Till We Meet Again

by Lesley Pearse

  Beth thought that Mrs Unsworthy would make a good witness for the defence for she spoke quite forcefully about how unfair it was that Susan spent her entire youth as a carer. ‘The poor dear came in here sobbing like a little girl the day she heard her father had left the house to Martin,’ she said indignantly. ‘She couldn’t believe her father could do that to her. And neither could we.’

  Beth decided to push things along a touch.

  ‘Another old friend told me Suzie had an affair with the gardener,’ she said, making herself giggle as if she didn’t believe it. ‘Could it be true, Mrs Unsworthy?’

  At that the old lady pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘Yes, she was carrying on with him,’ she said. ‘We used to hear them larking about in the garden late at night. His old van was always parked outside until my John asked him to put it somewhere else. Terrible old thing it was, all rusty.’

  ‘Why didn’t he put it on the drive?’ Roy asked.

  ‘I expect Suzie thought that would make it obvious he was staying the night with her,’ Mrs Unsworthy said. ‘Or maybe she was afraid Martin would see it.’

  ‘Were you shocked when she took up with him?’ Roy asked. ‘We heard he was like a gypsy.’

  ‘I’m not one to gossip,’ the old lady said, folding her arms across her chest. ‘That poor girl was owed a bit of fun after what she’d been through. But she could have done better for herself. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a snob. But he had nothing but the old van, and of course until we heard about Martin getting the house, we thought Susan would inherit everything. We were worried in case that man was a fortune-hunter.’

  ‘So did she run off with him?’ Beth asked. ‘I mean, when the house was sold.’

  ‘No, she must have come to her senses,’ Mrs Unsworthy replied. ‘Or maybe that brother of hers shook some sense into her. She went off in a van alone with all her furniture. Do you know, she didn’t even bother to come and say goodbye to us!’

  ‘Really!’ Beth exclaimed. She knew Susan had told both her and Steven that she’d left messages for Liam with her neighbour, and this had to be the one she meant. ‘Are you saying she didn’t even leave a forwarding address or anything?’

  ‘Not a word.’ Mrs Unsworthy pursed her lips. ‘She didn’t even tell me the date she was going. One day she was there, everything was normal. The next I saw a furniture van outside and a man carrying stuff out to it. If I’d known it was her leaving, I’d have gone over. But I thought it was Martin taking his ill-gotten gains.’

  It was very clear the old lady had been very fond of Suzie and had known her pretty well. She portrayed her as a very capable, calm, stoic and kind person.

  ‘How could she have gone off without a word to me?’ Mrs Unsworthy’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. ‘I was so hurt, I couldn’t understand why, especially as she’d run to me when her brother was so nasty to her. My John said she’d write in a week or two, but she never did. I didn’t even get a Christmas card from her.’

  Beth found that completely mystifying too. She had always thought of Susan as being the kind to be sentimental about people. And someone who had always cared for old people wasn’t likely to hurt the feelings of someone who had been kind to her.

  ‘Did she write to anyone or leave her address with someone else?’ Beth asked.

  ‘No one I know.’ The old lady sniffed. ‘Lots of other people from the village came and asked me the same thing. She was liked by everyone, you see. Everyone felt bad about what that brother of hers had done to her.’

  ‘Would she have left her new address with the people who bought The Rookery?’ Roy asked.

  Mrs Unsworthy shook her head. ‘They came and asked me if I had it some months after they moved in. There were a few letters for Suzie, you see. They knew there was some bad feeling between her and her brother, so they thought if they sent them on to him, he might not give them to her.’

  Beth looked at Roy questioningly.

  ‘Did the gardener come looking for her?’ Roy asked.

  ‘Not here he didn’t.’

  ‘Have you seen him since?’ Roy asked. ‘I believe he used to do lots of gardens in this area.’

  ‘Never clapped eyes on him again,’ she said quite firmly.

  ‘Can you think of anyone else in the village that might know where he is?’ Roy asked.

  ‘They might know at The Bell in Shottery,’ she said. ‘He drank down there a lot.’

  ‘Well, that was strange,’ Beth said as they got back in the car. ‘Why would Susan tell me she left her address for Liam when she didn’t?’

  ‘Because the affair was already over?’ Roy suggested. ‘Maybe she made up all that lovey-dovey stuff to make herself feel better about it?’

  ‘She convinced me,’ Beth said. ‘The only thing I found odd was that she seemed to get over him so quickly.’

  ‘Maybe she didn’t say goodbye to Mrs Unsworthy or keep in touch because of her pregnancy?’ Roy suggested. ‘You said she was the old-fashioned kind, perhaps she was ashamed, and didn’t want people talking about it?’

  Beth nodded in agreement. As she herself was the kind who never told anyone anything personal, she could perfectly well understand that. ‘Let’s give the pub a try, if that fails we can always go and look at Anne Hathaway’s cottage, it’s just by it.’

  The inside of The Bell at Shottery was disappointing. Beth had imagined that an old pub, so close to the tourist attraction of Anne Hathaway’s cottage, would have its old-world charm still intact. But it had gone the way of so many other pubs – fruit machines, piped music and wall-to-wall carpet. Not even a real log fire.

  Yet it was welcoming, with a Christmas tree and decorations still up, and as it was the wrong time of year for tourists, most of the customers appeared to be local.

  Roy bought a pint for himself and a glass of wine for Beth and they stayed at the bar while they considered who might be a likely person to ask about Liam.

  There was a small group of older men sitting by the pool table, their tweed jackets and sturdy boots suggesting they were farmers. ‘Shall we give them a whirl?’ he asked.

  ‘Go and ask them on your own,’ she suggested. ‘I’ll wander over if it looks as if you are on to something.’

  ‘I thought you were all for female emancipation.’ He grinned.

  ‘I am,’ she agreed. ‘But men of that age talk to other men more readily. Besides, you’re the super-sleuth, not me.’

  Taking his beer with him, Roy went over to the men. ‘I wonder if any of you could help me?’ he said. ‘I’m trying to track down a gardener by the name of Liam Johnstone. I’m told he drinks in here. Would any of you know him?’

  The men exchanged glances.

  ‘Was that the name of the long-haired gypo?’ one of the group asked a big man wearing a maroon waistcoat under his jacket.

  ‘Aye, his name were Liam,’ the big man replied in a rich Warwickshire burr. ‘I used to drink with him. Dunno where he is now though, haven’t seen him fer years.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ Roy said. ‘He used to do a friend’s garden. I thought his work was good. Any idea where I might find him?’

  The big man shook his head. ‘Plenty of folk have asked me that, and I’ll say the same to you as I said to all of them, he must have took off down South.’

  ‘Did you know him well?’ Roy asked. He liked the look of this old man who was at least seventy-five but fit and strong, with a weatherbeaten face.

  ‘I’d say so, we used to drink together. I liked him even if he did look like a gypo.’

  ‘Can I buy you all a drink?’ Roy suggested to the group. He thought it might oil the wheels of their memories.

  After four pints had been brought over, Roy turned to the big man, who had introduced himself as Stan Fogetty. ‘I was told Liam had a girlfriend in Luddington,’ he said. ‘Would you know who she is? I might be able to trace him through her.’

  ‘Only girl I know about was young Suzie Wright. But she ain’t around here any
longer either,’ Stan replied, then launched into the tale of how this same girl was robbed of her home by her brother. The indignation in his voice and the animation on the faces of the other men showed that this had been hot gossip around here at the time, and something they all felt strongly about.

  Beth sidled over at that point and she and Roy listened carefully, as if fascinated by a bit of local history. Stan’s version was much the same as Mrs Unsworthy’s, the only difference being that Stan was born and bred in Luddington and knew Charles and Margaret Wright much better than Mrs Unsworthy.

  ‘Reckon young Liam felt sorry for little Suzie,’ Stan said. ‘There was plenty that thought badly of him, like he was after what was coming to her. But I knew that weren’t true.’

  ‘What was he like then?’ Roy asked.

  ‘He were an odd bloke,’ Stan said thoughtfully. ‘Clever, well-educated, but a real nature boy, kept away from cities and didn’t give a toss about money and possessions. He were a kind man, he’d got friendly with Suzie when he was doing the Wrights’ garden, he liked her and thought she deserved better than being stuck in that house looking after her mum and dad. He used to say that to us all, didn’t he?’ Stan looked round at his friends and they all nodded in agreement.

  ‘So the parents died, and then what?’ Roy asked.

  ‘He just stuck by her,’ Stan shrugged. ‘He told me more than once she were very capable, but he didn’t think she could cope on her own.’

  ‘So where did she go when the house was sold?’ Roy asked.

  ‘Dunno,’ Stan said. ‘Went off without a word to anyone.’

  ‘Liam was still here then, I take it?’ Roy said.

  ‘No, he shot off about the same time.’

  ‘So he could have gone off with her then?’

  ‘No, not Liam.’ Stan grinned broadly. ‘He weren’t the settling kind. We had a drink one night just before the house was sold and I asked him if he’d be going with her. He said something to the effect that she needed a more normal bloke than him, and he was already getting a bit tired of her trying to straighten him out.’

  ‘What do you think he meant by that?’

  ‘Meals on time, fussing over him. You know what women are like!’

  Roy turned to smile at Beth. ‘Sounds like that poor girl got a raw deal all round,’ she said. Then, looking at Stan, she asked, ‘Why do you think her father left the place to his son? Had she done something which upset him?’

  ‘Well, my dear,’ Stan looked at her appraisingly, ‘it’s the way blokes like Charley think. Sons inherit, that’s the way it’s always been. Give it to the girls and they’ll just get married and the property goes out the family.’

  ‘A bit old-fashioned, and cruel in this case as Suzie had lived there for so long,’ Beth retorted.

  ‘A fool I’d call him.’ Stan grinned at Beth. ‘I used to go shooting with him at one time, nice enough bloke but he always got things all arse up. His boy was born during the war and by the time Charley got home he’d been spoilt by his mum and gran. He were the soft, bookish kind, a real disappointment to Charley. Don’t reckon they ever got on. Then Suzie came along and she were the apple of Charley’s eye. He taught her to shoot, y’know! She were good at it too, for a girl. Many’s the time I went out rabbiting with Charley and she came tagging along too.’

  ‘Really!’ Beth exclaimed. ‘But how strange, if he idolized her, that he wasn’t kinder to her later on.’

  ‘Well, like I said, he always got things arse upwards,’ Stan retorted. ‘When his wife had the stroke he seemed to change towards Suzie right away. Never said a word about what a little brick she were, just kept going on about how smart his son was, how well he’d done fer himself in the city. It made some of us mad, we all knew Martin was a snotty little bastard, who didn’t give a toss about his folks.’

  ‘So are you saying he left everything to Martin to kind of make up for not having much time for him when he was little?’ Beth said, trying to clarify what the man meant.

  Stan shrugged. ‘Sommat like that, I guess. Some said he did it to spite Susan because she got shirty with him when she suspected him of knocking off another woman. Some said it were Martin forced his hand. But whichever, it were a right shame. Suzie would have stayed here I reckon, married a local bloke, maybe had a couple of kids. She were a dyed-in-the-wool country girl.’

  ‘What a sad story.’ Beth sighed. She wondered what would happen in this pub when Susan’s trial began and they all discovered what else had befallen her. ‘To think we only wanted to find Liam to do our garden! Do any of you know other friends of his we could try? Or people he worked for?’

  Stan looked thoughtful. ‘I could give you a dozen names of people he worked for, but like I said when we first got chatting, there’s lots of people wanted his help when he moved on, and they couldn’t find him. Don’t know where ‘is folks are, or if he had any, he never said. Only place you might find out is down the police station.’

  ‘Police!’ Roy exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise.

  ‘Well, it’s a long shot, but they towed his van away. It had stuff of his in it.’

  ‘When was this?’ Beth asked.

  Stan scratched his head. ‘Years ago now. He left it parked up the lane from the Wrights’ house. Rusty old Volkswagen camper it were, he used to live in it. It were there for months, then someone nicked the wheels. No one had seen Liam for a while, so someone called the police to take it away.’

  Chapter thirteen

  ‘It’s very strange that Liam didn’t return to this area,’ Roy mused over dinner that night. ‘I could understand him scooting off for a while if he thought he was going to get a lot of flak about abandoning Susan in her moment of need. But you’d think he’d miss all those people he worked for.’

  They were in the restaurant of the Welcombe Hotel, a gracious country house hotel with its own golf-course, about a mile outside Stratford-upon-Avon, which Roy had booked them into. Beth had expected something small and quite ordinary, but it was very grand; it had a vast drawing room with a huge log fire, comfortable couches and armchairs, and sumptuous bedrooms. Beyond the windows of the restaurant were floodlit formal gardens and a splendid view of the golf-course and surrounding countryside. It was the sort of place which would be fully booked most of the year with golfers and tourists, but so soon after the New Year there were only a handful of guests and the other people in the restaurant that night were mainly locals.

  Stan had directed Roy and Beth to two other people in nearby villages who had employed Liam, so they had called on both of them after leaving the pub. Fortunately these people knew nothing about Susan Wright, so they didn’t have to listen to repeats of the saga about her dastardly brother.

  They had a far better picture of Liam now: reliable, hardworking, honest, well-educated and considered a real gentleman, despite his unorthodox appearance and lifestyle. He sounded a remarkable man, judging by the affectionate manner in which people spoke of him, even after several years’ absence.

  The first house they called at had several acres of garden and a swimming pool. Mrs Jackson, the wife of the surgeon who owned it, said Liam used to come to her every spring, and again in October for two weeks. He did the pruning, heavy digging and any tree or shrub planting. She said her husband had asked him dozens of times if he would be their full-time gardener, but he always refused. Apparently he found ordinary garden maintenance, mowing lawns and weeding too dull and he didn’t like to be stuck in one place for too long. Mrs Jackson said they were disappointed when he didn’t turn up as usual in the autumn of 1986. She thought he might have gone to Scotland as she knew he often spent the winter working for the Forestry Commission there.

  The second house they called at was just a cottage, but it had an equally large garden, most of which was woodland. The couple who owned it were in their eighties, both a little deaf and wandering slightly in their minds, so they couldn’t say with any accuracy what year it was when they last saw Liam. B
ut they did say he’d come to them every November for more than twelve years. They had always put him up too, as the weather was usually bad and he got so dirty cutting back the brambles and burning them. They were both touchingly wistful about him. They said they had always looked forward to him coming because he would also do little jobs around the house they could no longer manage, and they liked his company.

  ‘Why would he leave his van behind?’ Roy said as he poured Beth another glass of wine.

  ‘Maybe it had broken down?’ she suggested. ‘He might have known it wasn’t going to be worth having it mended. Could you check with the police here?’

  ‘I doubt they even have a record of it now. It would have been scrapped soon after it was towed away,’ he said. ‘Besides, I’ll get myself in hot water if it gets out I’ve been going around asking questions when I’m not on official police business.’

  ‘But you only stumbled on something curious while you were a civilian,’ she said. ‘You haven’t been a policeman today, just my friend.’

  ‘I don’t think it would be seen in that light.’ He grinned. ‘For one thing, we got Mrs Unsworthy to talk about Susan without revealing the true nature of our interest. I was her arresting officer, for goodness’ sake! Then in a nearby village we pretended we were looking for a gardener. If Stan and Mrs Unsworthy put their heads together, they might very well be ringing the local police themselves to complain about us.’

  Beth could see what he meant. ‘I wonder if I should tell Susan that I’ve been up here?’

  ‘I wouldn’t, not yet anyway. Let’s just see what unfolds.’

  Beth woke early the next morning, and for a brief moment was confused about where she was. But she reached out for the bedside light, and as soon as she saw the quaintly old-fashioned room with its chintz curtains, her confusion vanished.

  She got out of bed to make a cup of tea, but it was cold because the heating hadn’t come on yet. As she waited for the small kettle to boil, she pulled back the curtains and looked out.