Element of Doubt

by Dorothy Simpson

  Damon’s subdued mood was at once swept away by a gust of anger. ‘Don’t call him that! He’s not my father! My father was someone I never knew, someone I’d scarcely heard of!’

  ‘Jocelyn Haywood might have been your natural father, but Roland Tarrant was – is – your real father, and you know it.’

  ‘Do I? Then why didn’t he tell me the truth?’

  ‘For two reasons, I think. First of all, he loves you, and he wouldn’t have wanted to hurt you …’

  ‘Loves me,’ said Damon scornfully.

  ‘Yes, loves you. He’s been very worried indeed since it became evident that you hadn’t just gone to spend the night with friends. He’s rung up every day, twice or three times, to ask if there was any news of you …’

  Damon was listening as if he would like to believe what Thanet was saying but found it impossible to do so. ‘If he loves me why wasn’t he honest with me from the beginning? Surely he must have known I’d find out some time. It’s like when you’re adopted. Everyone knows it’s best to tell kids they’re adopted right from the start.’

  ‘Maybe. But you weren’t adopted, were you? Your situation was a bit more … delicate than that. What would you have wanted him to tell you? That your mother became pregnant by another man but he married her just the same? Also, he had to consider the other people involved, people who might be deeply hurt by the knowledge, like your aunt. If he’d told you from the start, as you suggest, how could he be sure that you wouldn’t have let slip the truth inadvertently? And you can hardly swear a small boy to eternal silence, can you?’

  ‘It’s all very well for you to say that! You can’t know what it’s like, to find out that no one is who you thought they were. Your father isn’t your father, your grandmother isn’t your grandmother … And, worst of all, you yourself are not the same person, but someone else …’

  ‘That’s not true, Damon. You are not someone else. You are yourself, you have the same genes, the same personality, the same appearance, the same mind, as you’ve always had. Oh look, I’m not saying this new knowledge doesn’t change things, of course it does, but it need not change them for the worse if you don’t let it. Your relationship with some of the other people around you will be different, yes, but maybe, and I’m thinking especially of your father, maybe things will be even better between you, now that this is out in the open. Just think how worried he must have been, that somehow you would find out, that it might drive you away from him.’

  Had Roland Tarrant even suspected that this might have been what had happened on Thursday? Thanet wondered. Surely not. After eighteen years he must have thought the secret was buried for ever. And yet … the clues had been there, scattered about, for anyone to read, as Thanet had read them …

  ‘I think, you know, that the best thing you could do would be to talk to him about it, as honestly as you can.’

  Damon was shaking his head. ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘Why not? Because it would be difficult, uncomfortable, embarrassing? Maybe it would be all those things, but one thing’s certain, it wouldn’t be nearly as difficult, uncomfortable or embarrassing as living the rest of your life saying nothing about it and trying to pretend none of this had ever happened. Because it has happened and nothing’s going to change that. You can’t wave a magic wand and make everything as it was before.’

  Damon was silent.

  ‘Won’t you at least give it a try? After all, what have you got to lose? And just think what you have to gain! I haven’t exaggerated his feelings for you, you know, as I think you’ll see when you discover how relieved he is to see you back. What’s more, with your mother gone, he’ll need you more than ever.’

  The boy glanced up, a gleam in his eye. ‘That’s true.’ His eyes glazed and he looked away, over Thanet’s shoulder, perhaps into a distant place where he and Tarrant encountered each other as equals for the first time. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ he said slowly. ‘What have I got to lose?’

  The battle, it seemed, was won. Thanet breathed an inward sigh of relief and then said carefully, ‘If you like, I could give you a lift. I have to go out to Ribbleden anyway … Ah, no, I suppose you have your car.’

  ‘Yes … But I think, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to go with you.’ Damon shook his head in disbelief. ‘You’re not like any other policeman I ever met.’

  ‘Policemen are people, like everyone else.’ Thanet slid off the desk, rubbing his buttocks, which had gone numb. ‘We even get pins and needles,’ he said with a grin.

  Damon grinned back at him. The smile transformed him, making him look much younger and, for the first time, carefree.

  Thanet felt a warm glow of satisfaction. Social-worker Thanet, he told himself wryly. Perhaps I’ve missed my vocation.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Beatrix Haywood had come to the door. ‘She’s in the garden. If you go around the side of the house …’

  It was six o’clock and a perfect June evening. The last of the clouds had rolled away and the sun had come out. Even though it was late in the day there had been enough heat to dry roads and pavements, roofs and driveways. Vegetation was another matter and gauzy veils of mist hung over the saturated landscape.

  After delivering Damon to a delighted and relieved Tarrant, Thanet and Lineham had come direct to the coach house. Now they followed the narrow stone path which ran along the side of the house towards the back garden. Backed by tall shrubs, its edges were softened by an overhanging tapestry of foliage plants in gold and silver and many shades of green. Over the end of the path, at the back corner of the house, was a trellised archway spangled with the shimmering white stars of clematis.

  At first the vista through the archway was blurred, indistinct, like the glimpse of a garden through a wrought-iron gate in an impressionist painting, but as they drew closer the view became more defined, blurs of colour resolving themselves into individual bushes or clumps of herbaceous plants. Even so, Thanet caught his breath as he stepped through the arch.

  It was, quite simply, the most beautiful garden he had ever seen. It was deceptively small and Thanet could not have analysed its charm, but it was obvious that nothing short of genius and an instinctive love of plants and knowledge of how to use them had shaped the magical harmony of form and habit, foliage and flower which lay about them. He had taken it for granted that Daphne Linacre must be knowledgeable about plants; despite the fact that she had had no formal training, the nursery was, after all, her living. But there had been no hint of the creative talent beneath that brusque, business-like exterior.

  She was bent double over a flower border, pulling out weeds. ‘Oh, no, not again’, she said as she became aware of the two policemen. She was wearing faded jeans and a cotton shirt, its sleeves rolled up above the elbows, and her face was flushed with exertion. She wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist and put her hands on her hips, squinting at their faces against the slanting sunlight. ‘What is it this time?’

  ‘We thought you’d like to know that Damon is safe and sound,’ said Thanet.

  ‘Really? Oh, that’s wonderful! He really is all right?’

  ‘Yes, he’s fine.’ Thanet gestured at a white-painted table and some chairs set out on a small paved patio near the back door. ‘Shall we sit down?’

  As he turned he caught a flicker of movement behind the open kitchen window. Beatrix Haywood was obviously anxious to know what was going on. He had every intention of ensuring that she did.

  There was a tray on the table with two glasses and a half-empty jug of lemonade.

  ‘Would either of you like a drink?’ said Daphne, raising the jug, obviously wishing to make amends for their rather cool reception. ‘I could easily get some more glasses. Or you could have something stronger, if you like.’

  Both men shook their heads and she poured a glass for herself and drank it off in one draught.

  ‘Phoo, that’s better. Gardening’s hot work in this weather.’

  ‘It’s beautif
ul,’ said Thanet, gazing around. ‘The most beautiful garden I have ever seen.’

  She looked pleased. ‘I’m glad. But I’m sure you didn’t come here just to discuss horticulture, Inspector, much as I should be delighted to do so. You were saying about Damon …’

  ‘We’ve just brought him home. He’s with his … father.’

  If Daphne had been aware of that deliberate hesitation she didn’t show it.

  ‘Where’s he been?’

  ‘Staying on a commune, in Surrey, apparently.’

  The heavy eyebrows went up. ‘A commune? How on earth …?’

  ‘He’d heard about it from a friend of his.’

  ‘But why did he go off like that, without telling anyone?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Thanet. ‘Now we come to it.’ He paused, then said, slowly and deliberately, ‘He went because of a conversation he overheard between you and Mrs Haywood.’

  He was certain he hadn’t imagined the alarm in her eyes as they flickered towards the open window behind them.

  But she must have prepared herself for this moment and her expression was merely of amused disbelief as she said, ‘Really, what an improbable story, Inspector! I’m afraid he’s been having you on. He’s rather good at that.’

  ‘I believe not, Miss Linacre. He was most specific. And what he told me merely served to confirm what I had already worked out for myself.’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Oh, I think you have, Miss Linacre. In fact, I’m certain of it. And I think it was as much of a shock to you as it was to him … to find out that his father was not Mr Tarrant, as he has naturally always assumed, but Jocelyn Haywood, your former fiancé.’

  Despite her carefully maintained façade the bald statement affected her, as he had hoped it might; briefly, the lines of her face sharpened as her jaw clenched. Then she said, ‘What a ridiculous idea! I don’t know what fairy stories you’ve been listening to, Inspector, but I think it’s thoroughly irresponsible of you to come here making wild accusations without an atom of proof.’

  Unfortunately, she had hit the nail right on the head. He had no tangible evidence that Damon’s story was true. He was certain that it existed, in some shape or another – unless, of course, it had already been destroyed – and by now he had a shrewd idea of how they had happened to stumble upon it, but the fact remained that his only real weapon against her was subtlety. Somehow he had to extract a confession, and it was obvious that this wasn’t going to be easy. She had had several days now in which to plan her strategy and it was clear what it was going to be: denial and more denial. It was, after all, only Damon’s word against hers and that, in the final account, would not be enough.

  ‘Accusation, Miss Linacre?’ He kept his tone, too, light and amused. Two could play at that game, he thought. ‘What accusation?’

  Briefly, she looked disconcerted. But she quickly recovered. ‘That it was my fault that Damon went away like that, of course.’

  ‘So you deny that any such conversation ever took place?’

  ‘Categorically.’

  ‘Strange.’ Thanet seemed to muse. ‘First we have one witness whose evidence suggests that you have been lying to us, now we have another … How many more people are you going to claim are “mistaken” before you admit the truth?’

  ‘Which is what?’

  He had to admire her nerve. She was actually trying to force him to a premature accusation! He considered: should he allow her to appear to do so? He came to a decision and sat back in his chair with every appearance of relaxation, aware that Lineham was watching him. The sergeant knew from past experience that when Thanet looked at his most relaxed, he was at his most devious.

  ‘Very well. I’ll tell you the truth as I see it. Please feel free to interrupt, whenever you wish.’

  ‘Last Thursday, the day your sister was killed, Mrs Haywood spent the afternoon up in the attic of the main house, sorting out stuff for the jumble sale yesterday. Now your sister, as we all know, was a compulsive hoarder, and my guess is that when she got married all her stuff from your former home came with her, and that much of it was never even unpacked but put, still in its boxes, up in the attic.’

  Thanet paused, expecting a denial, but it didn’t come. Daphne Linacre was listening with a tolerant, almost indulgent expression. He sent up a little prayer that his strategy was going to work and that he wasn’t making a humiliating mistake.

  ‘You’ve already told me that it was only after much persuasion and with considerable reluctance that your sister finally agreed to part with some of her discarded clothes, and that she stipulated which boxes Mrs Haywood was allowed to sort through.

  ‘Now my guess is that those were the oldest boxes, and that at least one of them contained stuff which dated from before she was married. And that in that box was something, I don’t know what – a letter, perhaps – which gave away the secret that Mrs Tarrant had carried for so long – the fact that her son Damon had been fathered not by her husband, but by another man, Jocelyn Haywood, her sister’s fiancé. Not a very pleasant thing to have happened, especially as her sister – you – had been away in hospital at the time, recovering from a perforated appendix.

  ‘And of course, the point is that Beatrix Haywood, who found this evidence, whatever it was, was the young man’s mother. She’s getting on a bit now, and this was all a tremendous shock to her. She’d had no idea that her son had had an affair with his fiancée’s sister, and certainly no suspicion that all these years she’d had a grandchild of whose existence she had been unaware. Also, of course, she was very angry on your behalf – you’ve been extremely kind to her, taking her in when she was homeless and generally treating her as the mother-in-law she would have been if her son had not died long ago.’

  Daphne was leaning back in her chair, apparently as relaxed as he, her fingers steepled across her stomach. Now Thanet noticed that the tips had gone white and that her hands were trembling slightly with the pressure she was exerting. Encouraged, he continued.

  ‘So, once Mrs Haywood had recovered from that initial shock her first instinct was to tell you what she had discovered. She came back here and rang you at work. I’m pretty certain she told you the news then and there, because you at once made an excuse for leaving work early and all the way home you brooded on what you’d learnt, working yourself up into a fury against your sister. Jocelyn Haywood had been the only man you ever loved, whereas Nerine had had countless admirers, serious or otherwise. For her to have stolen him from you, in your enforced absence, was betrayal of the worst kind. And for him to have given her the child that should have been yours by right … You simply couldn’t bear the idea.

  ‘You reached here at twenty to five, went indoors and demanded further details from Mrs Haywood, who showed you the evidence she had found in the attic. As soon as you had satisfied yourself that the story was true you stormed across to the main house, determined to have it out with your sister. You quarrelled, and during the course of that quarrel you lost control of yourself and threw her from the balcony.’

  Thanet paused, breath held, alert for the slightest sound from behind him. Was it going to work, was his gamble going to pay off?

  He prepared to play his last card. If this failed … He nodded at Lineham, who stood up.

  ‘Daphne Linacre, you are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so but what you say may be put into writing and given in evidence.’

  The kitchen door flew open with such force that it rebounded against the wall, and Beatrix Haywood came rushing out. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘No! You’ve got it all wrong.’

  Daphne was out of her chair in a flash. ‘Bea, shut up!’

  Mrs Haywood squirmed away from the arm which Daphne had flung around her shoulders. ‘No, I won’t. I can’t let you …’

  ‘Bea, stop. They’ve no proof, I tell you.’

  ‘I don’t care!’ It was a cry of total despair. ‘I can’t go on like this,
not for ever. It … I …’ She took a long, ragged breath and once again freeing herself from Daphne’s constraining arm turned to face Thanet. ‘It was me,’ she said. ‘I did it.’

  ‘What nonsense!’ cried Daphne. ‘She’s overwrought, she doesn’t know what she’s saying. Bea, you must go and lie down.’ Daphne took Mrs Haywood by the arm, presumably with the intention of propelling her towards the house, but yet again the older woman shrugged her off.

  ‘Daphne, it’s no good, can’t you see? They’d be bound to find out sooner or later, and in any case I couldn’t go on living like this for the rest of my life, I simply couldn’t.’

  Daphne shook her head in despair. ‘She doesn’t know what she’s saying. It’s all been too much for her.’ But there was no conviction in her voice now.

  There was a brief, exhausted silence.

  Then Beatrix Haywood sank down on one of the chairs, limbs splayed like a rag doll. ‘You have to believe me,’ she said. ‘Daphne had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘Would you like to make a verbal statement now?’

  She nodded, and once again Lineham delivered the caution. Then he sat down and opened his notebook.

  Beatrix was looking down at her lap, fingers plucking nervously at a loose thread protruding from a seam of the same flounced, flowery skirt in which Thanet had first seen her, topped today by a heavily embroidered white peasant blouse with long sleeves and draw-string neck. Her hair, as usual, was escaping from its bun. Eventually she said, as if it were all the explanation necessary, ‘She laughed at me, you see.’

  ‘Nerine did? When you went to see her?’

  A nod.

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Just after she had that row with Lavinia. I’d found the letter not long before. It was in the pocket of a yellow dress, and the envelope was still stuck down, it hadn’t even been opened. She hadn’t even cared enough to open it …

  ‘I recognised Jocelyn’s handwriting and although I knew I shouldn’t, I couldn’t resist reading it …’ She shook her head and rubbed her hand wearily across her forehead. ‘I’d give anything to turn the clock back and leave that letter unread, so that we could go on the way we always were, not knowing.’ She gave Thanet a despairing look. ‘They say that knowledge is power, but power can be evil …’