Free The Sculptress by Minette Walters Page B

bystander who had stumbled upon him by
accident. ‘I’ll call your wife,’ she said.
    He gave a lop-sided grin. ‘Why not? She always
enjoyed a good laugh. Presumably she still does.’ He
reached for a tea-towel and held it to his head. ‘Don’t
worry, I’m not going to die on you. Head wounds
always look worse than they are. You’re very beautiful.
“From the east to western Ind, No jewel is like
Rosalind.” ’
    ‘It’s Roz and I’d rather you didn’t quote that,’ she
said sharply. ‘It annoys me.’
    He shrugged. ‘ As You Like It .’
    She sucked in an angry breath. ‘I suppose you think
that’s original.’
    ‘A tender nerve, I see. Who are we talking about?’
He looked at her ring finger. ‘Husband? Ex-husband?
Boyfriend?’
    She ignored him. ‘Is there anyone else here? Someone
in the kitchen? You should have that cut cleaned.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘In fact you should have this place cleaned. It stinks of fish.’ The smell, once
noticed, was appalling.
    ‘Are you always this rude?’ he asked curiously. He
rinsed the tea-towel under a tap and watched the
blood run out of it. ‘It’s me,’ he said matter of factly.
‘I went for a ride on a ton of mackerel. Not a pleasant
experience.’ He gripped the edge of the small sink
and stood staring into it, head lowered in exhaustion,
like a bull before the coup de grâce of the matador.
    ‘Are you all right?’ Roz watched him with a perplexed
frown creasing her forehead. She didn’t know
what to do. It wasn’t her problem, she kept telling
herself, but she couldn’t just walk away from it. Supposing
he passed out? ‘Surely there’s someone I can
call,’ she insisted. ‘A friend. A neighbour. Where do
you live?’ But she knew that. In the flat above, the
young policeman had said.
    ‘Jesus, woman,’ he growled, ‘give it a rest, for
Christ’s sake.’
    ‘I’m only trying to help.’
    ‘Is that what you call it? It sounded more like
nagging to me.’ He was alert suddenly, listening to
something she couldn’t hear.
    ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, alarmed by his
expression.
    ‘Did you lock the door after you?’
    She stared at him. ‘No. Of course I didn’t.’
    He dowsed the lights and padded across to the
entrance door, almost invisible in the sudden darkness.
She heard the sound of bolts being thrust home.
    ‘Look—’ she began, getting off her stool.
    He loomed up beside her and put an arm around
her shoulder and a finger to her lips. ‘Quiet, woman.’
He held her motionless.
    ‘But—’
    ‘Quiet!’
    A car’s headlamps swept across the windows, slicing
the darkness with white light. The engine throbbed
in neutral for a moment or two, then the gears
engaged and the vehicle drove away. Roz tried to
draw away but Hawksley’s arm only gripped her more
firmly. ‘Not yet,’ he whispered.
    They stood in silent immobility among the tables,
statues at a spectral feast. Roz shook herself free
angrily. ‘This is absolutely absurd,’ she hissed. ‘I don’t
know what on earth is going on but I’m not staying
like this for the rest of the night. Who was in that
car?’
    ‘Customers,’ he said regretfully.
    ‘You’re mad.’
    He took her hand. ‘Come on,’ he whispered, ‘we’ll
go upstairs.’
    ‘We will not,’ she said, snatching her hand away.
‘My God, doesn’t anyone think about anything except
screwing these days.’
    Amused laughter fanned her face. ‘Who said anything
about screwing?’
    ‘I’m going.’
    ‘I’ll see you out.’
    She took a deep breath. ‘Why do you want to go
upstairs?’
    ‘My flat’s up there and I need a bath.’
    ‘So what do you want me for?’
    He sighed. ‘If you remember, Rosalind, it was you
who came in here asking for me. I’ve never met a
woman who was so damn prickly.’
    ‘Prickly!’ she stuttered. ‘My God, that’s rich. You
stink to high heaven, you’ve obviously been in a fight,
you plunge