“Everyone. Pippa, Mrs Llewellyn—”
“Heavens. What’s the expression? Small towns, small minds? Just because he didn’t throw a big going-away party—which would hardly have been appropriate a year after burying Dad—doesn’t mean he disappeared. You should have asked me. I am his sister, after all. Yes, he left Newbridge. But he kept in touch, still does. He’s living just outside Jakarta in Indonesia right now with his wife and three kids. Keeps writing to ask when I’m going to visit. But I’m not one for travel. Now his oldest is at university, he may visit with his wife one day. He’s always threatened to show her the dung heap he grew up in.”
Adrian smiled and shook his head. He needed to head back and let Lenny know. At least that was one mystery solved.
“Look,” said Freya, looking about herself. “I really need to rush—”
“Before you go, Freya. Lenny’s going to throw a house-warming party on the twenty-eighth of this month, Saturday afternoon. He’s probably going to invite you formally anyway, but please say you’ll come?”
“I’m not sure. I’m not good with crowds—”
“But you ought to come along and see how beautiful the finished house looks. Lenny’s put so much effort into restoring the place and I know he would love to have you there. Pippa will be there, too.”
“Let me think about it.”
“Please do. And one other thing before you go. Sorry to keep harping back to this, but the year Luke took his own life, did you see him? Pippa said he used to come down early, before the rest of the family.”
“No. Everything happened at Easter. We only saw the Darlingtons during the summer. Nobody knew he was here. Usually he’d send a card to let us know and we’d get the place ready for them. But then, Gran and I were the only ones here. Howie had already left and Pippa was at university.”
“I see,” said Adrian, recognising her eagerness to go. “Well, have a nice evening. And don’t forget what I said.”
“I won’t,” she said, heading off. He watched her go and noticed her discard her basket containing the few goods she’d picked on a pile of boxes by the checkout before rushing out to the car park, to an old black Ford Fiesta. She was an odd little thing, Freya, living a life of solitude, and Adrian almost felt sorry for her. Except that he had lived a similar life before meeting Lenny.
Back to business, Adrian stood at one end of the long wine aisle and scratched his head. He had no clue about wine. Beers he could handle. Felippe had talked about various types of grape and wine, which one suited which food, how to properly decant a bottle of red. But Adrian had paid little attention apart from learning the names, so he made sure to fetch the right bottle. Did people drink a specific wine with Chinese food?
“Having a spot of trouble over there?” asked a cheerful older man who had stopped next to him, confidently picking out wines and putting them in his cart.
“I am, actually. I know this is going to sound like a stupid question, but what wine would you recommend to go with Chinese food?”
“Actually, that’s not stupid at all. In the past we’d never have used those words in the same sentence, wine and Chinese food. But honestly, these days, everyone has their own preference. And, of course, it’ll depend on the dishes you’re serving. People forget that China is a huge country with lots of regional varieties of cuisine. But my rule of thumb is that for your basic stir-fry or deep-fried dishes I go with something acidic like a Riesling or a Pinot Gris. If you prefer red wine, then you can’t go wrong with a Pinot Noir. Here’s a nice, reasonably priced Pinot Noir from Napa Valley, and the Rieslings and other white wines are at the end.”
“Thanks for your help. I’ll get a bottle of each.”
“Sounds like a good plan. Enjoy your meal and have a nice evening.”
“You too.”
Adrian watched the old guy move off. People tended to be much friendlier and more helpful in the smaller towns, which Adrian took to be a universal truth. He’d had similar experiences in Drayton. In London, people had been more inclined to keep themselves to themselves.
Satisfied with his purchases, he finished up at the checkout and dropped his shopping in the truck cabin before heading back to the Chinese restaurant. With his bags of hot food, he returned to the truck again, passing by a police car parked up in the retail park. He had been about to text Lenny when he spotted PC Morgan sitting in the driving seat with the window wound down, his elbow poking out.
“Trouble?” asked Adrian as he drew level and caught PC Morgan’s gaze.
PC Morgan laughed.
“There will be, son, if they’ve run out of chocolate digestive biscuits. Bobby—PC Lewis—is getting them for the boys back at the station. Here he comes now. And he’s smiling, so that’s usually a good sign.”
“Quiet day?”
“You could say that.”
“What you got there?” asked PC Lewis, grinning at Adrian before resting his backside on the bonnet of the car. Adrian hadn’t appraised the younger PC Lewis before, but he seemed far more relaxed and friendlier than the policemen Adrian had dealt with in London.
“Chinese takeaway. And before you ask, there’s only enough for two.”
PC Lewis laughed good-naturedly.
“And how’s the house coming along?” asked PC Morgan.
