Alicia glided back out into the main room, painting on her party smile. Caroline Rees disturbed her deeply. In some ways, although Alicia was loath to admit it, she had preferred Jack. At the very least he didn’t pretend – what you saw was what you got. Caroline Rees, by stunning unsettling contrast, was a delightful woman when she was on show, the perfect politician’s wife, but in private … Alicia shivered as she approached Edwin Halliday. She almost felt sorry for Jack.
‘My dear Mrs Markham, how very nice to see you again,’ Edwin Halliday said, engulfing her tiny hand in both of his. ‘It’s a terrible shame that we have to renew our acquaintance under such tragic circumstances.’
Guy Phelps was already on his feet, as was to be expected, nosing his way into the edge of the group. Alicia stared at him for a few seconds. Caroline Rees was right about Guy, of course, that’s why Alicia had been at such great pains to ensure his selection. Finally, a man at Westminster she would be able to control. But the memory of the decision she had engineered was dissipated the instant Edwin Halliday turned his smile on her.
‘Man that is born of woman has but a short time to live …’
Dora Hall glanced up at the vicar by the graveside in Fair-beach’s cemetery and suppressed a Sheila-style sniff of disapproval. His voice rose dramatically.
There was a large crowd huddled around the graveside for Jack Rees’ funeral, including a bevy of local party supporters – and their chairwoman, Alicia Markham, surrounded by her initiates. Dora peered at them. Presumably one of the men in overcoats was the new Conservative candidate. The king is dead, long live the king.
Dora recognised the Labour candidate, the Lib Dem man – her concentration slipped a notch and moved on until she spotted Calvin Roberts standing in the shelter of a yew tree. She lifted a hand in greeting. He frowned miserably in her direction.
The press had been penned up in a special area. Dora glimpsed the face of Josephine Hammond from the Fairbeach Gazette amongst the huddle, but presumably, today, Dora was no more than a minnow amongst a shoal of far bigger fish. If the girl noticed her, she gave no indication.
Jack’s widow and his two step-daughters stood by the graveside, very stiff and upright. The newly bereaved Mrs Jack Rees was wearing a very chic little black suit and a pillbox hat with a veil. At regular intervals she dabbed one eye with a stunningly white handkerchief and looked tastefully grief-stricken.
Dora tried very hard to be sad and not cynical.
‘Ashes to ashes …’
Dora glanced around the faces of the other mourners. She knew most of them. Amongst the dignitaries – the mayor and his wife, the chairman of the local chamber of trade, councillors and businessmen – were an awful lot of ordinary Fairbeach people. The groups were interspersed with other unknown faces, presumably from London. Strangers, who, for a little while, were united in their love and respect for Jack Rees.
Across the grave, a single, beautifully stage-managed tear trickled down the face of Jack Rees’ widow as she sprinkled a handful of soil on the coffin. There was a lightning strike of flashbulbs.
Disgusted, Dora turned away and huffed out a long breath. Calvin eased his way through the crowd towards her. He looked decidedly unhappy.
‘Good turnout,’ said Dora conversationally. Calvin made a small tight noise in his throat.
Dora stared up at him. ‘What’s the matter? Are you all right? Did you get my message on your machine?’
‘I did. I’m sorry to hear about the burglary.’ He sniffed and then a cacophony of angry words tumbled out. ‘You’re not going to believe this – someone broke into my office as well. I can’t bloody well believe it. Makes you wonder what the damned police are up to. Kids running riot all over the place – bloody disgusting.’ His heavy features reddened dramatically as he drew in a sharp breath.
Dora stared at him in astonishment. ‘You were burgled?’
Calvin wrinkled up his nose. Dora wasn’t sure whether he was hurt, angry or shaken. She felt very much the same.
‘When?’
‘Last night. Little bastards. Went through every office in the bloody building. Nicked the petty cash and smashed everything else to smithereens. You would not believe the mess.’ He smiled grimly. ‘Or maybe you would. Police came round first thing this morning. Said there wasn’t much hope of catching the little sods.’ He peered at her. ‘How are you, anyway?’
Dora shrugged. ‘I really don’t know. Sheila’s been round to give me a hand to clear up. I’m not sure which is worse really, her or the vandals. The police told me there wasn’t much chance they’d catch the culprits either.’
‘Bloody typical, they haven’t got to deal with the mess – files everywhere, drawers emptied – the insurance will cover the damage, but that isn’t the point, is it?’ He took a vicious puff on his cigar and lifted his hands in resignation. ‘What can you do?’
Dora fixed him with a long cool stare. ‘You really want my advice, Calvin? I’d seriously reconsider muzzling Lillian Bliss.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t think she had anything to do with this, do you?’
‘Seems a bit of a coincidence to me. One night my address is broadcast to the nation and the next day I’m burgled. Your address is all over my office and the same night someone does your place as well. Bit fishy –’
‘The whole of the building was done,’ Calvin protested. ‘Lillian had nothing to do with it. What did the police say to you?’
‘It was magpies, apparently. By the way, where is Lillian this morning, Bunny?’
Calvin frowned. ‘Stop it, Dora. We have a purely professional relationship.’
‘She makes you pay for it, does she?’
Calvin glared at her. ‘Lillian’s in Cambridge doing a book signing. I thought I’d already told you about that. Then later today we’re holding a short press conference, more of a photo call really. You ought to be more grateful. She’s generated an awful lot of interest, pre-publication sales for the new book are really creeping up.’
Dora lifted her eyebrows. ‘Well, that makes it all right then, doesn’t it? If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to the clearing up.’
‘Still on for lunch tomorrow?’
Dora snorted. ‘Too right, I haven’t got a single unbroken plate left in the house.’
‘Need a lift home?’ He tugged at his sleeves and then pulled a cheroot from his inside pocket. ‘I’m going back through town, wouldn’t take me too far out of my way –’
Dora shook her head. ‘No thanks.’
The mourners were beginning to disperse. Dora headed away from the main group towards the side gate which would take her onto a short cut.
‘Dora?’
Instinctively, she turned round at the sound of her name.
Hurrying across the grass was a man in a long black coat. She stopped and tried to focus on his face.
‘My God,’ she hissed under her breath, as a name formed in her mind. As soon as the thought hardened her stomach performed a dramatic back flip.
Chief Inspector Jonathan Melrose. Jon Melrose – the man she had left her husband for. Not that Jon knew, not that she would ever tell him. She had never so much as kissed him, but it had been the awful, ice-cold certainty that she could and would, if the offer ever came up, that had made her look at her marriage with different eyes.
Jon Melrose had unknowingly changed her life forever, and now he was standing with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his good funeral coat not more than an arm’s length away.
He grinned at