if we can meet him.”

“Bruce Greene?” said Dr. Saunders, finishing Kincaid’s new dressing.

“You know him, too?” asked Ivan.

“Yes, of course. I send my patients to him if they need a more thorough internal medicine workup than I can provide. He’s not a bad sort, Bruce, aside from the fooling-around business.”

Kincaid frowned as he rolled his shirtsleeve down. “You mean when he was married to Nell?”

Dr. Saunders sighed. “With one of his nurses, yes. But, as she’s the second Mrs. Greene now, and we see them socially, I suppose I can’t be too critical.”

Taking a packet of tablets from the cupboard near the exam table, she handed them to Kincaid. “I want you to start these now. Take one three times a day, and I’ll write you a prescription for more.” As she fetched him a paper cup of water from a standing dispenser, she added thoughtfully, “You did know that Bruce Greene used to be partners with George Abbott, Bea’s father?”

Kincaid stopped in the midst of buttoning his shirt cuff, an act he’d learned was quite difficult single-handed. “What? When was this?”

“Oh, it was years ago. Bruce dissolved the partnership after George’s wife’s suicide.”

“Do you know why?” Kincaid asked.

“I have an idea, but it’s not for me to tell you. You’ll have to ask Bruce Greene.”



“Oh, God.” Melody managed to peel one eye open, then shut it again. Why was it so bloody bright? She rolled away from the light and the room swayed alarmingly. With the rush of nausea came a flash of memory, and that made her feel even more ill.

What on earth had she done? And just how big a fool had she made of herself?

“Oh, God,” she said again, this time a moan, but she managed to open both eyes. Familiar ceiling. Familiar window. The guest room at Beck House. That at least was some comfort. She recalled now, in a jumble of images, waking in Joe’s narrow bed before dawn, leaving him sleeping as she stumbled back to the house, quaking with cold.

Joe. She sat up, head pounding, and fumbled for her mobile, left last night on her bedside table. A glance at the time readout brought another unpleasant jolt—it was after ten. There were no texts from Andy. And there had only been one missed call, at half past eight, from Gemma, wanting to know if she could borrow her car.

Shit. What must Gemma be thinking? What must everyone be thinking?

Swinging her legs off the bed, she listened. The house was completely silent. Had they all packed up and gone back to London without her? Surely not. But that meant she was going to have to face everyone, and she was going to have to make up some excuse for lying in this morning. And she was going to have to apologize to Gemma.

But there was something she had to do first.



A shower and clean clothes having made her feel marginally better, she crept through the house, determined to avoid speaking to anyone, especially Doug, until she’d set things straight with Joe about last night.

She slipped out the front door and walked round the garage towards the kitchen gardens, hoping to find Joe somewhere out of sight of the house. She’d reached the glasshouse when she saw him coming towards her up the path from the kitchen garden.

“Melody,” he called, hurrying to her. “Are you okay? I was worried sick about you. I couldn’t ring you because I don’t have your number, and I didn’t want to come up to the house—I just wanted to say I was sorry about—”

“Yes, me, too,” Melody broke in with a rush of relief. When he looked a bit hurt, she added, “Oh, I don’t mean— Oh, this is awkward.” Parts of the night came back vividly now and she flushed. “But we shouldn’t have—”

“No, I shouldn’t,” Joe broke in with touching earnestness. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of your, um, of the situation—of you—”

“I was royally pissed, if that’s what you’re trying to say. And I put you in a terrible position. I wouldn’t want anything we did to affect your job, or to embarrass you—”

The look he gave her was searching. “I thought maybe you were embarrassed about being with me—the gardener.”

Melody shook her head. “Oh, Joe. Don’t be daft. Of course I’m not embarrassed about you. But we can’t— I mean I have—” She swallowed. “I guess you could call it unfinished business.”

“The ex-boyfriend?” Joe said, and she could see the disappointment, quickly masked.

“Yes. That’s why I was— Anyway, I need to try, at least, to sort things out. Things ended rather badly.” An understatement, she thought, if ever there was one.

Joe nodded, his shoulders slumping. “I understand, but if things change . . .” He hesitated, his rueful smile vanishing. “Look, Melody, there’s something else. Can we talk?”