Ann Cleeves - Telling Tales

Mantel was standing just inside the conservatory welcoming people as they came in. He had a politician’s knack of greeting them as if they were old friends, though he spent so little time in the village that it was impossible that he could know them all. A tall blonde who was dressed in jeans and a white linen shirt stood at his side. Her boots had heels and made her taller than him. Very nice, Keith. Much classier than the women you used to knock around with. But then you always had taste… James thought for a moment that he must have spoken the words out loud because Emma clutched suddenly at his arm. There was a shot of anxiety when he thought Mantel might have heard, then he saw that the scene was playing out quite normally around him, and then all that remained was a mixture of exhilaration and fear. It had always been like that with Keith. The couple ahead of them in the short queue moved on and he was face to face with Mantel. He took a quick breath, but it was Emma whom Mantel recognized and turned to. He pulled her towards him in a hug. James sensed her awkwardness but there was little he could do.

“Emma, my dear. How brave of you to come here at a time like this! I’ve been thinking of you. All this dreadful publicity.” His voice was quiet.

“It’s a good cause.” James thought he heard the irony in his repeated words but Mantel accepted them straight.

“Oh, I do agree. I’ve always been a supporter. Even when I lived in the town.”

“This is James,” she said. “My husband.”

Mantel, with his eyes still on Emma, still clasping her hand in his, hardly looked up.

“You’re back in Elvet, I hear. In the Captain’s House.”

“James is one of the Humber pilots. It’s very convenient.”

Then Mantel did turn to James with a small frown. James didn’t think it was a frown of recognition but a gesture he had seen before: Mantel was fixing the bit of information in his mind because one day it might become useful. It disappeared almost immediately.

“Now what would you like to drink? Debs will get you something. This is Debs, the new woman in my life.” Another frown to show he wasn’t oblivious to the sensitivities of the situation. It had only been a matter of days since a former young lover had hanged herself after all. A certain tact was called for. Are your parents still at Springhead, Emma? And didn’t you have a brother? A clever lad who went away to university. He was sweet on Abigail at one time I remember.”

It was the first time he’d mentioned his daughter. He paused and James thought he was like an actor waiting for applause. He expected some acknowledgement of his courage. And Debs, well trained, squeezed his shoulders sympathetically. Emma had been more moved by the words, but Mantel did not wait to see their effect on her. He turned away quickly and had already passed on to greet the next person in the queue.

Emma wasn’t taken in by Keith Mantel. He was putting on a good show but she thought he was still desolate about Abigail’s murder. That was why he had turned away from her so quickly after talking about his daughter. He hadn’t wanted Emma to see how upset he still felt. And how had he known about Christopher? Abigail must have realized that Christopher was infatuated and mentioned it to her father. Emma hoped they hadn’t laughed at him. She had a horrible picture of Abigail sniggering, of father and daughter mocking Chris for being so soppy, sitting together on the fat, pink sofa where now an old lady was clutching a sweet sherry.

Throughout the evening, she found herself looking out for Dan Greenwood. It was what she had always done at these gatherings when most of the village were present. Even while she talked to James or exchanged horror stories with a young mum she’d met at antenatal classes, she was alert for his presence. Secretly watching and listening. Hoping he’d turn up. Then she’d be rewarded by the sound of his voice across the room, his bulky shape in the distance. And she’d try to catch his eye.

And still, tonight, she looked out for him. Because after all this time it was hard to stop. It had become a habit, like staring out of her bedroom window on windy nights when James was working. When she heard him exchange a few words with Mantel, she forced herself not to turn, but there was the same excitement. She tried immediately to damp it down. I’m not a teenager, she said to herself. I’m not fifteen any more. I was flattered by his response to me and even that was a mistake. But she couldn’t stop. The excitement was addictive.

Standing by the bar, though, she strained to listen. Mantel must have asked Dan about the case. Is there any news? Can you tell me what’s going on? He must have spoken quietly and discreetly. Certainly there had been no attempt to make a fuss. Emma hadn’t heard him speak, but she did make out Dan’s response.

“You know I can’t help you with that. I’m not on the case any more. I’m a civilian. I know no more than you.”

The words were bland, conciliatory even, but she was used to pulling meaning from what he said and it seemed to her suddenly that he disliked Keith Mantel. She had thought everyone in the village liked Abigail’s father, felt nothing but sympathy for him. First Vera had been dismissive. Now Dan’s response was a surprise and disconcerting.

: She wandered outside, passing so close to Dan Greenwood that she could smell the wax on his Barbour jacket. The sky had cleared overhead completely. There was a thin moon and sharp pinpricks of stars. It must still be misty out to sea, because below the voices she could hear the fog horn on the Point. A deep rumble like thunder. The evening had begun in a rather decorous and subdued way, but now there was a pile of empty beer cans in the corner by the barbecue and the lifeboat crew cooks were laughing and shouting.

The brief lull in sound was unexpected. The music had stopped for some reason and the loudest cook was scooping a sausage into a bun, concentrating, his fat tongue showing through the vice of his teeth. In the silence, falling into it, not realizing it was coming, someone said, “Bloody hell, there’s old Mike Long. I haven’t seen him for years.” Then the noise started again, but by then everyone had stared at the tall, thin man and at the woman who was walking beside him.

Emma recognized the name and then the man in the light of the flames which the frost seemed to have tinged blue. She wondered if Robert had noticed him, if there would be another scene. But Michael Long no longer seemed angry. He was moving hesitantly among the crowd, meeting old friends. If he recognized Robert he didn’t show it.

The woman with him was Vera Stanhope. She saw Emma looking and came up to her, waving a can of lager as greeting. She had changed from the usual shapeless dress into crumpled baggy trousers and a huge navy sweater with a roll neck. She was still wearing the sandals.

“What are you doing here?” Emma asked. It was illogical but she blamed Vera for interrupting her meal with James the night before. The image of the detective standing on the step, battering at the door had been so strong that she couldn’t lose it, even though it had been Christopher standing there.

“Everyone has a night off, pet.”

Oh no, not you. You pretend to be a clown, but you’re the most intelligent woman I’ve ever met.

“Besides, it’s a good cause, isn’t it?” Vera beamed. “Lifeboats and that. Saving folks.” She looked back to the house. The fire was reflected in the long chapel window. “So this is where you and Abigail spent that summer. Sharing your secrets. Best friends.”

Emma looked at her sharply wondering how the detective could have guessed that best friends hardly described the relationship they’d had. Because the tone of her voice echoed Christopher’s when he’d said the night before, “She was your only friend. I always thought you hated her.” Had it been hatred? Emma wondered. Abigail had been the mistress and she the paid companion, flattering, laughing at the jokes, sympathizing when Jeanie Long came along to spoil it all. There had been resentment, certainly. But hatred? Why had she stuck it out for so long? Because there had been moments of real affection. And because in the Mantel household there had been a glamour missing in the rest of her life.