Outside it was warm, but overcast, which had been the default condition for most of the month. Since Jessica had grown up, the month of August had lost much of that bitter-sweet urgency, where it was regarded as the entire summer, the only time a family could get away for a holiday. She and Carl had enjoyed only one self-indulgent fortnight at the end of June, when Jessica was seventeen. They’d gone to Brittany, feeling like fugitives from every responsibility. After that, Carl had died and Thea found herself swamped with house-sitting work all summer. Jessica left home, Hepzibah was acquired, and holidays seemed like something other people did. And now she was back several steps, frantically trying to give two children a good summer while preserving her own sanity.

Feeling sorry for herself on every level, she drifted around the house. She should be concentrating on the murder – the resolution felt so close, along with a vague sense of danger. The police were nowhere in sight; nobody really cared what became of her in this strange old village. Awful things were going on behind the bland exteriors – nothing was as it seemed. Nobody was telling the truth.

It was after six. Outside it was still light, the day far from finished, but everyone had deserted her. It was all very well for Ben to preach about knowing when to stop playing amateur detective, but just walking off and 317leaving her in limbo began to feel unfair. After all, he was amongst individuals who could turn out to be active players in the investigation. While he probably wasn’t actually in any danger, he was at least quite likely to be in line for some excitement.

Make something happen! her inner voice shouted at her again. But what? Still she drifted and dithered and hesitated. Anything she did now could make matters worse. She might blunderingly ruin a delicate plan that clever Caz Barkley was unfolding without Thea’s knowledge. All around her were people she did not know or understand. Even Ben Harkness could well have an agenda that he’d kept to himself.

When the doorbell rang, she went limp with relief. Even if it was a gang of murderous men with guns, it would be better than this paralysis.

It wasn’t a gang of men. It was a single woman, with nothing in her hands at all.

318

Chapter Twenty-Three

Norma Whatever-her-name-was stood there, faintly smiling. ‘All on your own?’ she asked, with a lift of the eyebrows.

‘As usual.’ The bitterness surprised even Thea herself.

‘Well, that’s not good. Come round to mine for the evening. We can play cards or something. Have some wine. Have you eaten yet?’

‘I had a big lunch, so I’m not very hungry.’

‘I find hunger isn’t very relevant, though. Don’t you?’

Thea laughed. ‘I suppose that’s true. Well, it’s a very kind thought, but …’ She could find no excuse that would sound remotely convincing. She couldn’t even convince herself. Why was she hesitating? What did this immediate instinct to refuse the offer really mean? The woman was perfectly ordinary and friendly. She was only following up on her earlier attempt to make a connection. Perhaps that was it. Why was she so persistent? ‘I need to phone my husband,’ Thea finished lamely. ‘He’ll expect a call from me any time now.’319