A Shroud for Delilah (DCI Webb Mystery Book 1) (22 page)

‘It’s the only thing I can do. Hugo must have told you I’ve no brains.’

‘I certainly did not, nor is it true. Your talents are non-academic, that’s all.’

‘Tactfully put!’ I set down my coffee cup. ‘I’m also quite a good non-academic washer-up, so—’

Martha shook her head. ‘Not tonight, Chloe. We can manage perfectly well and you must be tired.’

‘If you’re sure then, perhaps you’ll excuse me. I’d like to do my unpacking, such as it is.’

When everything was put away and I was ready for bed, I drew back the curtains and stood looking out of the window. The wind had blown the rain clouds away and the night was fine and clear. A host of scudding cloudlets sailed quickly over the face of the moon and were gone.

Below me lay the neat little garden and beyond that what appeared to be a field, but the moon wasn’t bright enough to show it clearly. A car passed along the road with a brief flare of headlamps. I could only guess that the dark mass which shut off the night sky to my right was one of the island’s many hills.

Today, I reflected, had held its share of riddles. My thoughts went back to the tall, fair man who had seemed so much a part of me, though common sense forced me to admit we had never met. And there was the same inexplicable sense of familiarity about this island which I had never visited before.

‘Well, here I am,’ I said silently to whatever or whomever might be listening. ‘What do you want of me?’ Then, before any answer could come, I pulled the curtains back across the window and climbed hurriedly into bed. It was not a comfortable question to leave hanging on the night air, and ridiculously I wished I could retract it. The answer might be more than I was prepared to accept.

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