CHAPTER 3
The back garden at Wychwood was small, and entirely enclosed by a high stone wall. Up, down and along this grew, climbed, tumbled and leaned a host of sweet-scented plants, great swathes of roses, jasmine, honeysuckle and clematis, and in the beds beneath it, stocks, nicotiana and phlox added their own perfume to the warm, heady air.
Webb and Hannah sat in the deepening dusk on the small patio, drinking their after-dinner coffee and idly listening to the music which drifted down the lane from the Old Rectory. The black cat, Oswald, had leapt, uninvited, on to Webb’s knee and was proceeding to wash itself thoroughly. Arthur the tabby had set off, soft-footed, to check his territory, and Pirate, he of the black eye-patch, lay in the open doorway immediately behind them.
Webb stretched comfortably. ‘Rural bliss,’ he said. ‘How can anyone choose to live in a town?’
Hannah topped up his coffee cup. ‘Never mind; you’ve got four more weekends to look forward to.’
He smiled. ‘Just as well the pub’s reasonable.’ He’d booked into an old inn on the High Street, on the corner where Hannah’s lane joined the main road.
‘I’m sorry about that. You could have stayed here if I hadn’t advertised your presence by dragging you to the fete.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. How the other half lives.’ He thought briefly of Ashley Walker.
‘With murder in their flowerbeds? I wonder if Mr Walker was serious about digging it up. I’ll try to sneak a look on Tuesday.’
‘Tuesday?’
‘When I go for coffee.’
‘I didn’t know you’d been invited.’
‘Yes, this afternoon. Your attention was wandering at that point.’
‘Can you blame me? All that feminine chitchat.’ But he was grateful for the concealing dusk. ‘Anyway,’ he added, ‘there’s another reason why I’d rather stay on here. I’m not looking forward to next week.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because a woman DI’s being foisted on us, and what’s more she’s being put in my office.’
‘But why? I thought your complement was complete?’
‘Crombie’s course has been extended, and his replacement’s still off ill. He had a perforated ulcer, and as if that wasn’t enough, picked up an infection in hospital, poor bloke. So if a major incident blew up, we’d be undermanned.’
‘Then it’s just the fact that she’s a woman you object to? Really, David, how chauvinistic!’
‘No, it’s because she’s coming to Shillingham ‘for family reasons’. Which means she’s probably hoping for a permanent appointment.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘I don’t want her permanently in my office, that’s what’s wrong, and God knows where else there’s room for her.’ He lifted the cat and deposited it gently on the paving stones. ‘In the meantime, I’d better be getting down to the Horse and Groom. It’s after eleven and I don’t want to find myself locked out.’
***
As Webb reached the corner of the High Street, a car skidded out of a turning further up the road and scorched past him. He’d a brief impression of three people inside. Probably coming from the Old Rectory and probably tight, he thought grimly. He stood looking after its tail lights as they dwindled rapidly in the distance. Then, with a shrug, he went into the pub.
Inside the car, Howard Walker remarked mildly, ‘No need to break any speed records, darling.’
‘Don’t criticise my driving,’ Ashley said tightly, ‘or you can get out and walk.’
‘I can’t think why you insisted on driving.’
‘Because I want to get home before dawn.’
Gavin said sulkily from the back seat, ‘She can’t wait to tear me off a strip.’
‘And don’t think you don’t deserve it,’ his father retorted. ‘You behaved appallingly, and in front of everyone, what’s more. God knows what our friends thought.’
‘I object to blackmail, even when it’s wrapped up in large cheques.’ He gripped the sides of his seat as his mother slewed the car through the gateway of their home and drew up at the door in a hail of flying gravel.
Howard said, ‘I wasn’t happy myself at the thought of you swanning round Europe for a year. Lord knows what kind of company you’d have got into.’
‘I see you’re using the past tense. Does that mean you think she’s won?’
Ashley slid out of the car, leaving the door open. Her husband leant across to close and lock it.
‘Gavin, don’t let’s have another scene. It’s your birthday, damn it. I don’t want to play the heavy father.’
‘But you don’t mind her playing the heavy grandmother. It’s so grossly unfair!’
Howard felt a twinge of sympathy. That last sentence was the child’s age-old protest against adult supremacy. In silence they followed Ashley into the house. She had flung herself down on the sitting-room sofa and kicked off her shoes.
‘I think we could do with a nightcap,’ Howard said.
As he poured the drinks, he searched for a way round the situation. Better if he tried to defuse it; Ashley wasn’t in the mood to be tactful, and Gavin would lash out at the first hint of criticism. He handed them each a glass, looking from one frowning, well-loved face to the other. Then he sat down with his own drink and cleared his throat.
‘Now, Gavin. Try to see your grandmother’s point of view, there’s a good chap. You’re the only boy in your generation—it’s natural she should want you in the firm as soon as possible. As it is, there’ll be a three-year gap while you’re at university, but at least you’ll be doing vacation work in the factory and learning the ropes. Whereas if you go waltzing off for a whole year, you might well lose the taste for work altogether—opt out of Oxford and everything else.’
‘Ah! That’s the whole point, isn’t it? She’s terrified once I’m away from family influence, I might decide not to go into the beastly firm at all.’
Howard’s heart missed a beat, but he answered levelly, ‘She’s too much faith in your good sense to think that.’
‘How much faith has she in Melanie’s and Fay’s? They’ll probably get married, most girls do. Suppose their husbands have their own interests and don’t want them spending all their time at the factory?’
‘We’re not concerning ourselves at the moment with Melanie and Fay. Look, Gavin, your grandmother’s not forbidding you to take a year off.’
‘She’d better not try!’
‘All she’s done is give you a cheque for your birthday and promised to treble it if you’ll go straight to Oxford.’
‘And since that cheque is only a third of what she gave Melanie, I’m being penalized unless I give in to her. Which, as I said, is blackmail.’ He sounded perilously close to tears. ‘Damn it, Dad, I’ve been looking forward to that year. All through A-levels I was thinking: Once this over, I’ll be free! And I was counting on that cheque to start me off. Now, thanks to that bloody-minded old woman, the whole thing is in the air. I wish I’d rammed her miserable cheque down her silly old throat!’ And, clattering his glass down on the table, he stumbled to his feet and hurriedly left the room.
Howard took off his spectacles and polished them on his handkerchief. His face looked oddly naked without them. ‘I’m afraid that wasn’t a very useful exercise,’ he said.
Ashley swung her feet to the floor. ‘Let him sleep on it. He may see sense in the morning. Mind you, he has a point. He’s entitled to the same amount as Melanie, but he only gets it if he does what he’s told.’
‘He’s her favourite grandchild, you know,’ Howard said quietly. ‘And she’s getting old. I’ve noticed a big change in her the last month or two. She hasn’t the same ‘go’ and she sags if she thinks no one’s looking. I’d say the root of it is that she doesn’t want to part with him for a whole year.’
‘She could have been open about it, instead of trying to force his hand like this.’
‘But she was. Didn’t he tell yo
u? Ever since she learned what he was planning, she’s been trying to talk him out of it. But he’s as stubborn as she is, and he wouldn’t budge. That’s why he resents it so much now.’
‘What worries me is that he may have got her back up, after the way he behaved this evening.’
Howard smiled tiredly. ‘She’s hardly likely to cut him out of her will, if that’s what you’re thinking. That would defeat her own object, wouldn’t it?’
‘I suppose so.’ She stood up abruptly. ‘God, I’m tired. It’s been a long day.’ He rose too and came over to her, cupping her cool, bare elbows in his hands.
‘Try not to worry, darling.’ Her eyes were on a level with his. In them he read a brief flare of hope, followed by dispirited resignation. He let his hands drop and’ she turned away.
‘I love you,’ he said. She nodded and left the room.
It was only as he was preparing for bed that Howard realised Gavin hadn’t asked to see the car. He sighed. Perhaps things would right themselves in the morning.
Eleanor stretched her lithe, cat-like body and took the lighted cigarette Robin handed her. To her amusement, she’d been allocated a room in the main house rather than in Robin’s top-floor flat. Once all the bedroom doors were closed, he had come to join her.
‘What did you make of that scene this evening?’ she asked idly.
Robin bent and kissed her throat. ‘Gavin’s always had a temper. When he was small he used to throw tantrums, but it’s some time since I’ve seen him let fly as he did this evening.’
‘In his place, I’d have let fly too.’
‘It’s Mother’s money; she can apportion it how she likes.’
‘Oh, come on, Robin! She was using it as a lever, and you know it. The fact that Melanie’s eighteenth was only last year makes it all the more pointed. I’m not surprised Gavin told her what she could do with it.’
He leant back his head and exhaled a stream of smoke. She lay watching him, the long line of his throat, the hollow at the base of it, the strength of his chest and shoulders.
‘You don’t like it when I criticise your beloved family, do you, even though I’ll soon be part of it? Look, love, this has to be said. There’s something claustrophobic about you all, and it worries me sometimes. You’re a closed circle—‘trespassers keep out’. But some day, someone’s going to break away. I hoped you might be the first, but it looks as though it’ll be Gavin.’
‘He’s not going to ‘break away’, Eleanor. There’s no reason why he should. Mother wasn’t putting any pressure on him.’
‘Not much, she wasn’t. She puts pressure on all of you, though you don’t seem to realise it. For instance, why are you marrying me?’ She held up a hand as he began to speak. ‘OK, you love me, I accept that. But you’ve loved other women, and you didn’t marry them. Why me? Getting married wasn’t my idea, and I suspect it wasn’t yours, either. But your mother thought it time you settled down and did your bit about providing an heir. She’s not wild about your choice, but at least I’ve proved I’m not barren.’
‘Eleanor!’
‘OK, love, it’s probably the booze talking, but let me finish. She may think she owns the lot of you, body and soul, but she doesn’t. Just because you and Neville and Howard were good little boys and did what Mummy told you, it doesn’t mean the next generation will.’
‘You talk as if we were forced to join the business. We weren’t. It never occurred to any of us to do anything else. Damn it, the firm’s been going for two hundred years, passing from father to son all along the line. Of course it must continue. Surely you see that.’
‘Dear Octopus,’ she said.
An hour later, back in his own bed, her question about their marriage was still in his head. It was true Mother wanted another grandson, but he’d more pressing reasons for his decision, reasons which made a change of status not only desirable but imperative. Once and for all, he must extricate himself from a very messy situation, and this was the only way to do it. Then perhaps those terrible memories would stop haunting him.
And she was right about his not liking her criticising the family. Dear Octopus, she’d called it. But she’d settle down once they were married, and all would be well. Things always came right in the end. Turning on his side, Robin drifted into sleep.
On the floor below, Dorothy Walker lay waiting for the trembling to cease. It had not been a happy day. First the Ridley boy at the fete, then Gavin, which was so much worse. Oh, why had she acted so stupidly? Her illness was clouding her judgment. Because she’d no time to let events take their course, she’d tried to force the issue. With disastrous results. The things that boy had said! Surely he didn’t mean them?
She pressed a hand to her jumping heart. She’d not intended to blackmail him—of course she hadn’t. It was a loathsome idea. In fact, as soon as she’d reached her room, she’d written another cheque for the full amount. When she felt calmer, she’d send for him and hand it over. Apologise. Oh God, let it be all right. Let everything be all right.
It was Sunday afternoon, and Nina Petrie reached up on tiptoe to slide the last suitcase on top of the wardrobe. There—that was better. She stood back and surveyed the room, with its flowered wallpaper and heavy blue curtains, its narrow single bed and the stain on the rug. She’d spilt a bottle of nail varnish on it at the age of sixteen. She smiled faintly, remembering, which was a luxury she didn’t often allow herself. Looking back made the good things seem better and the bad worse than they’d actually been. Better to live in the present.
But moving home was unavoidably a time of stock-taking. She wasn’t the same person who once owned this room, who’d lain in that bed the night before her wedding, too excited to sleep. She was ten years older, and, she hoped, correspondingly wiser.
During those ten years she’d acquired a much-loved daughter, built up a steady career in the police force, and her husband had become an ex-husband. And now that Mum’s health wasn’t so good, she’d arranged for her promotion move to be to Shillingham, so they could all live together.
It was to her advantage as much as Mum’s; there would be someone at home when Alice came in from school, or when she herself was called out at night, which was increasingly likely. And on the career side, it would be exhilarating to work in the busy county town instead of the quieter ambience of Oxbury. She’d been warned, though, that her present position was temporary; Inspector Crombie was on a prolonged course at Bramshill, and initially she’d be sitting in for him. However, if she proved useful at DHQ, the Chief Super had hinted that a niche would be found for her. Nina was quietly confident that it would be.
Alice’s voice sounded from below. ‘Mummy! Gran said to tell you tea’s ready!’
‘Coming!’ With a last, satisfied look about her, Nina ran downstairs.
Back at his desk, Webb’s thoughts turned more than once to the flowery accusation at the Old Rectory. It probably meant nothing, but he’d have liked to know the reason for it. Furthermore, such musings invariably led to Ashley Walker, which annoyed him. He hadn’t particularly liked her, but nor could he banish the memory of her poise, her careless acceptance of the impact she made. She was the type of woman, he told himself, who drove a fast sports car and had an impossibly low handicap at golf. Those traits did not appeal to him; he’d never cared for aggressive women. Notwithstanding, she had lodged in his mind, and he resented the intrusion.
He also resented Nina Petrie, he acknowledged, gazing moodily at her bent head. Not that she’d put a foot wrong so far. She was keeping herself to herself, but her presence altered the entire atmosphere of the office, and it no longer seemed his own.
Oxbury appeared to think well of her. ‘Alert, efficient, innovative’— were words he remembered. He looked her over assessingly. She was of small build—no Junoesque Ashley Walker here—and her hair was of the frizzy, naturally curly variety, almost black. Eyes unexpectedly blue under straight black brows, and a pleasant smile, he recalled, which lit up a rather st
ern face. Not that she’d smiled often. To be fair, he’d given her nothing to smile about.
For the rest, her bust was on the heavy side, though her waist was trim and she’d good legs. He could see them now under the desk, ankles neatly crossed.
Hannah’s words suddenly came back to him and he shifted uncomfortably, admitting that he wouldn’t have catalogued a male colleague’s attributes like that. It was a police officer who sat over there, he reminded himself, and he’d make sure he treated her as one, regardless of gender.
Though apparently intent on her work, Nina was aware both of his scrutiny and his disapproval. She’d done her best, she reflected sadly, but he didn’t like her. It was a pity, but it needn’t rule out a perfectly workable relationship. On one thing, however, she was determined. She wasn’t going to play the admiring little woman to his macho policeman. They were both here because they were able, quick-thinking and, in varying degrees, well thought of. He might not like her, but she’d earn his respect. On that, she was determined.
She shut him out of her thoughts and went on with her report.
On the Tuesday, it rained. Hannah heard it as soon as she woke, drumming on the rafters just above her head. Oswald, who had resisted all her blandishments to come inside the previous night, had apparently sought shelter through her window and now lay curled on the dressing-stool.
She slipped out of bed and went to the window. It had been raining for some time. The gutters which, during the dry spell, had become clogged with blown petals and twigs, were miniature torrents along which the debris swirled helplessly towards the waiting grids. At the gate, the cherry tree stood bowed under its weight of drenched foliage.
Hannah went down to shower in the minute bathroom of which Paula was so proud. The other two cats greeted her as she emerged, winding themselves round her legs, running ahead of her up the steep staircase, then stopping halfway so that she almost tripped over them. They strolled nonchalantly into the bedroom, and with one accord, jumped on the sleeping Oswald and edged him off the stool. There was a brief boxing session, after which all three sat down and washed themselves. Hannah wasn’t sure what points had been scored, or by whom, but honour was apparently satisfied.
Six Proud Walkers Page 3
