The sun …
Of course!
Chapter Thirty-one
Thursday 31st July
Voice of the Vale, Thirsk FM Radio:
Hey there, Thirskians! Time to put those fans away. Normal service has resumed with cloud and rain forecast! If you want the heat back, better buy yourself a plane ticket somewhere sunny!
‘Is this such a good idea?’ Pat’s gaze roved uneasily round the half-full garden centre café.
‘You really don’t have to stay,’ said Thelma. ‘I was the one she asked to see.’
‘Of course we’re staying,’ said Liz robustly. ‘We wouldn’t dream of leaving you on your own!’ She set her chin defiantly.
Pat nodded, but she had more than a few doubts about this meeting, not least the speed at which it had been set up. Thelma had sent an email, which had provoked an immediate request to meet, face to face. And if what Thelma had supposed was true – which Pat instinctively felt it was – there was no knowing how this person might react. She was suddenly assailed by an irreverent mental image of Thelma and their visitor rolling over and over between the tables, locked in grim combat, and had found herselfbiting back a grin. At least, she thought, the weather had cooled down. At long last she was back to wearing her baggy tops! Once again there were summer jackets on the backs of the chairs and the air admitted by the patio windows was fresh. Everyone seemed to have lost that slow, droopy listlessness. It was as if the whole world was breathing one huge, cool sigh of relief.
Thelma touched her arm. ‘You really don’t have to stay,’ she said again. ‘Honestly, it’s perfectly safe here with so many people around.’
Fighting down images of brawls between the tables Pat smiled at her friend, her very clever friend. ‘No,’ she said with a confidence she didn’t feel. ‘No, of course I’m staying.’
‘Here we go,’ said Liz nodding across the garden centre. ‘But who’s that with her?’
In the flesh, Bun Widdup cut no less a striking figure than she did on Zoom. Today she had presented herself in shades of green, a holly-green scarf twined round and through the auburn hair, a sage green skirt and loose-fitting top, emerald glass beads glinting round her throat. But close to, without the filter of Zoom, it was possible to notice other things, wires of white at the uncoloured roots of the coppery hair, lines around the jawline and the uneasiness in those dark-ringed eyes.
Hey, Mrs Kohl Panda, what’s a-botherin’ you today?
With her was a neat, slight woman of about thirty, dressed – expensively, Pat noted – in a charcoal grey suit and cream silk. She appeared to be one of those people who maintained a firm screen between whatever they were thinking and whatever was happening in the world.
‘This,’ said Bun Widdup, sitting down, ‘is Sarah Botha of Meredith and Bray solicitors.’
Sarah Botha gave a detached, professional nod and took a tablet from her bag – her Prada bag, Pat spotted.
‘My client,’ she said formally, ‘has a statement she wishes to share with you.’ She nodded at Bun, who took a brightly coloured A4 wallet from her bag, from which she extracted a printout. Herhands, all three noticed, were shaking slightly but when she raised her head to face the three her gaze was steady.
‘When we leave here in a few minutes,’ Bun said, ‘we’re going to Northallerton police station where we’ll be attending an interview with Chief Inspector Ian Blakley of North Yorkshire Police. In that interview I will tell him the following.’
She looked at the statement and began to read. ‘On Friday June 13th last, I was staying at the property known as the Snuggery, Hollinby Quernhow, belonging to one Neville Hilton. I had been staying there during the previous week and had also stayed there for some ten days at the beginning of April this year. I left the property at approximately four p.m. as was witnessed by the neighbour across the road living in the property called “SidrahNick”. To the best of my knowledge Mr Hilton was perfectly fine when I left the property and indeed, I believe he subsequently attended a Rotary meeting later that day.’ Her voice was clipped and formal, somehow less confident than normal and certainly more subdued than her usual rich tones. She looked at Sarah Botha, who gave her a brief, approving nod. ‘And that,’ said Bun Widdup, ‘is all I have to say.’
The two stirred, obviously preparing to go. Sarah replaced her tablet in her bag. Pat sat back, feeling relief mingled with surprise. Whatever she had expected, it wasn’t this.
‘Except—’ Thelma’s voice as mild and quiet as it was nonetheless felt as powerful as a thunderclap. ‘Except we all know it wasn’t like that at all.’
Bun sat back down, eyes fixed uneasily on Thelma.
‘Bun, I suggest we leave now.’ Sarah Botha’s voice had the clipped, smooth precision of a cut diamond.
‘I want to know exactly what she means by that,’ said Bun, her voice slightly hoarse.
‘We have an appointment,’ said Sarah warningly.
‘I want to know what she means.’ Now it was Bun’s turn to have an undercurrent of strength in her voice.
Maybe, thought Pat,the prospect of a punch-up wasn’t off the cards after all.
Bun looked at Thelma. ‘Go on.’
