Ann Cleeves - The Crow Trap

Godfrey returned to a woman standing at the front of the crowd. This must be his wife. Anne drank a toast to the reserve in tepid white wine and looked at her.

Anne had created a fiction about Barbara Waugh. She had imagined a plump, boring woman. Godfrey would have met her at secondary school.

Their domestic life would be dreary, their conversation limited. They probably hadn’t had sex since the conception of the wonder child and according to this fiction all the couple had in common now was the daughter.

Anne saw immediately that she had misjudged the situation completely.

For one thing Barbara was serious competition. She was expensively dressed, beautifully groomed. She had cheekbones some women would die for and softly per med hair. In comparison Anne felt scrawny, ill kempt.

While she was still watching, Barbara and Godfrey exchanged a few words then Barbara broke away from him and walked over the grass to Anne. For a moment Anne wondered angrily if Godfrey had, after all, told his wife about the affair. Seeing the woman had made her reassess the relationship. Perhaps he had only been bothered about secrecy so he could preserve his respectable media image. Perhaps they were one of those sick-making couples who had no secrets. She prepared herself for a scene.

But it seemed that Barbara wanted to be friendly. She smiled anxiously. Anne could sense a strain, a definite tension. The words came out too quickly. The smile was replaced by a frown, a nervous gesture which seemed habitual.

She’s a neurotic cow, Anne thought triumphantly, glad to be able to pigeon-hole her, feeling superior. She thought Barbara wouldn’t be much competition at all. Now that they were standing close to each other it was obvious that they were much the same age. Barbara must have been approaching forty when she had the chud.

Ill “Mrs. Preece. I wondered if I could have a word… “

“Of course.”

“I just want to tell you how much I admire the work you do. The environment’s so important, don’t you think?”

It took all Anne’s composure not to appear shocked. It was the last thing she was expecting. “Oh, I do,” she said, with just a hint of pastiche. Looking over the woman’s shoulder she saw Godfrey, staring at the cows in a distracted way. She could tell he was panicking.

Barbara continued earnestly, “I just wanted to tell you that neither my husband nor I resent your opposition to the quarry at Black Law. We are fully committed to nature conservation and if the Environmental Impact Assessment comes up with any information which indicates a problem, I can assure you that the scheme won’t go ahead. We wouldn’t wait for a public inquiry.”

“Right.” Anne didn’t know what else to say. “Well, thank you.” She was confused because although she hadn’t changed her opinion of Barbara as a neurotic cow, the woman was obviously sincere. She also found it odd that Barbara could speak with such authority about a company matter. Godfrey had never mentioned her in connection with it and Anne had imagined her a good northern wifey, staying at home and washing socks, keeping her nose out of her husband’s financial affairs.

“Are you involved with your husband’s business?” she asked. Perhaps Barbara went in a couple of times a week to work in the office.

“We’re partners. Not that I’ve played an active role since Felicity arrived, though of course Godfrey consults me. It was different in the early days. I grew up with the business. My father owned our first site at Slateburn. When we married he retired and we took it over. It wasn’t easy. In fact it was a terrible strain working every hour in the day just to keep going. But looking back I suppose I enjoyed it.” She smiled. “I enjoyed it more when a bit of money started coming in and we could catch our breath.” She seemed lost in thought. The nervous frown returned and she twisted the paper napkin she was still holding. She looked, Anne thought, like someone rolling a joint, though that was hardly her style.

Anne wondered why Godfrey never admitted to marrying the boss’s daughter. Perhaps struggling to success alone made a better story. She didn’t resent that. She told stories about her own past the whole time. The truth was so unexciting.

The woman stood silently for a moment. All around them was conversation and laughter. A great deal of the tepid wine had been drunk. Above the buzz she heard Peter’s voice, schoolboy clear, the diction perfect.

“Neville! Well, this has all gone very nicely, hasn’t it? You must be pleased.”

Langholme was a small place so she’d heard of Neville Furness. Son of Dougie who’d gone to college and got above himself. Land agent for the Holme Park Estate and then head-hunted to join Slateburn Quarries because, word had it, he was someone who could talk with the big landowners. Soon after, the deal was announced between Godfrey and the Fulwells. She had seen him when he’d lived in one of the tied houses on the estate. She’d taken to walking her dog along the lane at a time when he often went jogging, had tried to engage him in conversation but nothing had come of it. She’d tried to find out if he had a woman, but apparently not. She was aware suddenly that Barbara Waugh was looking in the same direction. But while Anne’s gaze at the dark muscular body was frankly admiring, Barbara’s was hostile, even afraid.

Barbara reached out and grabbed Anne’s arm.

“Come to see me,” she said, ‘ Alderwhinney. That’s the name of the house. We’re still in Slateburn. Anyone will tell you where it is.

I’d like to talk to you. Come for coffee. Or lunch. Any time. I hardly ever go out.”

It was almost a repetition of what Godfrey said when he first mentioned his wife. She didn’t say goodbye. She pecked Anne on the cheek and ran back to Felicity. Anne watched with astonishment.

Perhaps I should have gone, Anne thought. She pushed in the final pole. Tomorrow she would come back with the quad rats It might have been amusing. I suppose I could still go now, keep Barbara informed about the survey. It’s not as if Slateburn’s miles away. I wonder what Godfrey would make of that.

The next day it was pissing down with rain so they were all holed up in the cottage together. Anne suffered an hour of Rachael nagging about how this was a good opportunity to tidy up a bit, then couldn’t stand it any longer. She took the grotty Fiat into Langholme. The rain was so hard that she had to stop occasionally for the windscreen wipers to push the water from the screen. She phoned Godfrey from the public call box next to the garage.

It would have been more convenient to go back to the Priory but Jeremy was there and she couldn’t stand the thought of his fussing. He’d spent the last few weeks telling her that they’d have to tighten their belts. He’d even raised the possibility of selling the Priory. She’d only realized then how much the house meant to her. The thought of giving up the garden made her feel murderous. She’d nearly told him that she’d only married him for the Priory but realized in time that might be foolish. One of his famous deals might yet come off.

A boy, whose voice still seemed to be breaking, answered the phone.

“Hello! Slateburn Quarries Ltd. How may I help you?” When Anne said she wanted to talk to Godfrey there was a pause, then some whispered conversation. She was immediately suspicious. At last the boy spoke again: “I’m sorry, Mr. Waugh isn’t available just now.”

“When will he be available?”

“Not until tomorrow evening. He’s at a conference.”

“Where?”

The boy sounded confused. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I don’t know.”

It was then, in a fit of pique, that Anne phoned Barbara. She wanted to pay Godfrey back for not coming to the phone, when she was feeling so miserable. He hadn’t mentioned a conference to her. First she dialled directory enquiries. That almost took the decision about phoning away from her. If the Waughs were ex-directory, which they almost certainly would be, she’d have to give up the idea. But she was put straight through and before she could have second thoughts Barbara answered, a curt