A Line to Kill

The train left on time and he took out a paperback copy of The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters. It’s a fantastic ghost story and I guessed he was reading it for his book club. We weren’t even out of the station before I’d tackled him. I couldn’t wait any longer.

‘All right,’ I said. ‘You’re going to have to explain it to me.’

He looked up. ‘What?’

‘You know perfectly well. All that stuff you said at Random House. You told me that Graham was having an affair with Tamara, that Trish knew about it, that she’d just had a baby and that she was worried she was going to lose her job. You also said Hilda was waiting for test results.’

‘That was weeks ago, mate!’ He looked at me a little sadly. ‘Have you been obsessing about it?’

‘Not obsessing, but I would like to know.’

‘You were in the room, Tony. You should have seen it all too.’

‘Do me a favour, will you, and just tell me …’

Hawthorne considered for a moment, then turned his book face down and laid it on the table. ‘Well, let’s start with Hilda. Did you see her arm?’

‘She was wearing a jacket.’

‘No. She’d taken it off and put it on the back of her chair. There was a little patch where the skin was a bit paler, right over the median cubital vein.’

‘I don’t even know what that is.’

‘It’s where the needle goes in for a blood test. She was nervous about something. She was puffing on that vape and she kept on looking at her phone like she was waiting for a text … maybe from the doctor. And that lunch of hers in Weymouth Street. I bet she made it up. It’s just round the corner from Harley Street, which is where all the doctors hang out.’

‘What about Graham and Tamara?’

‘The intern – Trish – told him his wife had called twice and that it was important, but he didn’t even ask what it was about. It was obviously something that had been going on for a while. Trish didn’t even wait for him to make a decision, which is a bit strange when you think about it. I can tell her you’re in a meeting, she said. But she was looking at Tamara when she said it.’

‘That doesn’t necessarily mean they are having an affair.’

‘Didn’t you smell Tamara’s perfume?’

‘No. I didn’t.’

‘Well, I did. And it was all over Graham.’

I nodded slowly. I had thought it was aftershave. ‘What about Trish?’ I asked. ‘I didn’t notice any prams or baby photos.’

‘Well, something’s been keeping her awake at night. She looked worn out. And there was a stain on her left shoulder. The only way it could have got there was from burping a baby. You only have to do that until they’re seven or eight months old, so why hasn’t she taken the full twelve months’ maternity leave? She probably hasn’t been at the company that long … she’s only about twenty. I imagine she got pregnant quite soon after she arrived and although they can’t fire her, she’s come back as soon as she can because she’s worried about her future.’

He made it all sound so easy but of course that was the whole point. He liked to remind me who was in charge. We didn’t talk again after that. Hawthorne went back to his book and I took out my iPad and went through my emails.

From the moment my publishers had accepted the invitation to Alderney, I’d been bombarded with messages from the festival organiser, Judith Matheson, and already I was nervous about meeting her. She seemed quite formidable, chasing me for information and following up if she hadn’t had a reply within a few hours. Would I be happy staying at the Braye Beach Hotel? Did I have any special dietary requirements? Did I want to rent a car? Would I be signing books? She had arranged the train and air tickets, booked my hotel room and made sure I had access to an up-to-date festival programme. Only the evening before, she had emailed me to say that a few of the invited writers would be congregating at the airport and that I should join them at the Globe Bar and Kitchen just before security and passport control. You’ll have time for a pub platter and a pint before you take off, she wrote, even suggesting what I might eat.

I swiped across to the festival website and checked out the writers with whom I was going to be spending a long weekend.

Marc Bellamy

Marc needs no introduction, as anyone who has watched his Sunday-morning cookery show – Lovely Grub – on ITV2 will know. Marc isn’t afraid of ruffling feathers with his no-nonsense approach to cuisine that he promises will be anything but ‘haute’. Old-school favourites including steak pie, fried chicken and sticky toffee pudding are on the menu, and in the words of his catchphrase, ‘It’s cobblers to calories’. He’ll be celebrating the launch of the Lovely Grub Cookbook on Alderney and has agreed to prepare a Saturday-night supper for the festival organisers and guests.

Elizabeth Lovell