Free The Night Book by Richard Madeley Page A

with his belt. He glanced across at Seb.
    ‘Loo,’ he said unnecessarily, jerking a thumb back over his shoulder. ‘For God’s sake, don’t use the temporary one our hosts have rigged up out there in the garden.
It’s a bloody shipping container – no windows, hotter than Hades and, trust me, you don’t even want to know about the smell.’ He finished with his belt and pointed across
the hall.
    ‘Come on, it’s that way. What kept you?’
    Seb clicked his tongue as he followed Merryman through another door and down a long panelled corridor.
    ‘I got a phone call at home just after breakfast. A police contact over in Ambleside. I stood him a few drinks when I was down there covering the last drowning – you know, that one
in Rydal Water, the nurse – and he repaid the favour. Said he wasn’t sure, but he’d heard rumours of another one over in Keswick, well, Derwent Water, early this morning. I called
it in but, as you know, we’ve only got one bloke in the newsroom today on weekend cover – everyone else is here – so I thought I’d better check it out myself.’
    Merryman glanced back at him as they entered what seemed to be a pantry towards the rear of the house.
    ‘Blimey. And on your day off, too. Devotion above and beyond, young Seb. I’ll memo you an official herogram on Monday. False alarm, I assume, otherwise you wouldn’t be
here.’
    ‘Yup. It was someone’s bloody dog, would you believe. An old Labrador that’d gone in after a duck or something. The tale must’ve got tangled in the telling. Still,
it’s only about twenty miles from Keswick to here so no real harm done. What’ve I missed?’
    They rounded a corner into a wide conservatory, and suddenly the whole of the rear of the house opened up before them. A series of French windows were thrown open onto a wide, paved terrace,
with gardens and the shining river beyond.
    A big marquee had been set up in the middle of the lawn, and clusters of white-painted wrought-iron tables and chairs were dotted around it. Some were shaded under parasols but others had been
left unprotected, presumably for the benefit of sun-worshippers.
    Seb stared at the guests as they drifted from table to table, sipping what looked to be a choice of either Pimm’s or champagne. Some of the older men were in brightly striped boating
blazers and all the women wore summer frocks and sandals. Seb smiled and turned to his boss.
    ‘I thought when I arrived just now that this place felt more continental than Cumbrian. Not any more, I don’t. That’s a perfect snapshot of England in summertime, isn’t
it? I’m glad I came. Looks like everyone’s here.’
    Merryman fingered his collar a little uneasily.
    ‘Well . . . up to a point, Seb. Sorry to disappoint, but it seems I was wrong about Meriel.’
    ‘What d’you mean?’
    ‘She’s a no-show, I’m afraid. Still, probably for the best, right? I’ve been thinking that I shouldn’t really keep pulling your chain about her. You don’t
want to get involved with a woman like her.’
    Seb, struggling to conceal his disappointment, affected indifference.
    ‘Who said that I do? Want to get involved, that is? For Christ’s sake, Bob, I’ve only spoken to her once. And what do you mean, “a woman like her”?’
    Merryman appeared faintly irritated.
    ‘Come on, chum, don’t play the innocent with me. You know exactly what I mean. Meriel’s a married woman. A happily married woman.’
    As a despondent Seb moved out onto the lawn to join the party, Meriel was driving hard towards River House. She knew the way – she and Cameron had been there at least
twice for dinner with Peter and Sandra – but today, for the first time, she was on her own.
    She’d just had another god-awful row with Cameron. God-awful. Her insides were churning and her heart was beating so hard she wondered whether she should pull over for a few minutes to
give herself time to calm down. She couldn’t arrive at the party like