Ann Cleeves - The Moth Catcher

Vera smiled, but didn’t correct him.

‘When I was cleaning last week-’

‘Before the murders at the big house?’ Vera thought it had been a mistake to interrupt, but she needed to make the facts clear.

‘Yes. Tuesday morning’s when I do Valley Farm, so it would have been the day Dad found young Patrick’s body.’ Susan came to a stop again. Her father nodded for her to continue. ‘I found a letter.’

‘Where?’

‘In the Lucas house. Nigel and Lorraine were out and I thought I’d give the place a bit of a blitz. It’s that time of year, isn’t it?’ Another hesitation. ‘There’s a room upstairs that Lorraine uses as a studio. For her art. She tells me not to bother doing in there. “It’d only get mucky again and, besides, I don’t like my things to be disturbed.” Not even Nigel goes in without knocking, and that’s always seemed weird to me. I mean, a married couple – it doesn’t seem right.’ Another pause.

‘But you thought you’d take the opportunity to give it a proper spring-clean.’ Vera had finished eating and pushed her plate to one side so that she could sit with her elbows on the table. ‘While they were both out.’

‘Yes!’ Susan sounded grateful. ‘I thought there wouldn’t be any harm just going in. See if there were any cups that needed washing. Lorraine often took her coffee upstairs.’

‘So this letter?’

Susan had begun to blush. ‘It was in the drawer of the big pine table she uses for her paper and stuff.’

‘And what did it say, this letter?’

‘It was a hospital appointment. The Department of Oncology at the Freeman in Newcastle. Inviting her in to discuss her options. It must have come a while ago.’

‘So Lorraine Lucas has cancer.’ Vera pictured the woman she’d seen in the old farmhouse. Skinny and pretty. Still all her own hair, as far as Vera could tell, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. ‘Why do you think she hasn’t told her husband?’

‘Because it’s never been mentioned. I remember her going into town the day of the appointment. It was a couple of weeks ago. Nigel didn’t go with her. Lorraine said she was going shopping; she wanted to buy some summer clothes because the weather was so warm.’

‘Do you remember the name of the consultant?’ Vera didn’t think this could have anything to do with the murder of three people. Cancer brought its own terror. But Douglas had been right. Secrets were always interesting, and it might say something about the couple that Lorraine hadn’t confided in her husband.

‘Robinson,’ Susan said. ‘I think that was it.’

‘What did you do then?’

‘I put the letter back in the drawer and went downstairs. I knew I shouldn’t have been in there. It was only me being nebby.’ The blush deepened. ‘I didn’t tell Dad about it until yesterday. I knew he’d be angry about me snooping.’

‘Then I phoned you.’ Percy looked at Vera, wanting to be reassured that he’d done the right thing.

Vera nodded. ‘Quite right.’ She turned to Susan. ‘Is there anything else you’ve come across?’ Trying not to accuse the woman. It seemed almost like an illness itself, this need to pry into other people’s business. ‘Best to tell me now. You’ve already said that Nigel had applied to become a magistrate.’

Susan only shook her head.

‘You’ll probably know those people as well as anyone,’ Vera said. ‘In their homes every week, and I expect they take you for granted and hardly realize you’re there. They probably say things in front of you that they wouldn’t tell anyone else.’

‘I’m like the dust-fairy.’ Susan gave a small, sharp smile. ‘You’d think their houses get clean as if by magic. Never any thanks. Not like Mrs Carswell, who’ll sit down for a chat when I’m finished.’

‘So is there anything you can tell me about them? Do they really all get on as well as they say?’

Susan shrugged. ‘They put on a good show.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, it’s all sweetness and light in public. In their own homes it’s a bit different. Professor O’Kane’s the worst. He doesn’t have anything nice to say about anyone. He’s arrogant; thinks he’s better than the rest of them because he knows about the past. All snide comments.’

They sat for a moment in silence.

Vera got to her feet. ‘Nobody else must know about Lorraine’s illness,’ she said. ‘It’s private. Not our business.’ At least not your business .

‘I don’t gossip. Not really.’ Then a confession of sorts. ‘I don’t have much of a life here, just me and Dad. I’m just interested in other people’s lives.’

‘Ah, pet, you and me both.’

As Vera was pulling away from Percy’s bungalow she was met by a car driving down the track towards Gilswick. Nigel Lucas. Maybe he was just on his way to the village to pick up the Sunday papers, but it seemed like a sign. Lorraine would be in the house on her own.

It took Lorraine a while to open the farmhouse door, and she was still in her nightclothes with a dressing gown pulled over the top. It was the first time Vera had seen her without make-up and she looked grey and very tired.

‘I’m sorry.’ Vera was sympathetic, but she was inside the door already, taking no chances. ‘I got you out of your bed. I wanted to chat to you on your own.’

‘What’s this about? Your sergeant was here yesterday to take statements. We told him everything we know about that poor woman dying.’

‘Shall I put the kettle on? Make us some tea?’ Vera walked through to the kitchen, letting the woman follow. There was a granite breakfast bar with ridiculously high stools. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to hoist herself onto them. Or get off, once she was there. ‘Let’s take the tea up to your studio, shall we? We know we won’t be interrupted there. Why don’t you lead the way?’

Lorraine shrugged. She seemed to have no fight in her. Vera wondered if that was down to the illness or the cure. They walked up the polished wooden stairs to a landing with a view of the hall and the kitchen, and then Lorraine pushed open a door into her studio. It was the size of a double bedroom, with one long window looking north towards the hill. An easel and a set of white-painted cupboards. The scrubbed pine table that Susan had described. Along one wall a chaise longue in faded grey velour. ‘I noticed that, in the Kimmerston saleroom when we first moved up here,’ Lorraine said. ‘Nigel saw that I liked it and went to the auction and bid for it. A surprise, until it was delivered.’ She paused for a beat. ‘He’s such a kind man.’

‘Is that why you haven’t told him you’re ill? Worried he’ll kill you with kindness?’ Vera took a seat on a chair that looked as if it had once belonged to a teacher in a village school. Lorraine sank onto the chaise longue.

‘How did you know?’

‘We poke around into everyone’s business in a murder inquiry. That’s our job. Not all the secrets we dig up are relevant to the investigation, but we can’t ignore them.’ From her seat Vera could see into the back gardens of the houses on each side. Janet was feeding her hens. Annie was hanging washing on her line. It occurred to her that Lorraine had kept the secret of her illness because nothing else could be hidden here. She had so little control over what was going on in her body; at least she could take control of the how and when she shared information about being ill.

‘I told Nigel when I was first diagnosed with breast cancer.’ Lorraine gave a little smile. ‘I couldn’t really hide it from him; he found the lump, dragged me off to the GP.’

‘That was before you moved here?’

‘It was what prompted the move. Nigel’s business had grown since he first started it. I thought he liked the success, setting up branches all over the country. Then, when I was ill, he decided to sell up. “Someone’s made me an offer I can’t refuse, Lorrie. Let’s call it a day and give ourselves a bit of quality time.” I was going through chemo and didn’t have the energy to think it through. So I said: why not? A move to the country, more time to paint. All that sounded great to me.’