Next Door to Murder

by Anthea Fraser

  Having garaged the car and walked home, she let herself into the house, resolving to open all the windows to dispel the day’s stuffiness. Then, as she closed the front door, she saw a note lying on the mat, and stooped to retrieve it.

  Rona, she read in a hasty scrawl, please contact me. I must speak to you. Louise.

  Damn! She’d been looking forward to a leisurely shower before Max got back, but as she didn’t know next door’s phone number, the only way to contact Louise was by going to the house.

  Five minutes later, armed with a book as an excuse for calling, she walked down her garden path and up the one next door. Her ring was answered by Mrs Franks, who looked at her in some surprise.

  Rona smiled at her and held up the book she was carrying. ‘Louise and I were discussing this the other day,’ she said brightly. ‘I thought she might like to borrow it.’

  ‘That’s kind of you,’ Barbara Franks replied after a moment, and made a move to take the book from her.

  ‘Is Louise around?’ Rona asked quickly.

  The woman hesitated, but a voice called from upstairs, ‘Is that Rona? I’ll be right down.’ And she’d no choice but to invite her in.

  Louise came running down the stairs, and Rona said quickly, ‘This is the book I was telling you about. I think you’d enjoy it.’

  ‘Thanks – it’s good of you to bring it.’

  Mrs Franks, forced into hospitality, offered a cup of tea, adding, ‘Or would you prefer something cold?’

  ‘There’s home-made lemonade,’ Louise said.

  ‘That sounds perfect.’

  At her gesture, Rona preceded Louise into the doorway on the right. Although she’d been in the house before, it was a strange sensation to walk into the room that corresponded to that in their own house, before she and Max had knocked down walls and turned two rooms into one. Used to the larger space, this sitting room seemed small and cluttered, and the furniture showed signs of wear and tear left by previous tenants. No attempt had been made to personalise it; the mantelpiece was bare of any kind of ornament, there were no books on the shelves, and the prevailing atmosphere struck Rona as depressing.

  ‘Thanks for not letting on about the note,’ Louise said in a low voice. ‘I’m sorry to have dragged you over. I’ve calmed down a bit now.’

  Before Rona could reply, Mrs Franks came in with a tray bearing a large glass jug of lemonade and two glasses.

  ‘Tell you what,’ Louise said quickly, ‘let’s take it outside; it’s a pity to be indoors in this weather.’

  And we can be sure of no one overhearing us, Rona thought.

  They went together down the basement stairs to the kitchen and the door to the back garden. Rona hadn’t been here before, and this room also was very different from their own, seeming old-fashioned with its free-standing units and dated cooker. She supposed that since the owners of the house didn’t live here, there was no incentive to provide other than basic amenities.

  Louise opened the glass-paned wooden door that, in their own house, they’d replaced with a full-length glass one, and led the way to the bench under the apple tree. A ginger cat that had been lazily washing itself on the stone terrace unfurled itself and followed them.

  ‘So that’s your cat,’ Rona commented. ‘I’m afraid Gus was chasing it the other day.’

  Louise set the tray on the bench between them and scooped the cat on to her lap, where it turned round three times before settling down.

  ‘We’ve christened her Amber,’ she said, pouring the lemonade. ‘Strictly speaking, she’s not ours. She seems to have adopted us; every time we open a door, she darts inside. We’ve phoned the RSPCA and put notices up, but nobody’s claimed her and I’ve grown quite fond of her.’

  Rona gratefully accepted a glass of lemonade. ‘So – what was worrying you?’

  ‘I was frightened,’ Louise said. The word seemed shockingly out-of-place in the sunlit garden.

  ‘Frightened?’ Rona repeated incredulously. ‘What of?’

  ‘My parents, I suppose. If they are my parents.’

  And as Rona stared at her, she added, ‘You see, I – don’t think I’m who they say I am. I mightn’t even be their daughter.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘They’ve never shown me any proof,’ Louise went on quickly, ‘and would you believe, I’ve not even seen my passport? When I began to have doubts I asked for it; but they said they’d put everything of value in the bank for safekeeping, till we have our own house. Though why that should be any safer than rented accommodation, heaven knows.’

  ‘It does sound excessively cautious,’ Rona agreed.

  ‘And another thing: there are no photos of me as a child, no family groups. Everyone has photographs, don’t they?’

  Rona thought of the corner table in her mother’s sitting room, crammed with baby snaps of herself and Lindsey, graduation and wedding portraits, holiday photos.

  ‘I’m not even sure I was married.’ Louise glanced at her left hand. ‘I don’t feel as though I was, and I’ve seen nothing relating to any husband. In fact, I’m starting to question everything they’ve told me.’

  ‘But why?’

  Louise shrugged, and did not reply.

  ‘Did you ask to see photographs?’

  ‘Yes; they had some implausible story about a fire having destroyed everything. Very convenient, isn’t it?’

  Rona struggled to be objective. ‘But why would they go to such lengths? What have they to gain by pretending you’re their daughter and bringing you back to this country?’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to work out.’ She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Perhaps I’m heir to a great fortune!’

  ‘But you couldn’t claim it if you were supposed to be their daughter.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  Rona was silent, trying to think of some way to reassure her, to dispel what was surely an impossible scenario. ‘How long ago was the divorce?’ she asked.

  ‘Again, I’ve only their word for it, and thinking back, they were pretty vague. It was a quickie, apparently, and if it came through just before the accident, as they implied, it would have been about six months ago.’

  ‘You could check on the Internet; it must be on record.’

  Louise brightened. ‘I never thought of that. Only trouble is, I don’t have access.’

  ‘There’s an Internet Café in Guild Street.’ Rona pursued another line of thought. ‘Where did you go when you came out of hospital?’

  ‘Briefly to a rented flat they were living in, where they told me they’d decided I needed a completely fresh start, and we were moving back to the UK. We flew here about a week later, and stayed in London while Father sorted out this house.’

  They were both silent, thinking over what had been said. Louise was absentmindedly stroking the cat, its fur glistening orange and gold in the sunshine. After a while, she looked up, meeting Rona’s concerned eyes.

  ‘A bit extreme, wasn’t it? After all, Canada’s the second-largest country in the world; you’d think they could have found somewhere over there for my “fresh start” without having to cross the Atlantic.’ Her eyes fell. ‘That’s what made me wonder if they were running away from something – if someone was after them.’

  ‘But you are all British,’ Rona said after a moment. ‘Perhaps, after the fire, then the crash, then your loss of memory and long stay in hospital, they simply wanted to come home.’

  ‘I could have understood that, but they didn’t go home – at least, not to Harrogate, which was where they’d lived before and presumably still have friends. Instead we came here, to a town two hundred miles away, where we don’t know a soul. Why?’

  ‘Have you asked them?’

  ‘Oh, I get a variety of reasons, but none of them convincing.’ Louise finished her lemonade and put the glass back on the tray. ‘God, Rona, I should never have dragged you into this. You must think I’m a complete nutcase.’

  ‘Of course not. It’s a hor
rible position to be in, unable to remember anything; it’s no wonder your imagination works overtime.’

  Louise smiled crookedly. ‘Imagination?’

  Rona flushed. ‘I didn’t mean that, exactly, but it would be easy to get the wrong slant on things. There’s probably a perfectly simple explanation.’ She put down her own glass. ‘I haven’t been much help, I’m afraid, and I really have to go now. Max will be back any minute.’

  ‘Of course.’ Louise stood up at once, tipping the cat on to the grass. ‘Thanks for responding to my cri de coeur. I really appreciate it.’

  ‘Keep asking questions,’ Rona suggested, as they walked back across the grass. ‘Perhaps things will start to fall into place.’

  ‘Off her chump,’ Max said flatly, when Rona had relayed the conversation. ‘I should steer well clear of her.’

  ‘I think she’s really frightened, Max,’ Rona replied, sipping her vodka. ‘Imagine not knowing anything about your past life. It must be terrifying.’

  ‘I grant you that. It’s the bit about not being their daughter and suspecting them of God knows what that I can’t stomach.’ He transferred the chicken breasts on to plates and sprinkled them with toasted pine nuts. ‘Are the trays ready?’

  ‘Actually, I think I’d rather eat inside this evening,’ Rona said diffidently. She nodded to the table, where she’d already laid out glasses and cutlery.

  Max turned to glare at her. ‘So now this mad woman stops us from sitting in our own garden?’

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘Don’t give me that, Rona. This is the first time you’ve not wanted to eat outdoors.’

  ‘I’m not sure how far our voices might carry,’ she said feebly.

  ‘And we’ll be discussing government secrets, will we?’

  ‘Please, Max. I know I’m being silly – just humour me.’

  He sighed gustily. ‘The sooner those people find their own house, the better I’ll be pleased. Are we allowed to have the door open?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I suppose that’s something,’ he said.

  When Avril returned from the charity shop, there was a note from Sarah saying she’d not be in for a meal, and would Avril mind seeing to her father when he called for the music centre. As she hung up her jacket, she glanced in the mirror and, catching herself smiling, made a mocking little face at her reflection.

  Normally, she’d have begun preparations for supper, but it was Maureen’s birthday, and she’d brought in a cake to have at their tea break. It had taken the edge off Avril’s appetite, and she decided to wait till Guy Lacey had been before making a start on her meal.

  He arrived promptly at seven thirty. ‘Sorry to impose on you like this,’ he said, as she showed him in. ‘I hope Sarah cleared it with you?’

  ‘Well, there was a note asking me to do the necessary.’

  ‘She didn’t check with you in advance? I’m so sorry; I hope this hasn’t put you out at all?’

  ‘No, no; I’ve no plans for this evening.’

  Guy grinned ruefully. ‘I’d intended taking her for a meal – I’ll certainly need something before starting back – but I’ve been stood up in favour of the boyfriend.’ He paused, looking at her with a raised eyebrow. ‘I suppose you’ve already eaten?’

  To her annoyance, Avril felt herself flush. ‘Actually, no; I was just about—’

  ‘You wouldn’t consider taking pity on me? I eat alone too often these days, and I can’t say I enjoy it.’

  ‘Well, I . . .’

  ‘Please. I assure you I know which knife and fork to use, and don’t talk with my mouth full.’

  She laughed. ‘In that case, fine. I was going to make a fish pie; there’d be plenty for two.’

  ‘Absolutely not. I’m putting you out as it is. And as it happens, I discovered an interesting-looking pub last time I was over. They’ve a reputation for good food, and I’ve been wanting to try it. Are you game?’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure . . .’

  ‘Excellent. And I warn you, I don’t intend to address you as Mrs Parish all evening.’

  ‘It’s Avril.’

  ‘And as you know, I’m Guy. Right, let’s find something to eat.’

  ‘Olivia?’

  ‘Dad? Is that you?

  ‘It is indeed. How are you, sweetie?’

  ‘I’m fine. Did you get my text?’

  ‘I did, but I much prefer speaking to you.’

  ‘Dinosaur!’ she said affectionately.

  ‘I was wondering if I could pop up to see you?’

  There was a pause, and when she spoke her voice had hardened. ‘Has Mum put you up to this?’

  ‘Up to what?’

  ‘This isn’t about talking me into staying on at uni?’

  He sighed. ‘Obviously that’s what we’d both like, but it’s not the reason for seeing you.’

  ‘It’s just that it’s a bit sudden. Usually your visits have to be booked in advance.’

  ‘Don’t make me feel guiltier than I do, Livvie.’

  ‘Ah, so you admit to guilt!’ she teased.

  But he could not respond. Guilt was indeed lying heavy on him. Roxford’s words – It’s your child too – continued to reverberate round his head. Suppose, between them, they’d thoughtlessly disposed of another Olivia, or Crispin, or Dougal? He closed his eyes on a wave of almost physical pain.

  ‘Dad?’ Concern touched her voice. ‘Are you OK?’

  He made an effort to appear so. ‘Yes, yes; a little tired, that’s all.’

  ‘Have you seen the boys recently?’

  ‘No, but I’ve left them both messages.’

  ‘Checking up on the clan?’

  ‘Something like that. How about I come up this weekend?’

  ‘That’d be great. Give me a ring when you get here.’

  ‘Will do. Bye, sweetie. Love you.’ And he rang off, feeling slightly easier in his mind.

  The Mulberry Bush was about five miles from Marsborough, on the Cricklehurst road. Avril must have driven past countless times, without noticing it. On this warm July evening, the garden alongside, screened from the road by high hedges, was crammed with a lively clientele, enjoying the late sunshine. A couple were leaving as she and Guy arrived, and they were able to claim the table.

  ‘I’ll get a menu,’ Guy said, as she sat down. ‘What would you like to drink?’

  Avril drew a deep breath. ‘Could I possibly have a Pimm’s?’

  ‘Excellent choice for a summer evening. I might even join you.’

  She watched him as he threaded his way between the tables, a tall, lithe figure in cream cords and tan-coloured shirt. Incredibly, this was only the third time they’d met, but she felt totally relaxed with him, with none of the tension she usually experienced on meeting new people. No doubt his own ease of manner was a contributory factor.

  It was some minutes before he returned, carrying two brimming glasses and with a menu tucked under his arm.

  ‘It’s chaos in there,’ he reported. ‘We might have quite a wait for our food. Not in any hurry, are you?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not the one with a long drive home.’

  ‘Oh, that won’t worry me. Just remind me not to leave without that music centre.’

  She glanced at his coke. ‘I see you changed your mind about the Pimm’s.’

  He nodded. ‘It was a nice thought, but non-alcoholic seemed wiser, with that drive in mind. Cheers, anyway. Here’s to a pleasant evening.’

  They read through the menu together, impressed by its wide range, made their choices, and Guy went back to place their order. Gradually the evening darkened around them, and candles on tables all over the garden glowed like a host of fireflies.

  ‘You’re still in touch with your ex, then?’ Guy said at one point.

  ‘On occasion; and he’s not actually “ex” yet.’

  ‘It’s good you can meet amicably.’

  ‘Yes; it wasn’t always the case.’

 
; She knew he was watching her, but kept her gaze down, twirling the swizzle stick with its slices of fruit. And since he had broached the personal, she deftly turned the tables on him.

  ‘Sarah said your wife died when she was a baby.’

  ‘Yes, barely a year old. She was killed in a car crash.’

  Had he been in the car? she wondered, but dared not ask. ‘How appalling for you. However did you cope?’

  He smiled crookedly. ‘With difficulty, and the help of several good women. And before you raise your eyebrows at me, I’m referring to fully trained nannies in the early days, followed by equally competent housekeepers.’

  A voice from the pub doorway called out a number, and Guy stood up, signalling his whereabouts. ‘At last! I’m dying of starvation!’

  The plates set before them certainly looked appetizing; Avril had chosen Thai fishcakes with a side salad, and Guy home-made steak and mushroom pie. For a few minutes they ate in silence. Avril stole a glance at his face, lit by the flickering candle, thought it looked rather sad, and blamed herself for mentioning his wife.

  However, seeming to feel there was more to be said on the subject, he added, as though there’d been no break in their conversation, ‘I worry about Sarah sometimes. It was a difficult childhood for her, never knowing her mother. I even wondered whether I should marry again, for her sake, but was never sufficiently tempted. Perhaps that was selfish of me.’

  ‘I think you did an amazing job,’ Avril said sincerely. ‘She’s a bright girl, full of self-confidence.’

  ‘Oh, she has plenty of that,’ her father agreed. ‘A bit too much at times!’

  Avril smiled. ‘She has decided opinions, certainly.’

  ‘She told me you were kind to her the other day. Gave her some good advice. Thank you for that.’

  Avril was taken aback. ‘It was only what I’d have advised my own daughters.’

  ‘Exactly. That’s why she appreciated it, and I do, too. And while we’re exchanging compliments, I was impressed with your two. Very attractive young women. One of them’s a journalist, I seem to remember?’