Burial of Ghosts by Ann Cleeves

Author:Ann Cleeves [Cleeves, Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780330540490
Publisher: Bolinda Digital Pty Ltd

Chapter Twenty-one

Although there was a queue to get into the tea tent, inside it was peaceful and ordered. No self-service or plastic beakers here. The canvas filtered the noise from outside and, after the glare of the afternoon sun, the light was hazy. I seemed to see the scene in soft focus, as if from a long way off. There were small tables covered with gingham cloths, a posy of flowers set in the centre of each. It could have been a tearoom in Harrogate, mid-week, locals only, if the waitresses hadn’t been wearing fishnet tights and top hats. One of them approached me. She was plump and I thought she’d be stuck with the pattern of the net on her thighs for days.

‘There’s a seat over there if you don’t mind sharing.’

She pointed to a table where a couple were in conversation. The woman was dressed as Pierrot in a quartered silk costume in pink and white. Her hair had been tied back from her face, which had been painted white too, with delicate black triangles above her eyes and a black teardrop on her cheek. It was Joanna Samson. I couldn’t tell if her companion had dressed up for the occasion or not. He had on a tweed jacket in loud checks of various shades of brown and mustard. It was just what the owner of a tacky, provincial circus would have worn, but it could well have been Stuart Howdon’s idea of casual weekend chic.

‘That’ll be fine,’ I said.

When I approached the table Joanna gave me a look which could have been bemused half-recognition or a polite welcome to an intruding stranger. Howdon had his back to me and continued to talk. It was something about papers to be signed. His voice was hectoring. I remembered what Dickon had said about hating him. What hold could he have over Joanna? Why did she put up with his bullying?

‘We’ll need some sort of decision,’ he said. ‘Honestly, Jo, things can’t go on as they are.’

Something about her face made him fall silent, but still he had his back to me.

‘You don’t mind if I join you?’

He hesitated for a moment – perhaps he recognized my voice – then he did turn and he shrugged an acceptance of the inevitable. He gave no sign that we’d ever met. He had some nerve.

It wasn’t the place for a scene. Once I wouldn’t have bothered about that. Now I wasn’t up to telling a woman who’d been recently widowed that her husband’s illegitimate son had been brutally murdered. Not in front of a crowd. I did wonder if the police had been to see her to discuss a possible link between Philip and Thomas, but it didn’t seem likely. Farrier hadn’t believed my story in the end and he was kind enough not to want to deliver that particular bombshell. Why cause her grief for nothing?

I drank tea and ate scones and jam. The conversation between Joanna and Howdon spluttered into

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