The Mistress - Jill Childs Page 0,58

than I do. Can’t blame them. Plenty more cases waiting. Been there myself.’

I managed to say, ‘The police have been very thorough but, so far…’ I swallowed, ‘they’ve failed to find any trace of my husband. I’m sorry but I don’t quite see—’

He nodded. His hand moved to his chin and gently rubbed it, as if he were thinking this over.

‘I know where you’re coming from, Mrs W. I really do. And you might be right to draw a line, holding that memorial service and everything. Very classy service, by the way.’

I blinked, registering what he was telling me. That he’d been there too.

He went on. ‘So, you bide your time. Apply for a death certificate eventually. Then, bingo! You’re home and dry. There’s every chance the insurance people will pay out, after all. How much is the policy worth?’

I couldn’t look at him. ‘My husband dealt with all that.’

‘Often the way. My old lady’s the same. Trust. It’s at the heart of every good marriage, isn’t it?’ He hesitated. ‘We’re talking several hundred thousand, though, in your husband’s case. That’s worth having, isn’t it? Even if it can’t bring him back again.’

I steadied myself and turned again to look him in the eye. ‘Mr Ridge, I’m afraid I need to—’

He nodded. ‘Relieve the babysitter. Course you do. Time’s money. Ten quid an hour, you pay, don’t you? Top whack.’

I stared, struggling not to show my shock. ‘Was there something you wanted to ask me?’

‘Ah.’ He reached into his fleece. I tensed, imagining a gun. Instead, he rummaged in an inside pocket, brought out a business card and handed it to me. ‘I wanted to give you this. Just in case.’

He climbed out of the car and closed the passenger door with care. My body deflated with relief as soon as he’d withdrawn, as if I’d been punctured.

I leaned forward and rested my arms on the steering wheel. In a moment, I’d switch on the engine and head home to pay off the babysitter, just as he’d said. First, I needed to sit still and calm the shaking in my hands.

When he appeared suddenly at my window, I started. He rapped on the glass and I lowered it.

He was smiling as he leaned in, his tone full of admiration, as if he’d just lost a tough bout, fair and square.

‘Gotta hand it to you, Mrs W,’ he said in his low, rasping voice. ‘However you did it, you did a good job.’

Thirty-Nine

I’d had a lot of time, recently, to think about Ralph.

About the way we met. About the way we came to marry, in such a headlong rush. About our life together.

I loved him to distraction. That’s the truth of it. He brought me to life, touched my black-and-white world and turned it rainbow-coloured. He made me dizzy with his energy, his light. Blinding light. I just wished he’d been as true to me as I was to him.

I’d met him because of Mimi, my crazy boss.

We were running the main section of the local public library together, taking up the whole of the ground floor. She’d hired me, I discovered, as part of a drive to bring in new blood and shake up the staff culture there. Mimi, with her spiky hair, streaked blue and pink, and flowing vintage clothing, was leading a fight against the threat of closure with the only weapons we had: passion, energy and ideas.

First, she rattled cages by getting local businesses to foot the bill for new chairs, tables and shelving for the children’s section. A computer repair shop agreed to give us some second-hand computers – and maintain them for us.

Then she announced that she wanted to launch a programme of evening events, on days we already stayed open until late. Before I knew it, I found myself in charge.

I did my best. I started a monthly book group, although only three people turned up for the first meeting and only one of those had actually read the book. I arranged a film screening and found money for cheap wine and snacks. The average age was about seventy but even so, it was a start. A local artist staged an exhibition on the library walls for a week, then came to give a talk about her technique. So far, so dull.

Then, one day, Mimi called me over from the stacks where I was shelving returns.

‘You’ve got an event query.’ She had a teasing look in her eye. ‘You’re gonna like this one.’

A young