Molly glowed. ‘Well, I’ve had a thing about you, too,’ she responded. ‘No wonder Londoners think Somerset folk are very slow!’

He carried her case and shepherded her down into the underground to make their way to the hotel, which he said was in Russell Square. ‘Sarge told me about it. He stayed there a couple of times while he was at trials in London. I was surprised at how nice it was. Your room is right next to mine, and there’s a bathroom just opposite.’

Molly wondered if the closeness of their rooms would mean he’d be trying to get into hers. But she decided she wouldn’t mind if he did.

The hotel was nice; nothing lavish, but the reception, with its highly polished floor and desk and shiny brass fittings gave a very good impression. It was lovely and warm, too, and Molly’s bedroom was clean and cosy, with a thick red eiderdown on the bed and tapestry curtains.

She and George went out in the evening to get something to eat, but it was so cold they went into the first place they found, a small café with a very limited menu.

‘Sausage and chips, egg and chips, fish and chips, ham and chips,’ George read out. ‘It wouldn’t do to hate chips in here, would it?’

‘Good job I love chips, then,’ Molly said. ‘My dad never allowed us to have them, he said they were a wasteful way of cooking potatoes. I could never see that, unless of course you count eating more than you would with plain boiled ones because they taste better.’

‘He’s a very opinionated man,’ George said thoughtfully. ‘I went into the shop yesterday before I left and, just to be polite, I told him I was coming up to London for the trial. It’s been the talk of the village, of course, because the local papers rehashed all the stuff about Cassie’s death and Petal disappearing the minute they found Reg Coleman’s body. They portrayed you as a heroine for rescuing Petal from Miss Gribble.’

The waitress came over to them at that point and they gave their order for sausages and chips and a pot of tea.

‘So what did he say?’ Molly asked once the waitress had gone.

‘“Waste of taxpayers’ money giving the woman a trial,” and he said it in that snooty way he has. “They should take her out and hang her. Can’t think what they need you there for either. You should be down here investigating who has been stealing my coal.”’

Molly laughed because George had sounded exactly like her father. ‘So who has been stealing his coal?’

‘No one. Your mum has just been putting more on the fire because it’s cold. She told me so herself. When he goes out to the pub she goes down and fills up the coal scuttle.’

‘She shouldn’t have to be carrying coal scuttles up the stairs at her age!’ Molly exclaimed. ‘He said four years ago he was going to get a gas fire put in. Do you know what stopped him?’

‘The cost of the fire?’

‘No, because some women were talking in the shop about how much less work there is without a coal fire. Hardly any dusting, and no clearing out ashes or laying the fire. He went right off the idea then, afraid Mum might spend part of her day sitting down reading a book.’

‘Surely not!’

‘I promise you. He made out that a gas fire costs more than a coal fire to run, but that just isn’t true. But I’m going off the subject … did he ask about me?’

‘No, but I asked if he had a message for you, and he said, “Why would I send a message?” I pointed out that being a witness is a horrible ordeal for most people. Guess what he said?’

‘That I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in other people’s affairs?’

George grimaced. ‘You know him so well. I don’t know how you stood him all those years. He’s utterly joyless.’

‘I thought about leaving so many times, but Mum was always the problem. I thought he’d be nasty to her. Is she all right, George?’

George leaned across the table, put one finger under her chin and tilted her face up. ‘She’s fine. For some peculiar reason, he’s been nicer to her, or at least so she tells me. She reckons he was always jealous of you girls, wanted her all to himself.’

‘That’s obscene.’ Molly laughed.

‘Since I’ve been in the police force, I’ve come across lots of men like your dad.’ George smiled. ‘They lash out because they feel inadequate. They say nasty things because they think it makes them sound like big men. Deep down, they’re insecure little twerps, but the saddest thing of all is that they don’t see what they’ve got. Like your dad: he’s got a lovely wife, two daughters to be very proud of – especially you – and a good business. Though it’s a wonder he’s got any customers, he’s so rude or offhand to most of them.’

‘I wish I could go home to check on Mum, but it’s difficult. She’d be upset if I didn’t make the peace with him and stay there, but I know I couldn’t do that.’

‘You could always stay with my folks and get a job locally. That would satisfy your mum.’

The waitress chose that moment to come with their meal, giving Molly time to think about how she could hint to George that she wanted more from him than just friendship.

‘Would it satisfy you? I mean, me being in the spare room?’

Molly was aware that the question hadn’t come out in the seductive way she’d intended but, considering the length of time they’d known one another, she would’ve expected him to at least laugh. Instead, he blushed furiously and looked very uncomfortable.

She was mortified, yet at the same time she felt indignant that he couldn’t rise to the occasion with a joke, some banter, anything that would stop her feeling like a first-class idiot.

It had spoiled the evening. George changed the subject to ask how Petal was, and Molly did her best to sound animated and happy when, inside, she felt hollow. George went on to tell her about two farmers in a neighbouring village who were caught up in a bitter feud. It had started when one of the farmers found his prize-winning sheepdog dead, apparently poisoned, and he was so convinced the other man had done it out of jealousy he retaliated by setting fire to his hay barn.

Normally, Molly would’ve been all too eager to hear the full story, but she wanted George to be the way he had been at the station, when he’d hugged her, to see that light in his eyes that said he thought the world of her and was excited to be alone with her in London for a few days. So she didn’t show any enthusiasm for his story. In fact, she yawned and looked pointedly at her watch.

They barely spoke on their way back to the hotel and, although George hesitated outside her door, shuffling his feet and looking sheepish, he didn’t say anything more than goodnight and that she shouldn’t get too worked up about being cross-examined in court the next day, as she probably wouldn’t be called for a day or two.

Molly slept soundly despite everything, and woke refreshed. After a very big cooked breakfast she and George decided to walk to the Old Bailey, as it wasn’t very far and they would be sitting down waiting for most of the day. Molly wasn’t one to keep up bad feeling with anyone, so she chatted normally, as if the night before had been a pleasant one.

George was in his uniform, as he was officially on duty as a witness, and he looked very smart. ‘Once witnesses have given their evidence they can watch the rest of the trial,’ he explained as they walked along. ‘It’s quite interesting watching and listening to the two opposing barristers. Sometimes, they’re just like actors, only playing to the jury instead of an audience. But I doubt I’ll be here to hear the closing speeches and the verdict. I expect I’ll be summoned back home.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ Molly said. ‘I thought we had a week or so up here.’

She purposely didn’t say ‘together’, in case that was too familiar.

‘Unfortunately, police witnesses are usually called right at the start. This case is a bit more complicated than most, as Miss Gribble has pleaded not guilty to abduction, claiming that Christabel had the right as Petal’s mother to go and get her from Cassie. She claims, too, that she never touched Cassie; she just tripped over and fell. She’s also pleading not guilty to murdering Reg Coleman, though how she can maintain that story I don’t know, not when his body was found in the garden.’