Hidden Depths by Ann Cleeves Page B

following a conversation about old glories or making plans for the future – trips abroad, the definitive book about the county’s birds. Tonight, though, there was an awkwardness. It was as if the dead young woman lay on the table between them, dripping seawater and demanding to be remembered.
    ‘What did James mean?’ Samuel asked. ‘Was the dead woman going to come and live here?’
    ‘No!’ Peter said. ‘It was just the boy being foolish.’
    And they lapsed again into an uneasy silence.
    Then Felicity came back and cleared the table. She brought out a plate of cheese and offered them coffee. Peter opened another bottle of wine. She took her place beside him. Samuel returned to the dead woman and how James had known her, but this time the question was directed at Felicity.
    ‘Her name was Lily Marsh,’ she said. ‘She was a student teacher at James’s school.’ She was about to continue but was interrupted by a shout so loud that it made them all start. Gary could feel his pulse racing, wondered if he was old enough for a heart attack, thought again that he should drink less. He wasn’t ready to die. Not now.
    ‘Hello! Anyone at home?’ The voice was deep and brusque. Gary wasn’t sure if it came from a man or a woman. A figure appeared at the French window that gave on to the veranda. A woman. Tall and heavy, but wearing a skirt. She’d switched on the light in the room and she was silhouetted in front of it. ‘You shouldn’t leave your front door on the latch like that,’ she continued in the grumbling tone of a teacher talking to idiots. ‘Even when you’re home, you never know who might walk in.’
    They all stared at her, still shocked. She stepped down towards them until she’d reached the table. The candle shone upwards onto her face. She paused before she spoke again. Gary thought this was someone else who liked a drama.
    ‘Inspector Vera Stanhope. Northumbria Police. Senior Investigating Officer in the case of that lass you found tonight.’ She pulled out the chair where James had been sitting and lowered herself cautiously onto it. It was a director’s chair with a wooden frame. The canvas creaked. Gary watched closely, expecting a ripping, tearing sound. Perhaps she was expecting it too. This was a woman who’d be able to carry off farce. But the canvas held and Vera continued cheerfully, turning to Felicity. ‘I understand you knew her. The young woman who died, I mean. Weren’t you just saying . . .’
    Felicity answered, hesitating at first. She kept looking at Peter. Gary wasn’t sure what that was about. She repeated the sentence she’d begun before Vera Stanhope’s dramatic entrance.
    ‘Her name was Lily Marsh. She was a student teacher at my son’s school, the primary in Hepworth. She turned up here yesterday, on the bus with him. It seemed that James had said she could live in our cottage until the end of term. Without consulting us, of course.’
    ‘You didn’t tell me,’ Peter said.
    ‘There was nothing to tell. She looked at the cottage and left.’
    ‘You’d said she could stay, then?’ Vera Stanhope asked.
    ‘I don’t think either of us came to a decision. I couldn’t even tell if she liked the place. She said she’d think about it.’ Felicity turned to Peter. Gary could tell she was willing him not to make a scene, not to get all arrogant and pompous. Gary loved Peter to bits, but he could do pompous better than anyone he knew. ‘Of course if the girl had decided she was interested, I’d have discussed it with you before deciding whether or not to rent. James really liked her.’
    ‘Had any of the rest of you met this Lily Marsh?’ The woman stared around the table at them. Gary thought she could make you feel guilty even if you’d done nothing wrong. ‘Seems she was a bonny lass. You’d not forget her in a hurry.’
    There was a murmured denial, shaken heads.
    ‘Take me through finding the body. The boy found her first, then you went to look.