He proceeded to the sparsely populated dining room. Among the few guests, a young woman sat alone, staring intently out the window, a cup of tea cooling untouched on the table in front of her. Chilton walked over directly.
‘May I?’ he said, pulling out a chair for himself.
What choice did I have but to answer, ‘Yes.’
Inspector Chilton had an advantage over me, the kind a police officer enjoys. He didn’t know how I was connected to Agatha Christie but he knew I was connected. I had no idea he was possessed of such information. I was still fairly reeling from the news Finbarr had given me: that us meant him and Agatha, that she was in hiding with him here in Harrogate. How much more would I have reeled if I’d known Chilton shared this knowledge? As it was, he hardly worried me at all.
What did worry me was Finbarr, and the effect his reappearance would have on my future. How could I return to Archie’s arms after being in Finbarr’s? One must respect the psychology. It took a good deal of work on the part of my own psychology, working through warring emotions, to carry out my plan and become Archie’s wife. Finbarr’s appearance threatened to upend every bit of that.
Three years ago, when I set my sights on Archie, I knew it would never do to approach him. Instead, I placed myself in his line of vision. I found out what he liked and became that, looking away instead of allowing our eyes to meet. The perfect golf swing, the shyest smile. Like following a recipe that results in a beautiful cake, each step worked out just as it was meant.
Chilton didn’t seem the sort of man who’d require that sort of game. He was approachable. Humble, but not in a lowly way. In a likeable one. He smiled almost sheepishly as he unfolded his napkin. Everything about him seemed frayed – his clothes, his face and his hair, which needed combing rather badly. He took tea instead of coffee.
‘Jitters,’ he explained, holding out his one good, slightly trembling hand, ‘since the war.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Finbarr had no tremors. Each man carried the war differently. I liked that Chilton announced his weakness rather than attempted to hide it.
He said, ‘I see your friend has left.’
‘My friend?’
‘The American lady, Mrs Clarke.’
‘Yes, she did say she was leaving. But we’re not particular friends. I only just met her the other day.’
‘Did you?’
‘Yes. I’ve never been to America.’
‘And her first trip to England?’
‘I don’t believe we discussed it.’
Chilton looked at me in a way I found unsettling. It was a full, unabashed examination. Not a leer, not at all, but searching, and then assessing what he found. I did not love his questions about Lizzie Clarke but at the same time I found him endearing and, faced with his gaze, I couldn’t help but bestow a small smile, as if I needed to comfort him.
The waitress approached our table but he waved her away.
‘How do you know I don’t want to order something?’ I asked. Something I would never say to Archie. Or Finbarr, only because he would never dismiss a waitress without first finding out if I were hungry.
‘Do you?’
I shook my head.
‘It’s an astonishing business,’ Chilton said.
‘You mean the disappearance? That lady novelist?’
‘Why, no. That’s not what I meant. Though surely that’s astonishing as well.’
‘Have they found her?’
‘No indeed. Her whereabouts are still very much a mystery.’