The Temptation

by Vera Morris

  ‘I understand you want to ask me some questions? Where is Mr Diamond today?’

  ‘He had another line of enquiry to follow up. I’m sorry he couldn’t be here. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with me.’ She gave him her best smile, implying that it wasn’t such a bad bargain.

  ‘My dear Miss Bowman, I assure you, you are a more than adequate substitute.’ His face creased in a warm smile, lighting up his brown eyes.

  He wasn’t as bad as Frank had described him, but then Frank was biased.

  ‘Before you begin I must ask you if there’s been any progress? I know it’s only just over a week since Mr Diamond came to see us, but …’

  Laurel hesitated, unsure how much she should reveal. ‘I can’t go into details, Mr Pemberton, but although we aren’t any closer to finding out what happened to David, our investigations are taking us into new territory and we hope what we find out will throw light onto David’s disappearance.’ What a lot of words for so few, if any, facts.

  Pemberton shook his head and smiled. ‘Very diplomatic, you’d have made an excellent lawyer.’

  Laurel smiled. ‘Someone said yesterday I should join the police force, and today it’s a career in the law! What will tomorrow bring?’

  Pemberton raised is eyebrows. ‘Perhaps modelling? You have the height and if I may say, the face and figure.’

  Not such a grumpy old solicitor after all. ‘Thank you, but I think I’d get bored prancing up and down a catwalk. Is Mrs Pemberton available if I need to speak to her?’

  The frown reappeared. ‘I’m afraid she’d feeling under the weather, a nasty headache; she’s lying down and doesn’t want to be disturbed.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  The door opened and a delicious smell of fresh coffee preceded Ann Fenner, who was carrying a loaded try. ‘Thank you, Ann.’

  Laurel noticed the smiles exchanged between them, and Ann Fenner blushed as Adam Pemberton praised some fairy cakes she’d brought in. She poured out the coffee and Pemberton watched her as she left the room.

  ‘I don’t know what we’d do without her. She’s so calm and efficient.’

  Unlike your wife? ‘Mr Pemberton, I know Mr Diamond talked to you briefly, but I do need to ask you a few questions. I have read your statements to the police and the other detective agency, but they don’t tell me about your feelings, your, if you’ll pardon the phrase, gut response at the time David ran away.’ She took a sip of coffee; as good as it smelt.

  Adam Pemberton looked alarmed. ‘Gut response? I’m not sure we should place much weight on such things, Miss Bowman. I prefer to work from hard facts when I’m dealing with a client. I don’t think a gut response would warrant a reasonable fee.’ He smiled at her. ‘I presume you aren’t talking about indigestion?’ He gave a tight laugh at his own witticism.

  She laughed politely. ‘Mr Pemberton, bear with me. Haven’t you sometimes made decisions based on how you felt about someone, rather than on references, or someone else’s opinion? For example, when you appointed Miss Fenner. How did you feel when you interviewed her?’

  Pemberton rubbed his cheek. ‘Yes, I see what you mean. Miss Fenner made a good impression on me and I was sure she’d be an asset. That was before I read her testimonials and references. Now Carol wasn’t too keen on her, but when she read her references she agreed to take her on. She’s been excellent.’

  She wondered why Carol Pemberton didn’t like Ann Fenner. ‘This proves you’re a good judge of character, Mr Pemberton. I know this may be painful, but I’d be interested to know your feelings about your son, and also how you felt when he ran away from home. Are you willing to tell me?’

  ‘Do you think it will help?’ He moved uneasily in his seat. ‘I’m not very good at this sort of thing. Carol says I hold all my feelings bottled up inside me. I’m afraid that’s the way I was brought up, and I’m not sure I hold with all this flower power, and love everybody philosophy which is so popular nowadays. It seems very false to me.’ His brown eyes were unhappy, his shoulders drooping.

  Laurel wished she didn’t have to press him, but it was needed. They had to find out if David had run away. So far there was no evidence of his survival, and they had to keep in mind, terrible as it would seem, that David could have been murdered by one or both of his parents. Going on her own gut responses she couldn’t see this unhappy, hide-bound man being a murderer, but you could never be sure how anyone would react in unusual or dangerous circumstances. Look what she’d done when her sister was murdered – she’d lost all sense of judgement, and if it hadn’t been for Frank, where would she be now?

  ‘But are you willing? I do think it’s worth it, otherwise I wouldn’t put you through such questioning.’

  He smiled at her, a sad, rather sweet smile. ‘You’re a very sincere woman, Miss Bowman. Ask away.’

  Laurel took her notebook and biro from her briefcase. ‘Do you love your son, Mr Pemberton?’ She kept eye contact and spoke softly and kindly.

  He gulped and looked at the floor. He slowly raised his head looking into her eyes. ‘Yes, I love him.’

  ‘How did you feel when you realised he had a disability? Did you love lessen?’

  He shook his head. ‘You can’t turn love on and off, Miss Bowman. You haven’t yet had children, if you had you’d realise love for a child is a different, stronger love than you have for, say, your parents, your brothers and sisters. Although that love, whatever they do, also cannot be set aside. The love you have for your own child is …’ He hesitated as though trying to find the right words. ‘A primal love, the love any mammal has for its young: a need to nurture, protect, to see them grow to maturity and to see them replace you one day as they form their own families. They are your future. I was upset when we discovered David’s problems with reading, writing and normal relationships. He is my only child. I am fifty-two, Miss Bowman. Carol can’t have any more children. I was devastated. Especially for him. I worried what would happen to him when I was gone. Who would look after him? How was he going to cope in this difficult world? I think I probably showed my anxiety and grief too openly to him, and this meant we weren’t close. I’ve thought of little else since he left.’ ‘Do you think he’s dead?’

  He closed his eyes and the lines either side of his mouth deepened. ‘It’s nearly two years. If he’s alive, where could he be? Every Sunday in church I pray to God and to Jesus to look after him if he is alive. I pray he will come home, however many years pass, and I pray for God’s strength to help me be a better father to him than I have been, if he returns.’ He lowered his head, exhausted, as though these confessions had squeezed every drop of energy from his body and mind.

  She wanted to stop, to give him some comfort, but she pressed on. ‘What was your reaction to his artistic abilities? Were you proud of him?’

  He sat in silence, then took a deep breath and looked up. ‘I couldn’t understand how he did it. At first, to me, it was another manifestation of his lack of normality. I wished that instead of that gift, he’d been a normal child. I didn’t wish he was a bright child, one who would go to university, I’d have been happy if he’d been a normal little chap, not a brain box, just a naughty boy who got up to the usual childhood tricks with his rascally friends. I was slow to appreciate how talented he was. What an unusual gift he had. Now I can see how I could have helped him more than I did, to nurture this gift, and hopefully base a successful life on who he is, not who I wanted him to be. I’ve thought about it a lot since …’

  Laurel was upset by his confessions; she knew how much it had cost him to talk in such a way about his feelings, but there was one last question.

  ‘Mr Pemberton, do you think your son loves you?’

  He recoiled from her. ‘That is a terrible thing to ask. It is a question I have asked myself, time after time. If he’d loved me, surely he’d have confided in me? Told me his troubles. That is what a parent is for, isn’t it? To help their children in times of difficulty. There was one thing that mad
e me hope.’ He leant forward, his eyes desperate. ‘I’ve never told anyone before, not even Carol. It was a small thing but it gave me hope. I didn’t want to tell her because she’d have derided me and taken away my one comfort.’

  Laurel was near to tears herself, the story was heart-rending. ‘What was it, Mr Pemberton?’

  He rose from his chair and went to the desk. He took a key ring from his pocket and unlocked the middle drawer on the right of the knee-hole desk. He brought a brown envelope to her and opened it. Without comment he passed the contents to her.

  It was a pencil drawing of himself. Drawn by David. The man in the drawing was smiling, his eyes kind, his lips parted as though about to say something. Underneath, in the same childish hand that had written Peter on his friend’s drawing, were the words: To Daddy from David.

  ‘Where did you find this?’

  ‘It was in that drawer.’ He pointed to the desk. ‘It was not there the day before he left.’ He shook his head, his eyes watery. He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. ‘It’s silly, I know, but I look at it every day. I wonder what was in his mind when he drew me, and why did he leave it for me? I want to believe it’s because he cared for me, and knew I’d be hurt by what he was going to do.’

  She wanted to tell him about Peter’s drawing and how it was the only one with a name and Peter meant so much to David. But, how could she? ‘I think it must have been his way of showing you it wasn’t you that made him run away. It shows he cared how you would feel.’ She didn’t know if she should have said that, it wasn’t professional, but the poor man was bereft. And she was responsible for this outpouring of grief.

  There was hope in his eyes. ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Bowman. I don’t know if what I’ve told you will help in your search, but I must admit I feel better for talking about him. You have given me renewed hope.’

  ‘We’ll do everything we can to find him.’

  He took the drawing and placed it back in the envelope and put it back in the desk, carefully locking the drawer.

  Why hadn’t he showed it to his wife? What did he say – deriding him? Her opinion of Carol Pemberton decreased even further.

  ‘One last thing, Mr Pemberton.’

  He looked pleadingly at her.

  She smiled. ‘No more awful questions. Would it be possible for me to take one or two examples of David’s work with me? We’d return them as soon as possible.’

  His face relaxed. ‘Yes, of course. What do you want them for?’

  ‘It’s a recent thought: I’d like to show them to Mr Tucker, the art gallery owner. It occurred to me if David is … he won’t stop drawing. It’s a compulsion, isn’t it?

  Mr Tucker has many contacts; he’s got a gallery in London. It’s just a small chance, but he might hear something about a young gifted artist. I think it’s worth a try.’

  ‘Yes, he’s got a lot of contacts. I’ve heard he invites potential buyers down for weekends, that kind of thing. Of course, he knows about David. He asked a few years ago, if he could have a show for David. Just a small affair, he felt his drawings would sell, especially as he was so young.’

  ‘And did he have a show?’

  Pemberton shook his head. ‘No, I wasn’t happy about it, although Carol was keen. I felt he was too young and people would be buying his work for the wrong reason.’

  ‘What did David think about it?’

  He grimaced. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t discuss it with him. Perhaps I should have.’

  ‘Did Mr Tucker say anything after David disappeared?’

  ‘Yes. He called about a week later. He seemed very upset. Said what a talent David was. He was keen to buy some of his drawings. I refused. They’re all I have left of him. Would you like to come up to his bedroom, that’s where his drawings are kept? You can choose whatever you want to show to Mr Tucker, but I would like them back. I think I’ll have more of them framed and put round the house. I didn’t want to do that before, but after our talk I think I will, then if he ever comes home, he’ll see them.’

  Laurel drove away from the Pemberton’s house and parked her car in the High Street. She wished Smith’s Bakery would stop sending out tempting smells every time she came to Nancy’s; she longed to sink her teeth into a Cornish pasty or a meat and potato pie. She decided she needed to up the number of runs she did every week, also she wanted to join an athletic club and get back to throwing the javelin.

  She knocked on Nancy’s door. She wasn’t sure what kind of reception she’d get after Nancy’s reaction to her bossy behaviour on the night they found the Harrops’ bodies. She’d seen her a couple of times after that, but she’d been with Frank, and Nancy’s son was with her. He’d gone back to Carlisle, to return for the funerals when Sam’s and Clara’s bodies were released.

  ‘Hello, Nancy can I come in?’

  She was looking better than the last time she’d seen her: her hair was bright pink, and she was wearing her tartan trews and a white polo neck.

  ‘Yes, come in, Laurel.’

  Nancy pointed to a chair near the electric fire. ‘Would you like a drink?’

  ‘No thanks, Nancy. I came to see how you are and to apologise if I upset you the night …’ It seemed cruel to bring up Sam’s death again.

  Nancy came to her side and patted her hand. ‘I’m the one who should apologise. I realise you were trying to get me away from what must have been an awful scene.’ She put her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes. ‘I should have acted sooner, been stronger, not let Clara frighten me. I hadn’t realised how ill Sam was, he deteriorated so quickly.’

  Laurel took hold of her hand. ‘If there’s anything I can do, Nancy, let me know.’

  ‘I can’t believe Clara would do that to Sam. Why didn’t she give him an overdose of morphine? I know it’s against the law, but no one would have blamed her. What do you think happened, Laurel?’

  She didn’t want to upset Nancy again, but there were questions she wanted to ask. ‘I think we’re beginning to have some theories, Nancy. I need to ask you more questions about Sam. You may find them distressing, but if we don’t explore his life, we may never get to the truth. Are you prepared to answer them?’ It was going to be another painful interview.

  Nancy’s eyes looked haunted. There was a long silence. ‘Yes, I’ll try and answer your questions.’

  ‘Do you think Clara could have killed Sam to stop him telling people he was homosexual?’

  ‘Why would he want to do that? Now? It’s no longer illegal, you can’t be arrested for loving someone of the same sex. Sam hid his homosexuality; Clara knew what he was when she married him. No, I can’t see her doing that.’ She paused. ‘I’m going to have a whisky; do you want one?’

  Laurel was pleased their former relationship was restored. ‘Yes please, a small one with same amount of water.’ Dare she take the questioning further? She had to.

  Nancy busied herself at the sideboard and in the kitchen, returning with two glasses on a tray. ‘Here you are, Laurel. Cheers!’

  She raised her glass and took a sip. ‘Nancy, can you think of anything Sam might have done that made him feel he must make amends for before he died? Did he ever confess anything to you that would have horrified Clara? Horrified her so much she murdered him to keep him quiet?’

  Nancy looked shocked, and took a swig of whisky. ‘Do you think that’s what happened?’

  ‘I don’t know, Nancy. I’m trying to think of the reasons Clara might have killed Sam. That is if she did kill him.’

  Nancy took another deep drink. ‘If she didn’t, who did? Did she hire someone to do it? Like you see in American films? But if she did that, why didn’t she go out and get, what do they call it …?’

  ‘An alibi?’ Laurel offered.

  ‘Yes, that’s it. Oh, this is ridiculous, we don’t have hit men in Suffolk, let alone Aldeburgh.’

  Laurel took a deep breath. ‘Nancy, I’m going to ask you some
thing that might upset you. I wouldn’t ask, but there is a possibility there might be a connection between Sam and young boys. Do you think he was attracted to young men or boys?’

  She was prepared for Nancy to lose her temper, and ask her to leave, or burst into tears. Neither of these happened. Nancy frowned, her eyes moving from side to side, as though she was searching her memory. ‘Why do you want to know that? Do you mean did he ever have sex with a boy?’

  Laurel was shocked by Nancy’s reaction. It wasn’t what she’d expected; people were endlessly surprising and fascinating. ‘Did you suspect he might be attracted to boys? Do you know if he’d had relationships with a boy?’

  Nancy flushed. ‘Goodness, no. I don’t know what I’d have done if I’d found that out!’ She shook her head, looking distressed. ‘It would have been a terrible choice to make. Betray my brother or let a child be sodomised. See my brother go to prison, or let a child be molested, and his young life be ruined.’ She put her hand over her mouth. ‘I would have had to save the child. Oh, I’m glad I never had to make such a decision.’

  Laurel wanted to end her anguish, but she might never have such an opportunity again. Next time Nancy might not be so forthcoming. ‘Did you ever think he might be attracted to children?’

  Nancy drained her glass, then went to the sideboard and poured in a good finger of whisky. She waved the bottle at Laurel. She shook her head. Nancy came back to the fireplace and sat down.

  ‘Why are you asking these questions, Laurel? I think I’ve a right to know.’

  Laurel sighed. It was a risk and Frank might not be happy if she revealed too much. It was important not one iota about the cases got out. ‘Nancy, I can’t tell you everything, and I’d ask you not to repeat any of this conversation with anyone else, even your son. As you know we’re also working on the disappearance of David Pemberton. There may be connections between his running away, Chillingworth School, Dr Luxton’s death and the deaths of Sam and Clara. We don’t know how all these tie together, but it may have something to do with the children at the school. Frank thinks Sam and Clara were both murdered. Anything you can tell me might help us, and the police, to uncover the truth behind all these happenings.’