Next Door to Murder

by Anthea Fraser

  Avril bit her lip; when Sarah first arrived to lodge with her, accompanied by Guy, she’d been obliged to explain the press reports about Rona’s involvement in a murder case.

  ‘She is at the moment,’ she answered him, ‘though she has several biographies to her name.’

  ‘Very impressive. And your other daughter?’

  ‘A partner in a local firm of solicitors.’

  ‘You must be proud of them both.’

  ‘I am, yes. As you are of Sarah.’

  He smiled. ‘Parents! Let’s hope we’re not deceiving ourselves!’

  The conversation moved to more general topics – books, the theatre, travelling – and they found they had several tastes in common. Eventually, the meal came to an end; around them most of the tables were now empty as diners made their way back to their cars, and by mutual consent they also rose. Guy put a hand under her elbow to guide her through the dark garden and round the side of the pub to the car park. The car, when she slid inside, was still warm from the day’s sunshine. It had been a perfect evening, and she was sorry it was over.

  They drove in companionable silence back to Belmont, the suburb where Avril lived, and she went ahead to open the front door while Guy rearranged the seating to accommodate the music centre. As she stepped into the hall, she found herself face to face with Sarah.

  ‘Didn’t you get my note?’ she demanded, with a touch of irritation. ‘Dad hasn’t—’

  ‘Don’t panic, honey, I’m here now.’ Guy came up the path towards them, and Sarah stared from one of them to the other.

  ‘Since you stood me up for supper,’ he went on easily, ‘Avril here kindly kept me company. Now, have you unplugged everything for me?’

  Sarah, for once at a loss for words, nodded, and he went past her up the stairs. After a minute she followed him uncertainly. Avril, opting for diplomacy, went into the dining room and began to lay the table for Sarah’s breakfast. She heard them come downstairs, Sarah talking in a low voice, and go out to the car. Then, as she stood back to check everything was in place, Guy appeared in the doorway.

  ‘I’m off now,’ he said. ‘Thanks so much for your company this evening.’

  ‘I enjoyed it,’ Avril answered primly. ‘Thank you for inviting me.’

  ‘Have a good summer.’

  ‘You, too.’

  And then he was gone, the front door closing behind him, and she felt suddenly flat.

  ‘Goodnight,’ Sarah said, as she passed the dining-room door.

  Avril turned. ‘Oh – goodnight.’

  She’d have said more, but the girl had already started up the stairs. Avril, pulling a little face, turned off the light and went to lock up.

  Seven

  During the next few days, Louise’s doubts about her identity continued to prey on Rona’s mind. Was she simply deluded, as Max maintained, or was there some substance in her suspicions? The absence of photographs, the watchfulness of the Franks and their seeming unwillingness for a friendship to develop all fuelled her unease.

  Having wished for no further contact, she was now eager to speak to Louise, though aware, to her shame, that her change of heart wasn’t wholly due to concern. The curiosity that drove her working life, in both biographical and journalistic research, was a force to be reckoned with, a primeval need-to-know that would not easily be gainsaid. But even if Louise wished to contact her, it would be difficult now she herself was out of the house between nine and five. And Louise wasn’t to know she didn’t spend every evening in Max’s company.

  Meanwhile the weekend came and went, and though from time to time voices were heard in the next-door garden, Max’s patent scepticism prevented Rona from following them up.

  On the Monday morning, immersed in some old files, Rona was surprised to be interrupted by the intercom. She lifted it to hear Felicity on the line.

  ‘How’s it going?’ she enquired.

  ‘Fine, thanks. There’s some really interesting stuff.’

  ‘Do you take a break for lunch?’

  ‘Not really; I bring sandwiches.’

  ‘It just struck me as rather silly that we’re both eating in solitary splendour, you upstairs and me down. Would you care to join me, or would it interrupt the flow? I’m making a cheese quiche, if that carries any weight!’

  Rona laughed. ‘I’m easily persuaded where food’s concerned. Thanks very much, I’d love to.’

  ‘One o’clock suit you?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘See you then.’

  Felicity had set up a card table in the conservatory, covered it with a white cloth and put a jug of roses in the centre. The doors to the garden were open, and its sounds drifted in to them – birdsong, and the hum of bees.

  Rona leant forward to smell the flowers. ‘Why is it I love the scent of roses, but don’t care for rose perfume? I find it altogether too cloying.’

  Felicity glanced at the blooms, a blend of cream, pink and deep, dusky red. ‘They’re from the garden; I picked them this morning.’ She held up a bottle. ‘Wine?’ And at Rona’s acceptance, poured out two glasses before bringing in the quiche and a large wooden bowl of dressed salad.

  ‘This is certainly an improvement on tuna sandwiches!’ Rona commented.

  ‘And for my part, it’s nice to have company.’

  ‘Isn’t Julian ever in for lunch?’

  ‘Very seldom, during the week. Even if he’s working from home, he likes to get out for a break and meet his pals in the pub.’

  Rona wondered cynically if it was only his pals he met. Following on from the thought, she said tentatively, ‘Last time I was here, I met – your cousin, was it?’

  ‘Julian’s; they’ve known each other for ever, and even had a boy-and-girl thing going in their teens. Rather sweet, really.’

  Had she and Max jumped to the wrong conclusion? Rona wondered. Their closeness in the restaurant, Julian’s hand over Tara’s, hadn’t looked cousinly, but he might simply have been offering comfort.

  ‘You said she split up with someone; was that quite recent?’

  ‘A couple of months ago. They’d been together for eight years.’

  ‘Married?’

  ‘No; she’d already tried that, it hadn’t worked, and she swore she wouldn’t go through it again.’ Felicity sipped her wine. ‘Though it’s my opinion Simon got through her defences, and she’d have married him if he’d asked her. Instead, he called time and moved on.’

  ‘That’s hard luck.’

  ‘Yes; she took it badly, poor love.’

  ‘I presume she’s not one of the blue-bloodied cousins?’ Rona queried with a half-smile.

  Felicity laughed. ‘No, merely the daughter of Graham’s sister Nancy. As to the Yorkshire lot, Julian hangs on to the connection, bless him, but it’s a very tenuous one. All right, Lady Araminta was his great-grandmother, but I honestly can’t see how we’re related to them now. I get lost in the maze of second and third cousins, Lord knows how many times removed.’

  ‘I came across some of her letters,’ Rona commented. ‘They’re from members of her family, all deploring her choice of husband!’

  ‘I don’t doubt it! Well, at least that’ll give you an entrée when you go up to see them. Oh, and I almost forgot: my mother-in-law has invited you to coffee.’

  ‘Oh.’ Rona was taken aback; she’d have preferred to sort out the background before beginning interviews. ‘That’s kind of her,’ she added hastily.

  ‘I warn you, she’ll give you the third degree. Don’t be put off, though; she can seem quite fierce, but it’s all show.’

  ‘When—?’

  ‘She gave me a few dates for you to choose from.’

  Felicity rose and went into the sitting room, returning with a slip of paper. ‘Thursday or Friday this week, Monday or Wednesday next.’

  ‘Actually, I could make any of them: I kept a couple of weeks free, in case Julian wanted me to go to Yorkshire.’

  ‘Then pick whichever you like.�
��

  Rona opted for the following Monday, which should give her sufficient time to prepare for the interview, and Felicity jotted down the address.

  ‘It’s in Woodbourne, but quite easy to find,’ she said. ‘A development of Scandinavian houses, just past the bus station.’

  The meal came to an end, and at Rona’s insistence, Felicity allowed her to help to clear the table and carry the dishes to the kitchen.

  ‘Thanks very much,’ Rona said, watching her load plates into the dishwasher. ‘I really enjoyed that.’

  ‘So did I. We must do it again.’

  As Rona took the lift to the second floor, her thoughts reverted to the chic and seemingly self-possessed Tara. It was difficult to imagine her with a broken heart.

  Having collected Gus from Max on her way home, Rona garaged the car in Charlton Road and, instead of going on to the house, turned instead into the slipway leading up to the park. The day had clouded over, making it marginally cooler, and walking Gus now would absolve her from having to go out later.

  Unlike the lower lawns, which, like the flowerbeds, benefited from regular watering, the grass on the upper slopes was scorched and dry, crunching under her feet. It was, as usual, populated by other dog-walkers and mothers with toddlers and pushchairs. Rona knew several of them by sight, and they exchanged smiles or brief comments as they passed. Gus, also as usual, had found a stick, which she was expected to keep throwing for him.

  An advantage of these walks was that they provided a chance for her to sort out plans or problems, and that afternoon her mind was occupied with Julian’s Scandinavian mother, whom she’d be meeting the following week. She wondered if his father would also be there.

  As the ground levelled off, she glanced towards the bench where, last time, she had seen Louise. Today it was unoccupied, but the sight of it switched her thoughts seamlessly to her next-door neighbours and the various question marks they generated. She paused, gazing out across the rooftops below, and as Gus once more panted hopefully up to her, a voice behind her said, ‘I didn’t know you had a dog.’

  Rona turned, to see a man half-smiling at her.

  She smiled cautiously back, wondering if this was a new chat-up line. ‘Is there any reason why you should?’

  His smile faltered and his eyes, a very dark blue, narrowed as they went over her face. Then he said questioningly, ‘Lindsey?’

  Rona breathed more freely. Not an importunate stranger, then. ‘Rona,’ she corrected.

  ‘My God! It’s amazing how alike you are! It’s only when—’ He broke off, laughing, and held out his hand. ‘Forgive me – I’m Dominic Frayne.’

  It was Rona’s turn to stare. This man was not at all like the mental picture she’d built up, and which the minute photo in the magazine had done nothing to dispel. Admittedly he conformed to Lindsey’s various descriptions of him – tall, in his late forties, hair streaked with grey – yet to her eyes he looked more like a poet than a ruthless tycoon, with his slightly over-long hair, his sensitive mouth and seemingly far-sighted eyes.

  ‘I suppose you get this all the time,’ he was saying. ‘Do you resent being recognized not as yourself, but as someone else?’

  ‘It comes with the territory,’ Rona answered, reflecting it was the second time recently that one of Lindsey’s swains had mistaken her for her twin.

  ‘So you’re the biographer? I’m delighted to meet you.’ He bent to pick up the stick Gus was guarding, threw it for him, and fell into step beside her as she resumed walking. ‘I’ve read all three, but I particularly enjoyed Pitt the Elder, a man who’s always interested me.’ He smiled. ‘I often think he must be spinning in his grave, now that we’re part of the EU!’

  ‘Having lost the empire he helped us acquire.’

  ‘Exactly.’ He flicked her a sideways glance. ‘It would be interesting, sometime, to have a discussion on how time has dealt with his accomplishments.’

  Gus lolloped back and deposited his stick at the feet not of Rona but of Dominic. They both laughed.

  ‘A sure sign of favour!’ Rona declared, as he threw it again.

  He glanced at his watch. ‘I must be getting back; I’m expecting a call.’ He nodded towards the row of houses opposite the top entrance to the park. ‘I live just across the road, so I’m lucky to have all this on my doorstep.’

  ‘Is it your main home?’ Rona asked, on Lindsey’s behalf.

  He smiled wryly. ‘At the moment, it is; I’ve left two “family homes” behind me in my chequered career, but actually this suits me very well. It’s amply big enough for my needs, and there’s no garden to be responsible for during my frequent absences.’

  They came to a halt, having reached the parting of the ways.

  ‘Are you working on a biography now?’ Dominic enquired.

  ‘No; I got my fingers burned on the last one I started, and haven’t geared myself up to try again.’

  ‘You should. You have a real talent for them.’ He smiled. ‘I hope that didn’t sound patronizing; it wasn’t meant to.’

  ‘I’ll take it as a compliment, then.’ She sighed. ‘Yes, I know I should get down to it. The trouble is, it’s such a long-term project.’

  ‘Most worthwhile things are.’ He held out a hand. ‘Goodbye, Rona. I’ve enjoyed meeting you. I hope our paths cross again.’

  Rona watched him cross the last short stretch of grass to the park gates, trying to sum up her impressions. She’d imagined him to be arrogant and self-opinionated, but that hadn’t come across at all, and the adjectives that now came to mind were far more positive: charming, self-assured, attractive. Yes, she could understand Lindsey falling for him, and, for that matter, young Lady Miranda being bowled over. All the same, she told herself, as Gus rejoined her and they turned to retrace their steps, she mustn’t lose sight of the fact that he was causing her sister sleepless nights with his apparent lack of commitment. Whether this was deliberate or not, she had no way of knowing.

  ‘I met Dominic in the park,’ she told Lindsey on the phone that evening. ‘He mistook me for you.’

  ‘Some people have all the luck! Did he ask after me?’

  Rona thought back, realizing, with a slight sense of guilt, that once the correct identity had been established, Lindsey’s name hadn’t been mentioned.

  ‘It was all very general,’ she hedged.

  ‘He didn’t bring up the French trip?’

  ‘No; as I said, it was—’

  ‘Very general.’ Lindsey sighed. ‘Well, at least tell me what you thought of him?’

  ‘Actually, he was much nicer than I expected.’

  ‘Damned with faint praise.’

  ‘Well, I’ve always resented his offhandedness with you.’

  ‘And now you forgive him?’

  ‘No, but I can see why you do.’

  ‘He didn’t say he’d be getting in touch with me, or anything?’

  Could hoping his and Rona’s paths crossed again be interpreted that way? ‘Not in so many words.’

  ‘Your exchanges,’ Lindsey said acidly, ‘seem to have been not only general, but positively abstract. Still, perhaps seeing you might remind him it’s time he phoned me. We can but hope.’

  And Rona was relieved to leave it there.

  When Rona arrived in Oak Avenue the next morning, it was to find Julian in the office with a middle-aged lady he introduced as Beryl, his part-time secretary.

  ‘I was hoping to see you, Rona; I’ve been in touch with Rupert Roxford. The House has gone into recess and he’s off to Scotland at the end of next week, in time for the twelfth. Will it be possible for you to get to Yorkshire before then?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Today’s Tuesday: I suggest you go up on Thursday, if that suits you, and stay overnight, returning on Friday. How would that be? Would it give you enough time?’

  ‘If it’s convenient for the Roxfords.’

  ‘It is; I checked. The estate’s at Ottersby, just north of Harrogate. There
’s a nice little pub in the village, which I’m sure would put you up for the night. The Roxford Arms, no less!’

  ‘Very appropriate.’

  ‘Fine; that’s fixed, then. Let me know if there’s any more information you’d like before you set off.’

  It occurred to Rona that, unlike her previous family researches, it seemed to be the Willows rather than herself who were directing procedures. Not that it mattered, as long as she continued to have their cooperation.

  Back in the archive room, she decided to concentrate on the Yorkshire connection, so any questions that might arise could be answered while she was there. In fact, she could find very little reference to the Roxford family, which seemed to confirm Felicity’s theory that there was now – and had for some time – been virtually no link between them. Araminta’s parents appeared to have had no interest in their Willow grandchildren – bearing out her disinheritance – and apart from a few further letters from her brothers, more and more widely spaced as time went by, there was little else on record. Which, snobbery apart, was sad.

  ‘I’m off to Yorkshire for a couple of days on Thursday,’ Rona told Max on the phone that evening. ‘I’ll have to polish my tiara in readiness!’

  ‘Just the one night?’

  ‘Yes; I’ll be spending it, would you believe, at the Roxford Arms. And as it’s Thursday to Friday, it won’t interfere with your evenings at home.’

  ‘If we’d not been away so recently, I’d have come with you, and taken the chance of some landscape painting. It’s a while since I did any.’

  ‘That would have been great. Is there no way you could manage it?’

  ‘Afraid not; I’m still making up for lost time on the holiday.’

  After her salad supper – an easy option during the summer months – Rona went up to her study to make a few notes for the Yorkshire trip. The room felt stuffy, and as she pushed open the window, she saw Louise in the garden next door, and, on impulse, called down to her.

  Louise started on hearing her name, looking first towards the back door of the house, before, as Rona called again, locating her.