‘Follow me, dear,’ she said. ‘I know the best spot.’

Elsie marched off. Mariana followed, and the moment her back was turned, she could hear the other women whispering to one another furiously.

5

Mariana followed Elsie along King’s Parade. They passed Market Square, with its green and white marquees and stalls selling flowers, books, and clothes; and the Senate House, gleaming white behind shiny black railings. They walked past the fudge shop – and from its open doors flooded out an overwhelmingly sweet smell of sugar and hot fudge.

Elsie stopped outside the red-and-white awning of the Copper Kettle. ‘This is my local,’ she said.

Mariana nodded. She remembered the tearoom from her student days. ‘After you.’

She followed Elsie inside. It was busy with a mix of students and tourists, all talking in different languages.

Elsie went straight up to the glass counter with all the cakes. She perused the selection of brownies, chocolate cake, coconut slices, apple pie, and lemon meringue. ‘I shouldn’t, really,’ she said. ‘Well … perhaps just one.’

She turned to the elderly, white-haired waitress behind the counter. ‘A slice of the chocolate cake. And a pot of English breakfast.’ She nodded at Mariana. ‘She’s paying.’

Mariana ordered some tea, and they sat down at a table by the window.

There was a pause. Mariana smiled. ‘I’m wondering if you know my niece, Zoe? She was Tara’s friend.’

Elsie grunted. She didn’t look impressed. ‘Oh, she’s your niece, is she? Yes, I look after her. Quite the little madam, she is.’

‘Zoe? What do you mean?’

‘She’s been very rude to me – on several occasions.’

‘Oh – I’m sorry to hear that. That doesn’t sound like her. I’ll have a word with her.’

‘Do, dear.’

There was a moment’s awkwardness.

They were interrupted by the appearance of a waitress – young, pretty, Eastern European – bearing tea and cake. Elsie’s face brightened considerably.

‘Paulina. How are you?’

‘I’m good, Elsie. You?’

‘Haven’t you heard?’ Her eyes widened and a tremor of mock emotion crept into her voice. ‘One of Elsie’s little ones got butchered – cut to bits by the river.’

‘Yes, yes, I heard. I’m sorry.’

‘Mind you watch how you go now. It’s not safe – a pretty girl like you, outdoors at night.’

‘I’ll be careful.’

‘Good.’ Elsie smiled and watched the waitress walk away. Then she turned her attention to the cake, which she attacked with relish. ‘Not bad,’ she said between bites. There were traces of chocolate around her mouth. ‘Fancy some?’

Mariana shook her head. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

The cake did the trick, improving Elsie’s mood. She watched Mariana thoughtfully as she chewed. ‘Now, dear,’ she said, ‘I hope you don’t expect me to believe any of that nonsense about psychotherapy. Research, indeed.’

‘You’re very perceptive, Elsie.’

Elsie chuckled and dropped a sugar cube into her tea. ‘Elsie doesn’t miss much.’

Elsie had rather a disconcerting habit of referring to herself in the third person. She gave Mariana a piercing look. ‘Come on then – what’s this really about?’

‘I just want to ask you some questions about Tara …’ She adopted a confidential tone. ‘You were close to Tara, weren’t you?’

Elsie gave her a slightly wary look. ‘Who told you that? Zoe?’

‘No – I just presumed that, as her bedder, you saw a lot of her. I was very fond of my bedder.’

‘Were you, dear? That’s nice.’

‘Well, it’s such an important service you provide … I’m not sure you’re always appreciated.’

Elsie nodded with enthusiasm. ‘You’re right about that. People think being a bedder is just a matter of wiping down a few surfaces and emptying the odd bin. But the little ones are away from home for the first time – they can’t be left to fend for themselves – they need looking after.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘It’s Elsie who looks after them. It’s Elsie who checks on them every day – and wakes them up every morning – or finds them dead, if they’ve hanged themselves in the night.’

Mariana hesitated, taken aback. ‘When was the last time you saw her?’

‘The day she died, of course … I’ll never forget it. I saw the poor girl walk to her death.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I was in the courtyard, waiting for a couple of the other ladies – we always get the bus home together. And I saw Tara leave her room. She looked awfully upset. I waved to her and called to her – but she didn’t hear me for some reason. I saw her walk off – and she never came back …’

‘What time was that? Do you remember?’

‘Quarter to eight exactly. I remember it because I was checking my watch – we were in danger of missing the bus.’ Elsie tutted. ‘Not that it’s ever on time any more.’

Mariana poured Elsie some more tea from the pot.

‘You know, I was wondering about her friends. What’s your impression of them?’

Elsie raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, you mean them, do you?’

‘“Them”?’

Elsie smiled, but didn’t reply. Mariana went on, cautiously.

‘When I spoke to Conrad, he called them witches.’

‘Did he, indeed?’ Elsie chuckled. ‘“Bitches” is more like it, dear.’

‘You don’t like them?’

Elsie shrugged. ‘They weren’t her friends, not really. Tara hated them. Your niece was the only one who was nice to her.’

‘And the others?’

‘Oh, they bullied her, poor love. Used to cry on my shoulder about it, she did. “You’re my only friend, Elsie,” she’d say. “I love you so, Elsie.”’

Elsie wiped away an imaginary tear. Mariana felt nauseated: this performance was as sickly sweet as the chocolate cake Elsie had just devoured – and Mariana didn’t believe a word of it. Elsie was either a fantasist or just an old-fashioned liar. In either case, Mariana was feeling increasingly uncomfortable in her company. Nonetheless, she persevered.

‘Why did they bully Tara? I don’t understand.’

‘They were jealous, weren’t they? Because she was so beautiful.’

‘I see … I wonder if there might be more to it than that …’

‘Well – you’d best ask Zoe about that, hadn’t you?’

‘Zoe?’ Mariana was taken aback. ‘What do you mean? What’s Zoe got to do with it?’

Elsie gave her a cryptic smile in response. ‘Now, that’s a question, isn’t it, dear?’

She didn’t elaborate further. Mariana felt annoyed. ‘And what about Professor Fosca?’

‘What about him?’

‘Conrad said he had a crush on Tara.’

Elsie looked unimpressed and unsurprised. ‘The professor’s a man, isn’t he? – like all the rest.’

‘Meaning?’

Elsie sniffed but didn’t comment. Mariana had the sense that the conversation was coming to an end, and to probe any further would only be met with stony disapproval. So, as casually as she could, she slipped in the real reason she had brought Elsie here and bribed her with flattery and cake.

‘Elsie. Do you think … I might see Tara’s room?’

‘Her room?’ Elsie looked as if she were going to refuse. But then she shrugged. ‘Can’t do any harm, I suppose. The police have been all over it – I was going to give it a good clean tomorrow … Tell you what. Let me finish this cuppa, and we can walk over together.’

Mariana smiled, pleased. ‘Thank you, Elsie.’

6

Elsie unlocked the door to Tara’s room. She went inside and turned on the light. Mariana followed her.

It was like any other teenager’s bedroom, messier than most. The police had gone through her things invisibly – it felt as if Tara had just stepped out and might return any second. There was still a trace of her perfume in the air and the musky scent of marijuana clinging to the furnishings.

Mariana didn’t know what she was looking for. She was searching for something that the police had missed – but what? They had taken away all the devices Zoe had been pinning her hopes on to provide some kind of clue – Tara’s computer, phone, and iPad were all missing. Her clothes remained, in the wardrobe and strewn over the armchair, in piles on the floor – expensive clothes treated like rags. Books were similarly disrespected, discarded mid-read, open on the floor, spines cracked.

‘Was she always this messy?’

‘Oh, yes, dear.’ Elsie tutted and gave an indulgent chuckle. ‘Hopeless. I don’t know what she would have done without me to look after her.’

Elsie sat on the bed. She had apparently taken Mariana into her confidence. And her conversation was no longer guarded; quite the contrary.