change anything she wanted to. Even her customary financial caution started to dissolve. She was, after all, very comfortable on her Civil Service pension. The mortgage on High Tor was paid off; if she wanted to spend money on the house, there was nothing to stop her.
Having consulted the local directory for interior designers, Carole had selected Debbie Carlton because of her local telephone number and on the – frequently fallacious – assumption that someone operating on their own might be cheaper than a large company. Debbie had paid one visit to High Tor to assess what was needed, and breathed all kinds of fresh ideas into the functionality of the house. Despite finding some of the suggestions a bit extreme, Carole had still felt sufficiently daring to say she would mull over what Debbie had said and get back to her.
Though the interior designer had not imposed any of her personal history on her client, Carole had still pieced together that Debbie Carlton had recently moved from the splendour of Pelling House to a small flat in Fedborough. The reason had been a common one – divorce. The subject once broached, Debbie had been very upfront about the details. ‘Francis fell in love with someone else, and that was it, really. She’s very wealthy and they divide their time between London and Florida. Just one of those things that didn’t work out. Thank goodness we hadn’t got any children, and it happened while I was still young enough to pick up the threads of my career.’
The matter-of-fact stoicism had not disguised the hurt, at least from Carole, who knew how much she had suffered when her husband David had left her. The common experience, she felt, forged an unspoken bond between them, and she was determined that, if she did go ahead with the transformation of High Tor, Debbie Carlton would get the job.
But just around that time things had started to get sticky with Ted and, preoccupied with the collapse of their relationship – or non-relationship, as with increasing hindsight she thought of it – she had never made the follow-up call.
So common courtesy – not to mention an interest in the torso found in the basement of Pelling House – dictated that she should phone Debbie Carlton.
‘It’s Carole Seddon.’
‘Oh, hello.’
There was no resentment or recrimination in the greeting, but Carole still felt obliged to say, ‘You’ve been on my conscience. I promised I’d call you back . . . what, three months ago . . . and I’m sorry, I never did.’
‘Don’t worry. Happens a lot in my sort of business. People watch some television programme, suddenly get caught up in the idea that they’re going to “make over” their house, then lose interest, or decide they’re going to buy a new car instead. It’s not a big deal.’
‘No, but I still feel I should have got back to you, so . . . I apologize.’
‘Well, thank you. You’re in the minority who would think that was necessary.’
There was a silence, and Carole realized that Debbie was waiting for a decision. Interior design was, after all, the woman’s business. She would assume that this was a call to say whether Carole wanted to proceed with the job.
‘Um . . . I was actually ringing to say that . . . though I was terrifically impressed by the ideas that you put forward . . .’
‘Don’t worry, it’s fine,’ said Debbie Carlton, too quickly. There was a slight disappointment in her voice. To have got the job at High Tor would have meant a lot to her.
‘The thing is, you see, my circumstances have changed somewhat . . .’
A cynical ‘Huh. Tell me about it, Mrs Seddon.’
Carole realized, with some dismay, that Debbie thought she was referring to her financial circumstances. Normally, she would have hastened to correct this embarrassing misunderstanding, but on this occasion, having a rather different agenda, she let it go.
‘Anyway, I do hope you’ll understand.’
‘Of course. And maybe, if things pick up for you, you’ll get back to me.’
It hurt to have the misunderstanding compounded, but Carole still didn’t make any correction. ‘Yes, yes, that’ll be fine.’ She paused for a moment. Unless she changed its direction quickly, the conversation was about to come to a natural end. ‘I bet you’re glad to be out of Pelling House,’ she said abruptly.
‘What? No, as it happens, I still miss the place dreadfully. Feel a great pang every time I walk past.’
‘I didn’t mean that. I meant you must be glad to be out of it . . . given what was found in the cellar there . . .’
‘I’m sorry? I’ve been away for a few days. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘The body. The torso. Didn’t you hear about it on the local news? On the national news, come to that.’
‘What? Well, I . . . Was that in Pelling House?’ The voice was quiet with shock.
‘Yes. I’m surprised the police haven’t been in touch with you yet.’
‘As I say, I’ve been away. Literally just walked in when you rang. Haven’t even checked the answering machine yet.’
‘Perhaps it’s as well I warned you, then. Because I’m sure the police will be in touch.’
‘Yes, I’m sure they will.’ There was a shudder in her voice as Debbie Carlton went on, ‘So that . . . what they found in the cellar . . . may have actually been there while Francis and I were living in the house?’
‘I’ve no idea, but a friend of mine was having dinner with the new owners when the body . . . torso . . . was found. She said it looked as if it had been dead a long while.’
‘Oh. Well, thank you for warning me, Mrs Seddon. I’ll . . . Look, if you . . . if you hear any more details from your friend . . . I’d be most grateful if you could let me know. Or, if you happen to be in Fedborough at some point, give me a call and come round for a coffee.’
‘I’d like that very much.’ Carole hesitated, then decided to be bold. ‘In fact, have to bring my dog in to the vet’s tomorrow. Round ten-thirty. I don’t suppose you’d be in . . . elevenish . . .?’
‘Couldn’t be better. You have my address on the card I left with you. I’ll look forward to seeing you at eleven tomorrow, Mrs Seddon.’
Goodness, thought Carole, with a little spark of excitement as she put the phone down, that was easier than I expected.
Chapter Five
She knew Fedborough well enough to find one of the few free parking spaces. Because of the constant invasion of tourists, the town boasted many double yellow lines and, since residents made it a point of honour not to succumb to the ‘Pay and Display’ car parks, the unrestricted roadsides were quickly filled. Still, ten-fifteen was too early for the daily summer influx of bewildered pensioners and spotty French students, so Carole managed to squeeze the Renault into a narrow space outside one of the many antique shops at the top of the town.
Gulliver was disappointed. He had got into the car with high expectations of being taken for a walk, possibly up on the Downs near Weldisham, but getting
