(1990) Sweet Heart by Peter James Page B

attention in the uniform of a naval officer. The face was clear, and the resemblance to the man she had seen yesterday was strong. She had to look away, suddenly, as his stare began to make her feel uneasy. Sherry slopped over the rim of her glass on to her hand.
    ‘It was the sticking plaster that convinced me,’ Viola Letters said, reseating herself. ‘Before he went up there he caught his forehead on a shelf, just above his right eye.’
    Charley shivered. That was where the plaster had been.
    ‘We were meant to be going to a luncheon and he’d gone fishing, promising to be back early. It seems he lost his watch. It had belonged to his father who’d been presented with it after the battle of Jutland and was of great sentimental value. He’d been a commander too.’ She drank a mouthful of gin and swallowed as if it were fuel. ‘He’d asked someone to pop down and tell me, just like you did, that he’d be late.’ She blinked twice and smiled wanly. ‘He was a fit man, never had any problems with his ticker before. I found him on the bank a couple of hours later. The doctor said he must have been dead for at least an hour by then.’
    Charley felt icy mist swirling inside her. ‘Has — anyone — ever — seen him — before?’
    ‘No. About a year afterwards I went to see one ofthese spiritualist people — a medium — but nothing came through. I hoped to find out if there was anything he had wanted to say.’ She gulped some more gin. ‘That thunderstorm yesterday,’ she went on. ‘Perhaps it was something to do with the atmospherics … Still, it’s jolly good to have some young blood in the lane,’ she said, trying to brighten her face, to swallow her tears. ‘We have a charity cricket match Sunday week, for the NSPCC. Don’t suppose you could bake a couple of cakes?’
    ‘Yes, of course.’ She wanted to keep the conversation about Mrs Letter’s husband going, but could not think what to say.
    ‘Have you met everyone else in the lane?’
    ‘I think so.’
    ‘Delightful couple at the top in that rather vulgar house, Julian and Zoe Garfield-Hamsden. And Hugh Boxer, my neighbour in the barn. He’s a dear. A brilliant man but a bit loopy.’ She tapped her head. ‘All these university professors are. Spends half his time wandering round with a couple of coat hangers looking for ley lines or some rubbish. Cheers!’ She drained her glass.
    ‘You have some nice paintings,’ Charley said to fill the silence.
    ‘My husband did several of them. He loved this part of the world and painted a lot locally.’
    ‘I thought they looked familiar.’
    ‘There’s one that would interest you upstairs. I’ll get it in a minute. It’s a very nice one of Elmwood Mill.’ She studied her glass, the crab eyes blinking slowly.
    ‘Did you know Nancy Delvine?’ Charley asked.
    ‘No. Not at all.’
    ‘What did she die of?’
    ‘A stroke.’
    ‘Had she been in hospital for a long time?’
    ‘Hospital, dear?’ The old woman looked at her. ‘No, it was in the house. I found her. In the kitchen.’
    Charley’s mind raced aimlessly. She remembered the elusiveness on the estate agent’s face.
Here? In the house?
Mr Budley’s voice.
Oh no, I don’t believe so
.
    ‘Was she married?’
    Viola Letters stood, rather hastily Charley thought. ‘Can I get you a top up?’
    ‘No, thank you. I’ve still got —’
    The woman took the glass out of her hand. ‘You haven’t got a drop in that, not a drop.’ She refilled Charley’s glass and brought it back to her, brimming.
    Charley gazed at it in horror. ‘It’s really a bit —’ But the old woman had already set it down beside her and was on her way back to the cabinet. ‘Thank you.’
    Viola Letters splashed angostura into her gin and stirred it noisily. Charley’s nose dipped involuntarily towards her sherry. She was feeling decidedly blotto.
    ‘Dick loved the countryside. He was quite a sensitive old thing really, although they used to say he was