Free The Night Book by Richard Madeley Page B

this. Her hands were trembling so much from rage and revulsion that she’d probably spill her drink all over herself
or, worse, someone else.
    In the end she found a layby just outside the pretty village of Lazonby, less than two miles from River House, and stopped there.
    She switched off the engine of her Mercedes and listened to the ticking of the engine block as it began to cool. She took slow, deep breaths and looked around her. Yellow cornfields stretched
away from both sides of the road. In the distance, she could see a bright red combine harvester threshing its way methodically through the tall stems of corn, throwing up a huge cloud of dust. The
machine was too far away for her to hear. Apart from the ticking and clicking of the car’s engine, all was silence.
    Suddenly a bird, not much bigger than a sparrow, landed on her car’s iconic bonnet emblem and stared intently at her through the windscreen, cocking its head rapidly from side to side as
it did so. It didn’t seem at all afraid. It was probably a male; she must be on its territory. There was likely to be a nest in the hedge next to the car.
    Meriel knew a surprising amount about birds. Her late father had been a keen amateur ornithologist and he had taught her a lot. She was pretty sure this was a yellowhammer, with its bright
yellow and chestnut plumage, and its typical lack of shyness around humans.
    Then, when it began to sing, she was certain, and she smiled. It was such a sweet, funny little song. She could hear her father imitating it for her now.
    ‘Little-bit-of-bread-and-no-cheeeeeeeeeese! Little-bit-of-bread-and-no-cheeeeeeeeeese!’
    Suddenly, without warning, Meriel was overwhelmed by tears. She crossed her arms over the steering wheel and sank her forehead onto them, swamped with helpless sobs that juddered through her
entire body. She didn’t really know what she was weeping for. Her father? Herself? Shock at what had just happened; this whole horrible, horrible mess she’d got herself into?
    She surrendered to the moment and, somewhere at the back of her mind, vaguely hoped that no one would pass by to witness her distress. But no one did.
    It was just her and the yellowhammer.
    Meriel had been aware of Cameron’s growing sexual jealousy for some time but until now he’d managed to veil it, probably because he feared that to reveal it would
put him in a weak, even supplicatory, position. He had, after all, absolutely no rational grounds to doubt his wife’s fidelity.
    But, that morning, the simmering cauldron of his covetous, malign mistrust had at last boiled over.
    It had been ugly and frightening and she worried that it was a deeply disquieting sign of things to come.
    They’d intended to go to the Cox’s summer party together. Cameron had told Meriel he was ‘rather looking forward to it, as long as I don’t have to talk to anyone from
your joke of a programme’.
    Meriel knew that her husband’s principal motive for going was to buttonhole Lake District FM’s commercial manager. Cameron wanted to discuss some kind of cut-rate advertising deal
for his businesses, not just on the local station but right across the network. Plus he’d be doing a bit of brown-nosing with Peter Cox. There’d been talk of the station manager
presiding over an advertising hook-up between the radio station and the local ITV company, and perhaps even roping in the regional press outlets too. Cameron could never see a pending deal without
wanting to stick a finger in the pie.
    But when she’d come downstairs ready for the party, he’d exploded.
    ‘We’re not going with you fucking dressed like that. Go back up and put something halfway decent on. Jesus, Meriel, you look like a pimp’s whore and I’m no pimp. Change.
Now.’
    She’d been genuinely at a loss.
    ‘What are you talking about, Cameron? It’s just a summer dress! I’ve worn it before! You said you liked it. You said—’
    ‘Liar. I’ve never seen that thing before