by JJ Marsh
“I’d rather keep an eye on Will.”
“That’s my job. He will be in safe hands. Anyway, some might say it’s romantic, arriving at the ceremony separately.”
Adrian allowed his head to fall back onto the cushioned headrest. “You are such a decent person, Matthew. Not to mention incredibly tolerant. Have you and Beatrice never thought of making it official?”
“It’s taken a quarter of a century to get her to live with me. One step at a time.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
After all the tension and drama of the day, Beatrice had expected sleep to elude her. When she opened her eyes and saw it was already half past nine, she was appalled. Why had no one sounded the alarm? Matthew’s side of the bed was empty, as was the dog’s basket. She pulled on her dressing gown and opened the bedroom door, only to hear the most glorious sound. From the bathroom, an off-key voice singing ‘Oh What a Beautiful Morning’ could be heard over the splashes of the shower. Will!
The smell of frying bacon floated up from the kitchen and she realised she’d eaten nothing since that chilli yesterday afternoon. Dragging on a jumper and jeans, she hurried downstairs to find Matthew at the Aga, creating a full English breakfast for three.
“Good morning. How are you? How is he?” she asked, crouching to greet Huggy Bear.
He looked up from the sausages. “I’m in fine form, if a little peckish. As for our guest, you can ask him yourself.”
Will stood in the doorway, fresh and fragrant in T-shirt and jeans, with a broad smile. “Morning! Something smells good.”
Beatrice burst into tears.
“Hey!” Will eased her up from her squatting position and folded her in his arms. “You’re not to cry on my wedding day. Everything’s fine. Ssh, now, ssh.” He patted and stroked her back just as she had done to the dog.
“I’m so sorry,” she snuffled into his T-shirt. “You could have died.”
“But I didn’t. You weren’t to know what she was capable of and anyway, it’s all over now. If you must cry, save it for the wedding. Because I’m getting married today!”
Matthew placed a piece of kitchen roll into her hand and she let go of Will to blow her nose and dab her eyes. “Thank you. I just feel so terrible about putting you in that situation. If I were you, I’d never forgive me. I should have listened to you and gone to the police.”
“Of course I forgive you. Neither of us could have predicted...”
“Sit please, breakfast is served,” said Matthew, placing three plates on the table.
“This looks fantastic,” said Will, choosing another chair after finding Dumpling asleep on the first. “I don’t remember ever being so hungry. Matthew, you should have a knighthood.”
“I think so too. Not everyone suits a ‘Sir’ before their name, but I think I’d sound quite magnificent. Toast?”
Will attacked his breakfast with gusto while he and Matthew discussed the Audi’s insurance. Beatrice was only half-listening, buffeted between swells of relief, affection, guilt and the demands of her own growling stomach.
“After the shock of hearing she’d totalled it, I wasn’t surprised. You’d have to be an exceptional driver or extremely lucky to handle my car under those conditions.”
“Judging by her own knocked-about vehicle, she was definitely not a good driver,” said Beatrice. “It all fitted with the ditzy earth mother persona. At least I’m not the only one to get it wrong. James told me she was highly recommended.”
“You didn’t get it wrong, though.” Will mopped up egg with a piece of toast. “She answered my questions. Even if I can’t find my notebook or phone or remember anything about what happened after that, I know what she said. You were right. Aged sixteen years old, Francesca Gwynne was referred to her for counselling. She was Dee’s client for over a year. What started off as an assumption of bullying turned out to be a case of sexual harassment. An older man hounded her, groped her, tried to lure her back to his house and on one occasion, he attempted rape.”
“Mason?”
“Francesca refused to identify him, but I’d say that’s more than likely.”
“So Dee should have reported him!” exclaimed Beatrice. “And if she already knew what kind of man he was but still accepted him as a client and embarked on an affair! Why on earth...”
“Perhaps she didn’t know it was the same guy,” Will said. “Mason sought her services for anger management issues, she told me. As for the affair, he was rich and influential, or at least pretended to be.”
“Maybe she found out and that’s what triggered her to...”
“STOP!” Matthew’s voice startled everyone, including the dog. He placed his knife and fork on his plate. “Today of all days, please stop being detectives. Forget the case and focus on what is important. For the next twenty-four hours, Adrian should be our only concern. Beatrice, you need to make your apologies. I’m not sure he will be quite as forgiving as his fiancé. Go and get into your wedding togs and I’ll drive you to The Angel. Will and I shall join you at Silverwood Manor at midday. Please. If only for today, just let it go.”
At eleven o’clock, a Volkswagen drew up outside The Angel. Out hopped Beatrice Stubbs in a calf-length silver dress with matching jacket and a pair of wellies.
Catinca, waiting in the hallway in a leopardskin onesie, dashed out to hand over a bag to Matthew. She paused to gaze at Beatrice and put a hand to her mouth.
“You look gorgeous! Wish I thought of wellies!” she said, her face creasing into laughter. “Here. His buttonhole. Good luck, mate.”
Beatrice hitched up her dress to cross the road, ducking behind a black SUV parked right outside the front door. The back window bore a logo: Dust Demons, with an image of a little devil holding a feather duster. She would have thought Glynis Knox would delegate Sundays to one of her staff. Cleaning the pub after a Saturday night was no one’s idea of fun.
The bar was empty and the door to the snug closed. A bucket held open the ladies’ toilets where waitress Amanda was mopping the floor. Beatrice kicked off her wellies and wrinkled her nose at the smell of disinfectant. She was just about to pad up the stairs in stockinged feet when she stopped. Amanda was The Angel’s long-suffering waitress, not a cleaner. Where were the Dust Demons?
A low murmur of voices came from the snug. Beatrice crept closer and eased open the door. Five women sat in an arc around the fire, holding mugs. Glynis Knox, Heather Shaw, Susie Hancock, Demelza Price and Frankie Gwynne looked over their shoulders, wide-eyed, as if she’d disturbed a nest of baby owls.
Susie broke the tension. “Good morning, Beatrice! Just having a coffee and a chinwag. Can I get you anything? That dress looks lovely on you! We’re all excited about Catinca’s outfit. She could teach us all a thing or two about fashion. How’s Will?”
“He’s fine,” Beatrice replied, her antennae twitching to the atmosphere in the room. “Everyone is incredibly relieved we found him before things got worse. I wanted to thank you personally, Susie, for pointing us in the right direction. We’re deeply grateful. The police asked me how you knew about the hide and I realised I had no idea. Why did you tell Gabriel to look there?”
Scant shafts of sunlight threw spotlights on dancing dust motes, the smell of stale beer and filter coffee overpowered the acrid stench of toilet cleaner and in the air, something else hovered. Tension. Everyone was holding their breath.
“It won’t make no sense to a Londoner, I’m sure,” Susie began. “To this village, St Nicholas Day is bigger than Christmas, bigger than Easter, Bonfire Night, Halloween and everything else. It’s ours. The day we all come together and celebrate our community. It’s also fierce competitive. Floats, music, stalls, decor and ambience are planned months in advance. Most groups prepare their floats in secret. Spies are everywhere!” she laughed.
The women joined in and Beatrice smiled, despite the lie-detector alarms in her ears.
Frankie took over, her face open and innocent. “When we prepare our float, we meet in secret. Up i
n the hide, no one can hear or see you. It’s never used in the winter so we could conceal our creations up there, have meetings, prepare our costumes and plan our strategy. Gaia was a part of our committee, so Mum and I had a feeling. If she was going to hide something, or someone, that’s where she’d do it.”
The fire spat and a shower of glowing sparks landed on the carpet. Susie jumped up to stamp on them and the women made a big fuss of assisting.
Heather tilted her head in an expression of concern. “Do you think it was a cry for help? The young man went to Gaia in desperation, looking for a way out. Out of compassion, she gave him what he needed and a place to hide. Maybe he didn’t want to be found. Why else would he drive all the way out to Appleford the day before his wedding?”
Anger roiled in Beatrice’s gut and the urge to spit out exactly what Will was doing burned in her throat. Instead, she shook her head, her eyes resting on each face as she looked around the room.
Susie Hancock, the object of Vaughan’s desire, succumbed or was forced into a one-night stand. Desperate to rid herself of this threat to her marriage, had she connected the dots to her own daughter’s distress?
Frankie Gwynne, profoundly affected by harassment by an unknown older male, had been educated by her grandmother as to the power of the forest.
Glynis Knox, whose Dust Demons vehicle was a large black SUV with a devil logo on the back, had a key to Vaughan’s house.
Heather, rejected, mistreated and bent on revenge, knew his habits of making a cassoulet on Friday lunchtime to last him the weekend and spending Friday evening in the pub.
Demelza Price, next door neighbour, could slip between the properties through her own garden, locking his doors and blocking her ears.
And Gaia Dee, the Black Widow, who ensured Vaughan was otherwise engaged on Friday afternoon.
Each had an alibi.
Not one of them had means, motive and opportunity
But together?
“No, I don’t think anything of the sort. That sort of speculation is not helpful and could hurt people’s feelings. Will is the opposite of suicidal. He is bursting with joy for life and cannot wait to get married. He loves Adrian and vice versa. They are a wonderful, perfectly matched couple who deserve to be happy. Now, I’m sorry for the interruption and I really must get on.”
“Thank you.”
She wheeled around to see Adrian standing in the doorway.
In his Dries Van Noten suit, ice-blue tie and matching pocket handkerchief, his eyes were full of tears. “I knew we should have made you best man.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
In Adrian and Will’s bedroom, Beatrice repaired her make-up while Adrian attached his buttonhole in the mirror.
“I cried when I saw Will, too.”
“Well you can stop it now or you’ll set me off again.”
“It’s going to be very hard. I keep getting these big emotional bursts of pride. You’re both so handsome.”
“Thank you. And you look stunning in that colour. Working that Helen Mirren silvery vixen vibe. You and Catinca are going to be such kick-ass bridesmaids. How’s this?” He twisted to show her his flower.
She shook her head and fiddled with his lapel. Neither spoke, reluctant to address the elephant in the room.
Eventually, Beatrice took a deep breath. “I want to apologise for yesterday.”
“Me too. I shouldn’t have shouted like that.”
“Yes, you should. I deserved it. Putting Will at risk was unacceptable and I’m truly sorry. I can’t bear to think...”
“Nor can I, so let’s not. Listen to me, Beatrice. I had a chat with Matthew. You and Will are always going to chase after justice, endangering yourselves and frightening the wits out of us. It’s not going to change. I have to accept that before I say my vows. I’ve forgiven you both already. Just for the next few hours, please can you be bridesmaid first and detective second?”
“I promise. There. You’re all done.” She stood beside him as he appraised himself in the mirror and gave a huge hiccupping sigh. “I don’t know why I’m so tearful today. It’s not as if I’m the mother of either groom. Maybe I’m just tired and overexcited.”
“So at four o’clock, we’d better put you and Luke down for a nap. Come on. Let’s get downstairs. Will and I have an extra present for you and Catinca.”
“I don’t deserve it,” she sniffed.
“I’ll be the judge of that. Now stop crying or you’ll go all blotchy.”
She held it together, mostly. When Catinca made her entrance, she took Beatrice’s breath away. The girl had made her own dress, a white strapless fitted gown with crystal-studded bodice and full skirt, accessorised with a white faux-fur shrug. Catinca had dip-dyed the dress so that it changed colour from brilliant white at the top to ice-blue at the bottom. She totally upstaged the groom and got a round of applause as she walked into the bar.
Adrian gave both bridesmaids a beautiful silver charm bracelet as a thank-you present. Each charm related to The Chronicles of Narnia. Catinca’s were a ship, a horn, a snowflake and a lamp, while Beatrice had a lion, a snake, a horse and a faun. They were still exclaiming over the delicate craftsmanship and how well they complemented their outfits when the silver MK2 Jaguar arrived, complete with white ribbons tied to the bonnet.
Groom and bridesmaids got into the vintage car and waved goodbye to the crowd outside The Angel. On arrival at Silverwood Manor, Matthew and Will stood waiting, all spruced up and shiny and although she had to swallow several times at the expression on Will’s face when he saw Adrian emerge, she still didn’t weep.
Thanks to their rehearsals, the ceremony went without a hitch. All through the vows and the emotion on the faces of those very dear men, Beatrice clutched at her tissues but held on to her tears. The dam broke only when Luke walked up the aisle carrying a cushion bearing two rings. The delight on his little face as he offered them up to Will and Adrian was too much and Beatrice dissolved, sniffing and blowing her nose loudly. Then it was all over and they were being bossed about by Catinca and Rose, herding everyone into position for the photographs.
In the dining room, Beatrice and Matthew could not find their seats until Catinca pointed out their code names. Colonel Mustard and Lady Lavender found they were seated at the top table which came as a surprise to them both. Matthew struck up a conversation with Adrian’s mother and sister so Beatrice turned to the man on her right. Without glancing at his name card, she could see the resemblance.
“Mr Quinn, I’m Beatrice Stubbs.”
He shook her hand. “I know. I’ve heard all about you.”
“Ah. Most of it is wild exaggeration so take it with an inch of salt. I apologise for blubbing in the ceremony. It’s just these boys are rather important to me and seeing them so happy tipped me over the edge, you see.”
“I understand completely. I’ve never seen Will so ... I don’t know how to put it. Happy, of course, but also, balanced. Adrian is a steadying influence on my son, who if left unchecked would let police work take over his life.”
“Happens to the best of us. What do you do, Mr Quinn?”
“Please call me Mick.”
A waitress moved around the table pouring white wine. Another placed bowls of chestnut soup in front of each guest.
“Thank you very much, that smells delicious!” Beatrice smiled up at her and turned her attention back to Adrian’s father-in-law. “All right, Mick, but only if you call me Beatrice. So, what line are you in?”
Mick Quinn looked over at his son. “The lad’s a chip off the old block, Beatrice. Like you, I’m an ex-copper. Cheers!”
Beatrice beamed. “Cheers! I knew I would enjoy this wedding but not quite this much. Now tell me, which force were you with?”
After the speeches, Beatrice began to feel the slightest bit squiffy. So many toasts, so much champagne and that was on top of all the wine. She decided to visit the ladies before enjoying her slice of wedding cake. The party had got to the s
tage where people were leaving their seats to chat with groups at other tables, swapping places, loosening ties and generally letting their hair down.
She excused herself and left the dining room. The foyer was quiet, cool and something of a relief after the reception, tempting her to sit down on one of the leather sofas and have a few minutes to herself. Yesterday’s emotional ups and downs combined with lack of sleep had drained her. But a horde of small children came screeching across the hall, on the hunt for something terribly important. She laughed to see Luke in their midst, red-faced and sweaty. She continued to the ladies’ toilet, all piped Vivaldi and fresh flowers. It reminded her just a touch of James’s practice.
After washing her hands, she took her time freshening up her make-up and sat on the little banquette to check her messages.
“Hello, Ms Stubbs, DI Axe speaking. I know you have a lot on today, but just to let you know we’ve opened a new enquiry into more than one suspicious death connected to Gaia Dee. One of those is Vaughan Mason. I can give no more details at present, but out of courtesy for your ... erm ... assistance, I wanted you to know. What I would say is that we have this under control and further participation from your side is not required. If we need your help, we’ll ask for it. We will be speaking to DS Quinn in the New Year in the hope he’s recovered some memory of last night’s events, although I’m not optimistic. Unlikely as it sounds, we might have a better chance with the cold cases. If so, I’ll let you know. Have a good wedding, wish them both my best and merry Christmas to you all.”
Beatrice stared at the hand dryer. So Gaia Dee had done it more than once before. An all-too-familiar heat of righteous anger surged in her stomach. Mainly for Will. She imagined his body lying in the cold and dark, face pale, lips blue and eyes closed. Leaving him there could have ended in tragedy and Gaia Dee must have known that. Now she would never face justice for what she had done. But there was still the question of her possible collaborators. Her nails were digging into her palms so she forced herself to take a deep breath and relax.
