Secrets in the Cotswolds

by Rebecca Tope

  She went into the churchyard, as a place where she had enjoyed a brief friendly chat with interesting people, though deserted now, and climbed over into the field with the cowpats and the walnut tree. There was a bird singing sporadically in the tree, and three or four nuts in their green outer cases lying in the grass. She picked them up, thinking Stephanie and Timmy might find them interesting. A plane passed overhead and cars went by on the road fifty yards away, but Thea felt she was alone in the world. It was a feeling she’d had before in the Cotswolds, as if the entire region was nothing more than a film set. The beautiful facades in their edible cream-and-piecrust hues, held nothing but empty space at their rear. Nearly every village she had spent time in had an air of secrecy about it. And here in Barnsley, in something as prosaic as a business park, there were apparently even darker secrets than most.

  She decided to go no further, but retraced her steps, back over the stile into the churchyard, still musing on the absence of any human life. Never mind that it was August, and that thousands of visitors came to the Cotswolds every week, not one of them would venture onto a barely visible footpath to explore empty fields and handsome old trees. Coachloads of them would be swarming around Bibury, Chipping Campden, Snowshill and other famous spots, ignoring the spaces in between.

  But then, all of a sudden, as she was loitering in the churchyard, two men appeared in the wide opening onto the road and turned up the approach to the church, towards her. She quickly recognised one of them, from his limping gait − it was the man from the churchyard the previous day. But his companion was not the same one as before. As she waited for them to come closer, she could see that this one was also fairly elderly, with a face very similar to the man with a limp. She wondered if they might be brothers.

  She made no conscious decision to speak to them, but simply stood there, watching them and waiting for them to reduce the space between her and themselves. Eventually, she said, ‘Hello! Looks as if the sun’s trying to come out.’

  ‘Ah! Good morning to you,’ said Dick, the man she’d met before, after a brief hesitation. Had he not wanted to speak to her, she wondered. Was she nothing more than a nuisance to him? ‘Been for a walk, have you?’ His eyes were small and blue, his chin slightly pink, as if very recently shaved. He wore a short-sleeved checked shirt and light summer trousers with a careful crease down the front. He did not meet Thea’s gaze for more than half a second at a time, but kept his focus on a point somewhere over her shoulder.

  ‘That’s right.’ She adopted a falsely buoyant tone, which she quickly realised must appear very foolish, given events of the past few days. ‘Not much else to do, really. And it’s all so lovely, isn’t it. That house further along the road, with the business park all round it—’ She nodded towards the mansion she had so admired. ‘Must be Georgian, I suppose.’

  ‘Quite right. Still privately owned and well maintained.’ A hint of local pride was readily detected.

  ‘I noticed the ha-ha as well,’ she went on. ‘Even though it’s rather overgrown. You could fall over it at night. I do like a ha-ha,’ she added. ‘Such a simple idea.’

  ‘Nobody goes that way at night,’ said the second man. ‘There’s a perfectly good driveway the other side of the yard.’ In contrast to his companion, he gave her a steady look, with eyes of a darker blue.

  ‘The stiles are rather a challenge, though.’ She found herself wanting to keep them there for a few minutes. It was good to have someone to talk to, even if it was only trivial chit-chat.

  ‘You mean because of my bad leg, I suppose,’ said Dick. ‘Actually, it’s really no problem. I twisted my knee falling down some stairs, which slightly damaged my cruciate tendon, but it’s not serious. I’m not letting it prevent me from following my usual routines.’

  ‘Oh good,’ said Thea weakly. She had never heard of a cruciate tendon.

  ‘But he doesn’t climb over stiles if he can help it,’ said the second man, with a quick smile. ‘Permit me to introduce us. This is Richard and I’m Edward. Jackson, in both cases.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Thea, wondering whether to extend a hand. ‘I’m Thea Slocombe.’

  Richard appeared to be gradually relaxing his decidedly stiff manner. ‘You’re all right, are you?’ he asked her. ‘After what happened? I must say I’m surprised to see you still here.’

  ‘Must have nerves of steel,’ said Edward, with a laugh that sounded as if his own nerves were made of something more flimsy.

  ‘I’m quite all right,’ said Thea. ‘You’re brothers, then, are you?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Richard.

  But the other man was still focusing on the image of a lone woman spending nights in a house of death. ‘But surely …’ he stammered. ‘That is − aren’t you at all anxious? I mean … isn’t it a bit …?’

  She gave him a moment to recover the use of his tongue, and then smilingly corrected his assumptions. ‘Not really. It’s not the first time, you see. And I’ve got the builders there during the day, and the police are keeping an eye on me. If anything, it’s rather boring. I’ve got all of this week still to go, if we stick to the plan.’

  ‘And you will, will you? Stick to the plan, I mean?’ It was Richard again, rapping out brisk questions as if he had every right to interrogate her. ‘Who made the plan, anyway? Are you a friend of Tabitha’s? She’s a very elusive person, in our experience. Half the local people still haven’t met her.’

  ‘But you have?’

  ‘Once,’ he nodded. ‘So – what’s the plan, then?’ he persisted.

  ‘It depends,’ she shrugged, being instinctively vague. ‘Who knows what’ll happen?’ Both men gazed at her, as if at a rare specimen at a zoo. The likeness between them became more apparent. ‘You both live here in the village, do you?’ she asked, determined to match question for question.

  ‘Born and bred,’ said Richard. ‘Our grandfather had a farm here originally, but our father sold off most of the land, very unwisely and totally against Mother’s wishes. We’ve only got a small fraction of it left now. But we’ve managed to keep going one way and another.’

  ‘And they’re buried here in the churchyard, I suppose,’ said Thea, remembering when she had first met him. ‘Your forebears, I mean. Although I don’t remember seeing Jackson on any of the headstones.’

  Edward took over, so smoothly that it felt as if the brothers habitually finished each other’s thoughts and spoke for each other. ‘They’re here, right enough. The whole clan, pretty nearly. The occasional youngest son got away, as in most families, but you’ll find us easily enough if you go looking. My grandmother’s people are there, too. In fact, if you delve back far enough, you’ll find we’re related to at least half the people buried here.’

  ‘You said something yesterday about the parish records being damaged,’ frowned Thea. ‘Is that right?’

  Richard nodded, but again hesitated before elaborating. ‘All a bit of a mystery, that is. No obvious reason for it – quite a lot of the paper’s just fallen to pieces, so it’s just a scatter of illegible scraps. The vicar says it must have been beetles or weevils. Some sort of insect.’

  ‘That’s terrible,’ said Thea, who had a feeling for old archives and primary historical sources. ‘There’s no substitute for the original records.’

  ‘Well, we’re hoping we can reconstruct most of them,’ said Richard. ‘It’s become quite a major project amongst several of the local people. We’ve got them coming up from the Ampneys as well – there are several connections, of course. We had a great-uncle who was churchwarden of Ampney Crucis at one point.’

  His brother showed little sign of concern for the lost documents. He was scanning the fields that lay behind them, as if searching for a missing dog or child. ‘Sun’s coming out, look,’ he said, apparently forgetting that Thea had said the same thing ten minutes earlier.

  It was an effective interruption. ‘Yes, yes. Must get on,’ said Richard Jackson.

  They we
re both retired, Thea presumed. One spent his time delving into family history and the other apparently did not. ‘I’m sorry to ask, but it’s going to nag at me all day otherwise,’ she burst out. ‘The thing is, I wondered if you might be twins?’ It had come to her attention long ago that making a direct enquiry such as this was considered impolite by society in general, for reasons that were obscure to her. It was the obvious way to acquire information, after all.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Richard. ‘He’s three years older than I am. Are you suggesting that I look as ancient as he does? If so, I think I should feel insulted.’

  She was unsure as to whether this was meant as a joke, but a glance at his face suggested something heartfelt just below the surface. ‘Sorry,’ she smiled. ‘I’m hopeless at guessing people’s ages.’ This was not strictly true, but she hoped it would appease him.

  He returned the smile, as if it was of no importance at all. They had been conversing close to the wall between the churchyard and the field, but now Richard made a move towards the road, forcing Thea to move aside. Within a few seconds, both men were walking away, leaving Thea to go when and where she pleased. ‘I expect I’ll see you again,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t suppose you will,’ said Richard. ‘We’re going to be fully occupied until the end of the month with visitors.’

  Edward gave her a softer response. ‘Nephew and nieces, mostly. There’s been a tradition for decades now that they all descend on their old uncles for their summer holidays.’

  ‘Actually not uncles but cousins, to be strictly accurate,’ said Dick.

  ‘How nice,’ said Thea fatuously.

  She was back at the house before eleven, finding the builders sitting in their van with mugs of coffee. ‘Waiting for the plumber,’ explained Dave. ‘He’s late.’

  Thea merely nodded and flapped a hand as if to say it wasn’t up to her to keep them at it. Now the time was growing so close, all she could think about was her lunch date with Clovis Biddulph.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She had suggested the pub in Quenington from some obscure sense of keeping Clovis well out of sight of anyone in Barnsley. Word was less likely to get back to Drew, or even Gladwin, that way. Whatever happened next, the whole encounter would be far best kept secret, if she could manage it without telling any direct lies. A quick check on the Internet reminded her that the pub was called The Keeper’s Arms. Ruefully she noted that it welcomed dogs. She felt sorely tempted to rush back to Broad Campden to collect the abandoned Hepzie, regardless of what Tabitha Ibbotson might think. It was not getting any easier without her. The morning’s walk had been just as flat and empty as those of previous days. Watching the spaniel nosing around, with bursts of exuberant flight, ears flapping, had always been more than half the point of a country walk.

  She did her best not to be early, but somehow found herself setting out just after noon. The unfamiliar car might cause trouble; there could be roadworks or a great logjam of coaches at Bibury, which was on the way. While not wanting to appear eager to meet Clovis again, neither did she want to keep him waiting, in a show of female hard-to-gettery. Just be normal, she kept telling herself.

  Quenington was itself full of historical and geographical interest. The buildings were ancient and unusual; there was the River Coln, which gave its name to a number of local settlements. Thea had been there once, two or three years earlier, on a day out that had included so many points of interest that she could now remember none of them in any detail. She drove a short way past the pub, with ten minutes to spare, and decided to take a quick walk up to the Knights’ Gate, that had taken her fancy on the previous visit, mainly because it claimed some connection with the Knights Templar, which were always fascinating.

  She located it without difficulty and stood admiring its age-old charms for a minute or two. Then, as she walked back, the driver of a dark-blue car tooted at her and she realised her assignation was about to begin.

  Clovis parked in the road outside the pub and sat waiting for her. With a brief greeting, he stood back and let her lead the way into the building. Tables were arranged like an ordinary pub, rather than a blurry combination of pub and restaurant that was more or less the norm in the Cotswolds. Without discussion, they settled at a corner seat by a window, with pints of beer in front of them. ‘We’ll order lunch in a minute,’ Clovis told the man behind the bar. He had not given Thea time to properly look at him, barely meeting her eye and moving briskly. Now, sitting across a pine table from him, she stared bravely into his face.

  It had been the eye contact that had sent her melting and throbbing when she’d first met him. That, and his outrageous good looks. He was dark and chiselled, tall and muscular – everything a good romance demanded. And now he had added a neat beard, trimmed to a quarter of an inch all over, which looked soft enough to stroke. He also had a rich voice and impeccable manners. Except, she reminded herself, that her first conversation with him, on the phone, had consisted of him making loud and intemperate accusations and threats. Clovis Biddulph could be dangerous in more ways than one.

  But as she kept his gaze, she found that almost nothing was responding inside her. She could not help thinking about Drew, as well as Barnsley and the builders, with Clovis dropping rapidly down the list. He was so sleek, so flawlessly handsome, that he scarcely seemed real. She thought of the effort he must go to every morning to ensure that his image remained immaculate. The danger was receding, the longer she looked at him. After several seconds, she realised that the change was in him, not her. He wasn’t activating charm mode at all. Instead he seemed to be waiting for her to get past the initial inspection and move on to the important stuff.

  ‘You said you wanted to pick my brains,’ she said. ‘I can’t imagine what I can possibly have to offer, on any conceivable subject.’

  ‘Marriage,’ he said succinctly. ‘I’m thinking of getting married, and I thought you might have some words of advice for me.’

  She sat back in utter astonishment. Wasn’t this rather a cliché? Didn’t it happen in old movies and popular romances? How could he sit here and say those words to a woman he had so shamelessly treated to all his charismatic wiles, only a few months before? ‘Oh!’ she said. ‘I didn’t see that coming.’

  ‘Listen,’ he said urgently. ‘I know how I came across last time, and I admit I did it deliberately. There you were, so pretty and confident and intriguing. I just couldn’t resist. But you have to admit I didn’t keep it up. When it all got so serious with the murder and everything, we simmered down, didn’t we? Your husband’s such a decent bloke, for a start. And you’re so well matched and happy together. Anyone can see that. I don’t want you to think … well, you know. I can’t help how I look, but I can’t pretend I haven’t exploited it. After a bit, it gets to be a curse. You must know what I mean – you’re quite an oil painting yourself, after all.’

  She felt her shoulders loosen, and gave a relaxed little laugh. ‘That’s an original way of putting it.’

  He drank half his beer and turned towards the bar. ‘We should order the food before it gets busy. If it ever does get busy, of course.’

  ‘I’ll have the steak and mushroom pie,’ she said. ‘I need something substantial. There’s no proper cooking facilities at the house.’ She had a thought. ‘Although, now they’ve got the new cooker in, maybe I can start using it.’

  ‘I met your builders. Seemed like nice chaps.’

  ‘They’re not mine. I’m just keeping an eye on things.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ he said. ‘I’ve read about you in the papers, once or twice. You’re the famous Cotswolds house-sitter who solves complicated rural murders. Everybody knows about you.’

  She grimaced. ‘None of it by choice, I promise you. It’s a tawdry sort of fame, always associated with somebody getting murdered.’

  He got up. ‘I’ll go and order, then. Are you ready for another drink?’

  ‘Nowhere near. Besides, I’m driving. This one’ll have to last.
’

  While he was gone, she explored the notion of Clovis being married. It would have to be a tough woman, well supplied with self-confidence. Or would he be crass enough to go for some young thing who had no idea what she was getting into? Having met his mother, who seemed entirely well balanced and a good sensible influence on her son, she tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. The very fact that he was seeking advice seemed to be a good sign. She laughed gently at herself for her earlier panic. There would be no need to keep this encounter a secret from Drew, after all. That in itself was a great relief.

  He came back and sat down and looked at her. He was still impossibly handsome. To have such a man as your lawful wedded husband would bring great kudos, even in this era of near equality. Heads would turn, and women would narrow their eyes at the wife and wonder what her secret was. ‘So what do you think?’ he asked her, seeming to be reading her thoughts without asking.

  ‘I need more information. Who is she? How old is she? What sort of baggage is she bringing with her? I mean – children, mainly.’

  ‘She’s called Jennifer and she’s thirty-two. No children, but two dogs. A job that pays silly money and a severe allergy to sesame seeds. You’d be surprised how tricky that can be, let me tell you.’

  Thea was not one to prevaricate with euphemisms and implied meanings that might easily be missed. ‘You’re over forty and never married, right? Doesn’t that frighten her?’

  ‘It frightens me,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to learn all those rules from scratch. I’m handicapped, remember, by not having a normal family background to rely on. I never saw a functioning marriage at close quarters in my formative years.’

  ‘I wonder how much that matters.’ She thought of her own settled family, with two parents, three siblings, and all the associated trimmings. Nice house, pets, adequate finances, no traumatic deaths and hardly any accidents. All that sort of thing had not started happening until she was past forty. And still she was doubtful about her performance as a wife – not just to Drew, but retrospectively to Carl as well. In the past few months she had begun to wonder just how good a job she’d made of it the first time around.