Free Death on Lindisfarne by Fay Sampson Page B

from the beach where they were standing. A much wider strait cut it off from the mainland beyond.
    â€œI bet I could get over there. If I jumped across the stones.” Melangell was looking speculatively at the receding shallows and the emerging mud.
    â€œYou’ll do better waiting till this afternoon. Keep your feet dry,” Aidan said.
    Lucy watched him warily. She had felt shaken by his anger last night. But she saw how his eyes strayed past his daughter, as though he was searching along the shore for another girl. Could she count him as an ally, after all?
    She caught up with her thoughts so sharply it was as if she had slapped herself. This wasn’t about her. This wasn’t about who was or was not on her side. All that mattered at that moment was Rachel. Could something, someone, have pushed her over the edge of what she would find bearable?

    There was an empty chair at the dining table between Aidan and Lucy.
    Mrs Batley swept in, bearing steaming plates of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.
    â€œWill she be coming?” she said sharply to Lucy. “I hate to see good food going to waste.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Mrs Batley. I know it’s difficult for you, but I really don’t know where she is.”
    A spatter of rain threw itself against the windows.
    Lucy’s knife rang against her glass. The conversation stilled.
    â€œToday, you’ve got a free afternoon to explore the island. Some of you may want to go across to Hobthrush while the tide’s out. You should be safe for the afternoon. The forecast is for scattered showers, so go prepared. Or you could spend time in the Priory Museum. Or you might just want to sleep off Mrs Batley’s excellent lunch.”
    The kitchen door was partly open. Their hostess must have heard.
    â€œIt’s a good job I brought plenty of knitting, if we’re going to get rained on,” Frances said.
    â€œWe’ll meet again this evening at eight o’clock in the lounge. I want to tell you more about the kind of man St Aidan was, and how he died.”
    When conversation resumed, the living Aidan leaned across the gap and spoke in a low voice. “I know you and Peter are worried about Rachel. I would be. If it’s any help, Melangell and I will keep an eye out for her. Is there any part of the island you’d particularly like us to check?”
    He could see the relief in the minister’s eyes.
    â€œShe could be anywhere. As I said yesterday, she’s officially a grown woman. She came back last night before too long. She’s only been gone a couple of hours. A bit early to call out the Coastguard and Rescue Service.” She gave him a wry smile.
    He could imagine the arguments going on within her. The worried pastor against the practical policewoman she had once been. She could only have been in the force a few years. What had compelled her to make the life-changing decision to leave that and train for the ministry? It was not the sort of question he could ask her at the lunch table.
    Did he have the right to ask her at all? He had fiercely resented any attempt from her to question his own private life.
    â€œWell, partner.” Aidan turned to Melangell with a brighter smile. “What do you fancy? Going across to Hobthrush Island?”
    â€œThe castle.” The reply was eager and determined.
    â€œIt’s only a small castle. And not all that old. Just a few hundred years.”
    â€œThis is a small island. So its castle ought to be small, oughtn’t it?”
    â€œWhatever you say.”
    He looked up and caught Valerie’s amused smile.
    â€œDon’t forget your waterproofs,” she said.
    He raised his eyes to Lucy again. “We’ll keep our eyes open for Rachel.”

    Aidan was surprised to see the number of people setting out. In view of the weather, he had thought the Cavendishes at least might have settled for the comfort of the armchairs in the lounge. But Fran