14

In the silence of the room, Molly’s gasp was loud. Covering her mouth with a shaking hand, she looked at the inspector. ‘He’s dead?’

‘You understand now why we need answers to our questions, Mrs Chatwell,’ the inspector said evenly.

She was frozen for a moment, then dropping her hand, she nodded.

‘So, I ask you again, were you and Oliver Vine lovers?’

A flashback of the canal encounter came to her; the handsome man, his smouldering sexuality, those vivid eyes. Now, he was dead. A twinge of regret for such a tragic loss made her clasp her arms across her chest. ‘No,’ she said, ‘we weren’t lovers, it was a moment’s madness.’ She gulped, feeling a wave of nausea sweep over her. ‘I need a glass of water.’ And before they could say anything, she left the room.

In the kitchen, she let the cold tap run, scooping water up with her two hands and bathing her face, the water dripping from her chin onto her shirt. After a moment, she turned the water off, grabbed a towel and hid her eyes in its comforting darkness.

She had to go back. Answer questions. Oliver Vine. She squeezed her eyes shut on the memory.

Returning to the lounge, she sat in the same chair. She didn’t wait for them to ask. In a slow monotone, she described the two occasions she had met Oliver Vine and what had taken place on the towpath. ‘It is completely out of character for me to do something like that,’ she said. ‘It was a moment’s craziness. He was so handsome, so… sexy… his turquoise eyes so mesmerising.’

‘Turquoise eyes?’ Fanshawe said, with a raised eyebrow.

DS Carstairs was less interested in the description. ‘You met this man a couple of times and tried to seduce him?’

Colour flooded her cheeks. Had she really? Hadn’t she simply wanted a moment – a moment of feeling desirable. But if Oliver Vine had responded, if he had lowered those gorgeous lips to hers, would she have done what Amelia had suggested, dragged him into the fields and had her wicked way with him? It sounded so unlike anything she would have done, and yet… Her eyes met Carstairs’ hard critical ones. How could she explain, when she didn’t really understand it herself? That for a while she’d believed this incredibly handsome man had found her attractive and desirable and it had made her feel good. That she’d relished the feeling and when the opportunity arose she’d taken it… and oh yes, she would have taken it further, would have lost herself in one crazy act, only it didn’t happen because she’d got it all wrong.

‘It wasn’t like that,’ she said. When neither spoke, her voiced hitched, a pathetic sound in the quiet room. ‘I thought it was a mutual attraction. I was wrong.’