Page 67 of A Very Bookish Murder
It had gone quiet again, and Ally edged her way out of the room.
‘I heard,’ Ross said as she entered the kitchen. ‘Once I knew they were all in there, I eavesdropped outside the door.’ He was wearing a white shirt and dark trousers, with one of Ally’s aprons tied round his middle.
‘So what do you make of that then?’ Ally asked.
Ross shrugged. ‘It feels like he’s telling the truth, butsomebodykilled that bloody woman, and I’m beginning to wonder if Kandahar has a cat’s chance in hell of getting this all wrapped up today.’
Morag arrived at ten and set about loading up the dishwasher straight away.
‘I’ll get everythin’ done and dusted before ye get back,’ she said to Ally, glancing in Ross’s direction, ‘so ye can have a nice, quiet evenin’ after they’ve all gone. Are ye goin’ to the Craigmonie after the funeral?’
‘I don’t honestly know,’ Ally replied, shrugging. ‘We’ll play it by ear and see who else plans to go.’ All she could think about right now was a quiet, relaxed evening with Ross. ‘The dogs are romping round the garden, Morag, so don’t forget to lock them in when you leave.’
‘Aye, of course.’
‘And have you seen that big, sharp knife? You know the one that normally resides in the middle drawer?’
‘No, I haven’t, but I daresay it’ll show up somewhere,’ Morag replied.
Ross had removed the apron and was fitting a black tie around the collar of his white shirt. Then he donned a heavy dark-blue sweater. ‘I shall have my anorak on top,’ he informed Ally, ‘which is suitable gear for a windswept gathering in a field. It’ll be cold and wet up there.’
Ally had only ever been to Brodale once and she could certainly vouch for that fact. She’d chosen a black sweater and black jeans, and she’d wear her dark-green hooded jacket on top. She had no intention of getting any colder or wetter than was necessary.
The women were now dragging their suitcases down into the hall, to be collected when they got back from the funeral. Penelope, Millie and Morwenna were anyway, but Brigitte and George had already loaded their bags into their car so that they could get away quickly afterwards. Penelope had bossily insisted on driving Millie and Morwenna to the funeral in her car.
They were almost ready to leave when Morwenna suddenly remembered she’d left her make-up bag in the bathroom and hurried upstairs to get it.
‘What’s taking her so long?’ Penelope asked impatiently, looking down at her watch. She went to the foot of the stairs and shouted up, ‘Come on, Morwenna – we’re going to be late!’
Morwenna came down the stairs holding a William Morris-patterned sponge bag in one hand and what looked like a small, black notebook in the other. ‘I found this,’ she said, ‘when I was having a final check through the drawers.’ She held it out to Millie. ‘I think this is yours,’ she said, giving her a hard look.
At least that’s how it seemed to Ally.
Millie snatched it from her. ‘Thank you,’ she snapped before hastily shoving it into her bag.
‘Come on then!’ shouted Penelope. ‘High time we were leaving!’
The burial field was situated just off the narrow road which led to an abandoned church. At the gate there was a sign which proclaimed:WELCOME TO THE BRODALE FIELD OF PEACE AND REMEMBRANCE, and underneath in smaller letters:Please treat this field with respect. Take your rubbish home with you!
There was no specified car park, so everyone just pulled in to the side on the rough ground.
Heavy, grey clouds hung over the field and the moors, but at least the wind had dropped, leaving a fine drizzle behind. Brodale was particularly bleak today, with only the old, isolated church silhouetted on the horizon.
As they arrived at the field, Ally noticed the little clusters of people standing around the gaping, rectangular hole which had been dug to receive the coffin, of which there was as yet no sign although five lots of cords had been laid out on the grass alongside. This in itself was quite unusual because, as far as Ally could remember, there were normally eight cords used to lower a coffin. There would normally be, of course, plenty of mourners to qualify for the task, whereas today could prove a little tricky.
‘Good day to bury someone,’ Ross murmured to Ally as they tramped towards the grave. ‘Suitably dark and dank.’
They made their way across to where Amir Kandahar was standing at the foot of the grave, alongside a couple of uniformed officers.
He gave Ally one of his beautiful smiles. ‘Good to see you both,’ he said.
After they’d greeted each other, Ally and Ross moved up to the lower right of the hole. Ally looked around. She spotted Bob and Cathy Rigby standing near the top end of the grave on the right, chatting to Brigitte and George. They were in dark clothing and wielding umbrellas.
On the left side of the grave stood Laura and Owen, the latter fiddling with a large metal box at his feet. Opposite them, near to Ally and Ross, stood Penelope, Millie and Morwenna, all looking rather anxious. Millie was almost unrecognisable, all in black: black hat, black coat with the collar turned up and the black glasses on, of course. The only brightness came from the black-and-white patterned scarf which she’d draped around her neck.
And just arriving on her own was Desdemona, clad in a long, black skirt and top, with a purple shawl draped around her shoulders and, of all things, a bright pink umbrella. She, too, stood on the left side, next to Owen and Laura.
And behind Amir, at the foot of the grave, was a handful of press, cameras and phones at the ready, all complaining loudly about what awful weather it was for May.
