A Pale Horse - Charles Todd [47]
“Ian. I’m not likely to make stupid remarks, and I’m not likely to criticize him or wear my heart on my sleeve. You aren’t helping.”
He laughed. “I’m a policeman, not a seer.”
“And a very good policeman at that,” she retorted. “But you’ve given me an idea. I think I’ll invite Meredith Channing to have lunch with me.”
He was immediately on alert. “Frances. I think that’s a very poor idea. Mrs. Channing isn’t going to look into a crystal ball and tell you what’s in Simon’s mind. Or heart.”
“I don’t expect her to look into a crystal ball. She’s a very astute woman, Ian, she can give me her opinion. And it could be what I need, to understand how to go on. I mean, people are asking. We’ve been seen together more than a little these last two months. I don’t know how to answer them. ‘Where’s Simon, my dear? I saw him last night at the Collinses’ and you weren’t with him.’ Or, ‘What’s happening between you and Simon? Has there been a falling-out, a quarrel? Have you lost interest in him?’” Her eyes filled with tears but she refused to let them fall.
“And how do you answer these questions?”
“I say that I’ve been terribly busy and so has Simon. Or that I couldn’t make the Collinses’ party, I had other plans. But it’s growing old.”
She stood up. “You’ll be late, Bowles will be clamoring for you. I’ll go and speak to Meredith Channing. If nothing else, she’ll cheer me up. I’m in need of cheering right now.”
And she was gone, despite his protests, smiling at him over her shoulder as she went out his door.
He spent the better part of the morning scouring London for news of Simon Barrington. There was no one he could ask outright, and so he had to make time to listen to various friends they held in common.
Hamish was not pleased with his decision.
“It willna’ help, even if ye find him. Ye ken that as well as I do. Ye canna’ speak to him.”
“I don’t intend to speak to him. Or try to fix whatever happened between Barrington and my sister. But if there’s something wrong, something I ought to know, then the sooner the better.”
“Aye, but are ye the brother now? Or the policeman?”
He couldn’t answer that. And at the end of the day, there was still nothing he could point to as a reason why Barrington should avoid his sister without explanation. The closest he came to an answer was an offhand remark by Tommy Aspell. That Simon had something on his mind and had been damned poor company for a fortnight or more.
With that he had to be satisfied.
It was close to nine in the evening when he arrived in Berkshire. But The Smith’s Arms was well lit, the bar noisy with shouts of laughter and the stamping of feet. Not a drunken crowd, from the sound of it, but one where men were relaxed and enjoying themselves.
Rutledge went to the tiny desk in Reception and signed the register. Then he walked into the bar.
There was a sudden silence as patrons looked up at the newcomer and judged him from his clothes.
Half a dozen lorry drivers were busy with a game of darts. One man, in the process of taking his turn, scowled at the interruption. Two farmers were watching the proceedings from the bar, keeping to themselves.
Rutledge nodded to them as the game resumed and found himself a table in a corner by the front windows. He smiled as Mrs. Smith came over to him and asked what he’d have.
“A room, if you please. I’ve signed the register. And dinner, if there’s any left.”
“This lot isn’t staying over. There’s the room you had before, and a bit of roasted ham and some bread left. Mustard sauce as well.”
“That will do very well.” He’d missed his lunch, and could hear the growling of an empty stomach.
“What will you have to drink, luv?”
“A Guinness, if you please.”
“Smith u’ll bring it shortly.” She skirted the players and disappeared into