BURIED CRIMES: a gripping detective thriller full of twists and turns (9 page)

Chapter 13: Walkies, Cuddles and Muesli

Saturday, week 2

The South Dorset Walkers’ Club met every second Saturday, weather permitting, for a ramble around one of the county’s many beauty spots or nature reserves. The members were primarily middle-aged and reasonably fit but preferred easy, chatty walks rather than the more strenuous treks of the other local rambling groups. That was how the secretary justified the club’s existence in a county that already had nearly two dozen rambling groups.

‘I suppose we’re a group of gossipers who also like walking, rather than the other way round,’ she would explain with a wry smile.

On this particular Saturday morning, just before noon, the motley collection of ramblers were on the penultimate leg of their walk. Having struggled around the windswept cliffs of St Aldhelm’s Head, they were heading inland past Winspit towards a welcome refreshment rest at The Square and Compass in the picturesque village of Worth Matravers. John Wethergill slowed as he heard footsteps drawing alongside him. He half turned to see the attractive figure of the group’s newest member coming level with him. He ran his hand through his hair, hoping that it wasn’t too untidy. Maybe he should have worn a hat after all. ‘Hello,’ he said, trying to think of something witty and original to say, but failing.

‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I’d better introduce myself. I’m Pauline Stopley.’ She struggled slightly with a glove but finally managed to slip it off, holding out a slender hand.

John pulled off his glove and grasped her hand firmly. ‘John Wethergill. Bit tired, a bit bored and looking forward to a pint.’

She laughed and wrestled with her glove, this time to get it back on. ‘Maybe these are a bit small, after all. I wondered about buying the medium size, but vanity got the better of me.’

‘It’s a terrible thing, vanity, isn’t it? But I think it has an important role to play in our self-esteem.’

‘That sounds very impressive. Can I steal it from you?’ She smiled at him, her dark eyes glinting mischievously in the midday sunshine.

‘I think you must be our new member. Harriet said that someone new was coming today. Did she mean you?’

‘I expect so. I just fancied the opportunity to see some of the countryside. I’ve only been back in Dorset a few months. Are you local?’

‘Yes. I own a DIY shop in Dorchester. I’ve lived in the county most of my life, and so did my ancestors. Dorset born and Dorset bred, I suppose you could say.’

‘I don’t see anything wrong with that.’ She looked around. ‘Do we have much further to go? I could do with a pick-me-up. A gin and tonic would be nice.’

‘About a mile, I think. I must warn you that you might get some disapproving looks over your choice of drink. This pub is known for miles around for the quality of its beers and ciders. They even brew their own.’

She looked coolly at him. ‘I couldn’t give a toss what people think. It’ll be a gin and tonic for me no matter what.’

He held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘That’s fine. I just thought you ought to know.’

Her face softened. ‘Sorry. I over-reacted there, I think.’

* * *

Once they reached the village, half of the group made directly for the car park, back to family and other commitments. Of those who did visit the pub, most had just a small drink and a hurried pie or pasty before heading off. Pauline and John soon found themselves alone at the table. They’d taken their outdoor jackets off, and Wethergill was casting surreptitious, admiring glances at the woman opposite. She had a good figure and her clothes were rather more stylish than those the ramblers usually wore. She’d obviously brushed her hair when she visited the loo, and its dark length fell to below her shoulders.

‘How do you spend your time?’ asked Wethergill.

‘I’m a regional manager for the Arts Council, so I’m closely involved in fund-raising and the allocation of grants. I’ve recently got a promotion into the Wessex region, so that’s why I’ve moved here, to Dorchester in fact. I’ve just bought a flat in town. Where is your shop?’

‘Just off the High Street. I live above it. We’re not rich but I make enough to pay the bills and live quite comfortably.’

‘We? Are you married?’

‘No, but I’m in a sort of relationship. I was married a long time ago, but that ended badly, so I’ve steered clear ever since.’

‘Doesn’t your partner like walking?’

‘Not really. She’s back in the Philippines at the moment, visiting her sister. She isn’t due to return until next month.’

His words seemed to hang in the air for a few seconds. Did they beckon?

Pauline asked, quietly, ‘what are your plans for eating this evening?’

‘I was planning to order a Thai takeaway.’ Another brief silence.

‘Can I join you? I’m at a bit of a loose end.’

‘Of course. You’d be most welcome.’ He wrote an address and phone number on a beer mat and pushed it towards her. She slid it into her pocket without looking at it.

‘Thanks,’ she murmured. ‘I’d better be off. See you later. About eight?’

He nodded. He watched her shapely figure move to the door. He sat on for another ten minutes, finishing a second beer before getting up and making his way to the car park.

* * *

Wethergill looked around the flat. That should do nicely. It was only two days since his cleaner had made her regular Thursday morning visit, but he’d dusted and vacuumed throughout. He’d also washed the kitchen floor and cleaned the fridge. He’d cleaned the toilet with bleach and scrubbed the washbasin and the bath. He’d put a clean under-sheet on the bed and a fresh cover, in a pretty shade of lilac, on the duvet. He checked the bedside table drawer for condoms and paper tissues. He showered and washed his hair, and dressed carefully. An open-neck shirt in mottled grey, black trousers and freshly polished shoes. Everything was ready and there were still twenty minutes to spare.

Then he spotted the photo of Maralit on the shelf above the fireplace. Should he hide it? Or would Pauline expect some kind of photo of his partner? After all, he had been honest about it. The trouble was, it was an old photo, taken when she was still slim and attractive. If she saw the photo Pauline would assume that Maralit still looked like that, and might be put off. He could have swapped it for a more recent one, but he’d never bothered to get any framed since her skin had started ageing, her weight had increased and her personality had turned more waspish. He took the photo down and shut it away in a drawer.

He looked around again. Much better. Right, now for the music. He selected a CD of music by Gershwin. That would do nicely. He sat down and waited for the doorbell to ring.

Pauline was ten minutes late. Probably it was deliberate, thought John. He took her coat, ushered her through to the lounge and offered her a drink. She’d made up her eyes to look sultry, and her dark hair shone in the glow from the dimmed wall lamps. She was wearing a short black dress, shaped to fit her figure. It had an extraordinary embellishment: a gold zip, running from neckline to hem down the front of the dress. John’s mouthed dropped open. Pauline tapped his lips with a finger.

‘Sorry. You look so lovely,’ he said. ‘I’ll get some ice for your drink. Maybe you could have a look at the takeaway menu. It’s on the coffee table.’

He stood in the kitchen, trying to calm his racing thoughts. It wasn’t just the dress; he’d spotted small, tell-tale bumps on her thighs. She was wearing stockings and suspenders. It was obvious he wouldn’t meet with any resistance to his plans for later in the evening. Maybe he’d hit the jackpot at last. About bloody time.

* * *

The food was nearly all eaten. Pauline ran her tongue around her lips. ‘That was delicious,’ she said. She stretched out a long leg, ending in a shiny, black, high-heeled shoe. She took another sip of gin.

‘Do you like black clothes for evenings?’ John asked. ‘They look incredibly attractive on you. Your dress is set off beautifully by the gold of the zip.’

She wriggled closer to him on the sofa. ‘Would you like to give it a pull to see what happens?’

He leant forward and took the zip’s pull tab, tugging gently at it. The front of the dress parted, revealing silky lingerie in black and gold. Her breasts gently rose and fell beneath the shiny fabric. She looked into his eyes. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘Touch if you want to.’

He pulled the zip further, then ran his palm across her breast. ‘Take the zip down further,’ she instructed. As he did so, she stood and shook herself free of the dress. She settled back onto the sofa, now so close that he could feel the warmth of her body radiating through the thin silk of her chemise.

She reached down to the waistband of his trousers. ‘One good turn with a zip deserves another, don’t you think?’

He gasped as her head followed her hand.

‘You’re wearing silk too. Naughty man.’

He could only manage a groan.

* * *

At eight the next morning she came padding through to the bedroom, carrying two mugs of steaming tea. She was still wearing her silk lingerie and stockings, and looked glorious. John stretched out his arms, and she slid into them with a laugh.

‘I hoped you’d stay asleep,’ she said. ‘I was planning to wake you up by rubbing myself all over you. Then I was going to pass you your cup of tea and see how quickly you would be able to drink it.’

He shook his head, smiling. ‘You know, you’re amazing. I’d have never guessed on the walk yesterday that we’d be like this the next morning. I just can’t quite believe it.’

She pushed her hair out of her eyes. ‘Drink your tea, go to the loo, and I’ll show you something that will really make your eyes water. It involves your wrists, my stockings and that bed-head. If it works right, we’ll both come like express trains.’

* * *

‘So tell me about your relationship, John. Should I be feeling guilty?’

They’d just finished a breakfast of muesli and toast and marmalade. Pauline had changed into a pair of trousers and a loose top. She’d brought in an overnight bag the previous night that Wethergill hadn’t noticed. He took a sip of tea before he told her.

‘Please don’t feel guilty at all. I don’t. I’m not sure where Maralit and I were going anyway. We needed a break from each other, which is one of the reasons why she decided to visit family back in Manila. It was all a bit sudden, though. She only arranged the trip at the beginning of the week. Apparently one of her sisters is seriously ill with cancer, so Maralit felt she needed to see her before it was too late. She doesn’t live here, by the way. She has her own place on the other side of town.’

‘So you don’t have any children with her?’

‘No, nothing as serious as that. She’s not the maternal type anyway. She’s a career woman. She works for one of the big pharmaceutical companies and earns about five times what I do. She says that children would have got in the way of her career. I suppose that’s probably true for most women in the commercial world.’

‘How long have you been seeing each other?’

He shrugged. ‘About ten years? We were friends for a while before that. I’ve been worrying about where we were heading for some time now. Her personality seems to have grown harder in recent years. She’s not the gentle person she was when we first met. She disagrees and says it’s me who’s changed. Human nature, I suppose. We always think other people are at fault, never us.’

Pauline nodded. That’s my experience too. It was certainly at work in some of my early relationships.’

‘Did you have children?’

She shook her head and laughed, grimly. ‘The thought of giving birth always brought me out in a rash.’

‘And you haven’t got a wish to have any? You know?’

She looked at him. ‘What do you mean, what do I know?’

He looked embarrassed. ‘Well, time’s ticking on. That’s what I meant.’

‘Why don’t you say it then? Might I have a yearning for children in the few years of fertility I have left? That’s what you meant, isn’t it?’

‘I was trying to be delicate and I made a mess of it. Sorry.’

‘I suppose it’s something all women in my position think about, having a child before it’s too late. But for me, the age gap would be too big. Some women my age are already grandmothers, for God’s sake. And I always end up thinking, what have I got to offer a child? I’m too bloody impatient. I know I am.’ She checked her watch, then finished her tea. ‘I’ll help you clear up and then I’d better be off. I’m meeting someone for the afternoon and need time to get ready.’

‘Should I be jealous?’

‘Of course. Just to keep you on your toes. Maybe we can meet later in the week? Would you like to?’ She carried their dishes to the sink.

‘Yes. You know I would.’

‘Call me. You have my number.’

‘No, I don’t.’

She looked at him coolly for a few seconds. Then she shook her head. ‘Yes you do. You just haven’t looked in the right place yet.’

She went to the hall, slipped her coat on, picked up her bag, gave John a soft, tongued kiss and left. He looked in the bedroom but could see nothing. She’d taken a shower before breakfast, so he checked in the bathroom. There it was, written on the mirror in lipstick: a telephone number followed by an xxx. He walked to the lounge window and peered out at the pavement below. But she’d already gone.