A Bitter Feast(89)
“Is George Abbott still practicing?” Kincaid asked.
“No. He retired a few years ago. Rather reduced circumstances, I believe.”
“Did you know that George Abbott’s daughter lived in the same village as your ex-wife?”
Booth gave Kincaid a sharp glance as Greene’s eyes widened. “No,” said Greene. “I had no idea.”
Kincaid shrugged. “Well, small world, I’m sure.” He knew he was going to have to answer to Booth for throwing the Abbott thing out without filling him in first, and he wanted time to think about it. “My condolences, Dr. Gre—”
“Did you say you were a superintendent?” Greene broke in, rising from his chair, the bristles back in full force. “What is a superintendent doing asking questions about my wife, and my practice? You’d better tell me what’s going on here.”
“I’m not with the local force, Dr. Greene. My interest is personal. I was in the other car.”
Melody saw that both garage spaces were empty, but her little Clio still sat pulled to one side, so Gemma hadn’t taken it. When she went inside, she found the house silent, the kitchen post-breakfast tidy. It still smelled faintly of coffee and bacon.
Both Gemma’s and her mother’s handbags were missing from the hall bench, and her father’s Barbour was gone from its hook. Melody stood in the hall, listening. From the sitting room came the faint click of a keyboard.
Well, there was nothing for it. She walked quietly across the hall and stopped at the sitting room door. He was sitting on the sofa, turned away from her. Light from the end-table lamp glinted on his fair hair.
“Doug.”
He gasped and stood, just catching the laptop before it crashed to the floor. His eyes looked enormous behind the round lenses of his glasses. “Melody! What the— You scared the crap—” He stopped, and she saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed hard. Clutching the laptop to his chest, he said, “Listen, Melody, I want to talk to you—”
“Not now, Doug.” She took a step farther in. “Something’s happened. I’ve got to ring Duncan, and then I need your help.”
The bird park in Bourton-on-the-Water turned out to be much more enjoyable than Gemma had anticipated. It was well-planned and in a lovely setting, along the River Windrush and within walking distance of the village center. All three children enjoyed the exhibits, especially the penguins and the dinosaur trail, although Charlotte had got a bit whiny by the end. To keep the peace, Gemma bought her a stuffed flamingo in the gift shop, as well as books and puzzles for the boys.
Afterwards, they walked back along the Windrush to the town center, where Addie chose a café on the river called the Rose Tree for their lunch. After Addie had a friendly word with the hostess, they were given a table in the front window, with a view of the riverside.
“Go on, have a glass of wine, Gemma,” Addie encouraged when they placed their orders. “You’re not driving, and you’ve had quite the weekend.”
“You’ve been too generous, looking after us all,” Gemma responded, but she took Addie’s advice and ordered a glass of white wine to go with the grilled aubergine salad Addie had recommended. The menu had a special gin section, and reading through it had made Gemma think of Jack Doyle with a pang, remembering the Cotswolds Dry Gin he’d insisted she try.
“Have you heard from Duncan?” Addie asked. The children were occupied, Toby reading aloud to Charlotte from the book on penguins Gemma had bought him, Kit engrossed in something on his mobile even though electronics at the table were against their usual family rules.
Gemma had repeatedly checked for messages while they’d been at the bird park, and again just as they’d walked in. “No, nothing,” she said.
“I’m sure he’s fine. I have every confidence in Dr. Saunders.”
“Yes, and Duncan did seem a bit brighter this morning. But—” Gemma struggled to put her worries into words. “I think he somehow feels responsible for what happened—not at fault, just responsible. A sort of debt, because he lived and they didn’t, Nell and Fergus O’Reilly. I hate for him to go home with that weighing on him.”
“Are the police no further forward? With either matter,” Addie added circumspectly, with a glance at the children.
“I’ve not heard anything, but then I’m not exactly in the loop.”
When their food arrived, it was as good as Addie had promised, and Gemma was soon busy with making sure the younger two children minded their manners.
“Can we look at the ducks, Mummy?” Charlotte asked when the children had finished.
“If Kit goes with you,” Gemma said, lingering over her last sip of wine while Addie signaled for the check—which she refused to let Gemma pay. “Addie, really,” Gemma protested, “that’s too much, after everything you’ve done.”
“I’ve enjoyed every bit of it,” Addie told her firmly. “It’s been too long since we’ve had children in the house—or a houseful at all—and I’m glad we’ve had a chance to get to know you and your family.” With a sigh, she slipped her bank card back into her purse. “Melody never brings anyone home, you know. She thinks we disapprove of her job, but that’s not true at all. We were afraid she was putting herself in an untenable position, because of her connection with the paper. What we didn’t expect”—Addie stopped, a frown barely crinkling the corners of her blue eyes—“was the young man who turned up at the house yesterday. I recognized him, you know. He was there at St. Pancras, when the bomb went off. We’ve watched the videos from that day, over and over. But I had no idea he and Melody were—whatever they are. Why didn’t she tell us?” The slightest catch in Addie’s voice betrayed, for once, her polished exterior.