He grins. ‘It was to be expected, I suppose. Saffy was never going to play the field. She was born a grown-up, that one.’ He takes his hand from hers.
‘Such a serious little girl,’ she agrees, and they smile at each other, remembering their shared history.
They fall silent and their eyes lock for a few seconds until Lorna pulls her gaze away. She needs to be proactive and practical. That’s what she’s here for, after all. She bends down to retrieve the newspaper clipping from her bag, then pushes it across the table towards Euan.
He smacks his hand onto it but doesn’t pick it up. ‘Before we get into all this let’s have a look at the menu. I’m starving and I can’t take longer than an hour and a half.’
‘Oh, God, of course.’
He chuckles. ‘And you know what we’re like once we start talking.’
The waiter appears at the table with their drinks, and Euan orders a steak and Lorna the fish.
‘Now that’s out of the way, let’s have a look,’ he says, picking up the article. ‘The Thanet Echo. That paper’s still going.’
Lorna explains their findings. ‘It sounds like this Sheila woman killed herself.’
Euan frowns. ‘Or death by misadventure. Anyway, I’ve already spoken to Saffy about this. I found a file.’
‘Oh, really? On Sheila?’
‘Yes. Not much, but I’ve promised Saffy I’ll email it to her later.’ He hands the clipping back to her. ‘You don’t think your mother knows anything about the bodies in the garden, do you?’
Lorna takes the article and puts it back into her bag. ‘It’s doubtful. It’s just … it’s probably the ramblings of an old woman, but her talking about Jean hitting someone over the head and saying it was Sheila. Then finding this clipping. And the link between Alan Hartall and Daphne Hartall. It’s got me intrigued, that’s all.’
He laughs. ‘Maybe you should have been a journalist!’
‘I’m surprised your lot haven’t been down to Skelton Place to check it out,’ she says, taking a sip of diet Coke.
‘We’ve used a press agency and we’ve run a story, of course. But it will be more interesting if and when the victims are identified and when the police have an idea who is responsible. Then, I’m afraid, there will be even more of a swarm. Just warn Saffy, would you?’
The waiter is back and Lorna’s stomach rumbles when the sea bass is put in front her. It looks delicious. She takes a bite. ‘And have you any contact details for Alan Hartall?’ she says, with her mouth full.
Euan cuts into his steak. He obviously still likes it cooked to within an inch of its life. ‘Only addresses. All ex-directory. I found two Alan Hartalls living in the Broadstairs area but I have no idea of their ages.’
‘I’m going to head there this afternoon.’
He looks up from his steak. ‘It’s an hour and a half on the train.’
‘I know.’
‘A lot to do in one day. You’ll be careful, won’t you?’
She laughs. ‘I doubt Alan Hartall, whoever he is, will be dangerous. He’d be an old man now.’
But Euan doesn’t laugh. Instead he runs one of his large hands over his stubble. Something he always did when he was anxious. ‘Even old men can be dangerous.’
It’s gone four by the time Lorna arrives in Broadstairs. Her train back to St Pancras is at 6.30 p.m. It doesn’t give her much time to try to find the right Alan Hartall. And as she stands there, in front of the station with the faint whiff of chips and sea air, she falters. Is this completely mad? This wild-goose chase for an Alan Hartall who could long be dead or moved away?