‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be flippant. Nervous reaction.’
‘Understandable,’ said Edmund. ‘But I’d better go now, Lucy, because if I’ve got to get to Ashwood Police Station for three-thirty, I’ll have to leave fairly soon. It’s a two-hour drive.’
He paused rather deliberately, and Lucy said, ‘Will you let me know what happens at the police station?’
‘I suppose I could call on you,’ said Edmund, as if this had just occurred to him. ‘It wouldn’t be much further to drive. Assuming you’d be in, of course. Saturday night, and all that—’
‘I’ll be in, Saturday night or not,’ said Lucy rather dryly. ‘If you recall I’m entirely footloose and fancy-free at the moment.’
‘Oh yes, I remember now.’ Lucy had recently parted company from some man whom Aunt Deborah had said was not worthy of her, although Aunt Deborah had never thought anyone worthy of Lucy. Edmund knew this perfectly well, of course, just as he always had known the precise timing of Lucy’s entanglements. (Had those men seen her with rippling wet hair and bare shoulders…?)
‘I’m not sure what time it will be when I get to you, though. Somewhere between six and seven, I should think.’
‘That’s OK. Uh – will you be wanting something to eat?’
‘Oh, I think so,’ said Edmund, who had assumed that Lucy would make this offer. Family was family and there were certain obligations. ‘Then I could drive back later. I’d have had a break, you see, and it would be less tiring.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Don’t go to a lot of trouble, though. I don’t want to eat a heavy meal with the drive home ahead of me. Just something light and nourishing.’
Dry-as-dust Cousin Edmund, with his delicate digestion and his old-maidish insistence on regular meals. Edmund could hear Lucy thinking it and he smiled. But she said she would have some food ready, and to just turn up when he could.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Edmund took to the Ashwood police interview neatly prepared notes of conversations and phone calls, and dates of meetings with Trixie Smith. Correct, precise Mr Fane, efficiently prepared for whatever questions might be asked.
Still, it was slightly disconcerting to find that the interview was to be conducted by a woman – Detective Inspector Jennie Fletcher. No doubt it was rather old-fashioned of him, but Edmund would have thought it more suitable for a man to be in charge of this kind of case. But he shook Inspector Fletcher’s hand, and nodded pleasantly to the very young sergeant who was with her. He was offered and accepted a cup of tea, and while it was being brought took his own notes from his briefcase, so that he could refer to them.
He explained about Trixie Smith’s approach to his aunt, careful to keep solely to the facts, and when he had finished, Inspector Fletcher said, ‘That seems quite clear. Let’s talk about your own involvement, Mr Fane.’
‘Certainly,’ said Edmund, who had not been expecting the police to regard him as involved in this at all.
‘First of all, was there any particular reason why you went to Ashwood Studios that day? Or were you just along for the ride?’ A slight edge to the voice there, which Edmund did not care for.
But he explained that he had driven down to meet Miss Smith from what one might call a sense of responsibility. Of courtesy. ‘My aunt had died before she could provide the promised information to Miss Smith – a rather sudden death, that was – and so I thought the least I could do was help by getting access to the studios for her.’
‘I’m sorry to hear about your aunt’s death,’ said Fletcher conventionally. ‘Presumably you met Miss Smith at the site that day—’
‘I met both Miss Smith and Mr Devlin there,’ corrected Edmund, who was not going to have that disreputable Liam Devlin overlooked.