The Missing Wife and the Stone Fen Siamese by Kate High

Author:Kate High
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 2022-06-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

As Clarice entered the sitting room, Emily, who had been reclining in her grandfather’s armchair next to the fire, stood up looking relieved.

‘Clarice, I thought you’d got lost – are you OK?’

Sensing fear in the question, Clarice made her decision. She wouldn’t tell Emily what had happened in the woods.

Her mind was alight with questions: why had Tessa and Johnson been stalking her, if indeed it had been them? She hadn’t completely ruled out the possibility that it might have been Ian Belling. She was sure the elongated shape she’d seen through the mist had been the hood of the jacket worn by the stalker, but there were other types of jackets than the four in the hall, and two of those had been gone when she’d left for her walk. It was unfortunate that she could not gauge the height of the hooded stalker in her defensive crouching position.

Her instincts made her think it more likely to have been Tessa. If it had been Ian Belling, he would surely have noticed the height difference; Clarice was a good deal taller than Dawn. And it was Tessa, not Johnson, who’d been wearing one of the blue jackets. What had been the intention – to frighten her, to make her stop asking questions?

‘No problem, I’m fine.’ She rubbed her hands together. ‘Bloody frozen, though. It’s icy out there.’

‘I’m not surprised. You’re shivering. Come to the fire.’ Emily went to the sideboard. ‘I know where Grandpa keeps the brandy.’

‘Won’t he mind?’ Clarice would not admit just how welcome the idea of a stiff drink was at this moment.

‘Too bloody bad.’ Emily went to collect two glasses from a side table. ‘I brought these in earlier. They aren’t the right glasses for brandy, but it’ll taste the same.’ After pouring the drinks, she passed a glass to Clarice. ‘Don’t worry, Grandpa won’t run out; there are two unopened bottles in there. Cheers.’

‘Cheers.’ Clarice held up the glass before drinking, and enjoyed the burning sensation of the neat alcohol sliding down her throat.

‘Clarice,’ Emily was peering closely, ‘you’ve scratched your face.’

Running her fingers down her cheek, Clarice saw a smear of blood on her fingertips. She pulled a tissue from the back pocket of her jeans and dabbed at the scratch. ‘It’s nothing. I must have brushed into something in the dark.’ She kept her voice light and unconcerned.

‘Are you sure you’re OK?

‘Absolutely.’ She held up her glass again.

The room had lost the smell of food. But there was always an underlying odour of damp, even with the fire. The firelight brightened the room, but also highlighted the darker patches on the walls.

‘Any thoughts while you were in the woods?’ Emily asked after a few minutes.

Judging by her grey, drawn expression, it was clear Emily was seeking a distraction. The funeral was now only a few hours away.

‘There was one thing: the numbers in your dad’s notebook that we puzzled about.’

Emily leaned forward. ‘You didn’t think they were telephone numbers, or amounts of money.

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