But he had always had trouble taking no for an answer.
15:40
Flora pulled her cold wellington boots on over her thick socks in the mudroom at the back door.
‘Can I come with you?’ the policewoman asked, appearing in the doorway.
‘Sure,’ Flora said, her tone unnaturally bright. ‘You’ll need boots. Here, try these.’
The woman slipped off her shoes and pulled Felicity’s old boots over the top of her smart grey trousers. ‘They’ll do,’ she said.
‘What’s your name?’ Flora asked, giving in at last.
‘Miranda Gregson,’ came the reply.
As soon as she heard the name Flora remembered it. ‘Of course. Sorry.’
‘That’s OK. It’s a difficult time.’
She gave Miranda one of her father’s jackets to wear and they set off towards the stables. It was already starting to get dark, a wind blustering and swirling around the farm buildings, tugging at their clothes.
‘I used to go riding when I was younger,’ Miranda said. ‘I helped out at some stables at the weekends. Loved it.’
Flora didn’t answer. Given a choice, she would much prefer to work with this woman than Connor Petrie. Nigel had phoned him twenty minutes ago and told him to get his arse down to the stables. He’d been somewhere else, clearly, even though he was supposed to be working.
Petrie, leaning against the horsebox, gave them a wave as they approached. ‘Who’s this, then?’
‘This is one of the police officers,’ Flora said quickly. ‘Miranda.’ ‘You here about Polly?’ he asked. ‘Boss told me. Lots of blood everywhere, right?’
‘Shut up!’ Flora snapped at him. ‘Have some bloody respect. You’re here to work.’
‘I’m the Family Liaison Officer,’ Miranda said, her tone even. ‘Here to help, if I can.’ She offered her hand and after some shuffling and wiping, Connor gave it a brief shake.
Oh God, this was no good. The ugly little bastard was going to have her crying in a minute. She had come out here to try and take her mind off the subject of Polly’s death, lose herself in mindless physical activity. She walked away from them to the hay store. Connor could talk to the police all he wanted, she wouldn’t be there to listen. Didn’t care any more, in any case.
Elizabeth Haynes, Promises to Keep
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