159Thanks to close questioning of Sid and Dave on the subject, she achieved a long hot bath at ten, with a book. The habit had been broken once she was living with Drew and his children. There was never quite enough hot water, and the Slocombes all thought there was something a bit mad about lying in a six-inch puddle reading for half an hour or more. The water went cold, they said. How could it be enjoyable? Somebody would bang on the door after ten minutes to ask if she was dead. Now she could relish Tabitha Ibbotson’s facilities, having wantonly used the immersion heater to get the water good and hot. Sid and Dave would have to wait for their plumber to activate the nice new boiler they had installed just that day along with the cooker, dishwasher and fan extractor. It had been eight hours of impressive work, by any standards.

The book was diverting, and the hot bath soothed away at least some of the current anxieties. The most persistent was the question of Drew, and what was really going on with him.

Tuesday dawned gradually, the sun blocked by dense cloud. It was almost eight when Thea woke, and she rolled out of bed with a sense of urgency. Only when she was washing her face did she pause to ask herself why she was rushing. All she could come up with was that the builders could arrive any time, and some old-fashioned sense of propriety suggested she should not greet them in her dressing gown. And there was Clovis to think about.160

The main thought was that Drew must never know that she had met the man she so shamefully fancied. She obviously wouldn’t lie if it occurred to him to question her about the people she’d met while in Barnsley. She just wouldn’t voluntarily mention it if she didn’t have to. It wouldn’t even feel like a secret. Just something he was better off not knowing. Any woman in the world would thoroughly agree with that.

She made coffee and ate a piece of cold bread spread with butter and Marmite. Outside it was dry but grey. The trees looked dusty and tired, preparing to shed their leaves and call it a day. There was a patch of honeysuckle in one corner of the front garden, its flowers a distant memory and most of its leaves brown and crisp. July had been very dry, and the plant had evidently not recovered from the weeks of thirst. Tabitha couldn’t have watered it during her stay at the house.

Forcing her thoughts away from Clovis, she concentrated on the group of women who deserved her attention. Gladwin, Grace, Barkley, Tabitha. They all swirled around, offering trouble and friendship in equal measure. They had all depended on her, Thea Slocombe, in one way or another, and she was determined not to let them down. Even Grace, already the recipient of genuine benevolence, deserved to have her story revealed and her death avenged. Tabitha was relying on her to keep her house intact, her piano undamaged.