draughty but now the evening sun streamed in through the high windows and emphasised the dust motes floating in the air. Despite her sadness at Doreen and Nathan’s loss, the class went smoothly and her star pupil of the moment, Joyce Jago, had brought in an excellent piece of work. It was a general class. Rose taught the basics of various forms of art using different materials, but she took Joyce aside that evening. ‘Look, have you thought about concentrating on abstracts? You’re good, you know. Your use of colour and application of paint is excellent. I can put you in touch with someone who can help you more than I can.’
‘Thanks, Rose, but it’s just for fun. I enjoy your classes.’ Joyce sighed.
Rose was disappointed but she understood not everyone shared her passion. ‘Is anything the matter?’
‘Children. Who’d have them?’
‘Sam?’
‘Yes. She’s so quiet lately and I can’t get her to talk to me. We used to be so close. Her father says it’s her age, but she’s seventeen, Rose, not fourteen. Something’s bothering her, I just wish she’d tell me what it is.’ Joyce was not ready to admit that the police had paid them a visit. A female officer had assured her that Sam wasn’t in trouble, they merely wanted some information from her. Joyce had guessed Lucy was somehow involved but Sam was not prepared to discuss it.
And before she could stop herself, Rose was saying, ‘Would you like me to talk to her?’
‘Would you?’ The relief faded from Joyce’s face. ‘But she’s only met you once, what excuse could you give?’
‘I expect I’ll think of something.’ And with that on her mind Rose walked home.
The following morning Laura rang. ‘Have you seen the Cornishman ?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Which bit of it?’
‘Bottom of page one and continued on page two.’
‘The rape?’ It had upset Rose that someone so young had been subjected to such an ordeal. David, and her few subsequent lovers, had always treated her with respect. ‘Why?’ Then she remembered that Jack had asked if she’d read Tuesday’s edition of the Western Morning News . Was the girl someone she knew?
‘What do you mean, why?’
‘Laura, you didn’t ring me up just to ask if I’d read that bit. I know you. There’s something else, isn’t there?’ The girl was seventeen, the same age as Joyce Jago’s daughter. Surely it wasn’t Sam. Please, God, no, she thought before realising that it didn’t make it any better whoever the girl had been. ‘Shall I come over?’
‘Can you spare the time?’
‘Not really, but you sound as if you need to talk.’
‘I know the girl,’ Laura said almost as soon as Rose arrived. ‘And her mother. I just can’t believe it. Hasn’t Jack said anything?’
‘No.’ But Rose understood why. The victim’s name had to be kept confidential, which was why she wouldn’t dream of asking Laura who it was.
‘There’s more to it, I’m sure. Gwen said … shit.’Laura bowed her head. Her hair swung around her face as she held her face in her hands. ‘Oh, Rose, I promised I wouldn’t say anything.’
‘You know nothing you tell me will go any further.’
Laura sighed. ‘The girl is a friend of Samantha Jago. They were supposed to be together.’
Lucy Chandler, Rose thought, it has to be her. Joyce had mentioned her name and, now she thought about it, Laura knew Gwen Chandler. ‘Sam’s involved?’ Then Joyce had cause for concern. Her daughter might even know who the rapist was if Lucy had confided in her. ‘Joyce wants me to speak to Sam.’ One event seemed to be touching the lives of many people.
‘Whatever you do don’t mention what I’ve told you.’
‘Of course not. Look, I’d better go, Laura, I’m trying to get everything straight for tomorrow.’
She stayed another half hour but needed to get her things together for the exhibition.
At a quarter-to-five on Friday morning Rose was standing in her favourite place in the sitting-room
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