Delma said nothing.
“And if they start asking about my business interests,” he went on, “you’ll tell them I’m in import export, Bulgarian wines. I do have a scheme going with a friend out there, so if they investigate it’ll come up kosher, but you tell them as little as possible, is that clear?”
Still she was silent. He obviously took it for agreement.
“Good girl.” He smiled at her, just as if there’d been no confrontation, but she didn’t smile back.
“You’d better get going,” he said dismissively, “or that husband of yours will be wondering where you are.”
Delma made good her escape. She left the room and hurried through the hall and up the stairs to her bedroom. Once inside, trembling and feeling sick, she flung herself on the bed and buried her face in a pillow.
* * *
Fabia was preparing a meal for herself and Anjali when the doorbell rang. She put down the knife with which she’d been chopping onions, ready to make shepherd’s pie, wiped her hands on a cloth, and went to open the door to find John Meredith standing on the doorstep. “John, come in, have you any news for us?”
“I was going to phone,” John said, “but then I thought I could pop in on my way home.”
“Come through, Anjali’s in the sitting room,” Fabia said. She didn’t remark on the fact that Pontygwyn could hardly be on his way home, since he lived on the other side of Newport.
Anjali had been curled up, dozing in front of the fire, which flickered comfortingly on the cold November night. She was worn out after the emotions of the day, but she rose as they came in, an enquiring look on her face.
“Sit down, John,” Fabia said, “can I get you a drink, glass of wine, tea?”
“A cup of tea would be great,” he said.
“And for you, Anjali?”
“Tea please.”
He turned to Anjali, “I thought I’d come in and have a word about Caradoc’s will and where we go from here.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Anjali said, and Fabia was relieved to hear her add, “but can we wait till Fabia gets back before you start? I’d like her to know what’s going on.”
When Fabia returned with the tea, they were sitting side by side on the settee and Anjali was telling John about Mauritius and her family. Only when they were all holding warm mugs of tea, and Fabia was settled in an armchair by the fireplace, did John begin.
“When you met Caradoc in London, did he tell you what changes he was planning to make to his will since he’d found out about you?”
“No, not really.” As she spoke, she twisted the silver bangles on her wrist round and round, but Fabia didn’t think she was conscious of doing so. “He just said he’d be changing it.” She frowned. “How did he put it? I think he said he’d make things right, and he said he’d be leaving something to Maman as well, but he didn’t say what.”
“That’s easy to tell you. He’s left her a Welsh gold locket. It belonged, originally, to one of his ancestors, Cornelia Mansell–”
Anjali smiled. “The woman who brought all the money into the family in the eighteenth century?”
John looked surprised. “The very same.”
“Caradoc told me about her when we met. She sounded quite formidable.”
“I think she probably was. The tradition, Caradoc told me, has always been that the locket is passed to the wife of the eldest male, which Caradoc was in his generation, but for some reason he never gave it to Elizabeth, and he was adamant that he didn’t want it to go to Rodric’s wife, Delma. In a way, I suppose he felt leaving it to your mother is an acknowledgement of his relationship with your grandmother.”
Her eyes wide and glistening, Anjali pressed a hand to her lips, but said nothing.
After a moment, John went on. “I haven’t brought the actual will with me. I thought I ought to show it to the family first, particularly Rodric, but I can tell you which parts affect you. I don’t think they know that he made these changes, nor do I think they know about you.”
“When we met in London,” Anjali said, “Caradoc told me he hadn’t told them about me. It worried me at the time, it does even more now. Maybe he said something when he got home, I don’t know.”
Fabia intervened. “But I’m sure they’ll be pleased to meet you.” She was sure of nothing of the sort, but she felt the need to say something comforting. “Don’t you think so, John?”
He looked doubtful but didn’t give her a direct answer, just turned back to Anjali. “What I thought I should tell you is that Caradoc e-mailed me from London on Sunday evening with the changes he wanted made, and he came into the office on his way home on Monday to sign the new will. I did suggest he should think about it for a few days. I’m sorry, but I thought he was being a little impulsive.”
“I’m not surprised!” Anjali said with a worried frown. “I really didn’t want him to do anything, well, not immediately.”
“He was always one for quick decisions, Caradoc,” John said with a slight smile. “Once he’d made up his mind to do something, there was no stopping him. The estate is entailed, so the realty, that’s the land, the Abbey and other properties, goes to Rodric as the eldest, but Caradoc was free to leave all the contents to whomever he chose. Apart from some specific legacies, he’s left all the personalty – that’s his possessions, the horses, and the contents of a small savings account – to you.”
It struck Fabia that, on hearing this sort of news, most people would at least be pleased and show some curiosity about the details, but all Anjali did was look absolutely aghast and say, “Oh no! The family is going to hate this. How could he do that to them?”
John seemed to be as taken aback as Fabia. “Well, it seems he wished to make up for what I think he saw as his desertion of your grandmother. He told me he’d never wanted to leave her, and it was only when he lost touch with her, some years later, that he married Elizabeth. He called it a marriage of convenience. I have no idea how she felt about it.”
“The poor woman. Do you think she knew?”
“I never knew her. Did you, Fabia?”
“Yes, but not very well. She was very reserved, a quiet presence. My father once told me that she and her sister came from a very difficult background. Their parents were deeply religious, part of some extreme religious sect, and he thought she married Caradoc to escape from them. I don’t think it was a particularly happy marriage.”
“It’s all so sad,” Anjali said.
“Yes,” John said, “but one thing I do know is that meeting you made Caradoc very happy indeed, in fact I’d never seen him in such a jubilant mood before.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “That makes me feel a little better.”
“There will be some legal work to do in authenticating your claim. We have to prove” – there was an awkward little pause – “that you are who you say you are.”
“I do have copies of my and Maman’s birth certificates with me,” Anjali told him. “And a letter that Caradoc wrote to my grandmother telling her that he was being sent home. It’s very fragile now. I think she read it often. And I have his signet ring that he gave to Gran-mère. I showed it to him when we met.”
Fabia could tell she was making an effort to keep her voice steady.
“Good,” said John, giving her an understanding smile. “I think we must arrange to introduce you to Rodric – in my office perhaps? But I just thought you should be forewarned about the will before that meeting. I think the best thing to do is to ask Rodric to come in, say on Monday morning, and I’ll bring him up to date on the situation. Then perhaps Fabia could bring you in and I can introduce you, before you meet the rest of the family. Would that be okay?”
Anjali nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“I’ll let you know if I manage to fix it up.”
Fabia got up to see him out and, as she did so, her phone rang. “Hallo?” she said.
“It’s me, Matt.”
“Hi, Matt, look
can I phone you back? I’m just saying goodbye to John.”
“Oh? What – never mind. It doesn’t matter.” He cut off the call.
Fabia frowned and wondered what was up with him, then she followed John into the hall.
“I’m sorry, Fabia,” he said. “I thought this would only be for two or three days, but it looks as if she’s going to have to stay on until the weekend. I do hope that’s okay with you?”
“It’s not a problem, John, she’s no trouble.” Fabia’s mind was half on him and half on Matt’s strange call.
“So long as you’re sure,” he said.
She pushed Matt into the back of her mind and smiled at John. “Actually, I’ve rather taken to her, and it’s good to have company.”
He gave her a shrewd look. “Are you okay, in yourself? I know you’ve had a hard time these last few months.”
“I’m fine,” she assured him, wishing she felt as confident as she sounded.
When she came back into the room, Anjali was still sitting there staring into the flickering fire.
“I think,” Fabia said, “that it’s time for a drink, and I don’t mean tea!”
Chapter 8
In his office, Matt sat looking at the mobile in his hand as if it had offended him. Why was John Meredith at Fabia’s? Hari’s words came into his mind, ‘someone else will snap her up’. Nah, don’t be stupid, he told himself, and was relieved when Dilys knocked on his office door and came in. They were both weary and ready for home, but there was one more thing they needed to talk about.
“This is going to be awkward,” Matt said, looking across at Dilys as she sat down in a chair opposite his desk. “With the old man dead, and Hari Patel doubtful about the cause, barging in to question his daughter-in-law’s brother is going to seem a tad intrusive.”
“Intrusive!” exclaimed Dilys. She had no such sensitivities. “That’s as may be, sir, but we really shouldn’t wait now we’ve got this information.”
“True. Okay, go over it again for me.”
“Tom Watkins, you know, that young PC who’s the size of a prop forward?”
“I remember him well from when we were making the arrest for the two murders in Pontygwyn, a useful lad to have around.”
Dilys grinned. “He is, and he’s bright as well. Anyway, as you know he was seconded to the Swansea force for an undercover job – they wanted someone from outside the area. He was doing a job with this nasty little fascist group, they call themselves Milwyr Dragon Cymru which translates as the Welsh Dragon Soldiers.
“I know that, Dilys! I’m not fluent like you, but I do have some Welsh.”
“Sorry, sir,” Dilys said, but the apology was perfunctory. “Anyway, a damn cheek, I call it, appropriating the Welsh dragon, that really winds me up, that does.”
Matt grinned but didn’t comment.
“They’re based in Swansea,” she went on, “and they have other branches, I suppose that’s the right description, in other parts of Wales, but they’re doing their best to spread their poisonous message further afield. They’re known to have connections with other fascist groups in Germany, Hungary, Bulgaria and possibly further afield. Anyway, this Cotter bloke turned up at one of their meetings and PC Watkins was there.”
Dilys pulled her laptop towards her and clicked away for a minute, then turned the screen round so that Matt could see what she’d brought up. “Tom had one of those mini cameras on him. The picture’s not very clear but the conversation comes across well enough.” She pointed at the screen. “That bloke there is one of the buggers we’ve got our eye on. He’s a Swansea villain called Wayne Shuttleworth – good Welsh name that, I don’t think! And this one here, just in the picture, is one Kevin Rees, been inside for petty thieving and a spot of GBH; and this one, with his back to us, is our London friend.”
“Can you turn up the volume a bit?”
Dilys did so and they both leant forward to study the screen as they listened. After about five minutes she closed the laptop. “That’s all Tom managed to get, but it’s pretty useful, I’d say. Cocky bastard, isn’t he? Comes over as if he thinks he’s dealing with a bunch of idiot provincials that he can manipulate as he wishes.”
“May not be far wrong with that lot.”
“I s’pose.”
“Um,” Matt said as he leant back in this chair. “So, what it seems he’s offering is some pretty substantial financial help based on these ‘valuables’ he says he’s got hold of. He didn’t mention the Mansells by name, but he did say he could – what was it – ‘get access through my sister’. I don’t suppose he’s got another sister stashed away?”
“The Met info on him says there’s just the two of them, their parents are dead.”
“What are these valuables that he’s talking about?” Matt wondered.
“We don’t know yet, except for that business with the silver. I suppose his sister could have pinched the stuff and given it to her brother to fence – he’s a dealer, he’s probably got plenty of contacts, and then maybe when her husband found out, it was hushed up. And from what I’ve seen of that place, it’s so full of treasures no-one’s going to miss one or two, at least, not until it’s too late to do anything about it.”
“Lord, this makes the whole situation that much more complicated. Makes my brain hurt.” Matt yawned and stretched. “Okay, Dilys, let’s call it a day.”
But Matt couldn’t escape quite so easily. Just as he was putting on his coat, Tom Watkins poked his head round the door. “Can I have a word, chief?”
Matt sighed. “You still here Tom, haven’t you got a home to go to?”
Tom grinned. “Won’t take long, sir.”
“Okay, what is it?”
“That Cotter bloke–”
“Dilys and I were just talking about him. We watched your recording, well done.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ve just found out he’s been down talking to his Nazi pals in Swansea again. One of my contacts came through earlier on. He used to be a member of this Welsh Dragon Soldiers outfit, then he got fed up with them, said they were getting too extreme, but he still has contact with one or two of them. Apparently, Cotter’s been blowing his mouth off again about the Mansells.”
“Did he mention them by name this time?”
“Yes, he did. He was going on about some ‘good stuff’ he’s got hold of, said it’d make a packet for their campaign funds. He’s also been talking about being owed money by Garan Price, the pub landlord. Didn’t you say he’s part of the family?”
“Yes, Caradoc’s illegitimate son.”
“You don’t say! How’d you find that out?”
“Fabia Havard told me.”
“Aah.” He saw the look on Matt’s face and thought it best not to remark on this further. “We should interview him about Caradoc, shouldn’t we?”
“Yes,” Matt said, slightly irritated. “Anyway, what else has Cotter been up to?”
“He’s told a couple of them boyos down there that he might want them to have a go at this Garan, rough him up a bit to ‘encourage him’ to pay up.”
“Has he now? Incitement to violence. I’ll add that to the list we’ve got on him. I was talking to Dilys about bringing him in for questioning, Cotter that is.” Matt sighed, thought for a moment, then made a decision. “In spite of the other situation, I think we’ll have to go ahead. Let’s get him in tomorrow morning, first thing. You can’t go, he might recognise you, it’ll have to be a couple of the others. Is Dave Parry here?”
“I think so, sir, shall I send him in?”
“Yup, and Tom…”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good work.”
“Thanks, sir. I’d be delighted to help put that load of shit away.”
PC Dave Parry came in a few minutes later. Like Tom Watkins he was a big man, another rugby player, but older and more traditional in his attitudes.
Matt explained what he wanted. “Pick him up good and early tomorrow. Make it clear this is just an
informal chat at this stage, and take that new PC with you, Gooding, she seems to be shaping up well.”
“Shouldn’t I take one of the men, sir, in case this Cotter gets nasty?”
“I don’t think he’ll risk that at the moment, and I’m sure she can handle herself perfectly well. Dilys tells me she’s a black belt in some kind of martial art.”
“If you say so, sir.” Dave Parry obviously wasn’t impressed, but Matt ignored his reservations.
As Matt drove home, he wondered if he should phone Fabia to bring her up to date. No, better not. John might be there.
* * *
At White Monk Abbey, the family was sitting round the kitchen table for the evening meal. It had been Nonna’s suggestion they eat in the kitchen, something that had rarely been allowed when Caradoc was alive, but she’d said it would make things easier for her, and nobody had argued. Mike was absent. He’d announced he was going to get out of their way, as if he was doing them a favour. In truth he was. Not one of them wanted him around, particularly not his sister.
Rodric was the last to arrive, as he’d taken a call on his mobile just as Nonna had announced the meal was ready. He came in looking angry and haggard.
Nonna looked at him sharply. “What now?” she said.
He threw himself down in a chair, leant back and crossed his arms in a characteristic pose. “That was John Meredith. It seems Father did make changes to his will, but John doesn’t want to talk about the details on the phone.”
“Why not?” Delma snapped.
“He was being all mysterious, bloody annoying in fact. He wants me to go into his office on Monday to go through it all.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Delma.
“So will I,” added Megan.
“No!” he barked, then took a deep breath and said, with barely controlled calm. “John says just me at the moment.” But the calm didn’t last. “It’s preposterous. He says after he’s spoken to me, he’ll come and speak to all of us. That’s when he’ll bring everyone up to date on what’s happening, all the interested parties, as he called it, like one of those ridiculous reading the will scenes. I don’t know what the hell all the mystery is about. It’s just not good enough.”
Murder at the Old Abbey Page 8
