Under a Silent Moon: A Novel Read Free

the farmhouse.
    Flora’s mother, Felicity Maitland, was sliding into comfortable oblivion. Nigel Maitland had poured her a tumbler of brandy in the hope of calming her down before she made it into a full-on panic attack.
    Following her call to the police, Felicity had been looked after by the ambulance crew, and the police had taken an initial statement from her at the cottage. Then she’d been walked back to the farmhouse by someone in a uniform.
    Now, hours later, Felicity was still in a state, vacillating between shuddering sobs and unnatural, staring stillness.
    “It was so utterly horrible,” she said now. “Blood all over the walls, everywhere! The whole place will have to be redecorated, and we only did it last summer.”
    There were times Flora wanted to slap her mother, hard. She went to make toast for everyone, not least to soak up the brandy. The plainclothes police officer who’d been assigned to them was leaning against the breakfast bar, fiddling with her mobile phone.
    “Would you like me to do that?” she asked, when Flora came in.
    “No, it’s fine, thanks. Do you want some tea?”
    And at that moment Felicity’s voice rose again in a wail: “Oh God! Who’s going to do the horses?”
    “I’ll do them,” said Nigel.
    “Oh God! I’ll have to put an advert in the paper, then it will be interviews! I can’t bear it, I can’t!”
    “What about Connor, Dad?” Flora shouted. “I thought he was supposed to be a groom?”
    Nigel didn’t reply. Other than the phone call, he had not spoken directly to Flora.
    “He can’t be trusted,” Felicity wailed. “Polly said he was always slacking off. I don’t know why you insist on having him here, Nigel, he’s more trouble than he’s worth, and—”
    “Oh for God’s sake!” Flora called sharply. “I’ll do the bloody horses.”
    The toaster popped up and Flora applied herself to the task of buttering, slicing into halves. Tea. Must make the tea. What had the police officer said to her offer, yes or no? She couldn’t remember. She would make one anyway, not wanting to ask again, aware of the way the woman was watching her. Pretending to be here to help, but they were being watched, that was the truth of it. And right now the policewoman was watching her .
    Flora could remember the exact moment of the exact day when she fell in love with Polly Leuchars. It was on the fifteenth of December, almost a year ago. Half past ten in the morning and Polly was sitting at the kitchen table in the farmhouse, her long blond hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, wearing a sweater, jeans, and thick socks. Her boots were on the mat.
    “Where’s my mum?” Flora asked, wondering who this was.
    “Are you Flora? My, you’ve grown up since I last saw you,” the person said, with a beautiful smile. “I’m Polly. You probably don’t remember me. I’ve come to work.”
    It turned out that Felicity had known Polly was coming but had neglected to tell anyone else. Polly was the daughter of Cassandra Leuchars, an old school friend of Felicity’s. Polly needed a job for a year or so before she went traveling. And when she was reminded, Flora remembered her from years ago, from family holidays when Cassandra had been abroad and had left Polly with them.
    She was twenty-six, and the most beautiful thing Flora had ever seen. It was hard to believe that the thin, quiet blond girl who lurked on the fringes of her childhood memories could have turned into this lithe, confident, always-smiling young woman.
    Who on earth would want to hurt Poll? Who could do it?
    15:37
    Nearly time for the briefing. Lou had asked Barry Holloway to do most of the talking for the first one. Not, strictly speaking, the way it was usually done, but to his credit he didn’t argue or ask her to explain. She wanted to watch the room, keep an eye on them all, see their reactions—gauge from it who she could use, who she would need to keep an eye on.
    The room was almost ready—it had