The Edge by Clare Curzon Page B

proffered cup and
saucer. ‘Thank you, Superintendent.
    â€˜Jennifer was a silly girl. But shrewd. She had brains, but preferred to keep them in a separate compartment from her everyday commitments which were frivolous in the extreme.
    â€˜She craved pretty things, so perhaps it’s unsurprising that when she happened on interior decoration as a career, and actually applied her brains, she became very successful. Not until she had married Frederick Hoad, of course, and acquired the necessary capital to set up her own business.’
    â€˜Was the marriage a happy one?’
    She gave an almost Gallic shrug and turned the tawny eyes on him. ‘How many marriages are that, or only that? It has survived for some reason. For both it was a second attempt, so not a starry-eyed decision. Poor Fred never enjoyed the best of health and soon proved impotent to boot. He was pleased to take on a ready-made son. The daughter was a later cuckoo in the nest. He accepted her arrival placidly enough. To outer appearances he was a contented family man, only distantly involved in his inherited business, which was West Country-based, a foundry constructing and maintaining glass furnaces. It pleased him to relax as a Buckinghamshire country gentleman with a London club to escape to. To him the farm was no more than decor. I believe old Barton runs it rather well.’
    The internal phone on the superintendent’s desk gave a warning buzz. He reached across. ‘Excuse me, Squadron Leader.’
    The use of her rank produced a squawk of laughter from the redoubtable lady and a shake of her head.
    â€˜Yes, Z,’ Yeadings murmured into the phone. He listened, nodded, and suggested she should join them in his office. ‘One of my sergeants,’ he explained. ‘She’s concerned about accommodation if you intend to stay on.’
    â€˜I certainly do. It’s essential I remain in touch with your investigation. The truth is I feel responsible. For past neglect, if nothing more.’
    They waited in silence for Z to appear. When Yeadings introduced her the visitor gave her a searching look. ‘Anna Plumley,’ she said, offering her hand. ‘Zyczynski? As on the Polish Air Force War Memorial?’

    â€˜Stefan, my grandfather.’
    â€˜Before my time, of course. But I certainly know of him. I’ve made several visits to Northolt in the line of duty. There are still survivors of the Second World War who attend reunions and talk of the old days.’
    â€˜I’m glad he’s remembered. My parents were very proud of him, as I am.’
    â€˜And now you’re concerned about my welfare? Well, my dear, you need not be. I’m provided for. I have a mobile home. It’s parked out at the nearby travellers’ camp. They’re looking after it for me until I get permission to move into Fordham Manor.’
    Not so amazing, really, Yeadings told himself. He could quite easily see her thundering along at the wheel of a well-equipped caravan. ‘Perhaps you’d like …er, Rosemary to direct you there?’
    â€˜I should be obliged. And perhaps she will give me a rather wider view of what actually happened than you’ve passed to the press. I promise discretion.’
    She rose, indicating that the meeting was over. Yeadings nodded to Z. He had no reluctance about the DS wising her up. The formidable lady had been more than frank about her own unpromising background. She’d reached her retirement rank (level with, if not superior to, his own, he guessed) through her own efforts. He was confident she’d dealt in her time with matters that needed equal discretion.
    He watched from the window as the two women left, disappeared round the side of the building and then a few moments later drove out in Z’s blue Escort. It was then that he sent a text message to his DCI’s mobile phone. ‘Meeting with Plumley cancelled. Z arranging accommodation.’ A