though.’
As they left, Adam had a brainwave. ‘He might not be a Carpathian, but he’s taken to you. Would you like to keep him?’
‘Oh, I would love to,’ Maria trilled, ‘but I’m far too busy. I could never look after him as he deserves…’
Nice try. Adam shrugged. Maybe someone else in the village might adopt him.
He bought a selection of collars, leads, bowls, rubber bones, beds, and dog blankets from the vet’s nurse, gasping at the range of items a single dog needed – and the price. He slipped the collar round the dog’s neck, replacing the garden twine, and attached the lead.
‘Looks like you’re staying with me for a while, my friend,’ he said, stroking the rough brown coat. ‘Try not to shed hair all over the car seats.’
Back at The Plough, Maria slid from Adam’s car, wiggled her fingers, and disappeared.
Adam heaved his new companion out of the back door, checked the lead was properly attached and retrieved the bag of canine essentials. He scratched his head. ‘After all that, I forgot to buy your food. Fancy a walk to the shop?’
He didn’t need to ask twice. The dog hauled him at speed along the lane and around the corner to the village post office, the Hembrow Stores.
Adam elbowed the door open and hovered. What about the dog? In or out?
‘Come in, come in,’ boomed Mrs Topsham, breaking into a loud belly laugh. ‘What a super dog. Bring him in, do.’ She squeezed round the counter, bounced across the room, bent over as far as her girth would allow, and threw her arms round the dog. ‘Just what you need, Mr Hennessy, in my humble opinion. A bit of company.’
Panting with the effort, she straightened up and punched Adam heartily on the shoulder.
‘As I was saying to Mrs Croft, only the other day,’ she hooted, ‘you need a companion. Not good for a man, living all alone.’ She rocked with laughter. ‘I wasn’t thinking of a dog, mind you, but there aren’t many ladies to choose from, not in Lower Hembrow, are there?’ She kicked the door shut and trotted back to the counter, wheezing. ‘Not unless you count Mrs Bishop.’ One eye closed in a wink.
Better knock that rumour on the head. He opened his mouth to protest, but Mrs Topsham was on a roll.
‘Not your type, I expect. A bit on the thin side, but that’s what girls are like, these days.’
To Mrs Topsham, anyone younger than her was a girl.
‘Poor thing,’ she added, in a loud whisper. ‘First, her father dies and then, on the day of the funeral – the very day, would you believe,’ her voice rose to an excited squeak, ‘there’s a dead body found in the garden. Oh—’
The door opened, halting her in mid-sentence.
She recovered fast. ‘Oswald, what can I do for you?’
Adam’s dog almost pulled Adam over in his haste to get to the newcomer.
In her stage whisper, Mrs Topsham announced, ‘Oswald’s the gardener from the hotel. Bet he knows all about that body. Don’t worry,’ she put a finger to her lip. ‘He’s deaf as a post – can’t hear a word.’
‘Oswald and I are old friends,’ Adam announced.
‘Really?’ sounding disappointed. ‘Drinks in the pub, I suppose.’
The gardener looked up. ‘What’s that you say, Edwina? A tin of my usual, please.’
Puffing hard, she reached into a cupboard behind the counter. ‘Time you gave up that old pipe of yours before it kills you,’ she scolded. ‘That or the beer. One of them will see you off, you mark my words.’ She slapped a pack of tobacco on the counter. ‘Come on, now. Spill the beans. We’re dying to know about that body in the garden.’
‘Aye, well, I wasn’t there, was I?’ the gardener said, with a sharp look at Adam. ‘My day off yesterday, you see. I went to the church, to see the councillor off to his last resting place. Mrs Bishop asked me to that posh affair in the hotel, but affairs like that aren’t for the likes of me – too many bigwigs from the town. I drank a pint or two to toast the councillor’s memory at home with the wife.’
‘Well, I heard,’ Mrs Topsham piled cans of beans in a neat pyramid, ‘the body was Mrs Bishop’s husband.’ Her hands stilled. ‘What do you think about that, then? Mrs Croft told me when she popped in for a bag of sugar, first thing this morning, and she had it from the waitress’s mother.’
The village grapevine had done its work.
Adam paid for his dog food and left.
5
Painting
The hesitant tap on Adam’s newly repaired door sent the dog into a spin, galloping past Adam, sliding on the mat and whirling in excited circles in the tiny entrance hall.
‘Mrs Bishop,’ Adam nudged the dog aside and ushered his visitor into the sitting room.
‘Do you mind?’
‘Of course not. Come in, sit down and take it easy.’ Imogen’s eyes, ringed with dark shadows in her pale face, suggested a sleepless night after she finally turned in.
He left her in the more comfortable of his two armchairs and wrestled with the coffee machine in the tiny kitchen.
‘Latte, cappuccino, or something called “macchiato”,’ he asked, sticking his head round the door. ‘Whatever that is. This machine’s new to me. Still, I think the coffee will be better than last night’s stewed tea.’
Imogen rewarded him with a tense smile.
Light flooded through windows that reached from floor to ceiling. He’d left the door to the garden open, and the soft spring air filled the room. Outside, the stray dog lapped noisily at a bowl of water.
Imogen inhaled. ‘Basil?’
‘Well spotted. I grow other herbs as well – rosemary, thyme and so on. They’re handy for recipes. But you know that – you’re a gardener.’
‘I like to get my hands dirty.’ She held them out for inspection, the nails short, the skin roughened. ‘As you see, I keep forgetting to wear gardening gloves.’
Imogen broke a short silence.
‘I hope you don’t mind me coming over – I’m not here for sympathy. Of course, I’m sorry Greg’s dead, but we’d split up and the marriage was over ages ago.’ She pursed her lips. ‘That sounds callous. A liaison officer talked to me earlier today. She was so kind, I felt like a hypocrite. I hoped you might not judge me.’
Was that a compliment?
‘I won’t, but you might have to weather a bit of gossip. Have you been to the village
