Pictures Of Perfection by Reginald Hill

Author:Reginald Hill [Hill, Reginald]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 1994-08-15T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THREE

‘I dare say she was nothing but an innocent Country Girl.’

‘It really needs a stitch,’ said Fran Harding.

‘Does it? Well, it’ll have to wait,’ said Wield.

‘I could do it,’ the girl offered diffidently. ‘It’s OK. I wouldn’t be using a sewing kit, I’ve got the proper gear.’

‘Have you now? How come?’

‘After I finished my training, jobs were hard to find where I wanted them and Girlie said, why didn’t I stay on here to look after the Squire?’

‘The old gent seems like he can look after himself,’ said Wield drily.

‘He’s frailer than he looks, and he’s got … various things wrong with him. He doesn’t need a full-time nurse by any means, but having one on the spot puts off the time when he will need one, if you follow. At least that’s what Girlie said. And I said yes, because I love it here. Anyway, the point is, I’ve got my own medical store with everything for emergencies. So I can put a stitch in if you like. You’d need to see a doctor about anti-tetanus, though.’

‘That’s all right. My jabs are up to date,’ said Wield. ‘OK, luv. Go ahead.’

She led him upstairs to a small sitting-room comfortably furnished with a couple of old armchairs, a writing bureau, and a few pictures on the walls. She left him here and went off into an adjacent room, returning with a well-stocked medical bag. The stitch took a few seconds to put in, hardly hurt at all and looked a neat, efficient job.

‘That’s grand,’ said Wield. ‘Right professional.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, smiling with pleasure.

He smiled back and said, ‘I were looking at your grandma’s journal before.’

Her expression changed to one of such alarm he hastily added, ‘No, it were more Caddy Scudamore’s picture I were looking at,’ but that didn’t seem to improve matters either.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t prying but I happened to notice it when I was round at Mr Digweed’s, and I know it’s not out yet, but it is going to be published, isn’t it?’

‘What? Oh yes. Of course. Just some extracts. It was Larry, that’s the Vicar, who found it when he was sorting out some old papers in the vicarage. Grandma used to live there, you know, she married Mr Harding, and the journal must have got left behind when they went abroad …’

Something (relief perhaps, though for what?) was making her garrulous. First rule of interrogation was, if you get ’em talking, go with the flow whatever direction it takes. This wasn’t an interrogation but the principle held.

‘Abroad? Where was that?’

‘Africa. That’s where my mother was born.’

‘Africa? You mean, like missionaries? That must have been a change from Enscombe!’

‘I suppose so. But they couldn’t stay on here … well, the family didn’t approve of the marriage, and in those days if there was a row between the church and the Hall, it was the vicar who went.’

‘When your mum were born, didn’t that help mend matters?’

‘If it had been a boy, it might have done, I suppose.

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