‘You mean that somebody not your husband painted the boat in here afterwards?’
‘Yes. Odd, isn’t it? I wonder why. First of all I was surprised to see the boat there, a place where there wasn’t any boat, then I can see quite well that it wasn’t painted by William. He didn’t put it in at any time. Somebody else did. I wonder who?’ She looked at Tommy.
‘And I wonder why?’
Tommy had no solution to offer. He looked at Mrs Boscowan. His Aunt Ada would have called her a scatty woman but Tommy did not think of her in that light. She was vague, with an abrupt way of jumping from one subject to another.
The things she said seemed to have very little relation to the last thing she had said a minute before. She was the sort of person, Tommy thought, who might know a great deal more than she chose to reveal. Had she loved her husband or been jealous of her husband or despised her husband? There was really no clue whatever in her manner, or ha. deed her words. But he had the feeling that that small painted boat tied up under the bridge had caused her uneasiness. She hadn’t liked the boat being there. Suddenly he wondered if the statement she had made was true. Could she really remember from long years back whether Boscowan had painted a boat at the bridge or had not?
It seemed really a very small and insignificant item. If it had been only a year ago when she had seen the picture last – but apparently it was a much longer time than that. And it had made Mrs Boscowan uneasy. He looked at her again and saw that she was looking at him. Her curious eyes resting on him not defiantly, but only thoughtfully. Very, very thoughtfully.
‘What are you going to do now?’ she said.
That at least was easy. Tommy had no difficulty in knowing what he was going to do now.
‘I shall go home tonight – see if there is any news of my wife – any word from her. If not, tomorrow I shall go to this place,’ he said. ‘Sutton Chancellor. I hope that I may fred my wife there.’
‘It would depend,’ said Mrs Boscowan.
‘Depend on what?’ said Tommy sharply.
Mrs Boscowan frowned. Then she murmured, seemingly to herself, ‘I wonder where she is?’
‘You wonder where who is?’
Mrs Boscowan had turned her glance away from him. Now her eyes swept back.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I meant your wife.’ Then she said, ‘I hope she is all right.’
‘Why shouldn’t she be all right? Tell me, Mrs Boscowan, is there something wrong with that place – with Sutton Chancellor?’
‘With Sutton Chancellor? With the place?’ She reflected.
‘No, I don’t think so. Not with the place.’
‘I suppose I meant the house,’ said Tommy. ‘This house by the canal. Not Sutton Chancellor vi!inge.’ ‘Oh the house,’ said Mrs Boscowan. ‘It was a good house really. Meant for lovers, you know.’ ‘Did lovers live there?’ ‘Sometimes. Not often enough really. If a house is built for lovers, it ought to be lived in by lovers.’ ‘Not put to some other use by someone.’ ‘You’re pretty quick,’ said Mrs Boscowan. ‘You saw what I meant, didn’t you? You musm’t put a house that was meant for one thing to the wrong use. It won’t like it if you do.’ ‘Do you know anything about the people who have lived there of late years?’ She shook her head. ‘No. No. I don’t know anyfixing about the house at all. It was never important to me, you see.’ ‘But you’re thinking of something – no, someone?’ ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Boscowan. ‘I suppose you’re right about that. I was thinking of- someone.’ ‘Can’t you tell me about the person you were thinking of?’ ‘There’s really nothing to say,’ said Mrs Boscowan. ‘Sometimes, you know, one just wonders where a person is. What’s happened to them or how they might have – developed.
There’s a sort of feeling -‘ She waved her hands – ‘Would you like a kipper?’ she said unexpectedly.
‘A kipper?’ Tommy was startled.