‘Was it your blood there?’
‘Yes. I cut myself.’
‘On what?’
‘On one of the kitchen knives. It was an accident. At least, I suppose it was. But I have thought that really I wanted my blood to mix with Vivien’s.’
‘Why did you go to the house? Not just to see where Vivien had been killed, don’t give me that.’ There had been signs of a search, she remembered, and a hurried departure. ‘We missed you there, Dolly and I,’ she thought. ‘The case could have ended at that point.’
He looked down at his hands. ‘There were photographs, letters, private things. I knew where Vivien had hidden them.’
Self-preservation operating, she thought, but still not passing judgement on him. But Dolly would not be pleased to know what the first searchers had overlooked.
‘But you still say you did not kill her?’
‘I swear it.’ He was sweating now. He got up and pushed the window open more widely, ‘ I’d been out of the country. Straight off a flight. You can check that.’
‘We will, of course. Where were you?’
‘Geneva,’ he said, ‘I can’t remember the number of the flight, but my secretary will know.’
Things can be fudged, thought Charmian, given money and power.
‘What do you think was the motive for Vivien’s murder?’
He shook his head, ‘ I don’t know.’
‘But it must have been connected with your relationship with her.’
‘I don’t know that.’
‘Seems likely to me.’
‘What about those women? The ones she had made friends with? They sounded a very weird outfit to me.’
‘Oh, you know about them?’
‘Of course. Josh Fox told me.’
‘He was working for you, yet you attacked him. You did, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’ He put a hand to his face. ‘And now he’s dead. I didn’t kill him either.’
‘Why did you beat him up?’
‘I thought he lied to me. He didn’t do his job properly or Vivien would not have been killed.’
Charmian considered this. She would leave it there for now. ‘You’ll have to make a statement.’
‘Can I do it later? Tomorrow? I’m not going to run away. You can have my passport if you like.’
‘That won’t be necessary. I’ll make an arrangement for you to come in. Probably to Alexandria Road in Windsor. You know where that is? You’d better bring your lawyer with you.’
‘You’re making this sound very final somehow,’ he muttered.
‘Have you told your wife anything of this?’ He shook his head. ‘Then you’d better.’ And soon, she thought. But not too soon. I might want to see her myself.
As she turned to go, he said, ‘How did you get on to me?’ Charmian walked towards the door before. she spoke. ‘You were
described to me,’ she said. ‘By a woman looking out of a window.’ And I shall want to know what you were doing there watching
that house in Woodstock Close.
At Woodstock Close Miss Jessamon was discreetly examining Denise Flaxon’s rooms. Her own key fitted the door, always had, a little something she never mentioned, but in any case she had promised Denise to keep an eye on her rooms because they both had this feeling that there was someone getting into this house who should not be there. That is, she had said so and Denise had agreed. No sign of disturbance in the room, all tidy, too neat really, so that she decided sadly that Denise would never stay. She didn’t look like a stayer.
Selling face creams was no career for a woman like her. She needed a home, you could tell. Flo Jessamon had long years of emotional deprivation behind her and knew the signs.
Charmian had not finished her enquiries for the day. A quiet look in the telephone book and a check with the receptionist, who was by now too dazed by Charmian to resist, had produced Leonard Eden’s home address. She could have got it from him directly, he would have given it, but she wanted to see his wife and what might be called his home ground before he had time to send out a warning. He wouldn’t be doing anything of the kind for a little while yet, she calculated. If ever she had met a man in the process of sorting himself out, Leonard Eden, when last seen, had been that man.
A look at where he lived would be valuable. You could tell a lot about a man if you got a sight of his house before he knew you were coming.
The Eden home was on a quiet road not far from Ascot. Not Surrey after all then, but not so far away. There was no ostentation about it, but an air of solid worth and wealth. Its neighbours bore out this impression as far as could be observed because all sheltered behind high hedges or neat brick walls with closed gates. A closed gate which opened electronically always bespoke a good income.
But the gate to the Eden house was open. Leonard Eden might have preferred it that way, he seemed that sort.
Charmian drove in slowly, the short gravelled drive taking her up to the front of the white house. It was so white and immaculate that Charmian felt grubbier and more untidy than she actually was. She took the opportunity to comb her hair and add some lipstick.
Between the drive and the house there was a crescent-shaped bed where bush roses and standard roses alternated in red and white. A woman in a large sun hat was kneeling among the roses weeding.
She got up and came towards Charmian, removing her gardening gloves and putting them neatly into the pocket of the apron she wore. The apron was of a kind of sacking with Laura’s Garden embroidered across the front, and it protected a green linen dress, conservative in cut but expensive-looking. The woman and the house matched.
‘Good afternoon?’ It was a pretty face, pale-skinned with big blue eyes and neat features discreetly made up, and framed in the sun hat with a little blonde hair escaping.
‘Mrs Eden?’
‘I am, do you want me?’ She looked at the car, her face expressing doubt and caution. Charmian’s car was at no time a thing of beauty and today looked dustier than ever.
Charmian got out of the car, experiencing an instant and depressing reaction: she probably thinks I’m selling something. It told her what she must look like.
‘Chief Superintendent Daniels. Can I talk to you?’
‘What about?’
Charmian gave her the usual few words about it being just a routine enquiry and checking a few facts.
‘But a Chief Superintendent?’ she queried. ‘And shouldn’t there be two of you?’
‘I’ll go away if you like.’ And come back with a pair. Your husband never questioned me.
‘No. Come into the house.’ She led the way. ‘We’ll use the sun room.’
Not quite in the house, kept just outside, Charmian was sat down in the pale blue chintz-covered chair in a glassed room with a Chinese rug on a flagged floor and blue and white plants in blue and white pots.
Her hostess sat down opposite her. ‘ I’m sorry, you took me by surprise. I’m Laura Eden.’
Ah, thought Charmian. The other L for EL? And possibly some of the money to start it in the beginning? Certainly a lot of the support. She looked, as far as Charmian could see her face beneath its sheltering hat, like a woman who would back her husband to the hilt.
‘Tell me what you want, Miss Daniels. I think it must be important or you wouldn’t be here.’
‘We are often obliged to check people’s movements in one of our enquiries. To eliminate them, really. It has to be done.’ Charmian got out her notebook and pretended to study it. ‘I believe your husband was away on the night of June Fourteenth? And came back the next day?’
‘So it’s Len you are asking about?’ She sounded surprised. ‘Let me think? Yes, he was in Switzerland, I think. But he’s often away. Really for days and days at a time. It’s part of his life. I’d need to look in my diary.’
‘Would you do that, Mrs Eden?’ Charmian sat back in her chair, not to be moved, waiting.
‘Of course, excuse me while I get it.’
; While Laura Eden was gone, Charmian prowled round the sun room. Every plant was in beautiful order, not a slug-eaten leaf, not a fallen petal. This was a woman who knew about gardening. About everything domestic, probably.
An inner door led to a sitting room which was as beautifully arranged and as meticulously cared for as the garden and the sun room. It looked as though everything had its appointed place and stayed there. Not a house in which people romped or played games.
As she stood there, she dropped her notebook. It fell with a thud, scattering all the loose papers and letters which were always wedged inside. She was picking them up hastily as she heard Mrs Eden coming down the stairs.
Laura Eden held her diary in her hand. ‘ Yes, I can confirm that date.’
Charmian got up. ‘Thank you, Mrs Eden. Sorry to have bothered you. But it had to be done.’
‘I understand,’ said Laura Eden doubtfully, ‘ I’d like to know what it’s about, though.’
Charmian did not answer this question. Instead, she said, ‘Have you spoken to your husband this afternoon, Mrs Eden?’
‘No.’
‘I think you should. He may need you.’
At that moment she thought she had seen all she wanted to of the Eden home. The house spoke very loudly of the life that Len Eden had lived there and it had been, from the evidence of his more generously disordered office, not the sort of life he totally wanted. She could begin to guess, perhaps, what Vivien had offered.
A childless house too, she thought as she drove away. She could see Laura Eden standing watching her.
‘Why do I find you depressing, dear?’ Charmian asked herself. ‘And why do I call you “dear”? What is there about you?’
The figure behind her did not wave, just stood looking.
Charmian was ready to go back to Maid of Honour Row now and think things over in peace. Also a wash and a change of clothes seemed indicated. Not to mention food. And now she thought about it, there would be Muff also with her hungry face on. Had she let the cat out into the garden before she left in her hurry to see Dolly in Alexandria Road? She thought not. Another cause to speed home.
For once there were no hold-ups on the motorway and the traffic, although dense, was moving. She was back outside her house in record time. As she went in through her gate she observed that a pile of yellow sheets had been dumped by her gate. And guess by whom? she thought.
In the hall, she paused. ‘ Oh Muff, Muff, how could you?’
The cat had filled in the time of her imprisonment by shredding a newspaper, the pages of a book which she had knocked off a table (also upsetting a vase of lupins), and the letters which had come by the second post. The small remains of something banana-coloured lay in one corner, having received special teeth and claw attention.
There was no sign of Muff herself.
‘Where are you, you beast?’ Charmian advanced angrily towards the kitchen.
Kate appeared at the door. ‘I just got back and found all this mess.’ The cat had been at work in the kitchen too, but here she had contented herself with knocking objects off shelves. Nothing was broken, but several bottles and jars had spilled their contents so that herbs and juices were mixed on the floor. There was a strong smell of garlic. ‘I’ve turned her out. I think she was glad to go.’
‘I’ll probably kill her,’ said Charmian.
Kate was already clearing up the kitchen floor. Charmian looked down at her bent head. And where were you these last few days? she questioned silently. But I suppose I mustn’t ask.
Kate gave an answer to what had not been asked. ‘Been working in London at the V and A. Sorry I didn’t let you know.’
You never do, said Charmian to herself.
‘But I got so excited by William Morris. He really was great. I don’t think I gave him full credit before.’ Kate raised her head and looked solemnly at Charmian. ‘I believe he will be a huge influence on me. I’m off to Kelmscott tomorrow.’
The nineteenth century had at last arrived in Kate’s life. It had taken her some while to admit its artistic existence but now she had.
‘I’m going to shower and change,’ said Charmian.
‘There’s a message for you from Dolly. She’s coming round.’
‘Can you put a meal together?’ Charmian was going up the stairs. ‘Look in the freezer. Salad in the refrigerator. I think there’s some cold chicken as well.’ There should be, unless Muff had mysteriously got at it.
‘How are the witches?’ called Kate.
‘Those ladies are quiet,’ Charmian called back. And with plenty to occupy their thoughts and calm them down. Was the figure of Josh Fox haunting them? It ought to, because it haunted her.
While she was in the shower, the telephone rang and she heard Kate answer it.
Presently she called up the stairs: ‘Dolly is not only coming round, she is bringing someone with her.’
She heard Dolly arriving while she was still dressing. There was a man with her, she could hear his voice and Kate’s laughter. That was a good sign, anyone Kate laughed with could probably be trusted.
She threw her dirty clothes into the laundry bin, placed her notebook and papers on the bedside table and went downstairs.
Kate had tidied all the mess away by the simple expedient of sweeping it away into one corner, but the table was laid for a meal and she was mixing a salad.
‘Chicken salad,’ she said looking up. ‘All I could do in ten minutes. And here is Dolly and this is George Rewley.’
She had that special note in her voice which said to her godmother: This man is of interest to me.
Dolly was leaning up against the sink, watching the man who was struggling to open a bottle of wine. She held up a friendly hand, but did not speak.
Not a tall young man – Kate in her heels was as tall if not taller. Square of shoulder and probably more muscular than he looked, but it was his face and even more his eyes that attracted attention.
He had a thin, bony face with clear grey eyes that studied you intently. Looking at you, Charmian felt, right through and out to the other side. She wasn’t used to being transparent.
‘This is a sparkling wine,’ he said as he pulled at the cork. ‘Going to go over everything when we do get it open.’
‘Take it in the garden, you two,’ ordered Charmian. Then she looked at Dolly with raised eyebrows. ‘Well, what’s all this?’
‘Nice, isn’t he?’ Dolly selected a stick of celery to chew upon. ‘I’m starving. Rewley is the only hearing member of his family of five, so that he is really into lip reading. Grew up doing it. He says it gives him an insight not only into what people are saying but also what they are not saying. The thought behind.’ She chewed on the celery. ‘Life’s a perpetual whispering gallery to him, he picks up everything.’
‘Terrifying,’ said Charmian. ‘ He ought to have a good time with Kate.’ Plenty not said there.
‘So I sent him down to see Vivien Charles’s parents, well, father and step, in Cuckfield. I thought he might pick up something we’d missed.’
‘And did he?’
‘He said that the house just oozed religion, crucifixes and bleeding hearts on the walls everywhere, and that behind all the outward grief the father and the stepmother claimed to feel – said they felt – he could see them saying “Vivien was a wicked girl and we’re glad she died away from home.” No love. He said he could understand how she’d fallen in with the witches, he’d have done the same himself.’
‘Her grandmother was a witch so she claimed.’ But it helped explain her relationship with Len Eden too, Charmian thought. If you ever needed an explanation for sexual attraction. ‘Then Rewley’d better watch out. They must be looking for a replacement for Josh Fox.’
‘Anything else?’ she asked. ‘Are we any further forward?’
‘I think we are. I’ve always wanted to understand Vivien better.’
‘And I want to understand the killer,’ said Charmian, watching the pair in the garden, tha
t dedicated non-communicator, Kate, and Rewley, that constant reader of the subtext.
‘There is one other thing,’ said Dolly slowly. ‘The father admitted to Rewley that he had lied, or rather suppressed a bit of the truth in his earlier interview. Vivien had been in touch with him in the weeks before her death. He told Rewley that Vivien had wanted to come back home. She said she was frightened; she acted as if she’d had a shock. They didn’t let her come. That part was not said aloud, but he read it for himself. He could read their guilt.’
‘What was she frightened of?’
‘She said she was being watched.’
‘So she was, of course,’ said Charmian. And not only by Josh Fox which she might not have noticed, he was a professional after all. But the murderer had somehow declared his attentions and in a shocking way. The foetus had felt the force of that pain. ‘I’ll tell you about that. In fact, I’ve got plenty to tell you, too.’
She ran upstairs to get her notes. As she held the notebook something fell out of it.
She picked it up. A small dark-coloured hairgrip and caught in it a strand of coarse brown hair.
It must have been on the floor of the Eden’s house so that she had picked it up when she retrieved her fallen papers.
She ran the hair through her fingers as she considered it. The hair felt stiff and dry. It said something to her.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Stay behind,’ Charmian said to Dolly when Kate decided that Rewley should be shown one of her favourite buildings in Windsor by moonlight. A new favourite, one she had not previously considered of much interest, but which now came to the top with her new enthusiasms for things Victorian. It was not a church or chapel or splendid house, but a railway station, and although Rewley pointed out that he knew, and indeed used it very often, Kate told him that he needed its delights pointed out by a trained eye. ‘ It represents a high point of Victorian building and engineering,’ she said, ‘before they got too heavy and Imperial. This is just a cosy little bit of domestic building, but done for a Queen and her husband.’
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