‘Thank you for telling me about Robert Falkner, Imogen. That’s very useful information. I’ll be in touch.’ She ends the call before I’ve had the chance to say goodbye.
The town centre is only a five-minute walk from the station. Magpie Hill is in the distance and I can just about see a trail of hikers with poles making their way up a jagged pathway, like figures from a Lowry painting.
The town isn’t as pretty as some of the places I passed through on the way here. The area has an industrial feel to it, with former mills turned into apartments overlooking a river. I walk through a small high street with a few boarded-up shops and a homeless man lying on a bench with a dog at his feet. I stop on the grass vergeto let Solly have a wee and then we wander around until we find the street where Dorothea lived with Bobby. A terrace of red-brick Victorians with neat front gardens. From the biography, it sounded like she’d worked in a textiles factory which has long since closed down. I stand at the end of the long street looking at the rows of terraces, wondering where to start. I doubt anybody will still be living here fifty years later. I’m not even sure which number Dorothea and Bobby had lived at. I decide to start at the end and work my way down one side of the street and then along the other. It’s long and tedious and people either don’t answer the door or look at me suspiciously, even if their demeanour softens at the sight of Solly.
Just when I’m thinking this is a complete waste of time, a woman answers the door with a sleepy toddler in her arms.
‘Hi,’ she says softly. And then she glances at Solly and addresses her toddler in a sing-song voice. ‘Oh look, Lola, what a cute doggy.’ The woman doesn’t eye me cagily, like all the others.
‘Sorry to bother you. My name is Imogen and I’m looking for information about a woman called Dorothea Roe. It’s a long shot, I know, but she used to live on this street and it was before your time and everything, but …’
Her eyes light up. ‘You’re the second person in the space of a week to come here asking about Dorothea Roe,’ she says eagerly, moving her daughter further up her hip.
I try and keep my demeanour calm. ‘I see. Who was the other person, out of interest?’
‘A man. Older. He said he’s written a biography about her and was doing an … oh, what did he call it? Like an appendage. Or an epilogue.’ She giggles. ‘I can’t remember what it was called, but apparently she died since he finished the book and he wanted to add something …’ She trails off, looking uncertain.
‘Did he tell you his name?’
She frowns. ‘Yeah, he did, but I can’t remember. Something beginning with C … that’s it, Crane, I think. I can’t remember his first name.’
‘Okay.’ I manage to keep the excitement from my voice when I ask her to describe the man.
She considers this for a moment. ‘Smartly dressed. Grey hair. Older. Like in his seventies.’
Could it be the same man Harry told DI Shirley about? The man I saw out walking earlier?
‘Thank you so much for your help,’ I say, about to walk off, my mind racing. Why would Sidney Crane be hanging around the lane? It can’t be a coincidence that he just happened to walk across the field this morning at the same time as me.
‘Wait.’ She steps onto the path in her fluffy slippers; her daughter is quietly sucking her thumb, her eyes not leaving Solly. ‘This was my grandmother’s house. She’s in a home now but she’s still as sharp as a tack.’ She taps her temple. ‘Let me take your number and I’ll speak to her and ask if she remembers this woman.’
My spirits lift. ‘That would be amazing, thanks so much.’
‘Wait there and I’ll get my phone.’
She plonks her daughter down, who toddles off behind her in the direction of the kitchen. The woman comes back with her phone and we exchange numbers. ‘I’m Scarlett, by the way,’ she says, flashing me a smile. ‘My grandmother is Esme. She might not remember Dorothea, of course, but it’s worth a shot.’
‘Absolutely. Thanks so much. She was called Dorothy back then. Dorothy Falkner. Did you, er … did you do the same for this biographer who called earlier in the week?’
She shakes her head and pulls at her ponytail. ‘No. It was only after he’d left that I thought of it.’
I’m relieved. If her grandmother does remember Dorothea, I don’t want this Sidney Crane to be told anything. I have to give it to him, though: he’s definitely done his research on Dorothea. Although I wonder why he’s left it until now to come here. He knew she used to live here – he was the one who wrote it in his book. So, what else has he found out since her death that warrants a visit now?
As I walk back from Bath Spa station my palms start to sweat and, for the first time, I realize I don’t want to be at the villa by myself. What if the biker man is still lurking around? Or if he’s somehow managed to circumnavigate the alarm and break in? It’s only 3 p.m. so Josh won’t be back for a while yet.
I slow down as I pass Harry’s parents’ house. I can see him in the front driveway, tinkering with his motorbike.My feelings oscillate: I want to be able to trust him, but I have to remain on my guard.
Harry turns around in surprise when he hears my footsteps. ‘Imogen!’ He stands up. He’s wearing old jeans with a rip in the knee and a hoody which makes him look younger and more vulnerable than when he’s in his work clothes. Maybe it’s because he reminds me more of that teenage boy I’d once had such a crush on. He’s holding a cloth which he uses to clean his hands. ‘I’ve been meaning to call you. I’m so sorry about yesterday. It wasn’t what it looked like, I hope you know that. I’ve explained it all to the police.’
I decide to pretend I haven’t spoken to DI Shirley so I can hear his version of events. ‘What were you doing?’
‘Dennis wasn’t even in. He had gone out for the day and asked my parents to keep an eye on the house. That’s all I was doing. I’d seen this guy … that’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about, you know, the other day when we ran into each other.’
‘What guy?’
‘Hanging around here. Dressed smartly. Older.’
‘I’ve seen him too,’ I admit. ‘How often have you seen him hanging around?’
