Chapter Five

Throughout the afternoon George Palmer-Jones had felt depression and lethargy settle upon him like a fine dust. He felt tainted and constricted by it, and he could not shake it off. He recognized the mood and knew that it would pass, but that did not help. It had not helped him to control the interview with Sally. His refusal to give an expression of unconditional belief in her had given the wrong impression. Now she would not trust him, and it had been important to retain her trust, because he knew that she was hiding something. He was conscious too of a deeper sense of failure that had nothing to do with the investigation. She was a beautiful woman, and he had not impressed her at all. She could not believe in him, and his pride was hurt. He was taunted by the certainty that he had missed an essential point; there had been some word or inflection or insinuation which should have been followed up. He had handled the whole meeting with abysmal incompetence.

He did not speak as he drove from Fenquay, through Rushy village, past the track which led to the marsh, to the White Lodge hotel. Molly knew better than to try to speak to him.

The hotel was set well back from the road in several acres of well-kept park, with cropped grass and some mature oaks. It had once been a pleasant country house, white and solid, a country gentleman’s house with stables, dogs and a well-stocked working garden. Now it was clean, bland, a replica of many other hotels owned by the same large company. There was the same expensive lack of comfort, the same absence of staff. They almost had the place to themselves. Only one other couple sat in the restaurant for dinner.

The food was indifferent—the garden had been superseded by the freezer—it was badly served and George’s depression deepened, turned to anger. Molly made no attempt to intrude. She had already forgiven his lack of tact with Sally. She too recognized his mood. They finished a tiny cup of lukewarm coffee and in a futile gesture of anger he got noisily to his feet. With more purpose than he had shown all day, he made for the bar. Molly stopped him:

“Not yet.”

He looked at her. She became, briefly, the focus of his temper.

“It’s too early to start drinking yet. Especially in that mood. I want to go to see Ella and Jack. You know that they’ll be offended if they hear that we’ve been staying in Rushy and haven’t called.”

Passive still, he allowed himself to be led to the bedroom to change back into his old, comfortable, birdwatching clothes. They left the hotel by a double door at the end of the reception area. This was a square room, furnished with low, impractical chairs in an unpleasant shade of orange. Another double door led to the dining room and bar. By the side of the receptionist’s desk was a door marked “ Staff Only” which appeared to lead from the main building to an annexe presumably housing the kitchens and staff accommodation. A bored, middle-aged woman sat behind the desk and discreetly read a magazine. She smiled brightly and dutifully as they walked past.