A Room Full of Bones: A Ruth Galloway Investigation

snapped at Caroline. ‘We’ve got to get organised.’ ‘Why?’ Randolph had asked, with that vagueness which everyone except his immediate family seemed to find so endearing. ‘For fuck’s sake, Randolph,’ Tamsin had exploded. ‘There are things to
do
.’
    So now Romilly and Tamsin are sitting interviewing the undertaker, a vaguely sinister man in a snowflake-patterned sweater. Randolph has roared off somewhere in the Porsche and Caroline is in the office talking to owners, who are probably interspersing condolences with demands that their horses be moved to another trainer. Romilly despises owners. None of them love their horses. They just want the kudos of swanking around the racecourse in stupid hats, going into the Owners and Trainers bar and talking about ‘my horse’. Half of them wouldn’t recognise ‘their’ horse if it bit them, which it probably would, given the chance.
    At least Dan had genuinely loved the horses. That’s how they had met. Romilly was working at a horse refuge near Norwich. Two horses had been brought in, unwanted andscared but otherwise completely fit. The refuge couldn’t afford to keep them (they needed to save their money for sick animals) so Romilly had been given the job of ringing round local horse owners to ask if they could give them a temporary home. They had all refused. Horses are expensive and no one wanted the two unknown quantities who would guzzle their hay and probably frighten their own animals. Except Danforth Smith. He had arrived that very afternoon with a smart blue horsebox emblazoned with the words Slaughter Hill Racing Stables in gold. He had spoken gently to the frightened animals, loaded them with infinite patience, and by the time that he turned to Romilly with a courteous query about her availability for dinner that night, she was his for the asking. They were married six months later. Maybe it didn’t hurt that, as well as an obvious love for animals, Danforth had limitless money and was building a large modern house which clearly needed a woman’s touch. Romilly was getting tired of mud and dirt and encrusted denim; all the perks of working with horses. She wanted animals, but luxury too – a package that seemed to be offered by the tall, beaky-nosed man who knew how to talk to horses.
    And now, after a lifetime of doing the conventional thing, Dan has finally surprised her. He has died, leaving her with three grown-up children, a house that is decorated to within an inch of its life, and a stable full of horses. Funny, Romilly had always thought that Dan would go on forever. Despite his diabetes he had seemed indestructible, part of an unchanging landscape. Whatever happened, Dan would always be there, gettingup at five with the horses, going to bed by ten. Romilly feels unreasonably angry with him for letting her down like this. She needed him; she needed him there in the background, a soothing presence when she returned from her adventures, which are becoming more frequent of late. These days Romilly cares even less about the dayto-day business of looking after horses but even more about animal welfare in the abstract. Her activism lapsed when the children were growing up but in the last few years she has become involved again. Will the police find out about her criminal past? Will they find out about the group? She smiles, causing the undertaker to look shocked and Tamsin to lean over and ask if she’s all right. ‘I’m fine,’ she says. She hates solicitude. From humans anyway.
    ‘I think Dad would have liked opera,’ Tamsin was saying. ‘Something tasteful.’
    Tasteful has become Tamsin’s middle name. Her house in London is a monument to quiet good taste, her clothes are designer with just a hint of Boden, and even her dog is colour-coordinated (chocolate Lab). Romilly approves of all this (especially the Labrador) but she does wish that good taste wasn’t also the abiding principle of Tamsin’s personal life. It is years since Romilly has heard her elder daughter laugh or cry. Even Tamsin’s children seem remarkably free from emotion. Romilly wants to love her only grandchildren but Emily and Laurence seem pallid little creatures, always doing their homework or practising their violins. At their age Romilly was running a full-scale hedgehog rescue in the school grounds. Shesupposes that there aren’t many hedgehogs in Notting Hill. They simply aren’t tasteful enough.
    Romilly agrees that Dan liked opera and they