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Olly resents being spoken to as if he’s a child; he’s trying to help, after all. The female police officer scrunches up her eyes and squints at him as if sensing his resistance. He nods and moves towards Sasha, but he’s had enough of being patronised.
‘Can we go home?’
‘Home is next door?’ the officer asks.
‘Yes. The Manor House. It’s just a bit further up the lane from here.’
‘And that’s where the wife of the deceased is currently?’
‘Yes. She came to us for help when she found the body. As I said. She’s a wreck so we left her there in the care of our housekeeper.’ He feels it necessary to reiterate this, to show the officers that he and Sasha are good, helpful neighbours.
She consults with her colleague, and they agree that it’s fine for Olly and Sasha to go home. They will follow shortly, they say, to take statements and to interview the widow. CID will need to be called. Detectives, she adds, as if Olly didn’t know that already. We have to treat this as a crime scene now, her colleague says. In case it wasn’t an accident.
Olly and Sasha walk slowly until they’re out of sight of the Glass Barn. He stops beside a five-bar gate that’s almost swallowed by overgrowth, pulls her towards him and hugs her.
‘Stop,’ she says. ‘What are you doing? Someone might see us.’
The adrenalin has lifted him high as a kite. Every nerve in his body feels as if it’s jangling. But she’s right. It’s not the time or the place.
They walk on. Olly glances at her. He has so much admiration for Sasha. She is without a doubt the best liar he has ever known.
4
FIVE YEARS EARLIER
Anna’s Journal
‘It’s time you moved on,’ Kitty said. I was reading my book in Nick’s study, minding my own business, when she just walked in and blurted it out as if she’d been thinking about it for ages.
I didn’t know how to reply. ‘That’s none of your business,’ is what I wanted to say but I don’t like confrontation. Instead, I felt ashamed, as if I’d failed at being a widow.
‘You’ve shut yourself up in this house for too long, Mrs Creed,’ she said. ‘It’s not healthy. Mr Creed died six months ago.’
As if I didn’t know that.
Kitty has worked for Nick and me as a housekeeper since we moved into the Manor House ten years ago, but she and I have never become close. Over the years, I’ve concluded that I’m not the kind of person that other people naturally like. There’s something off-putting about me, though I’m not sure what. Sofar as I can tell I look like your average fifty-two-year-old woman, I keep myself to myself and I don’t do or say anything to upset or offend, so I don’t know what the problem is. Nick said it’s just because I’m shy, which means I can sometimes come over as stand-offish, but that can’t be helped. We have each other, he said, and a few friends. If you want to meet more people we can try, but I’m happy as we are, if you are. Why would we need more people?
I should have said, ‘In case one of us dies.’ Those friends dropped me like a hot potato after the funeral.
‘Thank you, Kitty,’ I said, hoping she’d go away, but she stood there for so long that I was forced to put my book down and talk to her.
‘I’m grieving,’ I said.
‘And you should be. Mr Creed was a wonderful man, but there are other good men out there. You can’t shut yourself away.’
‘I don’t want another man.’
‘You need a friend, or a hobby.’
‘There’s a lot to do here.’ The Manor House is one of those buildings that becomes your life. In the ten years since Nick and I moved in, I’ve dedicated myself to looking after it. We weren’t able to start a family of our own and this place has become my passion, instead.
‘Can I speak plainly?’
‘I thought you were.’
‘You need to change into some better clothes and go to town for a haircut and get your nails done. It’ll make you feel better. Wouldn’t you like that?’
‘I feel fine as I am, thank you,’ I said, though I was a little bit insulted and thought that she’d crossed a line.
