Swimming Pool Sunday by Madeleine Wickham & Sophie Kinsella

Author:Madeleine Wickham & Sophie Kinsella [Wickham, Madeleine & Kinsella, Sophie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Contemporary Women
ISBN: 0552772259
Google: IORHF4tLLZoC
Amazon: B004H1T7X4
Goodreads: 13366831
Publisher: Transworld
Published: 1997-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Louise had not told Barnaby about Meredith’s visit. Her instinct had been to telephone him straight away, but Cassian had forcefully persuaded her to keep quiet.

‘There’s really no point in stirring things up,’ he said. ‘You know what Barnaby’s like, he’ll completely overreact.’

But news of the scene had already travelled round the village, and when Barnaby arrived at Larch Tree Cottage the following night to discuss the case, he was full of alarmed rage.

‘What did she say to you?’ he said, as soon as Louise opened the door. ‘That girl, Meredith. Did she threaten you? Someone told me she attacked you in the street!’

Louise stared up at his huge angry face, outraged on her behalf, and felt suddenly touched.

‘Yes, well, it was quite frightening,’ she said in the gently teasing tones which she hadn’t used for months. ‘She came at me with … with five hand grenades and a machete!’ Barnaby gave a small astonished start, then his expression changed to an unwilling grin. Louise giggled.

‘I was worried!’ he said accusingly.

‘Of course you were.’ Cassian’s smooth tones travelled from the back of the hall. Barnaby looked up and scowled. ‘But there’s no need for alarm,’ continued Cassian, gliding swiftly towards the front door and taking Louise’s hand, ‘I was present when the girl made her attack.’ He smiled complacently at Barnaby. ‘I was able to get rid of her and note down some of the wilder comments she made. Really,’ he added, leading the way to the kitchen, ‘these people seem determined to hinder their chances of success.’

Barnaby looked at Louise.

‘Why does he say that?’

‘Oh.’ Louise sighed. ‘Ursula wrote me a letter which apparently we’ll be able to use in the case. It was a very sweet letter, but she practically admitted liability in it. And she enclosed some money, too.’

‘Money? How much?’

‘A thousand quid. For a holiday, she said.’ Louise looked away uncomfortably. ‘Ursula’s so stupid. Cassian says her lawyer couldn’t possibly have known what she was doing.’

They had reached the kitchen and Louise sat down. In the middle of the table, like an exhibit, sat the mauve letter. Louise glanced down at Ursula’s careful loopy writing. Somehow the sight of it made her feel both unbearably touched and horribly guilty at the same time.

She rubbed a hand wearily over her eyes and felt her face droop with fatigue. The past few weeks seemed, in her mind, to have consisted of nothing but the hospital. Driving to and from the hospital, walking up and down the corridors, drinking coffee in the cafeteria, and the endless hours seated by Katie’s bed.

She knew every inch of that ward by now; every square of linoleum and every crack in the paintwork. She could have described, from memory, each of the cheery childish paintings which decorated the corridor; could even have listed the names of their creators – Ben, Sam, Lucy M., Lucy B. – written on the paintings in a rounded teacher’s handwriting. If she closed her eyes she could hear,

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