Page 36 of Dead Fall

‘I’m trying to find out who killed you,’ she murmured, before catching the alarmed look of the student-looking guy opposite. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘just thinking out loud.’

In any case she needed to find out where she and Archie were at, and a couple of nights of rural bliss away from the daily routine could be just the reset they needed. After she’d climbed off the train at Swindon and saw his coppery head looming over everyone else at the platform end she was relieved to find she still felt a buzz.

‘Did you miss me?’ he asked after giving her a bear hug.

‘Yes,’ she said, smiling up at him. Thinking that, weirdly, she missed him now, in retrospect, rather than at the time.

*

A cab took them through Marlborough and a couple of miles into the countryside where it pulled up outside a picture-postcard village pub called The Goose and Crumpet. But inside the vibe was fancy hotel and the woman behind the reception desk was so posh that Cassie only caught half of what she was saying. ‘You have a table for dinner at eight,’ she said to Archie. ‘You’re in luck, the chef has just refreshed the tasting menu.’

The what? Cassie was feeling increasingly out of place and not just because of her jeans and leather jacket.

Up in their room Archie stretched out on the crisp white linen of the sumptuous king-sized bed, beaming. ‘This is the life!’

Meanwhile Cassie prowled the room like a wild animal exploring its new cage. The furniture looked properly antique, the silk curtains and cushions like something out of one of those interior design mags you saw at the dentist’s. Gorgeous – but unsettlingly alien. Lifting the stopper on a glass carafe of red-brown liquid she sniffed suspiciously ‘What’s this? It smells like port but looks brown, like sherry.’

‘It’s tawny port,’ he said with a grin. ‘Help yourself – it’s free.’

‘Now you’re talking,’ she said, filling two tumblers and taking them over to the bed.

She handed him one before lying down. Sending him a sideways look she said mock-innocently, ‘So, what shall we do till dinner time?’

*

An hour or so later they were onto pre-dinner drinks in the guests’ snug – Grey Goose vodka martini for her, Campari and soda for Archie. Several other guests, a bit older than them, occupied the chic sofas and armchairs, and there was a burble of well-bred chatter. The women were dolled up in what she knew were called cocktail dresses, their hair freshly flounced and styled. Thank Christ she’d remembered at the last minute to pack her only frock, a floaty grey goth-esque affair with a black insect pattern. But she still caught one of the women giving her a head-to-toe once-over, either because of her piercings, or perhaps thinking high heels would be more ‘appropriate footwear’ than her DMs. Taking her piercings out to respect the raw feelings of grieving relatives was one thing, but sheltered rich folks? They’d just have to get over themselves.

Her sense of discomfort didn’t fade over the meal. As she should’ve guessed from the stupid name alone the place was no longer a pub in any proper sense of the word: every table in what had once been the main bar was laid for dinner without even a single bar stool for a thirsty passer-by.

Archie seemed completely at home, of course he did.

‘So, your old school in Marlborough,’ she said, picturing the imposing Georgian building set in verdant grounds they’d passed in the cab. ‘You were a boarder, right?’

He nodded. ‘Yup, from thirteen, but I’d already been boarding at prep school for five years.’

‘Wow.’ Eight years old. ‘But your mum and dad only worked in the City, didn’t they?’

‘Yup, corporate lawyers.’

‘So why didn’t you live at home?’ – realising with a guilty jolt that she’d never asked before.

He shrugged. ‘Both of them had boarded from the same age. I loved it. And I used to go home for the school holidays.’

‘Right.’ Cassie thought of her own childhood, both parents missing, presumed dead – until a few months ago. Although she’d been brought up as an orphan at least she’d had her grandmother’s undivided attention.

She dissected the single spear of asparagus on a pool of green which formed their third course. Their serving gal – ‘call me Tabby’ – presumably short for Tabitha rather than named after the family moggy – had described the pond-coloured liquid as ‘essence of nettle foraged from local hedgerows’. Cassie only ate the asparagus, unable to expel an image of the scabby clumps of nettle on the verge of the canal towpath, which were enthusiastically watered by passing dogs. ‘The countryside round here is absolutely stunning,’ she said, not wanting to come across as critical or negative.

‘It’s wonderful, isn’t it? – even better from the back of a hunter,’ Archie said. ‘The Savernake Forest just south of here is just glorious.’

‘You sound homesick .?.?.’ She paused before asking, ‘So do you see yourself living here, eventually?’

He shrugged his big rugby player shoulders. ‘Perhaps. The Cotswolds is pretty nice, too. I think the countryside is the only place to raise kids.’ He met her eye. ‘Don’t you?’

Oh fuck. Luckily Tabby-cat came to clear their plates at that moment, giving her time to regroup.

Cassie couldn’t imagine living anywhere except Camden, or some other inner-London borough. Here, every person in the room was white, middle class and so .?.?. homogeneous – immaculately groomed, and radiating the terrifying confidence of long-held wealth. She’d counted four men wearing chinos in varying shades of red, which must be like the posh-guy uniform round here.

‘I suppose I just feel more at home in London,’ she admitted. ‘All the different folks and accents and looks, it means that nobody can feel out of place?’

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