The Retreat(52)

I found myself staring at Glynn, and at that moment the crowd between us shifted and he saw me. He stared back, clearly shocked I was here – shocked and angry. He was about to head over, fists clenched, and I braced myself for a confrontation, when a woman in her fifties stepped into his path and started talking to him. The woman had a cleavage that pinned Glynn to the spot. At the same moment, someone tapped me on the shoulder.

‘Lucas. I didn’t expect to see you here.’

It was Shirley. She was dressed all in black with a fascinator attached to her head. I couldn’t help but stare at it. She had a sherry glass in her hand.

‘I’m happy to see you,’ I said. ‘Can we talk?’

‘What about?’ She touched the cross around her neck, just as she had the first time we met. She was nervous, and the way she glanced over her shoulder at Glynn told me all I needed to know. She, like Malcolm, was afraid of him.

Jostled by mourners moving through the hallway, and aware of Glynn’s proximity, I said, ‘Maybe now’s not the best time or place. Could I pop round to the Apple Tree later, when this is all over?’

She hesitated, eyes flicking to Glynn once again. He was still talking to the chest of the woman with the cleavage.

‘You look so much like your father,’ Shirley said. ‘When he was your age.’

‘Is that a good thing?’

She smiled girlishly. ‘Come round at teatime.’ She took a sip of her sherry. ‘I’d better not have too many of these.’

Heledd appeared by her side. ‘Yes, go easy, Mum.’ She smiled at me. ‘Nice of you to come. Hope you’re not going to put us all in a book.’

‘Ah, you found out what I do for a living?’

‘Olly told me about how he’d helped a stranded novelist and I put two and two together. He said you were going to give him a copy of your book.’

‘Oh, yes. I think I said I’d give him one if he promised to read it.’

Heledd laughed. ‘I’ve never known him read anything longer than a text message. But I’d love to read it if you want to drop a copy off at the B & B.’

I was about to explain that I didn’t have any books with me in Wales, but she was already steering Shirley away. ‘Come on, Mum, the buffet’s open. Let’s get you something to eat.’

As they stepped out of my path, I saw that Glynn had vanished. And it was time for me to make a move too.

I bumped into Olly by the front door. ‘Sorry for your loss,’ I said. ‘My parents were friends with your dad, so I’m here on their behalf. Hope that’s okay.’

‘Yeah, of course. Thanks for coming.’ He gave me a weak smile. ‘Not got lost again recently, I hope.’

His eyes were red, and he looked over my shoulder before I could come up with a response. ‘Have you seen Heledd?’

‘She was taking her mum to check out the buffet.’

‘Sounds right.’ He went to move away then stopped, leaning forward and blasting me with warm, beery breath.

‘Your family did the right thing, leaving this town,’ he said.

He disappeared into the crowd.



I stood outside in the rain. I was desperate to talk to Zara. I wanted to go over the conversation she’d had with Malcolm again, and run my suspicions – I hesitated to call it a theory – past her. There was no one else I could talk to and I needed to know if the whole thing sounded insane.

Once again, I tried calling her mobile and her office number. There was no reply. I checked the time – it was three o’clock. Telford, where Zara was based, was only an hour away by car. I could drive there, talk to her and be back in time to see Shirley. The day was already a complete write-off, work-wise. Fired up and eager to keep up momentum, I hurried back to my car.

The road to Telford was picturesque and traffic was light. The rain had slowed to a light patter. A few months ago I’d watched a documentary about the so-called Shropshire Viper, a serial killer who’d terrorised this part of the world, waking up the county for a while. Now, it had slipped back to sleep.

I hit the M54 outside Telford and followed my satnav’s instructions to Zara’s office. It was located in an office block which housed half a dozen businesses. Like everything in this new town, it was a modern building with little character, function over form. I parked in the small car park round the back and pressed Zara’s buzzer. There was no reply.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have expected anything else. After all, she wasn’t answering her office phone so why did I think she’d be there? It was so frustrating, though, and as I stood in the rain I thumped my fist against the door, cursing my wasted journey.

‘Hey, you’ll break that door!’

A young woman with curly blonde hair approached the building, a scowl on her face.

‘Who are you and what are you doing?’

‘Sorry. I’m trying to get hold of Zara Sullivan.’

The woman was carrying a leather briefcase. I assumed she worked in the building. ‘The private detective? I haven’t seen her for ages.’

My mouth went dry. ‘Really? How long?’

‘A couple of weeks, at least. I rent the office next door to hers.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re not a debt collector, are you?’

‘I’m a client.’