He must see my worry because he squeezes my hand and smiles. ‘It’s fine – I’m a bit tired and hungry, that’s all. I haven’t got used to the commute yet. These are pretty,’ he says, looking at the daffodils.
‘One of our neighbours dropped them in.’
His smile fades, replaced by wariness. ‘Oh, yes?’
‘I caught her taking photographs of the bedrooms.’ My earlier outrage stirs again.
‘What on earth for?’
‘Well, I don’t think it was the Ikea furniture she was interested in. She was on a bloody ghost tour of her own making.’
‘Jesus,’ he mutters.
‘She seemed to remember you.’
Justice hardly dared to breathe as feet clipped past her. Women’s feet, wearing stout walking shoes. Justice didn’t need her torch to identify the slim figure. It was Miss de Vere, wearing a black coat and hat. The headmistress ran down the stairs, her heavy shoes surprisingly light, and Justice heard the sound of a key in a lock. It must be the inner door. Yes, it made a soft, furtive click as it shut behind her.
Morning, almost afternoon all!