The Mistress - Jill Childs Page 0,57

goodbye.

Thirty-Eight

I was just opening my car door to leave when a rasping male voice called, ‘How are you, Mrs Wilson?’

I jumped and turned. The man in the next car had wound down his window and was looking directly at me. He was sitting in the passenger seat, a book open in his hands, as if he’d been killing time, waiting for someone. His car was a battered old saloon, scraped along the side.

‘Sorry, do I know you?’ I peered at him more closely.

Someone from school, perhaps? A janitor?

His bent elbow rested on the car window. A bulge of muscle along his upper arms and chest filled the contours of the tattered fleece he was wearing. His body looked well cared for, younger than his face which was lean but weathered.

He smiled, a playful smile as if to say, of course you know me, why do you ask?

I blinked. His eyes bored into mine. They were a muddy mixture of grey, blue and green and gleamed like a cat’s in the low light. I hesitated. I had a sudden urge to climb into my car and drive away at speed, to escape him while I could, but something – uncertainty perhaps – held me back.

‘Were you at the drinks?’

He considered this. ‘In a manner of speaking.’

I pursed my lips. ‘Are you a parent?’

He inclined his head. ‘I am, but not here.’ He sighed as if the effort of establishing his credentials was wearisome to him. ‘You went in with Mrs Higgins. Clara’s mother. You had an orange juice. You talked to the teachers for a while, not for long. Listened, I should say.’ He paused, watching me. ‘Your mind was elsewhere, wasn’t it, Mrs Wilson?’

I considered him. ‘You seem to know a lot about me, Mr…?’

He stuck a meaty hand out of the window towards me. ‘Ridge. Mike Ridge.’ His grip was crushing. ‘It’s my job, Mrs Wilson. Knowing about people.’

Panic fluttered in my stomach. It struck me that he had been sitting there, just waiting for someone. Waiting for me.

He opened his door and climbed out. He was shorter than I expected, but solidly built. Powerful.

‘I wondered if we could have a little chat. In your car, if you like?’ he said, calmly.

I hesitated. We were right outside the pub. The car park was busy with people, coming and going. Soon, the crowd from the school drinks would start drifting out too. I could scream for help if I needed to.

My fingers tightened around my car keys. ‘What exactly do you do, Mr Ridge?’

He was already walking around my car to the passenger side and climbing in. I got in too and sat behind the steering wheel, doing my best to twist to face him. His bulk dominated the space. He smelled of body wash and fried food. He leaned in close, coffee on his breath.

‘I’m an investigator, Mrs W.’

I tried not to react. My insides contracted. I thought about Ralph. The sight of him, lying there, still and silent, at the bottom of the cellar steps. The look of horror on that woman’s face. I took a deep breath and fumbled with my car keys, ducking my head to fit them in the ignition, playing for time.

When I’d straightened up again, I said, ‘Are you with the police?’

He shook his head. ‘Not anymore. I’m private now. Case-by-case basis. You know, gun for hire.’

My eyes flicked at once to the fleece, imagining a weapon concealed there. I looked quickly away.

‘So, Mr Ridge, what can I do for you?’

‘I’m interested in what happened to your husband.’ His eyes burned into mine, as if he were trying to read my mind. ‘Terrible, losing a loved one like that. Not knowing what happened to him.’

I nodded. My mouth was dry. He knew. I didn’t know how nor how much but, somehow, he knew. I wrenched my eyes from his and sat stiffly, staring forward through the windscreen. A young couple was getting out of the car parked just in front of mine, talking and laughing.

We sat in silence for a while. I struggled to breathe normally, to swallow. The young couple locked the car and set off towards the pub, hand in hand.

Finally, he said, ‘It was the life insurance company. They sent me. Always worth a closer look when they don’t find a body. Loose ends, you see. Sorry to say, but they just don’t like them.’

I didn’t speak. What could I say?

‘The police have to move on, after a while. Sooner