Once she'd had her fill, her lips still stained violet from the berries, Judith carried on around the boundary of her property. Her broken -down Jaguar had made it through another year on its flat tires, half in and half out of the garage. The wooden seat of the swing she'd played on whenever she'd visited her great-aunt as a child was still hanging from one old rope. And the collapsed wall that separated her land from a nearby stream was still just as collapsed, although she was pleased to see that in the last year, a buddleia had taken root at the top of the pile of rubble.
Throwing her stick into the Thames, Judith set off back toward her house and was surprised to see an old Volvo estate car parked up. She'd not heard anyone arrive. There was also a woman standing by her front door.
"Hello?" Judith called out.
"Oh, there you are," the woman said, turning to face Judith.
As she approached, Judith could see that the woman was in her mid-sixties, had straight brown hair, and was incredibly thin. The jeans she was wearing were like drainpipes, and her arms seemed like sticks in her loose white blouse. Judith was briefly put in mind of a praying mantis.
"Can I help you?" Judith asked.
"I hope so," the woman said. "I'm Verity Beresford," she added and paused, perhaps expecting Judith to know her name. "I'm sorry to call unannounced, but I'm worried about my husband. He vanished last night and didn't come home. And he's not answering his phone; it's going straight through to voicemail. It's not even ringing."
Judith felt a little surge of adrenaline.
"Does he often go away like this?" she asked.
"No, never! I mean, actually he goes away every week, but he always lets me know when he'll be out. Him suddenly vanishing like this has never happened before."
Judith looked at the panicking woman in front of her and knew she could have only one response.
"Why don't you come in," she said, "and let's see if we can work out what's happened to him together."
Judith opened her front door and led Verity into the kitchen, where she clicked on the kettle.
"It's very kind of you to help," Verity said.
"I'm not sure I'll be any help."
"But of course you will. You've been the greatest help to the town. When Oliver hadn't returned by this morning, you were the first person I thought of. Although that's not quite true— I rang the police first."
Judith scoffed, understanding Verity's problem well. As she'd learned when her neighbor Stefan Dunwoody had gone missing a few years before, the police didn't immediately treat the absence of an adult as being in any way suspicious. It had been deeply frustrating for Judith then, and she could see how frustrating it was for Verity now.
"They fobbed you off," Judith said as she poured scalding water into a large brown teapot.
"You're right," Verity said. "They said they couldn't take an interest for forty- eight hours and that most people turned up well within that time frame."
"But what makes you so sure he won't?"
"I was with him just before he went missing last night. We were on a boat trip on the Thames."
"How lovely."
"It was a rather special evening, as it happens. You know the Marlow Amateur Dramatic Society?"
"I'm sorry, I've not been to one of their shows," Judith said, handing over the cup of tea.
"Oh, don't worry; there's no reason why you should have. Especially if theater's not your thing. But the society was founded by Oliver— that's my husband— back in the eighties. It's very much been his life's work. Anyway, it was a big celebration last night because Lizzie Jenkins was with us. Do you know her? The film star?"
Judith wasn't aware that she'd ever seen one of Lizzie Jenkins's films, but she knew she was considered something of an enfant terrible within the acting industry. She drank too much and broke up too many marriages.
"I only know the name from the papers," Judith said.
