Ann Cleeves - The Crow Trap

“What do you mean?”

“I could be influencing your results.” “Oh yeah!” she said. “Right. We’ve been having an affair for nearly a year, but a chat about Neville Furness is much more likely to influence my judgement than that. Come off it.”

“We have to be careful. Because of that.”

“I know!” She was indignant that he felt he had to say it. Then something about his voice, something about the way he looked down at the menu just as she was about to meet his eyes made her ask: “Why? Has anyone said anything?”

“No.”

“But you think someone might have guessed?”

He shrugged.

“I’ve a right to know, don’t you think?”

“That first time we went to the Riverside. When we came out together I thought I recognized the car on the other side of the road. We might have been seen. That’s all.”

“Who by? Whose car was it?”

“Neville Furness.”

“Oh!” she cried. “Bloody great!” Then she thought that Barbara’s notion that Neville was putting pressure on Godfrey to go ahead with the quarry against his better judgement, might not be so wide of the mark. Godfrey would go along with a lot not to have his wife and child upset.

“Has Neville said anything?” she demanded.

“No.”

“Not even indirectly? He could make a fortune out of the scheme.”

“Not even indirectly.” He sounded irritated. She had never known him so cross with her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “What’s the matter?”

“I have enough of that sort of talk at home.”

“What sort of talk?”

“Barbara thinks that Neville has too much influence over me. She’s never been happy about the quarry proposal. Since we’ve started to flesh out the details she’s become obsessed.”

“Perhaps she’s right!”

“No, you don’t understand. Neville’s not like that.” He handed her a menu. “Look, we should order. Rod will wonder what’s going on.”

Although Rod still seemed engrossed in Dostoevsky.

“What about this? Mullet baked with shallots and new potatoes.”

“Yes,” she said. “Anything.”

They sat in silence until the food had arrived and they’d begun to eat.

“Tell me then,” she said at last. “If Neville Furness isn’t into blackmail, what is he like?”

“An ordinary, decent bloke. A bit lonely. A bit shy.” He smiled. She could tell he was trying to please her. “He could do with a good woman. If he was the monster Barbara makes him out to be, do you think I’d have taken him on?”

“You might if you thought he’d be useful.” “No,” he said quietly. “Of course I want the business to grow. It’s how I measure what I’ve been doing, my achievement. But not at any price.”

“Why did he leave Holme Park?”

“I don’t know. I mean, not exactly. I can tell you how it happened if you’re interested?”

“Yes,” she said defiantly. “I am interested if that’s OK with you.”

“I had some preliminary meetings with Robert and Olivia Fulwell about the quarry. The approach came from them. At least I think probably from her. Furness was in on some of the discussions. I was impressed.

I also had the feeling that he wasn’t happy. The relationship between him and Mrs. Fulwell was… strained. I offered him a job. He accepted.”

“What did Lily Fulwell make of that?” His calm explanation reassured her. She was starting to relax, to enjoy the idea of Godfrey poaching Neville from Lily.

“I don’t know. It was none of my business.”

An idea occurred to her. “Do you think they’d been having an affair?”

“Like I said. None of my business.” Unusually he poured himself a second glass of wine. He looked tired. She pushed away her plate, still littered with fish bones, twigs of thyme, and reached across the table, a repeat of the gesture which had first brought them together.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have questioned your judgement.”

He seemed about to say something but lost his nerve at the last minute.

They spent all afternoon in the restaurant, finishing the wine then several cups of coffee. In the end Rod took their money and asked them to see themselves out. He’d long ago put up the closed signs and locked the door. Anne had the feeling again that Godfrey was building up to some confidence, but it wasn’t until they were out on the street that he seemed prepared to speak.

They’d wandered into the town centre, towards the secure car park which they always used. Anne, waiting for him to spit out whatever was bothering him, saw her reflection in the window of a shop selling cut price shoes. She looked so wretchedly old that she thought: he wants to get rid of me, that’s what he wanted to say. That’s why he picked that fight. At just that moment he started to speak.

“It’s Barbara.”

“What about her?” Anxiety made her aggressive, shrill.

“I’m not sure I can stay with her. Not indefinitely.”

“What are you saying?”

He stopped in the middle of the pavement. All around them were jostling women, kids on their way home from school. The stream of people eddied round them, took no notice. They were used to couples making a scene in the street.

“I’m asking what you feel about that.”

“I didn’t mean to come between you. That wasn’t my intention.”

“No. It’s nothing to do with you. It’s Barbara. You don’t know how much I owe her… “

“If you hadn’t married her you’d still be a craftsman, chiselling stone?”

“It’s not just that.” He became impatient because he’d lost his drift.

He raised his voice but still the crowds moved on, unheeding. “What I mean is that being grateful isn’t enough. What I mean is, I’d rather be with you. Not yet. When Felicity is a bit older. More independent. When this business with the quarry is settled. I need to know how you feel about that.”

It was only then that she realized he wasn’t giving her the push.

“You mean openly, publicly?”

“Marriage, if you want it.”

The next morning when he left her at the end of the lane to walk down to Baikie’s, she felt about fifteen again. She’d not slept. Godfrey had fallen asleep quite suddenly in the early hours and she’d lain awake listening to his quiet breathing. It was the first time they’d spent the night together. But still she felt she had the energy to work all day. And that she’d do anything Godfrey Waugh asked her to.

If it hadn’t been for occasional trips out to meet Godfrey, that week after the funeral would have driven her demented. Being trapped in Baikie’s with the two other women was worse than being back at school.

She even considered moving back home despite the long drive to the survey area, but Jeremy had returned from London and seemed installed in the Priory for a long stay. He seemed chastened. Perhaps one of his love affairs had gone sour, or perhaps it was one of his business ventures, but he was in little boy mode, in need of comfort, and she didn’t have the patience for it. Not now.

Rachael she could have handled. Even though Rachael was a frustrated bitch, uptight and heartless, at least she was sane. But ever since she’d come across Grace staring at the estate workers’ cottages at Holme Park, Anne had realized that she was as mad as a snake. Anne wasn’t given to whimsical fancies, but being woken at night by the rustling of Grace’s night clothes, the padding of her feet on the bare floor, made her seriously worried. She wouldn’t have put it past Grace to lose it altogether, and if someone was going to wake up with Grace’s penknife through her ribs, she didn’t intend it to be her.

So she told Rachael in the pub that she was going to move into the box room It might not have a lock, but at least she could wedge a chair under the door and she wouldn’t have to put up with Grace’s midnight wanderings. The pub had been Rachael’s idea. She’d been on management courses. She probably saw it as a team-building exercise. But as Grace spent all evening in the public phone box in the street outside and Anne used the opportunity to tell Rachael what she thought of Grace, it was a bit of a failure.