‘Perfect. I can’t thank you enough.’
‘I don’t want thanks, Anna. Now, let’s put these flowers in water before they start wilting as well!’
Beatrice’s bracing company was just the tonic Anna needed, and she found herself able to talk quite freely about Miles, even about the day he died.
‘It was such a shock,’ she remembered. ‘One minute he was fine and looking forward to his game of golf. The next, there was a knock at the door to say he was dead. It was . . . unbelievable.’
She looked across the pub table at her friend. ‘God, Bea, I miss him so much! So how, in the name of heaven, could I have become involved with Lewis?’
‘Perhaps you needed more comfort than I or the kids could give you,’ Beatrice suggested.
‘Sex, you mean?’ Anna demanded bluntly.
‘Perhaps.’ Bea’s voice was calm. ‘Or, put more sympathetically, physical comfort as well as emotional. Look, you promised to be faithful to Miles till death did you part, right?’
Anna nodded.
‘So – were you unfaithful while he was alive?’
Anna looked shocked. ‘Of course not!’
‘Then why the hell are you beating yourself up like this? There’s even a school of thought that says finding someone else within a year is proof of how much you loved your partner, though I confess I’m not entirely convinced.’
‘Sounds like a cop-out to me.’
Beatrice laughed. ‘That’s more like the Anna I know!’
‘You’re right. Which shows I’m ready to stop wallowing and hear all about your plans. Have you any exciting bookings lined up, important people or events you’re catering for?’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I sincerely hope Mandelyns’ thirty-year bash isn’t one of them?’
‘No, I haven’t been thus honoured, you can relax on that front. But I have one or two engagements which sound promising.’
And, emotional issues temporarily shelved, they settled down to discuss more pleasurable and less hazardous subjects.
At another pub ten miles west of them, Sophie and Jonathan sat in subdued silence. Vicky, having committed to hearing Year Two read in the school library, had been unable to join them.
It had started to rain as they arrived at the church, intensifying the sadness both were feeling as they walked through the cemetery to their father’s grave and read the inscription on the headstone. In front of it was a flower bed, where, in the early days, Anna had planted small annuals and low-growing shrubs. Some were still in bloom, but others looked bedraggled and forlorn in the wet earth.
They’d held an umbrella over each other as first one, then the other, placed the flowers they had brought in the stone container provided for the purpose.
‘Ought we to check there’s enough water in it?’ Sophie had asked.
Jonathan looked up at the leaden sky. ‘If there isn’t, there soon will be!’
‘All the same, I think I’ll get a watering can and top it up. The rain mightn’t penetrate the foliage.’
Their offerings having been provided for, they’d stood for a moment in silence, heads bowed. Then Sophie’s hand crept into her brother’s, and, together, they had turned away and made their way back to the car.
Jonathan glanced out of the pub window. The rain was heavier now, providing no incentive to move.
‘Would you like coffee?’ he asked.
Sophie looked up. ‘Yes, please.’ Her fingers played with the cutlery in front of her. ‘I wonder how Ma’s bearing up. I hope she’s OK.’
‘She will be.’
‘Don’t be too hard on her, Jon.’
‘I didn’t think I was being.’
The waitress approached to remove their plates, and they ordered coffee.
When she’d moved away, Sophie said, ‘You don’t really think Lewis had anything to do with the girl’s death, do you?’
He shrugged. ‘If she was a danger to his beloved Mandelyns . . .’
Sophie considered the point, neither conceding nor opposing it. ‘It must have come as a terrific shock, a girl you knew being murdered. How did you hear about it?’
Jonathan stared at her, his mind whirling. Coming completely out of the blue, this was a question he’d not prepared for.
‘TV or radio, or not till you read it in the paper?’ She looked at him questioningly, and he moistened his lips.
‘I . . . don’t remember.’
‘Oh, come on, Jon, you must! It’s not every day someone you know is murdered!’
He gazed at her helplessly, panic clogging his brain.
Sophie frowned. ‘What’s the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘One latte, one espresso,’ said a voice above them, and they made space for their cups.
Her frown deepened. ‘Where were you that day? With Steve, or working from home?’
Oh, what the hell? he thought wearily. She knew half of it, she might as well know the rest.
‘Actually, I was in Manchester,’ he said and, above her startled exclamation, added tonelessly, ‘In fact, I was the one who found her.’
Yvonne Standish turned into the drive of the neat little semi on the outskirts of Beechford, using her remote to open the garage door. Its purpose was invalidated, however, since, yet again, Kathy hadn’t collapsed the buggy, which meant she had to get out in the rain to move it so the car would fit in the garage. One more irritant to add to her general feeling of depression.
Or perhaps not so general, since it was firmly rooted in the long-drawn-out police enquiry, and the increasing effect it was having on Lewis. Her heart ached to see the deeper lines etched on his face, the bags under his eyes, and though she yearned to offer comfort, there was little she could do.
‘Hello?’ she called, closing the front door and hanging her wet raincoat on the hook.
‘In the kitchen,’ came her daughter’s voice.
Yvonne pushed open the door, to be greeted by the sight of nine-month-old Rose in her high chair, her mouth liberally covered in the orange-coloured mixture Kathy was trying to spoon into it.
‘Hi,’ Kathy said, without turning, but Rose treated her to a wide, toothless smile.
‘You didn’t collapse the buggy,’ Yvonne said, striving to keep the annoyance out of her voice.
‘Well, I was soaked through – I’d forgotten to take a brolly – and I wanted to get Rose indoors before she caught cold.’
An inadequate excuse, Yvonne thought, since the baby was always wrapped up to her eyebrows, but in the interests of harmony, she let it drop. The truth was that, despite her efforts over the years, she and Kathy had never been close. Punctilious and responsible by nature, Yvonne had always been irritated by her daughter’s fecklessness, and now they were again living under the same roof, they continued to rub each other the wrong way. In her mother’s opinion, Kathy thought only of herself, doing as little as possible around the house and several times failing to hand over the agreed sum for her keep.
A year ago, she’d been living with her boyfriend in a flat in Guildford, but soon after she became pregnant he moved out, and there was no way Kathy’s wages as a hairdresser could cover his share of the rent. Yvonne had been ready enough to step in and offer accommodation till she could find somewhere cheaper, but Kathy had made no attempt to do so.
Was she being selfish, she wondered, in wanting her little house to herself? After the stresses of the day at Mandelyns, she longed for time alone, to listen to the radio or watch television, to eat when and what she wanted. But now the TV was permanently tuned to Kathy’s choice of programmes, and suggested alternatives caused an evening of sulks. She never cooked supper, and she loaded or emptied the dishwasher only under protest.
Yvonne came to a sudden decision. Enough was enough; she would take matters into her own hands and find somewhere near both the hairdressers where Kathy worked and the nursery where she parked the baby. If necessary, she would offer a loan, repayable over a reasonable amount of time. Given space, t
hey’d both recover their equilibrium, and Yvonne would make a point of babysitting at least once a week, giving Kathy a chance to meet her friends and herself the opportunity to be with her granddaughter.
Feeling marginally more cheerful, she took the ready-prepared casserole out of the fridge and was lighting the oven when the doorbell rang. Kathy, though she’d now finished with the baby, made no move to answer it, so Yvonne did so and was startled to see Tina Martin on the step, a huge umbrella sheltering her from the rain.
Yvonne’s heart plummeted. ‘What is it?’ she asked quickly. ‘Has something happened?’
‘No, no. I’ve just been to the supermarket, and since I was in your area, I hoped we might have a quick word?’
A ‘quick word’ could have been exchanged at any time during the day, but Yvonne smiled agreement, waited while Tina propped the dripping umbrella in the porch, and ushered her inside.
‘If you’d like to take your coat off and go into the lounge,’ she said, ‘I’ll pop the supper in the oven, then pour us both a drink. Or—?’ She broke off, realizing Tina would be driving.
‘A small one would be fine, and very welcome.’
She met Kathy at the kitchen door, Rose in her arms. ‘Who was it?’ she asked.
‘A friend from work. I don’t think she’ll stay long, but it would help if you could see to the vegetables.’
‘I’m going to bath Rose.’
‘Before you go up? It would only take . . .’ But her daughter had disappeared up the stairs.
Counting to ten, Yvonne put the dish in the oven, took wine from the fridge and glasses from the cupboard, and went back to the lounge. Tina had removed her coat and draped it over a chair.
‘I hope this isn’t inconvenient?’ she said belatedly.
‘No, it’s fine. What was it you wanted to discuss?’
‘Oh, I just thought that, as fellow suspects, we might compare notes.’
Yvonne, about to hand over her glass, paused. ‘Suspects?’
‘Well, let’s face it, we are, aren’t we? All of us? We were on the scene, and any one of us could have done it. No wonder the police are lingering.’
Yvonne moistened her lips. ‘And exactly what would have been our motive?’
Tina shrugged. ‘I can’t speak for the men, but as far as we’re concerned, she was a stuck-up little so-and-so, wasn’t she? Thought she was better than the rest of us, when in reality she’d the morals of an alley cat.’
‘What?’
‘Well, perhaps that’s a bit strong, but she must have been handing out her favours. I mean, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it, that she met someone up there, either by arrangement or pickup?’
That, Yvonne remembered, had been the suggestion put forward by Mike and seconded by Tina, up in Manchester. Why, she wondered, was she repeating it now?
‘That must have been what happened,’ Tina was hurrying on, ‘because the only alternative is that it was one of us.’ She took a quick sip of her drink. ‘Do you think the police are making any headway?’
‘We’ve no way of knowing, have we? I only hope they’re off the premises before the twentieth. But Tina, I can’t believe you’ve come out of your way on a wet evening, just to go over it all again! If it’s worrying you so much, why didn’t you bring it up during the day?’
‘Because there’s no privacy there at the moment. I’ve the feeling everyone’s trying to hear what you’re saying.’ Another gulp of wine. ‘Also, I’m very worried about Mike. This is really getting him down.’
‘Lewis too,’ Yvonne said quietly. ‘And no doubt Cameron, though we don’t see as much of him.’
Tina nodded abstractedly. ‘I know it’s ghastly for everyone, but honestly, Mike’s going to have a stroke or something if he goes on like this.’ She paused. ‘Strictly entre nous, I found a bottle of whisky in his desk drawer.’
‘That’s not good, certainly.’
‘No. I was wondering—’ She broke off, started to say something, then seemed to change her mind. ‘Look,’ she said quickly, ‘I’m holding you up – I must go.’
She finished her wine in one draught, caught up her coat, and shrugged it on as she hurried to the front door. But as they reached it, she turned back to Yvonne.
‘Who do you think did it?’ she challenged.
‘I don’t know, Tina, but if I were you, I should stop trying to second-guess the police and let them get on with it. They’ll nail someone eventually.’
Tina shuddered. ‘It makes you wonder, though, doesn’t it?’
Yvonne could only agree that it did.
The next morning, Sophie was still reeling from Jonathan’s disclosure, and her anxiety on his behalf had trebled. When, with only passing interest, she’d first read about the murder, she couldn’t in her wildest dreams have imagined that not only was one of the suspects involved with her mother, but her own brother had found the body. Come to that, she still couldn’t believe it; it was bizarre, unreal.
Also, the burden of Jon’s secret weighed heavily on her. Suppose she made some slip that gave him away? He’d assured her that his alibi cleared him of the murder, but he could surely be charged with withholding information, failing to report a dead body, tampering with the crime scene, and any number of other misdemeanours. Worst of all, she daren’t share this new knowledge with Angus, yet another secret she was keeping from him. In the space of a few weeks, her world had changed, and not for the better.
Her mind still occupied, she reached automatically for her ringing mobile and flipped it open to see Imogen was calling. ‘Hi, Imo,’ she said.
‘Hi yourself. How are things?’
‘Muddling along. Thanks for the card, by the way.’
‘I was thinking of you all. How did it go?’
‘We just took some flowers to the grave and had a quiet lunch together.’ She knew Imogen would take it that her mother was included, which was all to the good. There was no acceptable explanation as to why she hadn’t been.
‘I was wondering,’ Imogen was continuing tentatively, ‘if you know why Jonathan went to see Uncle Ted the other day?’
Jon and his memory stick crusade! Why hadn’t he warned her? ‘Did he?’ she prevaricated. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘For some reason, he was interested that Aunt Em had been to Mandelyns.’
Thankfully, Sophie seized on her cue. ‘That’ll be it, then; I saw in the paper that they’ve an anniversary coming up. He’s probably doing an article on them.’
‘Oh.’ Imogen sounded only half convinced.
‘How is Uncle Ted?’ Sophie asked quickly. ‘I’ve been meaning to phone him.’
‘He’s gradually finding his feet, but I know he’d be pleased to hear from you.’
‘I’ll give him a ring later.’
‘I’m coming up to town next week,’ Imogen went on, ‘to start Christmas shopping. Any chance of meeting for lunch?’
‘Of course. Let me know when, and I’ll book a table. The restaurants are packed this time of year.’
‘See you, then. Bye.’
‘Bye,’ echoed Sophie. Was there anything else her brother hadn’t told her about?
Yvonne was also less at ease than she’d been the day before, having spent a restless night mulling over Tina’s visit and abrupt departure. She’d not found a plausible explanation for either. What had she been hoping to confirm or ascertain? And had she succeeded?
Any one of us could have done it, she’d said. Suppose, Yvonne thought suddenly, Tina had been testing her, attempting to judge if she was under suspicion herself?
Having never entertained the idea, she tried to consider it dispassionately, on the basis that, as Tina had pointed out, they were all suspects. The motive she’d put forward – basically jealousy – was thin in the extreme, but could have been a screen for something deeper.
With a gesture of impatience, Yvonne abandoned the exercise and returned to her work.
The post had already arrived when Jonathan reached th
e kitchen on Wednesday morning, and Vicky was holding a large white card in her hand. She was reading it as he came in.
‘What do you make of this?’ she asked, passing it across.
Jonathan glanced at it, and froze. The company of Mr and Mrs Jonathan Farrell is requested at the Thirtieth Anniversary Celebration . . .
Oh, God! He looked up, meeting Vicky’s bewildered gaze.
‘How did they get hold of our names?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Does it mean they know about the memory stick? Jonathan, I don’t like it! They even have our address! They—’
‘Whoa!’ He held up a hand, rapidly searching for the best explanation. Because there was no way he was going to miss this opportunity. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing sinister, love. I meant to tell you, apparently Ma met the owner of Mandelyns in South Africa. Talk about coincidence! No doubt he sent invites to everyone in the group, and since she hasn’t a partner, he kindly included us, and probably Sophie and Angus, to keep her company.’
Vicky looked doubtful. ‘But he doesn’t even know us!’
‘It’s not a private party, Vic, more a publicity exercise.’
‘This came with it.’ She handed over another card, headed Programme of Events.
In order to obtain maximum enjoyment from the occasion, he read, overnight accommodation is offered with the compliments of the management. The events themselves were listed as Afternoon Tea from 3 p.m. to 5 p.m., Champagne Reception at 7 p.m. and Gala Dinner at 7.45. At the foot were the discreet words Black Tie and RSVP by 13th November.
‘Wow!’ Jonathan exclaimed. ‘They’re certainly pushing the boat out! You can bet all the great and the good will be there, celebs and the lot. Better take your autograph book!’
‘You mean we should go?’
‘For pity’s sake, why not? Chances like this don’t come up every day.’
‘But it might be a trap! You could be walking straight into the lion’s den!’
Shifting Sands Page 20
