Текст книги "White Nights"

Автор книги: Ann Cleeves

Соавторы: Ann Cleeves
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Chapter Thirty-one

It had been Taylor’s decision to spend the afternoon in Biddista, but now he wasn’t sure what good he was doing there. They’d drunk lots of tea, that was certain. He’d be pissing every five minutes by the time he got back to his hotel. It seemed to him that the first two interviews with the women hadn’t pushed the case forward at all. Their lives were so quiet and domestic. He thought Perez was wasting his time with them.

After leaving Dawn Williamson they went on to the writer’s house. Perez paused for a moment outside before knocking. The Shetlander’s hesitancy was starting to get to Taylor. It was as if Perez never had the courage of his convictions. He needs to sharpen up, Taylor thought. He’d never survive in the real world beyond the Pentland Firth. Then it occurred to him that here, in this bizarre, bleak, treeless community, Perez’s strange methods might actually get results.

Wilding led them upstairs to his workroom. Beside the computer there was a pile of paper, a typescript covered in scribbled notes. His focus still seemed drawn to it and his offer of coffee lacked any real warmth. It seemed as if he wanted them to go so he could get on with his work.

‘I get so caught up in the detail of a book,’ he said. ‘I lose the overall picture, the story I set out to tell.’

‘We’re here to talk about Roddy Sinclair,’ Taylor said. How self-centred could you get? he thought. A young man was dead and this guy was stressing about a fairy tale. Taylor was an obsessive himself and recognized the signs.

‘How can I help?’ For the first time Wilding seemed to give them his full attention. ‘It’s such terrible news. I can’t imagine what Bella must be going through. I wondered if I should call on her. What do you think? I don’t know what the convention is here.’

‘She’d probably be glad to hear from you,’ Perez said. ‘Maybe leave it for another day.’

‘I spoke to your colleague this morning. I don’t think I can help any more.’

‘He’ll have asked, I expect, if you saw Roddy yesterday.’

‘I saw him in the morning. From the window here. He walked down the street to the post office.’

‘And then he came back?’

‘I didn’t notice that. He was probably chatting to Aggie and then I was concentrated on my writing. This problem which has been haunting me for several days.’ Again his eyes flicked to the manuscript on his desk. ‘He must have come back. There’s no other way to the Manse, but I didn’t see him.’

‘We’ve identified the man who was killed here at the jetty,’ Perez said. ‘His name was Jeremy Booth.’

Taylor thought Wilding expressed a brief moment of recognition. ‘Do you know him?’

Wilding frowned. ‘The name sounded familiar for a moment. But I had an agent called Booth once. Perhaps that was it. I had to sack him. His name was Norman. Probably no relation to the victim.’

‘This is a serious matter.’ There was an edge to Perez’s voice which surprised Taylor. ‘Are you sure you’ve never heard of the man?’

‘No,’ Wilding replied. ‘I don’t think I have. Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound flippant.’

Taylor thought he didn’t sound sorry either.

‘How did you come to live in Biddista?’

‘I think I explained before that I’ve always admired Bella’s work. I wrote to her years ago to tell her how much pleasure I took from her paintings and we began a correspondence.’ He paused, saw that more explanation was required. ‘I’ve recently separated. My partner left me. It was unexpected, to me at least. I’d thought we were happy. But she’d been seeing someone else. I had a sort of breakdown. I even spent a couple of weeks in hospital.’ He stopped and looked over to where they were sitting. ‘Perhaps you know all this already. I suppose you check the backgrounds of people close to a murder case.’

Not well enough, Taylor thought. Obviously. He felt the old anger at a job not properly done.

Wilding continued. ‘I suppose I behaved rather badly. I followed my partner. Sent her flowers and presents. Tried to persuade her to change her mind. Her lawyer called it harassment, though I didn’t see it that way. I was never charged with an offence but she took out an injunction to stop me bothering her. I thought it would be safest to move away.’ He smiled briefly at Taylor, who seemed the most sympathetic of his listeners. ‘Shetland was about as far away as I could get.’

He seemed strangely unemotional now, talking about the obsession, the injunction. He could have been describing someone else.

‘What was your girlfriend’s name?’ Taylor tried to keep his voice even, but he allowed himself a tentative excitement; this held the possibility of some sort of motive.

‘Helen. Helen Adams.’

‘And her new partner?’

‘Jason Doyle. A rather vulgar name, I thought. It was a surprise when I found out he was a lawyer. I’m sorry to disappoint you, inspector. He wasn’t called Booth, and he’s a creature of the inner city. I don’t suppose he’d ever choose to visit Shetland. I haven’t killed anyone.’

‘What are your plans for the future, Mr Wilding?’ Perez again, crisp and clipped. He was being sharp enough now, Taylor thought. Perhaps it was because he was dealing with an incomer and he wasn’t so involved.

The writer answered immediately. ‘I’d like to settle here. Make a fresh start. My partner and I never had children. There’s nothing to take me back.’

‘How did you come to rent Willy’s house?’ Perez dropped in the question as an afterthought.

‘Didn’t you know? Bella owns it. The council sold off all these houses some years ago. Willy was given the option to buy, but he’d already retired and couldn’t raise the mortgage. She gave him the money. Security and a rent-free home for the old man, and an investment for her. He doesn’t have any family. Recently he moved into sheltered housing. When I emailed her that I was looking for a short-term let in Shetland, she offered it to me.’

Taylor wondered why that fact hadn’t come to light before. Perez was supposed to know these people, everything about them. But then, could it have any importance? Another small domestic detail. Nothing likely to lead to murder. It was time to move on.

Perez, though, seemed reluctant to leave the writer.

‘Did you go out yesterday evening?’

‘Not on to the hill. Only for a walk on the beach.’ Wilding looked directly at the Shetlander. ‘If I could help you, inspector, I would. I liked Roddy. He was young and irresponsible, but he didn’t take himself too seriously. He made people laugh. More than that, Bella doted on him and I’d do anything in the world to make her happy.’ His face softened. Taylor thought he was besotted. That obsessive streak again.

He moved over to take a seat in front of the computer, to show them that he wanted to go back to work.

Outside on the road, Perez said abruptly that he needed to get back to Lerwick. He had an appointment he couldn’t cancel. If Taylor wanted to continue questioning the community, he’d arrange for a car to pick him up later. Of course Sandy had already spoken to everyone. The implication was that Taylor was unlikely to come up with anything new and it was all rather a waste of time.

Taylor forgot that earlier he too had thought there was little to be gained by talking to the Biddista residents. He saw this as a chance to beat Perez on his home ground. He sensed an edge in the competition. ‘I’ll just pay a visit to Miss Sinclair,’ he said. ‘I know you talked to her yesterday, but she should be calmer now. She might remember more.’

It was late afternoon on a Saturday. In Inverness Taylor hated the weekends when he wasn’t working. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He hadn’t made friends there; somehow he’d always known he wouldn’t be staying and that had made him keep people at arm’s length. Suddenly the exile in the highlands seemed pointless. What was the point of spiting his father, even though he was no longer alive?

He was so wrapped up in these thoughts that he arrived at the Manse without realizing. He rang the bell and heard the tinny ring inside. The door was opened by a woman he didn’t recognize. She was wiry, smartly dressed. His first thought was that she might be a housekeeper or cleaner, but that was dispelled by the calm air of authority when she spoke.

‘If you’re a reporter, Miss Sinclair isn’t speaking to anyone.’

Taylor thought the woman could be a member of Perez’s team, an officer he hadn’t yet met. He introduced himself and she invited him in. As if she were doing him a favour, not that he was there by right.

‘We haven’t met,’ she said. ‘I’m Edith Thomson. I thought Bella needed someone with her.’

‘Of course. A time like this she’ll need her friends.’

Edith looked at him thoughtfully. ‘We’re not exactly friends. But I couldn’t leave her alone at a time like this. I was imagining how I’d feel if I’d lost one of my children.’

‘He was her nephew,’ Taylor said. ‘Not quite the same.’

‘It felt the same to her.’

‘Your husband found the body. Both bodies.’

She looked at him. Through him. Decided to ignore the challenge under the words. ‘I know. It’ll haunt him for ever. He’s already having nightmares.’

‘Can I speak to Miss Sinclair?’

She shrugged. ‘You can try. She’s been drinking.’

They went into a room Taylor hadn’t seen before. A rather grand living room at the front of the house with a view over the water. The windows were long, with folded shutters in the French style. The furniture was old and a little shabby. Bella was half sitting, half lying on a chaise-longue. There was a small table with a glass and a bottle beside her. She was drinking whisky.

When she saw Taylor, she half stood, an attempt at the old charm, then fell back on to the seat.

‘Inspector.’

‘Would you like me to leave you alone?’ Edith asked.

‘No, stay.’ Bella made an extravagant gesture with her arm. ‘Please stay. Edith and I have known each other for years, haven’t we? Do you remember when you first came to Biddista? Weren’t we all pals, the six of us?’

‘Six of you?’ Taylor was still finding it hard to come to grips with the relationships within the place. I should write it all down, he thought. Make a chart. The sort of list Wilding had on his desk for all his characters.

‘My brother Alec, Aggie Watt, Kenny and Edith and Lawrence and me.’

Taylor turned to Edith. ‘Who’s Lawrence?’ The name was familiar but he couldn’t place it.

‘He’s Kenny’s brother. He left Shetland years ago. We’ve lost touch.’

‘Of course. I should have remembered. Your husband thought he might be the man who was hanged. Why did he leave Shetland? Some sort of family feud?’

‘No,’ she said awkwardly. ‘Nothing like that.’

‘They think it was my fault that Lawrence left.’ It was Bella, talking too loudly, as if she were giving a performance. ‘They think he was madly in love with me and I spurned him and he was so heartbroken that he ran away.’

‘Well?’ Edith asked. ‘Wasn’t it a little like that? Kenny could never understand why Lawrence left like that, so suddenly. He still misses him. When the phone rings he thinks it could be his brother. He doesn’t say anything, but I can tell what he’s thinking.’

Taylor had a picture of Kenny Thomson standing in the mortuary, his relief when he discovered the body looked nothing like his brother.

‘No,’ Bella said. ‘It wasn’t like that at all.’

‘So tell us,’ Taylor said. ‘What was it like?’

‘I loved Lawrence. If he’d asked me to marry him, I’d have accepted. I had my wedding dress designed in my head, and the hymns for the service chosen. But he never asked me. We were great friends, but he wasn’t the marrying kind. He wanted to see more of the world than Shetland and I wasn’t going to leave. The islands were my inspiration, and besides, I had Roddy to think about. If Lawrence was crazy about me, as everyone says, why didn’t he want to settle with me and make a family with me?’

She looked at them with a haunted desperation, which was only partly to do with the drink. Taylor thought how much energy she must have put in over the years, putting on a brave face. It suited her for people to think she’d been the one to reject Lawrence Thomson. At least that way she’d managed to maintain her pride.

‘He never contacted you either?’ Edith asked.

Bella shook her head. She’d started to cry. ‘Kenny’s not the only one who has a flicker of hope every time the phone rings.’

She wiped her eyes. Taylor found himself thinking that part of her was enjoying the drama. He wished he knew how much of it was real.

‘Tell me about your relationship with Mr Wilding,’ he said.

‘I don’t have a relationship with him.’

‘He’s your tenant?’

‘Yes.’

‘But that’s Willy’s house,’ Edith said.

‘It’s Willy’s house but I gave him the money when the council gave him the right to buy. He gave me the house when he moved into the sheltered housing. All legal and above board. I wanted to give him a bit of security. I didn’t need his rent. I told him he was looking after my investment for me.’

‘I didn’t know.’

‘There are lots of things about me folk don’t know.’ Bella dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. ‘I gave him the money. He got into a state when the council gave him the right to buy, thought they might throw him out. He said he wanted to stay there until he died. Such a shame he couldn’t manage on his own in the end. It was Roddy’s idea to give him the money to buy the house. He loved Willy. The nearest he ever had to a grandfather, I suppose. You know how good he was with the children.’

‘Yes,’ Edith said. ‘He was the same with Kenny and Lawrence and then with our two. Perhaps it was because he’d never quite grown up.’

‘Why did you suggest Mr Wilding live there?’

‘Willy had moved out and I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t want to sell. Not while Willy was alive. I always told him it would be there for him to move back when he felt more himself. And I suppose I hoped Roddy would want to settle in Shetland one day. It would be a good home for him to start with. Then I had the email from Peter Wilding asking if I knew anywhere he could rent for a short while. He’d not been well and he needed somewhere quiet to stay. I thought why not?’ She paused. ‘Besides, he was a fan. As you get older, it’s good occasionally for the ego to have an admirer close at hand.’

‘How did Roddy get on with him?’

‘I don’t think Roddy liked him particularly. Sometimes he took against people for no reason. Roddy said it always made him feel sad to think of that house without Willy in it, but that was hardly Peter’s fault. Roddy loved the old man and visited there whenever he came home from tour. Take a bottle of whisky and stay up half the night talking about old times. He said he’d heard Willy’s stories hundreds of times but he never tired of them. He still kept in contact even after Willy moved into the sheltered housing. That’s a part of his life the press never picked up on.’

Suddenly she got to her feet, more sober than she’d seemed throughout the rest of the encounter. She carried the whisky bottle to a sideboard and put it away. ‘I’m going to make coffee,’ she said. ‘Would anyone like one? Edith, you don’t need to stay, you know. I’m quite used to being on my own.’

Chapter Thirty-two

The appointment Perez couldn’t miss was the final performance on The Motley Crew. He’d invited Fran and Cassie before Roddy’s body had been discovered. Fran would understand if he cried off but he’d decided, suddenly, sitting listening to Dawn, that he should be there. If he pulled out this time it would set a precedent for other occasions, other times when there were pressing things to do at work. He wanted to be part of a family again.

He collected them from Ravenswick. Cassie was wearing a new pink cardigan and Fran had put on make-up and the earrings he’d given her for her birthday. I should have made more of an effort, he thought. It seemed as if he’d been wearing the same clothes for days. The show took place in the saloon below deck, so the audience were crammed into seats very close together. As Lucy Wells had said, it was packed. Mostly families, mostly visitors. It still smelled of a boat, wood with a hint of tar. And they could feel the movement of the water under them.

The show was an environmental piece aimed mostly at the children. There were songs about the rainforest and melting ice floes, but enough of a pacy story to keep Cassie enthralled. Lucy played a green fairy, dressed mostly in emerald Lycra with a couple of wispy wings. Perez found his eyes drawn towards her, became lost for a moment in a sexy fantasy, thought of the possibilities that would be closed to him if he was committed to Fran.

After the show the actors jumped down from the low stage and mixed with the audience, following up some of the issues raised in the piece. Lucy came up to Perez.

‘You made it,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think you would.’ She seemed extraordinarily pleased to see him. Perhaps that’s what actors do, he thought, disconcerted. They exaggerate without meaning to. She was playing with some green glass beads she wore round her neck and he saw that her hands were plump and soft.

‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘Very much.’ He paused and saw that a compliment was in order. ‘You were very good.’

‘It’s not a role that requires much characterization,’ she said, smiling. ‘Fun, though.’

He was flattered by her attention. There were all these people to speak with and she’d chosen him. Beyond her, he could see Cassie and Fran chatting to friends.

‘When do you leave?’ he asked.

‘Tomorrow afternoon.’ Something in her reply made him think that if he suggested they might spend the evening together she would agree. That she’d be delighted. He was horrified that the thought had even crossed his mind.

‘Good luck,’ he said to Lucy. ‘I hope everything goes well for you. When you’re famous, I’ll be able to tell folk I met you.’

He moved away from her and put his arm around Fran’s shoulder, asked her in a whisper if she was ready to leave. Later, he wondered if it was a good thing he’d done, walking away from a lonely young woman who wanted his company, or if he was just a coward.

That night he stayed at Fran’s place again. While she prepared supper he sat on Cassie’s bed and read her a story. She was asleep by the time it was finished and he stayed for a moment, thinking how it must be for her, having a new man in her mother’s life. And how it would work for him, sharing her with Duncan Hunter, her father, a man he didn’t much care for, though once they had been best friends.

Back in the kitchen Fran was draining rice. Her face was flushed. She’d taken off her jacket and was wearing a sleeveless white T-shirt. He could see the lacy pattern of her bra in relief through the fabric. Distracted, he returned to the subject of her ex-husband.

‘What will Duncan make of us seeing so much of each other?’

She tipped the rice into a brown earthenware bowl.

‘I like everything I’ve seen of you. If you’re talking literally . . .’

‘I’m being serious.’

‘You’re way too serious. It’s my mission to get you to lighten up. Anyway, who cares what Duncan thinks? It’s none of his business.’

‘Cassie’s his business.’

‘I’d never stop him seeing Cassie and neither would you.’

He could tell she thought he was making difficulties where none existed. In London she’d been surrounded by unconventional families. She’d told him about close lesbian friends who’d fostered a son; many of her colleagues were divorced and remarried, and for them weekends had been a time of shared parenting, the entertainment of visiting stepchildren. He was used to more traditional ways, but didn’t want to question her judgement. He didn’t want her to think him narrow-minded.

The subject must have been on her mind throughout the evening, because at the end of the meal she returned to it. She reached across the table and took his hand.

‘It was because of Cassie I didn’t rush into this. We come as a package. You understand that, don’t you? If you want me, you take her on too.’

He said that of course he understood. He wanted to tell her that he wanted above all things to make a family with her and Cassie, but he thought that would have sounded sentimental. She hated it when he was soppy.

He left early the next morning to go into Lerwick, to his narrow house on the waterfront. Despite the weather, he could smell the damp as soon as he unlocked the door. It was as if he’d been away for weeks. He loved the house, which was just as well, because no one else would be foolish enough to pay good money for it. He opened all the windows to let in the salt air, and checked his answer machine. There was a message from his mother, easy and chatty with news of Fair Isle. He wondered when he should take Fran home to meet his folks and what they would make of her. They didn’t have much experience of people who’d grown up in the city. He made a jug of coffee and sat by the open window, watching the terns diving into the shallow water.

Later he went into the station to check if they’d had any report back on the bag belonging to Jeremy Booth, which had been recovered with Roddy Sinclair’s body from the Pit o’ Biddista. Sandy was on his way out, scrubbed and smart. Every week he went home to Whalsay to take Sunday lunch with his parents.

‘Have you seen the TV news?’ he said. ‘Roddy Sinclair was all over it.’

‘No.’ Perez didn’t keep him. He knew Sandy would be on his way to Vidlin for the ferry, and anyway he wasn’t the best person to ask about the bag. He was never brilliant at detail.

The incident room was quiet, flooded with midday sunshine. Taylor was at his desk in a corner, drinking coffee, looking as if he’d been there all night.

‘Good night?’

Perez couldn’t quite tell if he was really interested or if that was a sneer. ‘Sorry, to leave you in Biddista. Like I said, it was something I couldn’t get out of. How did you get on with Bella?’

‘She was pissed. Talking about old times. Lost loves.’

‘Oh?’

‘Kenny’s brother, Lawrence.’

‘The way I heard it, he loved her, not the other way round.’

‘Not according to Bella Sinclair.’ Taylor crushed the polystyrene cup in his fist and hurled it across the room into a waste basket. It hit with such force that it bounced out. ‘According to her, she’d have married him like a shot if he’d asked. But he never did.’ He got up and retrieved the cup. ‘I finally met Kenny’s wife. Edith. She seemed surprised by the new twist on the old story too. Hardly bosom pals, those two, are they?’

‘Those sorts of communities, people come together if there’s a tragedy.’ Perez spoke without really thinking about it.

‘Nobody seemed much concerned about Booth.’

‘He was an outsider. A bit different.’

‘That stuff about the past doesn’t help much anyway,’ Taylor said. ‘If any of them met Jeremy Booth when he was here on The Motley Crew all those years ago, they’re not saying.’

‘Maybe they don’t remember. People change in fifteen years.’ Perez still thought there was a history to this case.

‘Perhaps.’ But Taylor sounded sceptical.

‘Anything on the contents of Booth’s bag?’

‘I’ve just had the report. It gives us a definite confirmation that he was the person handing out the flyers cancelling the art exhibition. The found the costume and the sequinned bag some of the witnesses described. Nothing else of much use. Just a few clothes and toilet things. No letters, no address book. No mobile.’

‘Booth didn’t have a mobile with him when he staged that scene at the Herring House,’ Perez said. ‘I checked his pockets for ID.’

‘Could it have been thrown separately down the hole?’ Taylor asked.

‘Maybe. Then sucked into the tunnel. Or washed out to sea.’

‘Worth getting a search team down to take a look? Even if the phone’s damaged, there’s a chance the SIM card is still intact. Might be quicker than trying to track down his account with the phone companies, especially if he had one of the pay-as-you-go deals.’

‘I know a couple of climbers,’ Perez said. ‘I’ll ask them to go down for us. I could scramble to the bottom of the grass slope myself, but I’d not be confident to go through the tunnel, and it could be wedged on a ledge in the rockface.’ He knew he should have thought of the phone himself. His head was too full of personal stuff. He was losing concentration.

Before he could forget, he went through to his office and called a friend who volunteered with the Cliff Rescue. She couldn’t make the climb that day, but said she’d sort something out for Monday if that would do. The tides were low now, so if the phone was down there it wouldn’t be shifting anywhere.

Back in the incident room, Taylor was still at his desk, staring at the computer screen as if he could force it to provide answers just through the effort of his will.

‘We need to find a link between Booth and someone at Biddista,’ he said. ‘That’s all it’ll take.’ He swivelled round in his chair so he was facing Perez. ‘Fancy a pint? I’m going crazy sitting here.’

Perez hesitated. In the previous case they’d worked on together, he’d enjoyed the informal contact, Taylor’s relentless energy. But Fran would be waiting for him. ‘I thought I’d take a run out to the Sunday teas in Middleton, see if I can find the lass who sold the masks. Maybe it’s not so important now, but it’d tie up a loose end.’

He waited for Taylor to ask if he could come too. He was like a hyperactive boy who needed constant stimulation. But the Sunday teas were too tame for him and he turned back to the computer screen.

The hall in Middleton had been the school before the new smart place was built. Perez parked in what had once been the playground, next to a row of trestle tables where a big woman was selling plants. Fran was with him. Cassie was spending the afternoon with Duncan.

He’d asked Fran the night before if she’d like to come with him to the teas. He hadn’t thought she’d be interested. Usually she spent the days when Cassie was away working, and he’d thought she’d be used to more sophisticated entertainments. ‘Are you joking? Of course I want to come. It’s shopping, isn’t it? I’m a shopaholic and I’ve been seriously deprived since moving here.’

And as soon as they got out of the car she pulled him over to look at the plants, although she had no garden in Ravenswick. Her house was surrounded on all sides by the hill.

Inside the hall there were more stalls. Junk and bric-à-brac and hand-knitted sweaters. At the other end of the room tables were laid out for tea with plates of home-bakes. Middleton women in aprons were wielding huge metal teapots. Urns hissed. It reminded him of the dances at home. Pooled baking and flustered women serving the men. What would Fran make of that?

Again she went immediately to the stalls, picking up pieces of china to look at the marks on the bottom, shaking out a jumper to see if it might fit Cassie, chatting to the women who were selling. Dawn Williamson came in with Alice holding her hand. She saw Fran and went up to her. By now the noise level in the hall was so high that Perez couldn’t make out what they were saying. It was like watching a mime. Suddenly Fran threw her arms around Dawn. Dawn’s told her about the baby, he thought. What is she feeling? Then the two women separated. Dawn sat Alice at one of the tea tables with a carton of juice and a biscuit and Fran came back to him.

‘Dawn’s pregnant,’ she said.

‘I know. She told me when I went to the school to talk to her.’

‘Lucky thing,’ she said. But there was no passion behind the words so he didn’t feel the pressure of expectation.

‘The woman with the masks isn’t here.’ He was disappointed, but thought that since they’d found Booth’s bag it didn’t matter so much. Booth could have bought the mask anywhere. He’d have had it in the bag he’d left on the beach before the Herring House party. The murderer would have found it and put it over his face. Why anyone would want to do that was a different matter entirely.

‘No,’ Fran said. ‘She just came that one week with all sorts of novelty goods. She doesn’t live in Shetland. She was up visiting relatives for a few days. They let her have a stall because she was raising money for a children’s hospice. Her mother-in-law is the lady who knits the sweaters and she’ll give you the phone number if you ask. But she says she’d probably not be able to give you the names of the people who bought from her. Because she’s not from here, she wouldn’t be able to recognize them. One interesting thing though. The daughter-in-law lives in Yorkshire. So that might be where Booth bought it.’

‘How did you find all that out?’

‘I asked,’ Fran said. ‘Now I want a cup of tea. And home-made meringues.’