by Susan Hill
‘Her parents were philistines,’ Lenny Wilcox said at last. ‘Yes, she was talented, though who knows how she would have done in the long run. You have to be more than just talented. But she wanted it. She loved it. She would have played and played all day, her lessons were always too short, she said. I never had another pupil who said that to me. Never. She asked if I would give her extra lessons and I was thrilled, absolutely excited about it, I knew just how much I could bring her on, how much she would love it. Value it. And then the damn parents. Hobbies department, they thought. She played the clarinet as well, she was good at that, though the piano was her instrument, she’d never have gone far as a wind player. Damn parents.’
‘So she asked if you’d give her the lessons without telling them.’
‘No, she didn’t, I suggested that. I said I would give her an extra lesson a week, a good long lesson, an hour and a half, here, on my piano, which is a Steinway, and I wouldn’t charge her a penny.’ She looked him straight in the eyes. ‘That doesn’t mean anything.’
‘In what sense does it not?’
‘So – I gave her some lessons. Here. Without her parents’ knowledge or consent. Doesn’t mean I know what happened to her. How would I know what happened? How did you find out that she had lessons with me?’
‘When did she last come here?’
‘How would I remember that?’
‘Did she meet Agneta here?’
Alarm on her face, a shadow across the sun.
‘What day did she have her lessons here? Saturday?’
‘No. Or – she may have done once or twice.’
‘How did she get here? Obviously her parents didn’t bring her.’
‘On the bus, I suppose. I didn’t ask. Or on her bicycle. Probably on her bicycle.’
‘Harriet didn’t have a bicycle.’ It was a shot in the dark. He did not know.
‘So it was on the bus.’
‘During the holidays she could have come any day. So it was Friday afternoon, wasn’t it? The last time she came. The day she disappeared. The Friday you arranged to meet her. The Friday you picked her up on Parkside Drive.’
‘No.’
‘Did you arrange to meet her at the bus stop? Or did she realise it wasn’t a good place for a car to pull up so she walked on a few yards down the road?’
Silence.
‘You came along and she glanced round and saw you. You stopped by the kerb. Harriet got in. You drove away.’
‘No. This is all invention. I didn’t realise the police invented things but of course I should have done, we’re always hearing about it.’
‘You were seen.’
‘What?’
‘Your car was seen that afternoon. Harriet got into it. You drove away. We have a witness who saw you quite clearly. What car do you drive?’
‘The van. The one out there. You’ve seen it twice now.’
‘How long have you had the van?’
‘I don’t know. Years. That’s why it’s so unreliable. I can’t afford a new one.’
‘You drove a green car then.’
‘I can’t remember what colour car I had all those years ago for heaven’s sake. Cars get you from A to B. I’m not interested in them otherwise.’
‘Let me remind you. We have a witness.’
‘What sort of witness remembers a green car sixteen years ago? What sort of witness is that?’
‘He saw Harriet get into your car. I’ve traced your car ownership from 1990. You don’t change your cars often. A blue Ford. A green Lada. And the van that you have now. One green car, a Lada. The one Harriet Lowther got into at four ten on that Friday afternoon. Friday 18 August 1995. Did you come straight here to this cottage?’
Lenny Wilcox was so still he could not see her breathing. He hardly breathed himself. And suddenly, he felt in no hurry. Sooner or later, she would talk to him, tell him, give him an account of it in the sort of detail people always remembered for ever after such an event. It was going through her mind now, picture after picture, sound after tiny sound, words spoken, and cries. Silences.
He could wait.
A vein pulsed in her neck.
Simon’s phone rang. Lenny barely noticed. It stopped. Rang again.
She turned her eyes to his face and looked at him steadily but did not speak. She was in no hurry either.
Forty-seven
THE SIDE DOOR led to a passage which led to the kitchen stores on the left, the main house to the right. No one was about. There was the distant sound of someone singing in a thin, high, voice.
‘Oh my love is like a melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.
And fare thee well, my only love
And fare thee well, awhile.
And I will come again, my love
Though it were –’
And broke off.
Molly stood, taking slow, deep breaths, gathering herself, calming down. She needed to think it all through, but if the panic and tension were easing in her body, her thoughts were jagged and broken, like crazy paving, and seemed to jump here and there, from one thing to the other.
She knew what she had seen. Nothing explicit had been said but she was utterly clear about it. She did not know what Fison planned for her, whether he would send for her, threaten her, bribe her, to make sure she kept silent. This was her last day. If he meant to talk to her he would have to do it in the next few hours. Perhaps he did not.
She would go back into the living areas or the staffroom, the kitchen, to Sister Fison’s office, follow anyone, ask for a job among the patients or with one of the carers, move about so that she was not alone anywhere. She was afraid of him, afraid of what he would say, afraid of her own reactions. Afraid of what she had seen. Afraid.
She turned and went towards the sitting room, where one or two of them sat after meals, turning the pages of magazines without taking in anything on the pages, Mrs Overthorpe crocheting and unpicking what she had crocheted, over and over again, smiling.
The sun shone into the room, catching the jar of flowers on the sideboard, making the smooth china of an ornament gleam. The doors were open onto the garden. Someone was a few yards away, by the flower bed. No one was in the room itself.
Molly reached the doors and was about to step down onto the gravel when there was a shout and the person she could see swung round and held out her arms for a second, before flinging herself forward, head down, running, running in a blind, confused way, like a bull that had been goaded, and roaring in the same way too.
At the same moment, she heard a step behind her. A voice. ‘Ah, yes. There you are again, Molly.’
Something hit her in the chest, the throat, the face, arms flailing, a head hard down into her as she was propelled in the small of the back, lost her balance, fell forward across the step. She knew what was happening but not in any order, knew someone had cannoned into her and that someone else was pushing her so hard from behind that she had no strength to resist them, to turn, to keep her balance. She fell slowly, as she might fall in a dream, until the pain as she hit her face, her head, rushed up not as pain but as an enveloping blackness.
Forty-eight
‘TELL ME ABOUT Miss Mills,’ Simon said.
Lenny was like a pillar of stone beside him. The sun had moved round and the hens were basking in it, digging out bowls in the dust and rubbing themselves down into it.
‘Nothing left to tell.’
‘But there was once.’
‘Oh yes. Olive.’
‘Talk to me about her.’
‘Why? Olive has nothing to do with it.’
‘When did you meet?’
‘Years ago.’
He waited.
Lenny stared ahead. ‘She was never beautiful but she had a – a spark. Life. Olive was full of life. She was like a Catherine wheel. Fizzed. It was very attractive. Volatile but very … I don’t have that. Now it’s all gone.’
‘When did it start?’
‘Forge
tting? It’s hard to know when it does. She was unpredictable, she didn’t operate like you and me, remembering things, putting them in order, she was all over the place, here and there, things didn’t connect with her the way they usually do. So I missed it at first.’
‘Years ago?’
‘I suppose so. Dementia. Being demented. I used to tell her she was demented, sometimes. How cruel.’
‘You weren’t being cruel.’
‘No. But it feels like that now.’
‘Did Olive meet Harriet Lowther?’
She stiffened. Said nothing.
‘Was she here when Harriet came for her lesson? Was she always here when your pupils came?’
‘Nobody else did come.’
‘Just Harriet?’
‘I told you. Harriet was exceptional. I didn’t want the cottage invaded. Girls here at home. This is home. It was our home. Now it’s my home. Just mine.’
‘Tell me about that day.’
‘What day?’
‘You know what day.’
Her mouth twitched. Her fingers twitched. Then went still. She said nothing for a long time. She would. He knew perfectly well now. It was all there. He just had to wait.
‘I’d like a cup of tea. I suppose you would.’
‘Very much.’
‘Or gin. I have gin.’
‘Tea.’
‘I could have gin.’
‘If that’s what you’d like, why not?’
She turned to him, her blue eyes bright with a moment of amusement. ‘Is that allowed?’
‘It’s your gin. Your home. Why would I stop you?’
‘Ah.’ She sighed deeply, and then got up.
He filled the kettle. Found the tea. Milk. A china mug with a picture of Tintagel.
‘Cornwall,’ Lenny said. ‘We loved Cornwall before they spoiled it with tourists. We swam in the sea. We went out in fishing smacks. Cottage overlooking the harbour. Every year. Then it started to fill up. Visitors. Gift shops. Yes, all right, I bought that in a gift shop. We had half a dozen. That’s the last.’
‘I’ll be careful with it.’
‘Why bother?’ She sat down at the table and poured a single measure of gin. Topped it up. Creeper hanging down over the kitchen window and a couple of pots of geraniums on the ledge made the kitchen dim. The sun was on the other side now.
Simon put a splash of milk into his tea. It struck him that he had never taken an interview so slowly, never let it run on for so long. But he could not push. Sometimes pushing, jostling, putting on the pressure, was the way. Sometimes it was the last thing to do. It could take hours. He would get there, all the same.
‘She was a pretty girl,’ Lenny said. ‘Fair hair. Pale skin. She had a composure you don’t often find at that age. Not the awful shoulder-shrugging. Can’t be bothered, not interested. Just composure. A quietness around her. That’s what singled her out, that’s what gave her the extra quality she needed. Perhaps she could have had a bit more fire as well. They can go together, you know. The very best musicians have a fire in the belly. I don’t have any. Not sure she did. It was what would have held her back in the end. But the calmness gave her something else. I picked her up. She had no other way of getting here, you’re right. I’d have dropped her back at the bus stop into town.’
Simon lifted the mug of tea to his mouth but barely sipped it. Held his breath.
Lenny had finished the gin in a couple of mouthfuls but she did not pour herself any more.
‘It was her second lesson here. Olive had seen her the first time. She was trimming the forsythia. She turned round and she looked at Harriet, took in everything. She would. She saw.’
‘Saw?’
‘Saw her. Saw it all. Her prettiness. Her calmness. She wouldn’t miss anything. Never missed anything. Agneta wasn’t here that first time. She came irregularly. But that afternoon she was here, cleaning the windows. Olive wouldn’t get up on the step-stool, it wasn’t a job she would ever do, and since I’d broken my leg I was wary of clambering about. Still am if it comes to that. Agneta would do them, she was fearless, did anything, climbed up anywhere. She was very willing, very capable. Useful.’
‘You liked her?’
‘Agneta? Yes I did. Olive didn’t but that was only jealousy.’
‘Jealousy?’
‘Oh, there was nothing to be jealous about, never had been for all those years, never would be. But jealousy isn’t rational, is it? Olive was born jealous. So when she knew I liked Agneta … anyway, Harriet was playing Schubert. Perfect composer for her. It was a new piece to her. Tricky. The bass hand is tricky. If you don’t get the fingering exactly right … It’s unforgiving, music like that. I had to show her the fingering. But she went on getting it wrong, getting it wrong, not listening properly, not taking any notice of what I was saying.’
‘That doesn’t sound like Harriet.’
She ignored him. She was speaking faster.
‘I was annoyed with her. I gave her a push, I was so annoyed, and the push made her lose her balance. She slipped off the piano stool and she hit her head on the corner.’
‘The corner?’
‘Of the hearth.’
‘She …’
‘Yes. Hard. She hit her head hard and I screamed, and as I screamed Agneta came in. Agneta saw it all. She rushed over to Harriet and she screamed as well. There was a lot of blood everywhere. Agneta was shouting and screaming at me that Harriet was dead, that I’d pushed her and killed her.’
Lenny had been looking down into her empty glass, her hand rubbing the table top to and fro, to and fro, in a repeated movement, but now she lifted her head.
Serrailler caught her gaze and tried to hold it but her eyes slid away at once.
‘I – pushed her, she was screaming and shouting so much. I pushed her and she fell as well. Agneta fell. You wouldn’t think it could happen like that, two people pushed, two people hitting their heads, two people dead, you wouldn’t think it could happen, would you?’
She stood up. ‘There,’ she said. ‘I killed Harriet by accident, I killed Agneta deliberately. There isn’t anything else you need to know, is there? I’ve told you. You have to arrest me now, don’t you?’
She was speaking quickly. But it was the odd, pleading note in her voice that made Simon hesitate. Something was out of joint about what she had told him – the haste of it all, the way the story had tumbled out. He had heard enough false confessions to be wary.
He needed time, more time to calm her down, get her to go over her story, one thing after another in careful order. He needed to ask and ask again, to pick up minute details and get her to repeat them, to question how she remembered so much, whether she remembered other things. It might take the rest of the day. It might take longer.
‘Could I have another cup of tea?’
But as he asked her, his phone was ringing. Cat. He went into the garden. He had a clear view of the kitchen door, the path, the gate. A few yards and he would catch up with her easily. But she would not run. He was absolutely certain of that.
‘Hi.’
‘Si, I’m sorry if you’re caught up in something –’
‘I am.’
‘Sorry, but it’s urgent. Molly has been taken to hospital. She had an accident, fell and hit her head … only I don’t think accident covers it, something happened and I can’t get to the bottom of it.’
‘Where is she?’
‘In A & E. I’m on my way there now.’
‘Get off the phone then, and call me when you get there. I’ll come when I can but it might not be for a while. Where was she exactly?’
‘Maytree House. Moira called me. When I got there the paramedics were getting her into the ambulance. I talked to Leo Fison, I talked to one of the nurses, but they were cagey. Said she’d just tripped. I don’t believe it.’
‘Why? People do.’
‘One of the helpers was talking about a patient who kept having sudden rages and attacking whoever was in he
r sight. There was an air of panic, you know, a lot of whispering and people looking at one another.’
‘Is she badly hurt?’
‘She’s got a nasty head wound and she wasn’t conscious. Those things can either be nothing much and she’ll come round quite quickly, or be pretty serious. I’ll find out more when I get there but I had an odd feeling you should know about it.’
‘Good. I’ll get someone onto it. They need to go and ask questions. If it’s a genuine accident they’ll know. The home has to fill in accident forms and so on for their insurance.’
‘Where are you, Si?’
‘Trying to make sense of something that doesn’t. Bit like Molly’s accident.’
Lenny was sitting at the kitchen table, her hands in front of her.
‘Interruptions,’ she said, not looking at him.
‘Always.’ He sat down and glanced at his mug.
‘Want some more?’
‘May I?’
She gestured behind her to the kettle but did not move.
‘There’s something I don’t understand.’
Silence.
‘Why would you push Harriet so hard that she fell off the piano stool and hit her head? Teachers can get very annoyed by badly behaved pupils, I know that, but Harriet wasn’t badly behaved, she was calm and conscientious, she wanted the extra piano lessons, she was keen to do well.’
‘It happened.’
‘Why? What had she done?’
‘I don’t know, I don’t remember. Made some stupid mistake, wouldn’t listen to me.’
‘Harriet? I don’t believe you, Miss Wilcox. I’ve come to know Harriet very well, from the statements, from what people have said to me. Making a stupid mistake is possible, but one bad enough for you to push her off the stool onto the floor? Not listening to you? Really? She wanted you to teach her. She’d asked you specially. So she was going to listen, wasn’t she? I just do not believe what you’ve told me.’
