Read Online Jigsaw by Anthea Fraser - Free Book Online

promise, Tom had asked the chief cashier to advise him of her next visit, and a little after eleven, his phone rang.
    â€˜Mrs Bishop has just come in, Mr Parish,’ the cashier told him. ‘She’s purchasing some foreign currency.’
    â€˜Thank you, Charles. Would you ask her to come and see me when you’ve completed the transaction?’
    Five minutes later there was a tap on his door and she was shown into the room. Tom rose to his feet and held out his hand, which she gravely took.
    â€˜Nothing wrong, I hope, Mr Parish?’ she asked quietly, seating herself at his invitation.
    â€˜No, not at all.’ He glanced down at his hands clasped on the desk, aware of the unusualness of his request. ‘I’m wondering if I could possibly ask you a favour,’ he began, and saw her eyebrows arch.
    â€˜My daughter is about to start on a series of articles to coincide with Buckford’s celebrations next year, and your name was given to her as a source of information.’
    Catherine Bishop frowned. ‘Given by whom?’
    â€˜Er – the vicar, I believe.’
    â€˜Gordon Breen?’ Surprise rang in her voice.
    â€˜I’m afraid I don’t know his name. Look, if you’d rather—’
    â€˜No, please, tell me more about this project. She’s a journalist, your daughter?’
    â€˜Basically she’s a writer. She works freelance for
Chiltern Life
but her
main interest is biographies. She—’
    Mrs Bishop held up a hand. ‘Just a moment – biographies?’ A look of enlightenment crossed her face. ‘Your daughter’s not Rona Parish, by any chance?’
    â€˜Well, yes, but—’
    â€˜How silly of me not to have made the connection. I’ve read several of her books. You must be very proud of her.’
    â€˜Yes, I am,’ Tom said simply, and they both smiled, simultaneously aware of each other not as stereotypical bank manager and customer, but as two human beings. A check on the computer had revealed that Catherine Bishop was a widow in her fifties; now he found himself compiling a more personal dossier. Quiet and unassuming was how he’d described her, but that, he was realizing, left a lot unsaid. The first thing he’d noticed as she crossed the room towards him had been her impeccable grooming, hair sleek, shoes highly polished, and linen suit miraculously uncreased. The second, as she sat across from him, was her deportment, straight-backed and with feet neatly together – a posture that had no doubt served as an example to her pupils.
    For the rest, her face was unremarkable – pale skin, steady grey eyes, very little make-up, hair simply styled, light brown fading to grey. But there was an air of what he could only describe as stillness about her that he found oddly restful. He sat back in his chair, unconsciously relaxing.
    â€˜I didn’t know you’d been a headmistress,’ he said.
    She took the non sequitur in her stride. ‘Yes indeed, for twelve years. I was widowed when I was forty, and teaching was my anchor. It was also a lifestyle ideally suited to having a young son; I worked the same hours he did, and was home during the holidays.’
    â€˜So what brought you to Marsborough?’
    â€˜My mother; she suffered a stroke two years ago and was no longer able to look after herself. I took early retirement and moved down here.’
    â€˜It must have been a wrench.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜And now?’
    â€˜Sadly she died last year, but there’s nothing to take me back to Buckford. My son’s married and living in Cricklehurst, so I see quite a bit of him and his wife.’ She paused, and added with a smile, ‘We seem to have strayed from your original request. What was it you wanted to ask me?’
    Tom flushed. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrogate you. It was just that Rona would very much like to meet you. She was told