Free Season of Darkness by Maureen Jennings Page A

me?”
    “You always liked your grub, didn’t you? I don’t know why you’re so skinny.”
    She shrugged. “Never mind. It’s your turn to talk.”
    “Short version. I got married to a local girl not long after you left. Vera Lambeth. Maybe you remember her?”
    Clare dabbed at her lips with the serviette. “She was the butcher’s daughter, wasn’t she? She always had a pash for you.”
    So she noticed that. He was glad. “We have two children. A boy, Jimmy, who is with the King’s Shropshire Light Infantry. He’s twenty now. He managed to get out of Dunkirk and he’s waiting to be reassigned.”
    “That was a rough go from what I’ve heard.”
    “He won’t talk about it. My daughter, Janet, is sixteen. She’s working in her grandfather’s shop, also doing her bit for the war effort.” He wanted her to be as curious about his marriage as he was about hers, but she didn’t comment.
    He balanced his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray and began his meal. He’d thought he was hungry, but his stomach was churning so much, it was hard getting the food down.
    “And now you’re an inspector. Acts of bravery, according to Percy.”
    “I don’t know about that. I stopped a runaway horse, nothing to it. But I was already an inspector so it didn’t count. I worked with the Birmingham force for a few years, but Vera missed her family here, and I thought with war looming on the horizon, sleepy Shropshire would be safer.”
    “You miss the challenge don’t you?” Clare said sympathetically. “I can tell.”
    Tyler shrugged. “That’s life. You make choices and you have to live with them.”
    He hadn’t meant that statement to be fraught with hidden meaning but it lay on the table between them like a smelly piece of fish. Clare chose to ignore it.
    “How is your family doing?” she asked.
    “My dad died five years ago. My mom has gone to live with my sister in the Hebrides.”
    Clare toyed with the serviette. “They didn’t like me very much, did they?”
    He flicked the ash off the cigarette. “Dad thought I was betraying my class; Mom said you’d break my heart.”
    She sat back in the booth, her eyes lowered.
    “I’m sorry, Tom. Can we lay the past to rest? I’d like to be friends.”
    He turned around so he could get Frank’s attention. “Let’sdrink to that. We can’t spend the entire time apologizing to each other.”
    The silence was awkward between them and neither spoke until the publican brought more cider.
    She sipped at it. “It’s not quite as good as I remember, but then perhaps nothing is. We look at the past through rose-coloured glasses most of the time.”
    “Clare!”
    “Tom. You could have got in touch with me. You never answered my letter.”
    “It seemed a waste of time. It was all over and done. As you say, we were young. What did we know?”
    She put aside the glass, unfinished, and looked at her watch, a dainty silver one, no doubt Swiss.
    “I have to get going soon. I just wanted to say that I was so sorry to hear about that young woman who was killed. It’s dreadful.”
    “That it is. Did you ever meet her?”
    Clare shook her head. “No, I didn’t. Do you know what happened?”
    “Not yet. It has the earmarks of a
crime passional
, but we’ll have to see.”
    “You said she was found on a country road.”
    “Yes, she was. She was apparently heading for the manor.”
    “If there is anything I can do …”
    Impulsively, he grasped her hand. “You can meet me again. I’ve been a right pillock. I would like to be friends.”
    Before she could answer, they heard a few
bravissimo
bars on the piano. There weren’t many people in the pub, just a handful of men, all pensioners by the look of them, and only a couple of women, maybe their wives. One of the men, who had a natty cravat knotted around his throat, had gone over the piano.
    “Any requests?”
    A woman called out, “Play ‘We’ll Meet Again.’ ”
    “Oh, no,” muttered Clare. “Not that