The Windmill Café

‘Hello? Is that the environmental health department? No? Well, put me through to them. Why not? Yes, my name is Felix Dawson and I want to report a severe case of food poisoning. Am I speaking to the right person? I don’t want to have to repeat myself.’

‘Thank you for coming, Doctor,’ murmured Rosie, her emotions swirling through her body so fast that she felt lightheaded and disorientated. ‘You will ring me if anyone else gets sick, won’t you?’

‘I promise to keep you informed. If it is food poisoning, then I think I’m going to be in for a very busy evening. Weren’t most of the residents of Willerby guests at the garden party this afternoon?’

‘Probably.’

‘Well, whatever Miss Richards ingested to make her so ill, it was exceptionally fast-acting. The garden party guests would already be dropping like flies. I take it no one else in your party has experienced similar symptoms?’

‘No.’

‘Please try not to worry, Rosie. It’s by no means a foregone conclusion that Suki’s illness is connected to the food you and Mia, and, if I understand it correctly, the members of the local Women’s Institute, prepared.’

‘I really don’t understand why you can’t send someone down here immediately. We could have an epidemic on our hands! How will it look when it’s reported in the local press that a concerned resident reported the matter and the council did nothing? Of course I know what time it is. How is that relevant? I demand that you… hello? hello? Imbecile!’ Felix pressed the ‘end call’ button in a rage.

‘Mr Dawson, rest assured I will be in touch should there be any further reports of food poisoning from the garden party guests. I will most certainly ascertain from them full details of what they ate and drank so we can narrow down the possible cause. Until then, I suggest you utilize your energy by ensuring Miss Richards is well-hydrated and continues to rest.’

Rosie saw a flash of irritation sweep across Felix’s expression and she thought he was going to launch into an argument with the doctor, but at the last moment he thought better of it.

‘Yes, of course, Doctor. All I want is for Suki to get well so we can leave this germ-ridden place as quickly as possible.’ Felix stowed his phone in his pocket and marched off towards the luxury lodge he shared with Suki.

‘You know,’ muttered Mia, her eyes narrowed as she followed his retreating figure. ‘I wouldn’t put it past him to have poisoned Suki himself!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, apart from his totally impersonal reaction to Suki’s suffering – preferring to concentrate on calling in the authorities rather than consoling his girlfriend – what if he arrived earlier than we thought at the garden party and saw Suki disappearing with Freddie in tow?’

‘Mia, you really do have an over-active imagination…’

‘No, Matt, hang on a minute. Mia might have a point. Except, I don’t think it would be Suki that Felix would poison – it would be Freddie. Oh my God!’ Rosie’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Freddie! Where is he? He was the last person with her before she was found clutching her stomach in agony! Has anyone told him what’s going on?’

The three friends exchanged glances and shook their heads.

‘We’ve got to find him. Come on! Hurry!’

Chapter 8 (#ulink_f6d03f42-797e-5957-b8d5-a877ca73812b)

‘We can’t just go haring off. We have no idea where to start looking.’

‘Well, I’m calling him right now!’

Mia scrambled around in her bag for her phone and selected Freddie’s number. Rosie stared at her, fingers crossed in her pockets, praying for Freddie to answer with his usual chirpy greeting. But her personal deliverer of good news was off-duty, sadly not a rarity these days, and Mia’s call went to voicemail.

‘Freddie, it’s Mia. Call me back as soon as you get this message. It’s urgent!’

‘We should at least go round to his house. What if he’s lying in agony, just like Suki, unable to reach for the phone to call the doctor?’

The very thought caused a spasm of pain to slice through Rosie’s abdomen. Just because Suki hadn’t been allergic to whatever had caused her to become so ill, didn’t mean Freddie, or anyone else for that matter, wouldn’t be. Was the reason he wasn’t answering his phone because… because it was too late?

‘Come on. Let’s try his flat first.’

They all jumped into the mud-caked SUV sporting the purple logo of Ultimate Adventures and Matt skidded away from the Windmill Café car park, sending a scattering of gravel and dust in their wake like confetti at a wedding. No one spoke during the five minutes it took to drive to the Willerby village post office above which Freddie rented a studio apartment. Rosie spent the whole time fighting her runaway thoughts that insisted on racing down myriad disturbing avenues of possibility.

When they arrived at the post office, Matt was the first to leap from his seat and together they ran to the front gate. The density of the summer foliage on either side of the pathway leading to his door drowned out all ambient noise, even the birds seemed to have taken a break from their nightly choir practice. Peace prevailed and the warm August breeze caressed Rosie’s skin like a lover’s whisper. For a few blissful seconds she felt as though there was no stomach-churning conundrum to unravel and they were just paying a friendly visit to Freddie to chat about his day at Ultimate Adventures. Sadly, her pleasant reverie was rudely interrupted when Matt began hammering on Freddie’s front door.

‘Freddie? Freddie?’

Rosie stepped back to look at the upstairs window, but there was no sign of life.

‘Freddie?’ called Mia through the letterbox, her face almost translucent in the amber light from the streetlamps that illuminated the garden.

Rosie hadn’t known Freddie for long, but, just as with Matt, she had connected with him straight away. She would never forgive herself if anything had happened to him. But the uncertainty was tearing at her mind so much that if they didn’t find him alive and well in the next few minutes she would be looking at her sanity in the rear-view mirror. All she felt like doing was opening her mouth and screaming, screaming until her voice cracked, but she knew she had to be brave and hang onto her emotions until they had the answer to the cause of Suki’s poisoning – then she could indulge in a falling-to-pieces scenario.

Matt gave up pounding on the door and sprinted round to the back of the property, leaping over the white picket fence like an Olympic hurdler. Rosie and Mia followed him, managing to negotiate the fence in a much clumsier fashion.

‘Do you think he’s…’ began Mia, hugging her arms to her chest.

Rosie slid her arm around her friend’s shoulders as Matt searched beneath the flower pots for a key.

‘Got it!’

Rosie followed Matt up the steep staircase to Freddie’s flat, but a cursory glance told her straight away that Freddie wasn’t home. It wasn’t the typical bachelor pad – practical, functional, devoid of any real personality – but filled with gem-coloured cushions, throws and vibrant watercolours. She itched to adjust the furnishings, to straighten the picture above the mantelpiece that had been knocked off-centre, to wipe the dribbles of ash from the hearth, to clear the benches of the detritus of Freddie’s breakfast, but she managed to rein in her errant impulses.

‘What are we going to do?’ whimpered Mia.

It was suddenly all too much for her and she burst into tears. Rosie dragged her into a hug, and with relief allowed the tears to fall down her own cheeks. Over Mia’s shoulder she watched as Matt rubbed his palm across his jawline, his eyes sombre, his brain working overtime.

‘I’m going to ring a couple of Freddie’s friends from the band. Maybe he’s with them, boasting about his dalliance with a famous rock musician.’ And he ran down the stairs into the back garden to make the calls.

‘Where do you think he is, Rosie?’

‘I have no idea, but I’m sure he’ll be okay wherever he is. Look, I’m going to ring Dr Bairstow to see if he’s had any more callouts.’

Rosie tried to extricate her mobile from her handbag, but her fingers were shaking so much that she lost her grip and the phone tumbled to floor. She bent down to retrieve it and again, the feeling of light-headedness almost engulfed her, forcing her to slump onto Freddie’s surprisingly chintzy sofa and wait for the moment to pass.

She needed to staunch the anxiety gnawing at her stomach for the time being, and ignore the fact that if she lost her job at the Windmill Café she would also lose her home. She thought she had moved on from the distressing events that had taken place in London, had even started to see an improvement in her compulsion to clean, but it seemed that dark grey raincloud had caught up with her again.

‘Hello, Dr Bairstow, it’s Rosie Barnes here. I just wondered whether there’s any news on new cases of food poisoning?’

‘None. I’ve called a couple of pals who were with you this afternoon and they all told me that not only are they fit and well, but they thoroughly enjoyed the garden party and are hoping that you will organize something similar at Christmas. I’ve also spoken to my colleague in Hamsterly, Doctor Mullins, and he’s having a very quiet evening, too – no callouts. I’m cautiously optimistic that the cause of Suki’s illness did not originate in the Windmill Café’s food. I promise to press the lab technicians for a swift result on the blood tests so I can completely put your mind at rest.’

‘Thank you, Doctor, that’s very kind of you. Could I ask you one final question? Have you heard anything from Freddie Armstrong at all? It’s just, erm, well, he left the garden party with Suki and we saw them go back to her lodge. He wasn’t there when Felix found Suki so we’re worried about him. He could have eaten or drank whatever Suki did – we’re having trouble contacting him and he’s not at home.’

‘I’m sorry. I haven’t had any calls about Freddie. Suki didn’t mention the fact she had a visitor in her lodge when I examined her. Of course, I understand her reticence. Have you asked Suki what happened to your friend?’

‘No.’

‘Then, I think that’s your next conversation. If I can help any further, please let me know.’