A Finer End

we go begging to anyone for information our own daughter wouldn’t give us? If Faith is so determined to get on in the world without our help, she’s bloody well welcome to it.’
    ‘You!’ Furiously, Maureen Wills turned on her husband. ‘Why don’t you admit all the hours you’ve spent driving round, looking for her? Or all the nights you’ve sat up in the kitchen until dawn? I’ve seen you — you can’t deny it!’
    Gary Wills gaped at her.
    Maureen looked back at them, her face tear-streaked but resolute. ‘I’d do anything to have Faith back. I don’t care who the baby’s father is, as long as our Faith is safe and well. You will tell us, won’t you, where she is?’
    ‘Mrs Wills,’ Kincaid said gently, ‘Faith didn’t give us permission to do that. She—’
    ‘But the child must be due any day! You say the woman who was looking after her is dead — someone’s got to take care of her. Please—’
    Gary Wills broke in again. ‘I suppose Maureen’s right. Faith needs to come home. Let bygones be bygones.’
    ‘We’ll talk to Faith,’ Gemma promised. ‘If she knows that you’ll accept her without question, perhaps she’ll agree.’
    ‘You’ll let us know about the baby, at least?’ pleaded Maureen, and Kincaid assured them he would.
    At the door, Gemma turned back to the couple. ‘I know it must be hard to let your child go — they always seem to grow up before you’re ready — but Faith has proved she has courage and determination. You should be very proud of her.’
    When they reached the car, Gemma said, ‘Do you think her father’s capitulation will last if she comes home?’
    Kincaid shrugged. ‘Human nature being what it is, I rather doubt it. But I also doubt he’d have insisted on knowing the baby’s parentage if he were responsible. I just hope I make a better job of it in the father department.’
    Gemma glanced at him and said not a word.
     
    ‘Have we time for another stop before your train?’ Kincaid asked as they returned to Glastonbury. ‘I’d like to see the scene of Winnie’s accident.’
    Gemma glanced at her watch. ‘We should be all right. Let’s leave the car at the café, shall we? I’d like to take the same route Winnie must have used that evening.’
    They walked up Wellhouse Lane, its incline steep and slick, not suitable for any but the most expensive of mountain bikes, and Jack had told them that Winnie’s was an old boneshaker. ‘Faith said Winnie was pushing her bike — I can see why,’ Kincaid grunted as they reached the turning into Lypatt Lane.
    The smaller track was claustrophobic even at midday’ — how much more so had it seemed at dusk? But Winnie could have squeezed the bike against the hedge if she’d heard a car approaching. Soon they reached the bend where the lane connected with the footpath.
    ‘If someone struck Winnie deliberately, they waited here,’ Gemma mused. ‘But how could anyone have known she would be in this place at that time — unless she had had an appointment!’
    ‘But that brings us back to square one,’ Kincaid objected. ‘If Winnie agreed to meet someone here, she has no memory of it. And unfortunately, an assignation in a dark lane isn’t something she’s likely to have put in her appointment book—’
    ‘Hullo!’ A woman had appeared in the lane and was gazing at them curiously. ‘I’m sorry, but you looked a bit lost,’ she added. A slight woman with untidy brown hair and brown eyes, she frowned as she studied Kincaid. ‘You remind me a bit of someone I know.’
    ‘Jack Montfort, by any chance? I’m his cousin, Duncan Kincaid. And this is Gemma James.’
    ‘Fiona Allen.’ Her smile faded as she realized just what they must have been doing. ‘You’re looking at the scene of Winnie’s accident, aren’t you?’
    ‘You found her, I understand? And you live just up the lane?’
    ‘The far end. Why don’t you two come along for a coffee?’
    As they followed her, Kincaid looked down into Bushy Coombe. ‘I remember this from when I was boy. Jack and I used to climb in the Coombe, pretending to be monks — or cowboys.’
    ‘An interesting juxtaposition,’ Fiona commented with a chuckle.
    ‘Both unwashed, and familiar with livestock?’ Gemma murmured.
    He gave her a quelling glance. ‘We pretended we were fetching water from the spring, although I suppose the logical route from the Abbey would have been by Chilkwell Street.’
    ‘Jack must have been interested in the