Read Online Jigsaw by Anthea Fraser - Free Book Online Page B

loss, and gradually family and friends had stepped back, withholding open expressions of sympathy in admiration for what they saw as her courage and strength of character. They knew nothing of the endless nights she’d spend ranting in impotent fury and soaking her pillow with her tears. And gradually, month by month, year by year, the calm front she presented to the world had become grafted on to her personality, screening her from any involvement that might, in some unforeseen way, inflict future hurt. She could not withstand it a second time.
    No one suspected, either, just how bitterly she’d resented having to leave St Stephen’s and come back to Marsborough to nurse her mother. In fact, she thought now, the bank manager, whom she barely knew, was the only one who’d expressed understanding. ‘It must have been a wrench,’ he’d said.
    Indeed, the sense of loss in giving up a true vocation to nurse a fretful and ungrateful old woman had been insupportable. But then they’d never been close. Mary Jessop, fifteen years her husband’s junior, had played the part of child bride until her death at seventy-six, and in her teens Catherine had frequently been embarrassed by her ‘little girl’ attitude, her kittenish behaviour towards her husband and – to be frank – any other men with whom she came in contact.
    Regrettably, therefore, she had shed few tears at her mother’s death. Perhaps she’d gone to the other extreme and her detachment had become cold-heartedness. Whatever, it had allowed her to go dry-eyed through her mother’s effects and put up for sale the house in which she’d been born. Its position on the main road, coupled with its nearness to schools and the station, had ensured a quick sale at what Catherine considered a phenomenal price, and she had found the bungalow with a minimum of fuss.
    She’d not had a home of her own since leaving Buckford; her personal things had been in storage during the eighteen months that she’d nursed her mother, and she enjoyed having them about her again. The Buckford house hadn’t been large, and almost everything fitted in here. The few pieces that had not found homes – a wardrobe, a wall mirror and a wrought-iron table – Daniel and Jenny had been pleased to take.
    She turned into her driveway and garaged the car, pausing as she walked up the path to survey the small garden over which she’d been labouring. It was at last beginning to repay her efforts, and the effects of months of neglect under previous ownership were being overtaken by a profusion of scent and colour.
    And now, she thought as she closed the front door, she must decide what to take with her to Paris. She went into her bedroom and had just taken down her suitcase when the phone rang.
    â€˜Mrs Bishop?’ said an unfamiliar voice. ‘This is Rona Parish. You were kind enough to give my father your number.’
    Catherine sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Yes of course, Miss Parish. I believe you’d like to talk about Buckford?’
    â€˜If you wouldn’t mind.’
    â€˜I’d be delighted. As I told your father, I’m off to Paris for a long weekend, but I’ll be free on Tuesday, if that would suit you?’
    Rona hesitated. ‘Actually, I’ll be spending half the week in Buckford for the time being. Could we possibly make it Thursday, a week today?’
    â€˜Of course. If you’ve a pen handy, I’ll give you my address.’ She did so, but when she started on directions, Rona cut her short.
    â€˜It’s all right, I know where it is. I have friends in Barrington Road.’
    â€˜Fine; about ten thirty, then? In the meantime, if you’re going up to Buckford is there anything I can help with? Names and addresses, for instance, of people you’re hoping to contact?’
    â€˜That’s very kind of you,’ Rona said slowly. ‘As it happens,