The air smelled sweet and a mist lay in the hollow. A woodpecker yaffled, swooping towards one of the oak trees on the far side of the fence.
Chris, her husband, was restless again, unhappy in general practice, furious at the burden of administration which took him from his patients, irritated by the mountain of new targets, checks and balances. He had spoken several times in the past month of going to Australia for five yearswhich might as well be for ever, Cat thought, knowing he had only put a time limit on it as a sop to her. She had been there once to see her triplet brother, Ivo, and hated itthe only person, Chris said, who ever had.
She wiped her hand, slimy from the ponys mouth, on her dressing gown. The animal, satisfied, trotted quietly away across the paddock.
They were so close to Lafferton and the practice, close to her parents and Simon, to the cathedral which meant so much to her. They were also in the heart of the country, with a working farm across the lane where the children saw lambs and calves and helped feed chickens; they loved their schools, they had friends nearby.
No, she thought, feeling the sun growing warm on her back. No.
From the house Felix roared. But Sam would go to him, Sam, his brother and worshipper, rather than Hannah, who preferred her pony and had become jealous of the baby as he had grown through his first year.
Cat wandered round the edge of the paddock, knowing that she would feel tired later in the day but not resenting her broken nightseeing patients at their most vulnerable, especially when they were elderly and frightened, had always been one of the best parts of working in general practice for her, and she had no intention of handing over night work to some agency when the new contract came into force. Chris disagreed. They had locked horns about it too often and now simply avoided the subject.
One of the old apple trees had a swathe of the white rose Wedding Day running through its gnarled branches and the scent drifted to her as she passed.
No, she thought again.
There had been too many bad days during the past couple of years, too much fear and tension; but now, apart from her usual anxiety about her brother, nothing was wrongnothing except Chriss discontentment and irritability, nothing but his desire to change things, move them away, spoil c Her bare feet were wet with dew.
Mummmeeeee. Tellyphoooooonnne c
Hannah was leaning too far out of an upstairs window.
Cat ran.
It was a morning people remembered, for the silver-blue clear sky and the early-morning sunshine and the fact that everything was fresh. They relaxed and felt suddenly untroubled and strangers spoke to one another, passing in the street.
Natalie Coombs would remember it too.
I can hear Eds car.
No you cant, its Mr Hardistys, and get downstairs, well be late.
I want to wave to Ed.
You can wave to Ed from here.
No, I
Get DOWNSTAIRS.
Kyras hair was all over her face, tangled after sleep. She was barefoot.
Shit, Kyra, cant you do anything for your bloody self? c Wheres your hairbrush, wheres your shoes?
But Kyra had gone to the front room to peer out of the window, waiting.
Natalie poured Chocolate Frosties into a blue bowl. She had eleven minutesget Kyra ready, finish off her own face, find her stuff, make sure the bloody guinea pig had food and water, go. What had she been thinking. I want to keep this baby?
Theres Ed, theres Ed c
She knew better than to interrupt Kyra. It was a morning thing.
Bye, Ed c Ed c Kyra was banging on the window.
Ed had turned from locking the front door. Kyra waved. Ed waved.
Bye, Kyra c
Can I come and see you tonight, Ed?
But the car had started. Kyra was shouting to herself.
Stop being a pest.
Ed doesnt mind.
You heard. Eat your cereal.
But Kyra was still waving, waving and waving as Eds car turned the corner and out of sight. What the hell was it about bloody Ed? Natalie wondered. Still, it might give her a half-hour to herself tonight, if Kyra could wangle her way next door, to help with the plant-watering
Outside, the air smelled of hay and the grey pony was cantering round the paddock, tail swishing with pleasure. Cat was out of the drive and fast down the lane, planning what had to be done, how she could make Max Jameson understand, finally, that he could not keep Lizzie at home to die.
Two
Serrailler was in the room without a fly. With him were the senior members of the CID team investigating the child-abduction case.
DCS Jim Chapman was the SIO. Not far from retirement, amiable, experienced and shrewd, he had been a policeman in the north of England all his working life, and in different parts of Yorkshire for most of it. The rest were considerably younger. DS Sally Nelmes was small, neat, serious and a highflyer. DC Marion Coopey, very much in the same mould, had been newly transferred from the Thames Valley. During the session she had spoken least, but what she had said had been sharp and to the point. The other Yorkshireman, Lester Hicks, was a long-term colleague of Jim Chapman and also his son-in-law.