The Watchful Eye (22 page)

It was the warmest day so far this year, the middle of April, a perfect day in a perfect spring that seemed to be full of golden daffodils, scarlet tulips and bright, clean sunshine. Daniel had been waiting for this moment. In his hand he held the key to Applegate Cottage. The building work was finished, his belongings packed in a van, waiting for them to move in. As he opened the wicket gate he could see the field beyond, the chestnut pony grazing, pale-pink apple blossom making the orchard dazzlingly bright and filling the air with heavy scent. The first of the bees were starting to buzz around the temptation. The key was old-fashioned, heavy iron and huge in his hand.

He inserted it into the arched door and stepped inside.

It was perfect. The builders had cleaned up and moved out a month ago and his cleaner and the gardener had spent most of their time up here, preparing the house. The Yellow House was sold subject to contract and Holly had been living with him since Christmas. Elaine was expecting her first child of the new marriage so was less possessive over Holly
than she might otherwise have been. He was aware that all their lives had moved in a different direction, taken a different course than he had anticipated a year ago. He stepped inside. In spite of his cleaner’s efforts, the cottage still smelt of damp plaster and brick dust, but as he moved from room to room he seemed to see his life unfolding before him. He and Holly, his mother nearby, in this happy cottage, away from his patients. It would be a private life, a privileged life and a happy life, he had no doubt. His heart gave a little skip as he recalled the bright, intelligent eyes, the wisdom that had shone from Maud Allen’s face. Her influence would live on, a woman who was not afraid to make brave choices.

Claudine and Bethan had moved back to France. She had spent an evening with him just before Christmas to explain while the two girls had behaved shyly and awkwardly towards each other. Too much had happened for them to resume an innocent, childish friendship.

‘England has bad memories for me, Daniel,’ Claudine had said, ‘and this pretty town has the worst memories of all. I shall live in the countryside in my own land, speaking my own language. I am not sure I understand English.’

He knew she meant
the
English.

Her smile had been sad and tinged with regret but he knew she was right. She had to leave. ‘I can’t stay here, Daniel, you must understand. I can’t
possibly
stay here. I am seen as that foreign woman who sent her husband mad, who incited such terrible events that led to his death, who teased a young man, who flirted with the doctor. It will all come out in the court case. Everything will be blamed on the fact that I am a foreigner who led my husband a merry dance until he
lost his reason. Yes. That is the plea his solicitor would have entered had he lived: that Brian was sent mad by me.’

She looked at him then and he caught the sadness in her face. ‘He was not really a bad man,’ she said, ‘but something happened to him, Daniel, long ago, that planted a small, bad seed in his brain. When those things happened again and somebody stole my personal clothes…’ She coloured slightly. It amused him to think that underneath Claudine was a bit of a prude.

‘When that happened, because by then we were making friends, he believed it was you and that I was enticing you, inviting you by dangling things on the washing line. Leaving secret messages, waving, like semaphore. Hah.’ She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘For goodness’ sake. How sick was he?’

It was the best way to think of it.

‘Keep in touch, Claudine,’ he urged, but she shook her head sadly.

‘It’s best not to. Too much damage has been inflicted. Apart from Bethan, I must close the door on this country and on this part of my life.’ She cast her eyes up the High Street. ‘For all that this little town is so pretty it does not have happy memories for me. I shall not return. I go next week, Daniel, back to France. I shall not return to England. Ever.’

She gave a tiny shudder. ‘I close the door,’ she said. And then she was gone.

His mother, with typical alacrity and efficiency, had sold her house and bought one of the flats in Tanner’s Row. She was moving down next week, full of plans and excitement. He knew that she was excited at the thought of living nearer to them.

Correction. What she was excited about was being
invited
to live near them. And Holly was equally excited at the thought of having her grandmother so close by. She also loved the small, exclusive complex, the swimming pool that belonged to the flat-owners, the access to the river and the gymnasium.

In a small town it is impossible not to bump into people. Guy Malkin pushing the pushchair along the pavement, Vanda clinging onto his arm, Arnie walking purposefully two steps behind them, as though he was a minder for the entire family.

Bobby Millin had been charged with the murder of Anna-Louise, but WPC Shirley White had confided in him. ‘Our case is weak,’ she’d said, ‘even with Vanda’s evidence we can’t prove that Anna-Louise was smothered. She can testify that her mother abused her, but she wasn’t actually in the room when Anna-Louise died. And of course,’ she said as an afterthought, ‘the child can’t speak for herself.’

So Daniel returned to the original picture, of the doll-like child, the tiny pink tongue flicking in and out of her mouth, saying nothing.

And now she never would.

Holly was walking up the path, school over. And then the furniture van turned into the drive. It was time to begin his new life.

We hope you enjoyed this book.
Do you want to know about our other great reads,
download free extracts and enter competitions?
If so, visit our website
www.allisonandbusby.com.
Click to sign up to our monthly newsletter
for exclusive content
and offers, news of our brand new releases, upcoming events
with your favourite authors and much more.
And why not click to follow us on
Facebook
and
Twitter
?
We’d love to hear from you!

Born in Yorkshire and brought up in South Wales, P
RISCILLA
M
ASTERS
is the author of the popular series set in the Staffordshire moorlands featuring Detective Inspector Joanna Piercy. She has also written several medical standalone mysteries. Priscilla has two sons and lives in Staffordshire. She works part time as a nurse.

Joanna Piercy series

Winding up the Serpent

Catch the Fallen Sparrow

A Wreath for My Sister

And None Shall Sleep

Scaring Crows

Embroidering Shrouds

Endangering Innocents

Wings Over the Watcher

Grave Stones

Martha Gunn series

River Deep

Slipknot

Other

Night Visit

Disturbing Ground

A Plea of Insanity

The Watchful Eye

Buried in Clay