The rustling sound of rain filled the room, soft and soothing. There could be no surreptitious peep at the flowerbed in this weather. Flanked by her escort, she went down for breakfast.
The coffee party was held in the conservatory, which led off the dining-room at the back of the house. Comfortable, deeply cushioned chairs were positioned overlooking a part of the garden Hannah hadn’t seen before. Immediately below was a wide, paved area with a swimming pool in its centre. Today, rain made pock-marks on the surface of the water.
‘How lovely to have your own pool!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s always been an ambition of mine.’
‘Then please make use of it while you’re here,’ Lydia Walker told her, and, at her instinctive protest, ‘Really—I mean it. There are days when no one goes near it, and it seems hardly worth the maintenance. You’d be doing us a favour.’
‘Well, if you’re sure, I’d love to.’ Hannah took the chair indicated and settled down as coffee was brought in.
It was a moment or two before she became aware that no one was quite at ease. Perhaps it was her own presence which was inhibiting, though they’d greeted her with friendliness. Only gradually did she identify the undercurrent as embarrassment, and Ashley Walker as its centre. Hannah was curious. Obviously these women knew each other well. Why, suddenly, should there be constraint between them?
She realised with a start that Lydia was addressing her. ‘More coffee, Miss James?’
She held out her cup with a smile. ‘I’d feel much more comfortable if you’d use my first name. It’s Hannah.’
There was a relieved murmur of assent. At least, she thought, I’ve done my bit to ease the tension. She added, ‘How did the party go? We were sitting outside, and heard the music.’
Immediately she’d spoken, she knew she’d pinpointed their discomfort. Damn! Everyone’s eyes dropped and Lydia flushed.
‘I hope it didn’t disturb you,’ she said.
‘Not at all; we enjoyed it.’
It was Ashley who answered her question. ‘It went extremely well, thank you. A great success.’
Two of the other women started to speak at once, and broke off with embarrassed laughs. Hannah thought: Something happened at the party, and they were all there. What could it have been?
After a stumbling start, conversation resumed and Hannah, feeling it wise to revert to being an onlooker, studied one after another of those present.
Beside the two Walker women, there were three others. Inez Pratt, introduced as the doctor’s wife, was a strong-featured women with dark hair wound round her head in braids. She wore no make-up and was dressed in a black T-shirt and full cotton skirt. Her legs were strong, brown and hairy, her bare feet thrust into leather thonged sandals. On an ethnic kick, Hannah decided.
Barbara Mallow had arrived at the same time as herself, crossing the road from the vicarage. She was pale and fair-haired, with a determinedly pleasant expression. Hannah suspected she might find it harder than her husband to love her neighbours, and wondered where the Walkers featured in her popularity chart.
Lastly, there was Pamela Tenby, who, catching Hannah’s glance, closed one eye in a wink. Hannah smiled back, guessing her summing-up had not gone unnoticed. Mrs Tenby was auburn-haired and pale-skinned, with oversized spectacles perched on her nose. She seemed to be observing the proceedings with slightly malicious amusement. Hannah hoped there’d be the chance of a private word with her.
They were on the point of leaving when Dorothy Walker came into the conservatory. And it was only then that Ashley betrayed a hint of nervousness.
‘Please don’t let me disturb you,’ the older woman said as they started to rise. ‘I’m just on my way out. Ashley dear, would you ask Gavin to come to tea with me tomorrow? About four o’clock; I’ve an appointment earlier, but shall be back by then.’
‘Yes yes, of course.’
Dorothy nodded, smiled on them all, and went out again. Hannah had only seen her from a distance on Saturday, and was struck now by her air of frailty, the skin stretched tightly over her cheekbones.
At her side, Pamela Tenby said, ‘I’ll run you back.’
‘Oh, it’s not far.’
‘Far enough in this weather.’ And to underline her words, thunder growled in the distance. They moved in a bunch through the dining-room, formal in mahogany, to the wide, panelled hall. Hannah wondered if erstwhile clerics had enjoyed that magnificent woodwork, or whether later owners, more blessed in worldly riches, had installed it.
‘Don’t forget about the pool,’ Lydia reminded her as they said goodbye. ‘No need to phone—come whenever you like.’
Pamela’s car was the little red mini in the drive. ‘And what,’ she asked, as they emerged on to the road, ‘did you make of all that?’
‘How do you mean?’
Pamela laughed. ‘You can’t fool me. You got us all sussed out, didn’t you?’
‘I hope it wasn’t as obvious as that. I was just a little intrigued by the—atmosphere.’
‘I’m not surprised. The reason for it was an almighty row between Gavin and his grandmother at the party, though it looks as though a truce is in the offing.’
‘What was it about?’
‘Money, my dear. Filthy lucre. His birthday cheque wasn’t as big as he’d expected.’
‘It seems a little ungracious.’
‘Well, there’s more to it than that. But it was highly embarrassing, and Lydia must have been wishing she hadn’t arranged the coffee morning.’
‘I suppose you know the family well?’
‘Well enough.’
‘But you’re not a close friend?’
‘No. To be honest, a little of the Walkers goes a long way. They’re obsessed with family pride—the line going back God knows how long, and all that jazz. They’ve not much time for lesser mortals.’
‘You sound rather bitter,’ Hannah said quietly.
‘Sorry. It’s just that my son was going out with young Fay for a while. Quite keen on her, and she seemed to reciprocate. Then all of a sudden, attitudes changed and it was made pretty clear his attentions were no longer welcome.’
‘You mean Fay changed her mind?’
‘Nothing so simple. The family changed theirs. With no explanation. Clive was very upset at the time.’
‘Was he at the party?’
‘Oh yes; basic civilities have been maintained.’
They had drawn up outside Wychwood. Hannah said, ‘You were talking about the unbroken Walker line, but the firm’s Walker & Fairfax. What happened to them?’
‘Dorothy was the last of them—an only child. And since James Walker’s brother and two cousins were killed early in the War, they were more or less forced together, to prolong the dynasty.’ She gave the last word a veneer of sarcasm, then, slightly ashamed of herself, added: ‘Still, however politic, there’s no denying it was a love-match, right up to his death.’
‘I see. Well, thanks for the lift. Would you like to come in for a minute?’
‘No, thanks; Clive’ll be waiting for his lunch. Nice to have met you, Hannah.’
The little car drove off in a spray of water. Hannah stood for a moment, lifting her face to the rain. It felt warm and earthy, pattering on her skin. Different from town rain, somehow. Pushing the gate open, she walked up the path. She might not have seen the flowerbed, but she felt she’d learned quite a lot about the Walkers.
CHAPTER 4
Nick Carstairs dropped his racquet on the grass and joined Melanie at the iron table. Yesterday’s rain had passed and the sun shone again.
‘We’ll have a return match when there’s a court free—OK?’
She stretched out her long legs, sipping her lemonade. ‘If you like.’
‘Such enthusiasm!’ He glanced at her astutely. ‘Family row blown over?’
‘Which one?’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You don’t do things by halves, you Walkers. How many have you had?’
‘Two to my k
nowledge, but I suppose you mean Gavin.’ ‘Right. I thought your grandmother’d have a stroke or something, when he lashed out at her like that.’
‘Gavin has a quick temper,’ Melanie said slowly, ‘but it was Grandma’s fault for handing the cheque over in public.’ ‘But it was the specified time, surely?’
‘All the same, she must have known how he’d react. It was almost as though she was challenging him.’
‘Does that mean you’re on Gavin’s side?’
‘It’s not a question of sides, Nick. But if I had to back one of them, it would be Gavin, yes.’
‘Insurrection in the camp, no less.’
‘My grandmother,’ Melanie said intently, ‘is a ruthless old woman. She’ll go to any lengths to get her way, and it doesn’t matter who gets hurt in the process.’
Nick looked at her in surprise. ‘Hey, isn’t that a bit strong? She seems such a gentle old lady.’
‘That’s because you’re not family. There’s a different set of rules for us; we have to conform.’
‘Would the other row by any chance be between you and her?’
‘No, me and my father.’
‘Well, well. And I thought you were such a devoted family. Is it serious?’
‘He was furious at the time, but it’s over now.’
Nick smiled crookedly. ‘And you’re not going to tell me anymore about it.’
‘Correct.’
‘All this time I’ve envied you your large and supportive family, but perhaps I’m lucky there’s just Mum, Dad and me.
‘No,’ she said slowly, ‘I wouldn’t swap them really. They’re OK.’ She looked up at him from under her thick, straight brows. ‘Forget what I said about Grandma. I shouldn’t have. She wants what she thinks is best for us.’
‘And the business,’ suggested Nick shrewdly.
‘There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s our livelihood, after all
Nick drained his glass. ‘I was surprised to see Clive there. Is it on again with Fay?’
‘No.’ As though aware that her answer was abrupt, she added, ‘You know what it’s like in the village. If we hadn’t invited the Tenbys, there’d have been a lot of raised eyebrows.’
‘But how is Fay? She looks very pale and dreamy these days.’
‘She’s all right.’ This time there was no disguising the sharpness in her voice.
‘I was only asking,’ Nick protested mildly.
‘And I was only answering.’ Melanie pushed her chair back, coming to her feet. ‘Look, those people are coming off Court 3. If you want another game, we’d better go and nab it.’
For a moment he looked up at her, at the determined line of her jaw, the thick, tawny hair hanging straight almost to her shoulders, the windblown fringe. A strong character, his Melanie. And however much she criticised her family, it was clear no one else might.
With a shrug he bent to pick up his racquet and followed her down the grass slope to the court.
***
It was closing time, and, with bad grace, Dick Ridley allowed himself to be escorted out of the Swan and collapsed on to the bench outside. He should have been at work, but after a night’s heavy drinking he’d not been able to face it. He’d phoned in and reported sick—said he’d a bad head, which, Lord knew, was the truth, though Cath wasn’t pleased.
‘You’ll be fired, Dick, if you take any more time off, and there are plenty of others to snap up your job.’
It was to escape her nagging that he’d left the house, hoping the hair of the dog might help. It hadn’t, though. He was still churned up about the Walkers, and the way they’d seen him off the premises on Saturday. Thought no end of themselves, the lot of them, but they owed him something. If it hadn’t been for them, Dad would still be alive. The least they could do was make some kind of recompense.
The glare from the pavements was hurting his eyes and he closed them, leaning his head against the warm stone wall behind him. Bloody Walkers, he thought with drowsy belligerence. He’d show ‘em, take the superior smiles off their faces. Plotting befuddled revenge, his head fell forward and he slept.
Clive Tenby, lying on his back in a field outside the village, was also thinking of Saturday. He’d believed he could bluff it out, seeing Fay again, but he’d been wrong. It still hurt. She’d seemed glad to see him, too. Only her rotten family was keeping them apart. It was Mr Walker who’d sent Richard over—Clive had seen them talking. But why, for heaven’s sake? It wasn’t as if he wanted to many her. Dash it all, he was only eighteen. In the beginning, her parents had seemed in favour of their seeing each other—even encouraged them. Why, suddenly, around Easter, had they changed their minds? They wouldn’t even let him see her, to ask what was wrong.
He rolled over on to his stomach, pulling out a blade of grass and carefully extracting the sweet, juicy inside. Fay never went to the tennis club any more, nor the disco or the coffee bar. She seemed to spend all her time with that drip Rachel Mallow. For weeks he’d hoped he’d run into her somewhere, find out what’d happened, but he never had.
He sat up abruptly, beating his fist on the ground as a decision crystallised. He’d go and confront them, demand to know what they had against him. If it was due to a misunderstanding, perhaps it could be straightened out and all would be well again. What’s more, he’d go now, before he got cold feet.
He ran to the hedge where he’d left his bicycle and wheeled it through the gap on to the main road. Then, before he could change his mind, he turned it in the direction of Honeyford.
***
Feeling conspicuous, Hannah walked up the drive of the Old Rectory, her towel under her arm. Changing facilities hadn’t been mentioned, and she was wearing her swimsuit under her dress.
Without the stalls and marquee, the lawn looked even larger, spreading its smooth greenness over to a thick clump of trees by the far wall. Keeping close to the house, Hannah walked the length of the terrace and rounded the corner. Ahead of her, the paving ended at the glass wall of the conservatory and below it, set amid its sunny flagstones, the pool invitingly awaited her.
She hesitated, shielding her eyes and looking up at the windows. There was no sign of life. She hoped Lydia had informed the others of the invitation she’d extended. Pushing aside her doubts, Hannah slipped off her dress and dived into the water.
Those blasted flowers were still bothering him. Not only their cryptic message, but the effect it had had on Walker. Webb was convinced he’d known what it meant. Why else should the colour have left his face like that?
He ran a hand through his hair, then reached for the internal phone. ‘Ken, come in for a minute, will you.’
Nina Petrie looked up, but he didn’t glance in her direction. If he wanted her to leave the room, she thought, he could ask her.
‘Yes, Guv?’ The little, sandy-haired sergeant had a quick smile for her.
Webb leant back in his chair. ‘I’m not going barmy, am I? There haven’t been any suspicious deaths in Honeyford over the last six months?’
‘Honeyford? Not that I recall, Guv. I’ll check if you like.’
‘No, don’t bother; I know damn well there haven’t. There was just an outside chance something might have been passed off as natural causes.’
‘You mean an overdose or something?’
‘I mean murder,’ said Webb, and at that, Nina’s head came up again.
Jackson looked startled. ‘You reckon someone might have slipped something over on us?’
Webb shook his head irritably. ‘Forget it. It was just a hunch,’ he said.
Outside the Swan in Honeyford, Dick Ridley slowly awoke and rubbed his stiff neck. His sleep had done him little good; his mouth was dry, his head still ached, and the Walkers still filled his thoughts. He lurched to his feet, gazing blearily up the High Street. Why not go up there now? The men would be at the factory, and the old woman too, but Mrs Neville should be in. She might be a softer touch than her husband—see his point of view. Worth a try anyw
ay. He turned and started to walk unsteadily in the direction of the Old Rectory.
***
The taxi drew up and the driver reached behind him to open the door for her. Steadying herself with one hand, Dorothy climbed down and fumbled for her purse. She was having to concentrate on even the most mundane of actions, and it took her several minutes to calculate the amount of the fare plus the tip she wished to give the driver. She, whose brain used to work like a computer.
‘Sure you’re all right, ma’am?’
She met the kindly eyes and smiled. ‘Yes. Yes, thank you. Quite all right.’
Moving slowly, she went up the steps to the front door and opened it with her key, pushing up the catch as she did so, so that Gavin could come in without ringing. Behind her, she heard the taxi turn on the gravel and drive away.
The grandfather clock chimed the half-hour, making her jump. Three-thirty. Time to compose herself before he arrived. In the drawing-room, the tea-trolley was laid ready, covered by a cloth. She’d forgotten, when she asked to see Gavin, that it was Phyllis’s afternoon off. Not that it mattered. She hoped she was still capable of boiling a kettle.
It was hot in the room and she opened the French windows, drawing the curtains a little way across to keep out the sun.
God help her, she thought suddenly, clutching at the arm of a chair as her legs went weak; she’d have to tell the boys. How would they take it?
Don’t think about it! With the strength of will that had stood her in such good stead over the years, she pulled herself upright, clamping her mind down on the painful half-hour with her consultant. Like Scarlett O’Hara, she’d think of it tomorrow, when she’d had time to recharge her batteries.
A sound from the hall made her turn sharply. Gavin was early. Never mind, it would be over all the sooner. Marshalling her resources, she faced the doorway, awaiting her grandson.
***
The strangled, gasping scream was loud enough to jolt Hannah from her sunbaked doze. She sat up quickly, heart pounding. Had she dreamt it? Even as the thought formed, a voice cried hysterically, ‘Help! Oh my God, somebody help me!’
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