‘It’s half past ten at night.’ Stella looked at Max accusingly. ‘If that’s one of your sodding PTA members moaning about school business, I warn you, I might be quite rude.’
‘Not as rude as I’ll be,’ grumbled Max. A small group of this year’s parents had been getting their knickers in a twist about everything from the most recent OFSTED report to the colour of the girls’ changing room. Max had kept his temper so far, but there were limits. He opened his front door with his shoulders squared, ready for battle.
‘Good God.’ His face went white. Angela Cranley stood on his doorstep, an overnight bag at her feet. Her face was grotesquely bruised and her arm was in a makeshift sling.
‘Can I come in?’
An hour later, having put Angela to bed in the guest room with a strong sleeping pill, Max and Stella finally collapsed into their own bed.
‘What do you think?’ asked Stella, staring at the beamed ceiling. ‘Do you believe her?’
Max sighed. ‘I don’t know.’
Angela had told them tearfully that she and Brett had had a terrible row. He’d convinced himself she was having an affair and had gone off the deep end. But she insisted her injuries were accidental, the result of a fall down the stairs.
‘I was lucky. It could have been much worse. The nurse at the cottage hospital said nothing’s broken.’
Too drunk to drive, Brett had called a taxi to take Angela to A&E. According to her, he had wanted to come with her, but she’d refused. ‘I needed some space, to think. So I packed a bag and, after they discharged me, I came here. I’m sorry, I just … I didn’t know where else to go.’
She’d started sobbing then and shaking, poor woman. Evidently she was still in fairly serious shock.
‘I think she’s covering for him,’ Stella muttered furiously. ‘I’ve a good mind to call the police. Arsehole.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ said Max. ‘But it’s not our place to get involved.’
‘How is it not our place?’ Stella’s voice was rising, along with her feminist hackles. ‘There’s a battered woman in our spare room, for God’s sake!’
Reaching across the bed, Max took Stella’s hand and squeezed it.
‘The police can’t act unless she presses charges. You know that as well as I do.’
‘Hmm,’ Stella grumbled. He was right, of course. But the anger inside her refused to be quelled.
‘We’ll talk about it more in the morning.’
Max turned out the light.
‘Why do you think she came here?’ Stella’s voice drifted sleepily through the darkness. ‘I mean, we’re hardly close friends.’
‘No,’ said Max.
‘She must be very lonely, if we’re the only people she could think of to turn to.’
Max paused.
‘Yes.’
Stella drifted off to sleep. But Max Bingley stayed awake for a very long time.
The next morning, Angela didn’t wake until almost ten. The sleeping pill had completely knocked her for six. Max had long since left for school by the time she came down to the kitchen, wincing with pain at every step.
‘Gosh, here, let me help you.’ Stella jumped up from the table and her half-finished Times crossword and helped Angela into the armchair next to the Aga. ‘You poor thing. Can I get you some breakfast?’
‘No, thank you. You’ve been kind enough,’ said Angela.
In a loose-fitting white sundress and flip-flops, she looked even more tiny, bird-like and fragile than she had last night. Big, ugly purple bruises on her arms and legs matched the ones on her face.
‘I don’t think I could eat a thing anyway. I must call a cab.’
‘There’s no rush,’ said Stella. ‘You only just woke up. I’ll put on some fresh coffee at least, and then you can see if you can manage a piece of toast.’
‘Really,’ Angela insisted. ‘I have to get home. Brett and I need to talk.’
Stella stopped scooping coffee into the cafetière and looked at her pityingly. ‘You should report him, you know. You can’t let him get away with this.’
Angela sighed wearily. ‘It was an accident.’
‘You could have been killed!’ said Stella. But it was clear that Angela wasn’t going to change her mind. ‘Fine. Well if you really want to go home, I’ll drive you.’
‘Really, there’s no need,’ Angie started to protest. But Stella was having none of it.
‘I insist. I’ll drive you to Furlings and I’ll wait outside until I know you’re safe.’
Too tired to argue, Angie nodded. ‘OK. Thank you. I’m so sorry for dumping my problems on you and Max like this. I should have gone to a hotel. I don’t think I was thinking clearly.’
‘Yes, well. Most people aren’t when their husbands have just tried to kill them,’ Stella said archly. ‘Anyway, you’re very welcome. Max is terribly fond of you, you know.’
Angie tried to smile, but the effort was too painful.
‘He’s a lovely man,’ she said.