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I invited her to come for tea the next day. I said that she was welcome to bring her boyfriend, too, if he was free. She said they would both be honoured, and I felt thrilled as I walked back to the car. For a few minutes the darkness was pushed completely away. Of course, by the time I got home I was full of doubt. I hadn’t entertained people at the Manor since Nick’s funeral. It felt like a bad idea; I was convinced I wasn’t up to it. They would be sure to see me as a dull old woman. I told Kitty I’d made a mistake. ‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘Let people help you.I’ll make a cake and tidy the Orangery. You can have tea in there and it’ll be very nice.’
She was right. I picked them up because they don’t have a car and drove them here. They were gracious and lovely. Olly was as charming as Sasha had described him. Both were polite to Kitty when I introduced them. I showed them around the Manor, and they loved it, especially the medieval parts. I told them stories about the house and Olly said that I was a born storyteller. It felt like a compliment coming from a writer like him. I started to wonder why I’d been so anxious. I felt as if I’d been silly.
‘You can’t give this up,’ Sasha said, when we were about to say our goodbyes. ‘Nobody will take care of this place the way you do. Nobody can love it as much as you.’
‘It’s too big for me on my own,’ I said. ‘Kitty and I barely keep on top of everything.’
‘You’re braver and more resourceful than you think,’ Sasha said. ‘Look, in the long term it might not be right for you to stay here but promise me you won’t do anything hasty. It’s not a good idea to make big decisions when we’re in the grip of any sort of anxiety.’
She messaged me later that night:
Olly and I can’t thank you enough for such a lovely afternoon tea and tour of the Manor. Olly said he could see why I thought you had a special quality. He said it’s rare to meet someone so open-hearted and intelligent. See you at class tomorrow. Coffee after as usual? xxx
17
TUESDAY
Jen
Jen presses the doorbell of a terraced Georgian house in Chepstow. It’s on a street she’s long admired. The door is painted a pretty pale blue, with red geraniums blooming in pots on either side of it. She’s here to interview the woman who’d had a private yoga lesson with Sasha on the morning of Tom Booth’s death.
She introduces herself when the door opens. The owner is a middle-aged woman. A small dog yaps at her feet.
‘Yes, yes. Come on in,’ the owner says. ‘Glad you called ahead because I’m going to visit my mother soon. She won’t care if I’m late, she’s got dementia, but I like to stick to my routine.’
‘This won’t take long,’ Jen tells her.
They sit around a kitchen table overlooking a narrow back garden, beautifully planted and with a view of the castle.
‘You had a private yoga lesson with Sasha Dempsey last Saturday at the Manor House at Lancaut?’
‘I did.’
‘What time was your lesson?’
‘From ten to eleven.’
‘Did you leave immediately afterward?’
‘I did.’
‘Did you see anybody else at the Manor?’
‘No. Occasionally I see her partner, and I think there’s a housekeeper because I’ve spotted her from a distance, but she isn’t particularly friendly. I didn’t see either of them this week. Can you tell me more about what you’re investigating? I might be able to help you better.’
And gossip more, Jen thinks. ‘I’m sorry but I can’t at this stage,’ she says. ‘But it was a serious incident and we’re grateful for your time. Did you see anything unusual on your arrival or departure?’
‘I saw a young man on the lane, dressed like a tramp. There’s a lay-by, before you reach that monstrous new glass building, and he was standing in it.’
‘Alone?’
‘Yes. And he stood right at the back of the lay-by, so he just caught the corner of my eye as I drove past. It gave me quite a fright because he looked creepy. But he wasn’t there after my lesson.’
‘Did you see a vehicle?’
‘No.’
‘Anything else you can remember about him?’
