When Fionas sister Lesley had been an undergraduate at St. Andrews, shed learned as much about herself as she had about her studies. One of the things shed discovered was the direction of her heart. At the time of her murder, shed been tight in the grip of first love. The revelation of its nature had been another aspect of her death that her parents had found difficult to cope with. For Fiona, though, it had come as no surprise that the person who was sharing her sisters bed was another woman. Lesley hadnt actually told her in so many words, but Fiona had understood the meaning of the way she spoke about her friend Caroline Matthews.
Because their relationship had been clandestine, Fiona was also the only person with whom Caroline could properly grieve. It was no surprise that out of grief, the bond of friendship had been forged. Now, twelve years later, Fiona and Caroline met whenever Caroline was in London, and they communicated irregularly by phone and e mail. And at least three times a year, they met to walk in the Peak District.
Caroline had remained in St. Andrews and was now a lecturer in mathematics. She had moved on, as Fiona had. But for both of them, the loss of Lesley was an undercurrent that would forever inform the tenor of their emotional relationships. And the debt of guilt that both bore about Lesley meant they would never let each other down.
Caroline reached the crest, scarlet and panting. She collapsed on a boulder near Fiona, her breath ragged and shallow. Oh God, she gasped. I am so out of condition. The summer was such a washout, we hardly got out on the hills at all.
Sounds like youve not been to the gym either, Fiona commented.
Caroline pulled a face. Julias started going to a step class in her lunch hour, so shes knocked the gym on the head. And we both have so many work commitments, she gets pissed off with me if I spend our two free evenings a week down the gym. I keep telling myself Ill get up early and go before work. But somehow, I never manage it.
Youd feel better if you fitted it in. Fiona opened her rucksack and took out her water bottle.
Fiona There was a warning in Carolines voice.
Fiona laughed. Im sorry, youre right. Im not your mother. Shut up, Fiona. She extended a hand and Caroline gave her a gentle smack on the wrist. It was an old routine, born of the early days of their common grief, when Fiona had fussed around Caroline as a substitute for the caring she could no longer offer her sister.
Fiona took a swig of her water, offering it to Caroline, who shook her head. If I start drinking in these temperatures, Ill want to pee within five minutes. And I cant see a single bit of shelter for the next half-mile.
As long as you dont get dehydrated.
Fiona! This time it was a shout. You are not my mother. Behave.
Sorry. Its living with a man that does it. Especially one who spends half his time inhabiting a parallel universe.
Presumably one where somebody else always remembers to pick up the dry cleaning and puts food in front of him at regular hours?
Fiona grinned. Its not that sort of thing Kit forgets. Its stuff like being so engrossed in his work that he suddenly looks at the clock and realizes he was supposed to pick me up ten minutes ago. Or missing his stop on the tube because hes busy having a conversation with himself and coming round to find hes in Kennington when he should be in Leicester Square.
How is he, anyway?
Fiona got to her feet, stuffing her water bottle into her backpack and shouldering it. Bloody-minded as ever.
Caroline, now breathing normally, stood up, giving Fiona a speculative look. Fiona wasnt given to bad-mouthing Kit. And besides, if she had to divide the bloody-mindedness in that relationship between them, shed have to award Fiona the lions share. As far as Caroline had observed, Kit was pretty laid back. In debate, he was quick and decisive, but never attacked the way Fiona could if she sensed weakness in the opposition that could be bulldozed aside. Sounds like hes rattled your cage, she said cautiously as she fell into step behind Fiona on the narrow track that cut across the shoulder of the hill above the spectacular curve of Water-cum-Jolly Dale.
You could say that. Fiona clamped her mouth shut, her eyes on the ground in front of her.
Do you want to talk about it?
Im so cross with him, Fiona said fiercely. We had a blazing row the other night. He got this death threat in the post, and he refuses point blank to take it to the police. He says its just a routine crank letter, but Im not so sure. It felt very unpleasant to me. And after what happened to Drew Shand
But surely that was a one-off? Caroline said. According to all the reports Ive seen in the Scottish media, they reckon it was a pick up for S&M sex that went wrong. Theres been no suggestion that anybody outside the gay community could be at risk.
Fiona scowled at the horizon. Thats only one possibility. And we dont know if Drew Shand had any death threats, because all we know is what the police are telling us. I know its a long shot to suggest that the killing might have more to do with Drews writing than his life, but its a possibility, and while its a possibility, I think Kit should be taking this more seriously.
And thats what you had a fight about?
Weve hardly spoken since.
Presumably Kit understands why youre so wound up about this? Caroline said, taking advantage of the path splitting into two parallel tracks to catch up with Fiona.
I think hes got the message that Im concerned about him, Fiona said frostily.
But thats not really what its about, is it?
Fiona said nothing, simply ploughing on resolutely and making great play of looking down at the river as it widened into the still expanse of water created by the dam for the Georgian mill at Cressbrook.
This isnt just about Kit, Fiona. Its about Lesley.
Fiona stopped in her tracks. Its nothing to do with Lesley. Her jaw was set in a stubborn line.
Caroline came to a halt a few feet ahead of her and turned to put a gloved hand on her arm. You dont have to pretend with me, Fiona. You cant bear the thought of losing him because youve already lost Lesley and you know what it feels like when someone you love is murdered. And that fear magnifies the slightest danger into something life-threatening, turning you into a one-woman nanny state. Caroline paused. Fiona said nothing, so she pressed on. I understand the phenomenon, because I do it myself. It drives Julia crazy. If shes in town without the car, I always pick her up. She says it makes her feel like a teenager whose mother doesnt trust her not to be snogging the local ruffian behind the bike shed.
Caroline gave a weak laugh. One time, early on in our relationship, she insisted that I not pick her up after a parents evening. So I hung around outside the school and waited till she came out. I followed her home. And I nearly gave her a heart attack because when she was cutting through one of the alleys in the town centre, she heard footsteps behind her and thought she was going to be mugged. That was when she realized that my insistence on picking her up was more about my fears than about her capabilities. So now she goes along with me, in spite of how it irritates her deep down. Fiona, you need to tell Kit why youve let this threatening letter take on such huge proportions. If he says its nothing, hes probably right. He knows what his post is like. But he needs to know that youre not just fussing. That theres a valid reason for the way youre behaving.
Fiona glared at the limestone cliffs on the other side of the dale. I thought I was the psychologist around here. Her voice shook slightly.
Yeah, well, psychologist, analyse yourself.
Fiona studied the scuffed toes of her walking boots. Youre probably right. I should explain myself better. She met Carolines steady gaze. I couldnt live with myself if anything happened to him. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.
Caroline pulled Fiona into a tight hug. I know.
Fiona drew back and managed a frail smile. Ill talk to him when I get home. Promise. Now, are we going to stand here till we get hypothermia, or are we going to the Monsal Head pub?
Caroline pretended to consider. I think, on balance, Im going to go for the pub.
Race you to the dam, Fiona said, setting off across the hillside at a killer pace.
You win, Caroline muttered, following at a more reasonable speed. Twelve years on, and still Lesleys death was the denning event in both their lives. No matter how much they tried to put it behind them, it was there, ready to ambush them, she thought. Sometimes she wondered if they would ever be free of its embracing shadow. Or even if they actually wanted to be.
Fiona marched up Dartmouth Park Hill from the tube station, determined to set things straight with Kit. Caroline was right; she just hadnt allowed herself to accept what was driving her determination that he take the letter seriously. Head down, she scuffed through fallen leaves, easily out pacing the late commuters coming home from the office. She reached the left turn into their street in record time, gathering speed as she headed downhill. She was eager now, more than ready to apologize and explain.
So her heart sank when she opened the door and heard Kit call, Were upstairs. Whoever the other component of we was, she wasnt in the mood for their company.
Just taking my boots off, she shouted. Backpack on the floor, jacket tossed over the newel post, Fiona undid her laces and stepped free. She wiggled her toes at the pleasure of release. Comfortable as her well-worn boots were, they still caged her feet. She stopped in the kitchen to pick up a glass, reckoning that if Kit had company, the wine would already be open, then she made her way up to the first-floor living room.
The lamps were on, casting scattered pools of warm light through the wide room. Kit was in his favourite armchair, glass in hand. That would have been perfect if hed been alone. But his companion was the last person Fiona felt like seeing.
Curled up on the sofa, her strappy sandals kicked off on the rug below her, was Georgia Lester. A legend in her own lifetime, Georgia had published over thirty novels in a twenty-five-year career that had seen her rise to challenge P.D. James and Ruth Rendell to the title of Queen of Crime. Shed been one of the first crime writers to have her work successfully adapted for TV, and that had guaranteed her a slot in the bestseller lists ever since. She was a darling of the media, shamelessly exploiting every possible opportunity to appear in print, on the radio or on TV. Men fell for her flirtatious flattery and her undeniable generosity; most women, including Fiona, cheerfully loathed her. Shes the Barbara Cartland of crime fiction, Fiona had once remarked to Mary Helen Margolyes, who had choked on her drink and then promptly passed the remark around the bush telegraph. Without attribution, of course.