Nice chap but nobody likes him.
It crossed her mind that maybe she should take some photos of the letters, but at that moment she heard Jax from outside calling her name. In a guilty burst of movement, she tried to shove the folder back into the divider, only to find something fouling it from going in smoothly. Feeling inside her fingers met the glossy surface of a photo, she pulled it out curiously. It was a picture of Nev and Jax, a much younger Nev and Jax. The word ‘radiant’ was one that in Liz’s book was much overused but here it was spot on. The pair looked soyoung, so full of life. Nev, thinner and with considerably more hair, was alive with a happy smile and no trace of irritating smugness. And Jax – no ponytail, hair a natural colour – in that brief snapshotted moment alive with hope, joy and yes, love.
‘Liz, are you there?’ There was a tone in Jax’s voice that brought a prickle to the back of Liz’s neck. Relieved not to have been found in the study, Liz stuffed the photo back into the file, shut the drawer and hurried into the kitchen.
‘Clichéd stunning’ was a phrase that she and Derek had coined during their many hours of watchingEscape to the Country. The beechwood units, the granite countertops, the gleaming steel hob and hood, were all exactly what you’d expect from a top-of-the-range North Yorkshire barn conversion – except like the hall there was more evidence of Ffion Hilton’s priorities: another jacket, more boots, a rather smelly blanket and what appeared to be an old saddle.
Jax was at the far end of the room, by a back door, staring intently into a walk-in cupboard. ‘Oh my God,’ she was saying. ‘Oh my God, I do not believe this.’
Liz hurried to join her and peered over her shoulder.
‘I thought she might have stashed the keys in here maybe,’ said Jax. ‘Hung them up or something. And I saw these.’ She flung out a dramatic finger.
Stashed at the back of the cupboard amongst a nest of toilet rolls was an object – a pair of objects – riding boots. Scuffed women’s riding boots.Liberally splashed with pale-yellow paint.
‘Oh my God,’ said Jax. ‘What should we do?’
‘Don’t touch them,’ said Liz firmly, taking out her phone. Cursing silently as she grappled with unlocking it without her glasses, she eventually managed to find the camera app and took a couple of pictures (as well as nearly ordering more sugar-free biscuits off Amazon).
‘Oh my God,’ said Jax for a third time. ‘Do you reckon you ought to tell someone?’
Liz shot her a glance at the use of the pronoun ‘you’; there was that distinct ‘Shall I leave it with you?’ tone to Jax’s voice. Liz opened her mouth to speak but at that moment there was a pistol-like click from the front door lock.
The two women stared in horror.
‘I thought you said she was away,’ hissed Liz angrily. Quickly, Jax stashed the boots back in the cupboard and shut the door; by the time Ffion appeared in the doorway the pair were stood by the counter, side by side, like naughty children.
‘What the fuck?’ said the second Mrs Hilton.
‘I left my keys here,’ blurted Jax. ‘My keys for the houses in Pickhill. When I was in the other week.’
‘Just what is going on?’ said Ffion angrily. ‘What are you doing in my kitchen?’
She’s just said, thought Liz, but nevertheless said nothing.
‘When I was cleaning the Snuggery earlier,’ babbled Jax, ‘I came in for some more spray like I do and I reckon I put some keys down.’
Ffion shook her head. ‘So why didn’t you ring and ask?’ she snapped. Even without being seated on an enormous horse she had a powerful presence.
Why not indeed?thought Liz.
‘I was just passing and I thought I’d drop by.’
‘Listen,’ said Ffion. ‘I’m just gonna say this the once. I do not want you coming in here.’ She emphasised each word with ice-cube hardness. ‘I don’t give a fuck about keys or spray. In fact—’ A carmine-nailed hand shot out. ‘In fact, give me the keys you’ve got. You cannot be coming in here; I didn’t even know youhadany keys.’
‘Neville let me have them.’
‘Yeah, well, Neville’s dead. This is my house and I do not want you barging in here, especially not when I’m not in.’
Heart pounding and sinuses swelling, Liz regarded the angry figure of the second Mrs Hilton. Had this woman lied to the police? Had she not been in Carlisle but there, screaming at her husband?
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, speaking for the first time. ‘I do apologise. We’ll go now.’
Ffion looked at her. ‘You were at the funeral,’ she stated flatly. ‘And you were in the village the day of the festival.’
‘I came with Jax because she doesn’t like coming in here,’ said Liz.
‘There’s a simple answer to that. Don’t come.’ Her hand closed over the key that Jax shamefacedly handed her. ‘I’m serious – if I find any of you anywhere near the place again, I’m calling the police.’
