Sam recalled the retired policeman’s story. How his eyes had misted as he described that last passionate kiss which he’d been so sure meant the girl had already decided to come to Candle Cottage on the appointed night and give herself to him. But if what Mrs. Appledore was saying were true, then its passion had been that of farewell.

“But why didn’t anyone ever tell Mr. Melton?” she demanded.

“Tell him what? He was moved on not long after Mary disappeared. Did well for himself. Got married. Not much point turning up on his doorstep and telling him and his lady the truth, was there? It wasn’t till he bought Candle Cottage and came back here after he retired that we realized what had been festering in his mind all these years. We should have told him then perhaps, but Mr. Dunstan said it would probably kill him. A man by himself needs a reason to get out of bed each morning and, if you take it away, he probably won’t bother. Whether we were wrong or right, I don’t know. But I do know you should take a big pinch of salt with you whenever you visit Candle Cottage.”

“Don’t worry, Edie,” said Sam. “I’ve learned my lesson in Illthwaite. Whoever I’m talking to, I’ll add salt by the bucketload. Look, I’ve been thinking about what you said last night. OK, I take your word for it that Sam Flood’s not in the frame. So, looking back, who do you think is? Could it have been Jim Gowder?”

Edie shook her head, in doubt rather than denial.

“He was a funny bugger, that’s true. But he was genuinely broken up by Madge taking ill and dying. She was the best thing that happened to that family. Mind you, her being sick so long meant he wouldn’t be getting his regular comforts, and that turns some men queer. But a kid like little Pam…”

“And anybody else? Was there anyone around who specially fancied kids?”

“You don’t think we’d have put up with any of that!” said the landlady indignantly. “Mind you, with men there’s always been some as don’t much mind what age a woman is so long as she’s got two legs to open.”

“Yeah, we’ve got plenty of them too. But anyone in particular?”

Edie shook her head again.

“No one I’d put that on.”

Sam was unconvinced.

“How about the vicar, Rev. Pete’s father, I mean? My gran stayed at the vicarage, didn’t she? So he’d have had his chances. And he was a widower, so nothing on tap.”

“No! Not Rev. Paul. The way he preached he’d have had all young women corked up and all young men doctored!”

“Sounds a bit obsessive to me. And he was one of the ones keen to get my gran out of the country.”

“Out of the vicarage, certainly. Getting her on that boat to Australia was mainly down to Mr. Dunstan.”

“Who was a bit of a lad himself in his young days, by all accounts. And in his not-so-young days. Was it just a charitable impulse that made him elect my gran as an honorary Catholic orphan?”

“Old Dunny?” said Mrs. Appledore, aghast. “Sam, you can’t go around firing off accusations in all directions.”

“Why not? Let’s see who runs for cover. Come on, Edie, are you saying Dunstan never tried his charms on the sexiest girl in the village?”

“Yes, well, maybe he did show an interest when I first started behind the bar. But most of them did! That’s my point. I was bursting out all over from early on. When you had what I had, you soon learned it was easy to get the customers all heated up just by undoing a button and leaning forward. Dunstan was no different from the rest.”

“Maybe,” said Sam. “But I’ll keep him on my list. Anybody else you can finger?”

“I’ve not fingered anyone yet, so far as I’m aware,” said the landlady firmly. “You’ll have to learn how to fathom men for yourself, lass. At least I’m glad to see you and Mr. Madero seem to have got things straight between you.”

Jesus, thought Sam. We didn’t make that much noise!

She said primly, “We are friends. But I’m not sure I can stand up to the competition, even if I wanted to.”

Mrs. Appledore let out her merry laugh.

“Competition like Frek Woollass, you mean? And here’s me thinking you Aussies liked a real challenge!”

This should have been jokingly flattering, but the stress had been on real and a hint to Sam was like an autumn leaf to a kitten.

“You saying she’s a lezzie?” she pounced.

“Oh yes. Doesn’t flaunt it like some. And I think she enjoys a bit of a laugh when some fellow who doesn’t realize fancies her. Shall I bring you more coffee?”

“No thanks,” said Sam, digesting this information. “Though if you’ve got a bit of that chocolate cake left…”

The landlady took the cake out of a cupboard and carved a generous slice.

Sam took a bite. It was even better than she remembered. Did Mig know Frek was gay? she wondered. Of course he did! she answered herself. Probably found out yesterday, which explained a lot about last night. Did it matter? Of course it didn’t!

Through the crumbs she said, “Edie, I was wondering about Thor…”

“Now hold on! You’re not suggesting…”

“No, no. I meant, you and him seem pretty friendly together…”

“And you’re wondering why I didn’t blame him?” said Edie, who was also pretty good at cutting to the chase. “Don’t think I didn’t think about it back then. Taking advantage of a kid and all that. A scapegoat’s always handy when you’re feeling guilty. But my whole point in everything I was in relation to Sam was that I weren’t a kid, so it would have been really pathetic for me to start claiming I was just to wriggle out of my share of the blame. And to tell the truth, Thor was so ready to heap all of the blame on himself that I almost resented it! Funny things, folk, aren’t we? In the end I asked him if he hated me for what I’d done. He said no, of course not, and I said I didn’t hate him either. And that was the choice we had. We could either hate each other or we could take comfort together in recalling how much we both loved him. We settled for comfort.”

“And that’s all?”

“Has to be. We tried sex once. It was no use. We were both watching the door.”

Sam nodded. She could understand that. But there were things she couldn’t understand.

“So why do you think Sam came to the pub that day?”

“I told you what happened earlier,” said the woman impatiently. “I’d put myself on a plate for him and he’d turned me down. Didn’t stop us being in love.”

“So you reckon he was coming to… what? Apologize and persuade you he was right? Apologize and screw you? Which?”

“You don’t wrap things up, do you?” said Mrs. Appledore. “I don’t know, and I doubt I ever will, not unless you’ve got some way of making contact with the dead!”

There was a cough from the doorway. Mig stood there and for a second Sam was tempted to reply, Funny you should say that, Edie…

“Come in, Mr. Madero. Do you fancy a piece of cake?” said Mrs. Appledore.

Sam, who’d just taken another bite, waved her slice to signal recommendation.

Mig said, “No thank you. Can I use the phone, Mrs. Appledore?”

“Surely. I’ll leave you to it.”

She went out. Sam made to follow her.

“It’s OK,” said Mig. “It’s not private. I’m just ringing Max Coldstream to tell him to forget about publishing my translation of Simeon’s journal.”

“You’re giving it back to the Woollasses then? Why?”

“It belongs to them if anybody. I can’t expect other people to be honest with me unless I’m honest with them.”

“You’ve just worked that out? Left the seminary before you reached the ethics course, did you?”

“Maybe I failed it,” he said, smiling at her.

He looked so happy. She thought, oh shit. Someone else’s happiness was a big responsibility.

She said, “About that spare hour, you’ll have to kill it by yourself. I’m going to Candle Cottage to see Mr. Melton.”

His disappointment was painful to see, but not so painful as the speed with which he tried to hide it.