later, when the groups had reformed, Jessica found Charles Palmer bending over her to refill her glass.
'Your revenge was masterly. Please forgive my rudeness on the phone, but you'll appreciate my alarm at an unknown voice, specially when I'd foolishly identified myself.'
Jessica sipped her drink thoughtfully. 'Have you a pair of binoculars, Mr Palmer?'
'What an odd question! No, why?'
'It doesn't matter.' She was a good judge of acting and felt he spoke the truth. Nevertheless, she didn't care for him, and when someone else came to speak to her and Palmer moved away, she wasn't sorry to see him go. Meanwhile Matthew, who hadn't been near her since their arrival, was also approaching.
'I think we should be going, darling. Carrie will have supper ready.' He wasn't quite meeting her eye, and Jessica felt a surge of irritated affection. She loved him dearly, but she was finding he could annoy her. The honeymoon was over!
When they made their farewells, Angie was standing at her mother's side. Mindful of the initial embarrassment, Jessica said impulsively, 'We didn't have our talk, did we? How about coming round for coffee? I'll phone in a day or two.' The child's delight was evident, and Jessica's conscience assuaged.
'I gather I'm still in disgrace?' Matthew commented as he helped her into the car.
'Is that why you've been avoiding me?'
'I couldn't get within yards of you. But I am sorry, darling. I behaved badly.'
'Why?'
He smiled ruefully 'Pique, I suppose. It was so obviously you they wanted to meet. I was the also-ran.' He brushed aside her protest. 'You must remember that last time I was married, I was the family celebrity. I still haven't adjusted to second fiddle.'
'That's ridiculous, as you well know. In many circles, you're better known than I am. People can read your books anywhere; they only see me act in London.'
'They know you here, all right. Am I forgiven, then?'
'Of course. Now, tell me what you thought of everyone.'
'Spider? Fleming here. Sorry to interrupt your Sunday, but there's been a development.'
Webb swore silently. He'd been about to drive out to a new site he'd discovered, to do some sketching. 'What kind of development, sir?'
'This nursery rhyme business. We've a body that seems to tie in. See you in twenty minutes.' And he rang off.
A body? That was all he needed. Stuffing his notebook into his pocket, Webb pulled the door of his flat shut and ran down the two flights of stairs. He hadn't contacted Jackson —perhaps the Chief Super had. But Jackson was a family man, and less likely to be home on Sunday afternoons. He was probably in the park with Millie and the kids.
Webb wove his way between the leisurely Sunday drivers, curbing his impatience. Once on the Broadminster road, he made better time. How could a body tie in with the nursery rhymes? The case was escalating, he thought uneasily. First the anonymous letter, now this. And they'd made no headway at all on the rape.
County Headquarters was a large and impressive building in the Broadshire countryside. There was no village nearby, but an old stone bridge that crossed the river just down the road had given the area its name. Webb turned off the main road, drove round to the car park. The day was heavy and still, a sulphur light over everywhere. It would probably thunder later—clear the air a bit.
Fleming was in his office, with Eric Stapleton. The pathologist always depressed Webb, not only because he was unavoidably associated with death, but because of the dried-out air about him, as though all his natural juices had been sucked dry. The expression in the small eyes behind their rimless glasses never altered. They were surprised at nothing.
'Sit down, Spider. What do you make of this?' Fleming pushed across the desk a plastic envelope inside which was a crumpled piece of paper. On it, several lines of verse were neatly typed. Webb read them, his heart sinking.
'Her e com es a candle to light you to bed,
And here