Part 19 (2/2)

Patrick was already seated and he rose to meet her. 'I ordered you a gin and tonic, but I can get you something else if that's wrong.'

Gwen had resolved to be as awkward as possible, but now found she didn't have the energy. 'That's fine,' she said, taking off her coat. A waiter materialised just as she did and tried to help her with it.

'You look lovely,' Patrick said dutifully.

Gwen smiled. 'Thank you.' She had refused to dress up and was wearing an ancient T-s.h.i.+rt that had once been black but was now a washed-out grey; it had a cartoon of a cow on the front and the words 'moo power'.

'This is one of mine.' Patrick waved a hand, encompa.s.sing the tables, the waiting staff in their over-sized white ap.r.o.ns and, presumably, the kitchen area and toilets, too.

'Very nice,' Gwen said politely.

Patrick laid a hand on top of the menu, very obviously not bothering to look inside. 'I recommend the lobster.'

Gwen shook her head. 'I had seafood once. It gave me a funny tummy.'

Patrick's face wrinkled in disgust. A waiter appeared, hovering, and he smoothed it out. 'White wine to start, I think. Don't you?' He didn't wait for Gwen to answer, so she sat back a little in her chair and looked around while he displayed his intimate knowledge of the menu. The restaurant was about half full and Gwen counted three tables of older ladies. Groups of friends who had probably been meeting for lunches for years, sharing troubles and good times, going home knowing that, whatever happened, they had people on their side. In the far corner, at a small table, Gwen saw a familiar face. A face she had been expecting to see ever since blowing back into town. A face that she sometimes saw before she fell asleep at night. A face that represented every hateful att.i.tude, every disapproving look and whispered comment.

Elaine Laing looked the same. The neatly styled hair was streaked with silver and white and the neckline a little softer, but otherwise it was undoubtedly the same woman. Perfect posture, a teeny-tiny padded handbag and pearl earrings. Gwen straightened her spine. Elaine's companion looked familiar, too. When she turned her head slightly, Gwen caught sight of Lily's profile.

'I didn't know they knew each other.'

'Everyone knows everyone around here.' Patrick glanced back. 'Do you mean Elaine Laing?'

Gwen nodded. 'That's my neighbour, Lily. I didn't know they were friends.'

'Colleagues, really. They're both on the community council. And I think Lily got involved with Elaine's pet charity, too.'

'Charity?'

'Feline Leukaemia, I believe. Yes. Lily has done very well, really. You don't often see her sort getting involved at that level.'

'Her sort?' Gwen said. 'Do you mean because she was brought up in a council house?'

'No, no.' Patrick waved a hand,.'I just meant that she's made something of herself. It's admirable.'

'Right.' Gwen folded her hands carefully in her lap to stop herself from stabbing Patrick with a fork.

The waiter reappeared with a half bottle of chilled Sancerre. It was delicious and Gwen had to grudgingly admit that Patrick had good taste. In some areas, at any rate.

'I actually invited you for a reason,' Patrick said. He paused while another waiter placed rolls onto their side plates with tongs.

'Well, I figured you weren't trying to get into my pants,' Gwen said cheerfully. The bread roll slipped and she caught it and set it on her plate. She smiled rea.s.suringly at the blus.h.i.+ng waiter, who looked all of sixteen. He hurried away.

'Um...' Patrick said.

'Anyway, I called you. I wanted to talk to you about having a regular craft market in the town,' Gwen said. She b.u.t.tered her roll and took a large bite.

Patrick frowned. 'We can get to that later.' His crus.h.i.+ng tone signalled that 'later' meant 'never'. 'I actually wanted to ask you for a favour.'

'You and the rest of the world,' Gwen said, slightly m.u.f.fled. 'This bread is amazing.'

'Really?' Patrick frowned. 'Has Ed been to see you?'

'Ed?'

'He manages the Travelodge. I say ”manages”, but that's something of a matter of opinion.'

'Never met him.'

'Well, that's a relief.' Patrick cleared his throat again. 'As a new resident in the town, I was wondering how you felt about progress.'

'Are you a politician?'

'No. Not yet, anyway.' Patrick gave a little laugh. 'I own some businesses in Pendleford and I take a keen interest in the future of the town.'

'And what can I do for you?'

'It's just a small thing,' Patrick said.

'What?' Gwen tried to keep the impatience out of her voice, but her social skills, rusty at best, were stretched to breaking point.

'Did Ms Harper leave you anything?'

'She left me End House,' Gwen said. 'As you are already aware.'

Patrick poked the asparagus on his plate. 'Did you inherit the contents, too?'

'You know I did. You've seen the furniture.' Gwen had a horrible feeling she knew what Patrick was going to say next.

'Right. Well. Did she leave papers of some kind? Diaries. That kind of thing.'

And there it was. Gwen thought about the sacks of paper: the notebooks, the receipts, the used envelopes with lists of numbers scrawled in biro. 'She left me everything and I haven't had a chance to go through it all yet.' Of course, she had a pretty good idea of which papers Patrick was particularly interested in. Iris's diaries.

'Completely understandable,' Patrick said.

'Did you know my great-aunt well?' Gwen said. She wondered whether Patrick knew about his unfaithful wife, and a very evil part of her imagined his face if she were to let him read that particular entry.

'Not well, no. We didn't move in the same circles.'

'So, you're interested in her diaries because-'

'May I be frank?' Patrick leaned forwards and, without giving Gwen time to say 'no', he continued. 'A lot of people visited your aunt. A lot of people had faith in her... um... abilities. It was a load of nonsense, of course a forgive me a but harmless nonsense, I'm sure.'

Gwen nodded. 'No worse than aromatherapy.'

'Exactly,' Patrick said, visibly annoyed at the interruption.

<script>