had acted out of character, even before he’d left for work that last morning.
‘He was frightened – that was it. He was frightened that morning when he left,’ Suzy told the policewoman in a shaking voice. ‘I don’t know what he was frightened of, but he was.’
‘Did you do much entertaining of people from the office or the laboratories, Mrs Meadows?’
‘Well, sometimes we did, but not often. Patrick wasn’t a very social being. Occasionally we had people from abroad. They stayed here – they liked the idea of the typical English village.’
‘What nationality were they?’
‘Middle Eastern sometimes, or European, and once an American.’
‘Was everything all right between the two of you? You know, were you close enough for him to confide in you?’
Suzy felt as though she was carved out of wood. Her face didn’t work properly and she’d lost her voice. There was no part of her of which she was in command. All control had gone. Slowly tears began to trickle down her face. Not huge rolling streams of tears but a steady trickle like drizzling rain. She knew she’d have to get to the lavatory quickly or she was going to wet herself. She found herself in the cloakroom, where she suffered violent diarrhoea. It must have been almost ten minutes before she had sufficient control to leave. The policewoman knocked on the door twice to ask if she was in need of help but Suzy’s voice had gone and she couldn’t reply. Finally she came out and went back to the sitting room. She sat trembling uncontrollably. The room was so cold.
‘We’ll leave now, Mrs Meadows. I’m taking this filofax to the station to see if I can find anything that might be of help. I’ll give you a receipt for it. Debra will stay with you. If there’s anything you think of that might be of help, tell Debra and she’ll let us know.’ The three of them went into the hall and Suzy could hear them quietly talking. Debra came back in, took off her jacket and sat down in the chair opposite her.
A few minutes after the detectives had gone the doorbell rang. Debra answered it. Whoever was at the door was invited in and stood talking in the hall. The sitting-room door opened and framed in the doorway with his head bent because of his height stood Peter Harris. He was wearing his white marriage cassock. He appeared to Suzy like an angel sent from God to comfort her.
‘Mrs Meadows, I saw the police car outside so I came to see if you needed help. The policewoman has told me what’s happened. I’m so sorry.’
Peter took her hands in his and automatically rubbed them to bring some warmth to them. She smiled at him. ‘Thank you for coming.’
‘I’m sorry I’m wearing this cassock, I’ve been conducting a service. Do we know why it happened?’
Debra explained that they knew no reason for it but that Mr Meadows had left a letter for Mrs Meadows. She seemed glad of an opportunity to mention it as though anxious to know what was in it, but sensitive enough not to suggest opening it.
‘Would you like to open it while I’m here, Mrs Meadows?’ When Suzy nodded Peter picked up the letter and handed it to her. She gave it back to him and asked him to read it to her.
‘I really can’t do that, Suzy: Patrick meant it for you. It will be very private. Perhaps we’d better leave it till later when you feel more yourself.’ He held her hand and she held his as though by doing so she held onto reality.
‘I shan’t have a funeral service for him. It would be an absolute mockery if we did. He had no time for the Church. I’ll just have him cremated. No hymns, no prayers. There’ll be no afterlife for him, Peter. He’s finished. Give me the letter.’
‘“ Suzy ,”’ she read. ‘“ The research I have been doing for the last three years has proved to be based on a total misconception, a complete falsehood. I am so appalled by my colossal mistake, that I have destroyed all my notes and the paper I was preparing, so no one