Cambridge Blue - Alison Bruce [60]
‘And did they know Lorna too?’
Alice’s eyes widened as if recognizing that was the exact route she had wanted to avoid. Her eyes locked with Goodhew’s. He studied her face, gripped by the feeling that there was something more than just the words that she was either attempting to communicate or attempting not to. ‘Not David,’ she mumbled. ‘We lost him years ago.’ She rubbed her fingers into her palms, as though they were perspiring. But if anything was bubbling beneath her cool exterior, it wasn’t being allowed to break through. ‘Jackie’s nothing to do with the Excelsior Clinic,’ she said. We don’t see her often.’
‘But she’s local?’
Alice nodded. ‘Fen Ditton.’
The name made the hairs rise across Goodhew’s scalp.
‘And Lorna knew her?’
‘God, yes. They rode together on several occasions.’
‘As in, bikes?’
‘Horses. Jackie’s the country type. She lives in a cottage.’ Alice chewed her bottom lip. ‘With a dog.’ She stood and brushed down her skirt. It was an abrupt movement, like the urge had come into her head and been translated into movement before her conscious mind had had the chance to be consulted. ‘Can I go, now?’ she asked.
Goodhew’s thoughts were still on Jackie. ‘Richard never mentioned any other siblings.’
Alice was staring at the café door now. ‘No,’ she said quietly, ‘I guess he wouldn’t.’
TWENTY-FOUR
Contrary to her prediction, Faith Carver’s temping contract hadn’t been terminated, and she still occupied the reception desk.
Nevertheless, she didn’t look very happy, so Goodhew made sure he sounded positive, just to average things out.
‘How are you, Mrs Carver?’
‘Fine, thank you. Who would you like to see?’
‘Victoria Nugent, if she’s in.’
‘Yes, she is – but she’s just slipped outside.’ Faith Carver lowered her voice to a whisper, and gave one of her automatic scowls. ‘Cigarette break, I think.’
‘OK,’ he whispered back. ‘Tell me what she looks like.’
Faith stopped whispering and then answered in her usual businesslike voice. ‘Tanned and skinny with very shiny black hair streaked with burgundy . . . lowlights, I think they’re called.’
‘I thought she was a redhead.’
‘That was yesterday, but you still won’t miss her.’ Faith cleared her throat with an awkward cough. ‘Have you made much progress?’ She rushed the words, clearly unsure whether even asking was the correct thing to do.
‘Some, I hope, but it’s early days. I don’t suppose you’ve thought of anything else to mention?’
‘No. But I only worked with her for one day.’
‘That’s fine – just thought I’d ask.’
He jogged back down the stairs and, when he reached the pavement, he knew immediately that Faith Carver had been right; Victoria Nugent was impossible to miss. The pavement tables nearby were mostly unoccupied and, sitting with her back to him, was the only woman with black hair. To describe it as shiny had been a gross understatement, it was straight and almost glasslike. The lowlights were in fact half a dozen chunks dyed a pronounced plummy red, incongruous against her white-and-green dental nurse’s uniform. The lit cigarette she held in her right hand clashed further. Her elbow rested on the table and the cigarette smouldered close to her ear. The ash was about half an inch long and already threatened to drop on to the pavement. The woman was using her left hand to stir an untouched cappuccino.
Goodhew hesitated. Either spring was in the air, or else Mel’s observation that he was a prime candidate for stalker of the year had affected his frame of mind. Firstly he’d found Alice very attractive and he now couldn’t help noticing that Victoria had her own unique appeal. In fact, she did for nurses’ uniforms what Ann Summers had done for waitresses’ uniforms . . . and, well, nurses’ uniforms. The stilettos helped.
Goodhew drew a chair up to the table and sat a third of the way round from her. He noticed that her eyes were unnaturally blue, but then her skin was