makes me look at her more closely, as I notice how much weight she’s lost, how she’s cut her hair shorter, so that it falls in soft waves that frame her face. I’ve always thought of her as large-framed, heavy, but she isn’t. Her broken heart has left her slender.
Cath gazes out of the window. ‘It’s OK. It really is. It was a bit galling for a while, if I’m honest. There’s nothing like looking at other people and wishing you had even a fraction of their happiness. But Oliver’s gone and I’m moving to Bristol. It’s fine – honestly. I’m happy for you.’ But the tightness of her voice belies her words.
Later, when the police asked about our friends, their lives, how well we knew them, I told them what Cath said, watching them write it down, word for word, only then remembering the hardness in her eyes, the bitterness in her voice, as the first waves of suspicion crept over me, that there was something she wasn’t telling me. Jealousy was toxic enough, but unrequited love could be just as destructive; could drive the most unlikely person over the edge.
*
After a lunch that neither Cath nor I have an appetite for, our mood is subdued and she doesn’t stay long. Checking my emails, there’s no reply yet from Matt’s parents and as I head across the garden towards my workshop, I’m unsettled. Ignoring the list of orders waiting for me, I wander over to the bench under the oak tree, placed there for the most far-reaching views of the Downs. Sitting down, I gaze out across the outline of the hills, my mind flitting all over the place as I breathe deeply, trying to slow it down, still jittery as the buzz of my mobile startles me.
‘Ms Reid? It’s PC Page.’
As she speaks, fear courses through me. ‘Have you heard anything?’
‘Not as yet.’ She hesitates. ‘I wanted to clarify one or two things about the conversation you had with your fiancé yesterday morning. Earlier, you told me his boss had asked him to take an American client out to dinner – that’s correct isn’t it?’
I frown, wondering why she’s asking. ‘Yes. Why?’
As she goes on, she sounds puzzled. ‘The thing is, we spoke to David Avery – Matthew’s boss. He says he doesn’t know anything about an American client.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’ My heart misses a beat. It doesn’t make sense that Matt would have lied to me. ‘David must have that wrong. There’s no other explanation. Why else would Matt have told me that?’
‘I’m only repeating what he told us. According to Mr Avery, Matthew left work at the normal time, but to the best of his knowledge, there are no clients from the States – at least, not at this present time. Currently their work is here and in Dubai.’
‘He must have made a mistake …’ I’m searching wildly for answers. ‘There could be someone David doesn’t know about. A new client … Matt wouldn’t lie about something like that.’ Mystified, my voice fades to a whisper.
‘I take it you still haven’t heard from him?’ PC Page speaks quietly.
‘Not yet.’ I’m trying to take in what she’s said. ‘He’ll call me, though. I’m sure he will – if he can.’ But it’s myself I’m trying to convince, rather than her.
‘Did you email his parents?’
‘I did. They haven’t replied yet.’
‘I’m sorry, but I have to ask this.’ PC Page sounds reluctant. ‘Can you think of any reason why Matt would just take off? Were there any problems between you? Had you argued, for example?’
‘No.’ I’m outraged that she’s even asking. ‘We’re getting married in two weeks. Like I said to you before, everything is fine between us.’
It’s what I want to believe. But I’m running out of logical explanations. Matt wouldn’t take off – not unless he’d inadvertently got caught up in something and had no choice. It’s either that, or something’s happened to him.
After PC Page’s call, uncertainty hangs over me as my restlessness builds. Not knowing what to do with myself, I pull on a coat and trainers, needing to breathe in cold air to clear my head. Closing the door behind me, instead of heading for the road that winds downhill towards Steyning, I walk up the lane, past Mrs Guthrie’s house. Walking further on, I pass the pair of semi-detached flint cottages, then where the road ends, I climb the stile onto the footpath.
Snaking beneath tall beech trees, the path is covered in autumn leaves