Mourn not your Dead

once or twice, but I can’t say that I knew him well. We didn’t have much in common.” He gestured at the showroom, his expression slightly amused.
    “But surely Gilbert was interested in his wife’s career?” said Kincaid.
    “Look, let’s have a seat, shall we?” Reid led them to a desk at the rear of the showroom and waved them into two comfortable-looking visitors’ chairs before seating himself. “That’s not an easy question.” He picked up a pencil and watched it meditatively while he rolled it between his fingers, then looked up at them. “If you want an honest answer, I’d say he only tolerated Claire’s job as long as it didn’t interfere with his social schedule or his comforts. Do you know how Claire came to work for me?” He put the pencil down and leaned back in his chair. “She came to me as a client, when Alastair finally gave! her permission to decorate their kitchen. The house is Victorian, you know, and what little had been done to it had been done badly, as is so often the case. Claire had been nagging him for years, and I think he only gave in when their entertaining reached such a scale that it embarrassed him for guests to see the kitchen.”
    For a man who professed not to know Gilbert well, Reid had certainly managed to build up an active dislike of him, Kincaid thought as he nodded encouragingly.
    “Claire hadn’t any design training,” continued Reid, “but she had natural talent, which is even better in my book. When we started her kitchen she was brimming with imaginative and workable ideas—they don’t always go together, you see—and when she came to the shop she’d help other customers, too.”
    “And you didn’t mind?” Deveney asked a bit skeptically. Reid shook his head. “Her enthusiasm was contagious. And the customers liked her ideas, which increased my sales. She’s very good, though you’d never know it by looking at their house.”
    “What’s wrong with their house?” Deveney scratched his head in bewilderment—whether real or feigned Kincaid couldn’t guess.
    “Too stuffily traditional for my taste, but Alastair kept a tight rein on things and that’s what he liked. It was his idea of middle-class respectability.”
    Reid’s judgment certainly seemed to fit Gilbert as Kincaid had known him. As an instructor he had been unimaginative, insisting on rules where flexibility might have been more productive, attached to traditions simply because they were traditions. His curiosity aroused, he asked Reid, “Do you know anything about Gilbert’s background?”
    “I believe his father managed a dairy farm near Dorking, and Gilbert attended the local grammar school.”
    “So the native came back,” mused Kincaid. “I find that rather surprising. But then, his mother’s in a home nearby, isn’t she?” he asked, leaning forwards to remove a business card from a holder on Reid’s desk. The shop’s name stood out artfully, dark green print against a cream background, with phone number and address in a smaller typeface. Kincaid slipped it into his jacket pocket.
    “The Leaves, just on the outskirts of Dorking. Claire visits her several times a week.”
    “Tell us about Mrs. Gilbert’s schedule yesterday, if you don’t mind, Mr. Reid.” Deveney’s tone made it plain that this was a command and only framed as a request for politeness’ sake.
    Sitting forwards again, Reid touched the pencil he’d put down on the blotter. Mimicking Deveney, he asked, “Why should I, if you don’t mind me asking? Surely you can’t think Claire had anything to do with Gilbert’s death?” He sounded genuinely shocked.
    “It’s a normal part of our inquiries,” soothed Deveney. “You should know that from watching the telly, Mr. Reid. We have to ask about everyone who was closely connected with Commander Gilbert.”
    Reid crossed his arms and regarded them steadily for a moment, as if he might refuse, then he sighed and said, “Well, I still don’t like it, but I can’t see any harm in it because there was nothing out of the ordinary. Claire had an appointment in the morning. I was in the shop, helping customers, dealing with some outstanding orders for materials, then I had an afternoon appointment myself. Claire left before I got back, a bit after four. She and Lucy had planned some shopping, I believe.” He paused for a moment, then added, “We don’t run a military ship around here, as you might have gathered.”
    “And when did you