‘So …’ I said, thinking aloud, ‘it’s got to be someone who knows the antique world … who knew where the key was kept … and who also knew that we were away!’ I raised myself up on to my elbows, feeling quite excited.
‘Who knew I was away,’ corrected Nick.
‘I – I mean, who knew you were away,’ I stammered, flushing in the darkness and lowering myself hastily back on to my pillow. That’ll teach you to be a smart arse, Polly.
‘But you must admit,’ I went on a moment or two later, ‘it sounds very much like someone who knows us.’
Nick sighed wearily. ‘Not necessarily. Word spreads very quickly in the country, especially in a small village. Mrs Bradshaw might inadvertently have let it slip that the key was kept in the jug and then somebody could easily have overheard in the pub that Larry and I were going to look at cattle for a couple of days. They’ve only got to put two and two together, and bingo.’
‘I bet Mrs Bradshaw’s thrilled to bits,’ I said bitterly. ‘Word will have reached the village by now and she’ll be rubbing her hands with glee, revelling in our misfortune.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Nick, turning over to go to sleep. ‘Mrs Bradshaw might be a sour old bag but she’s always been tremendously loyal. I’m sure she’ll be horrified when she hears.’
‘Don’t you believe it,’ I said grimly.
‘We’ll see. G’night.’
‘Night.’
I turned over and shut my eyes, but for once my defence mechanism failed me. Sleep evaded me, and I tossed and turned fitfully, eventually resorting to my secret supply of Curly Wurlys under the bed. I sucked one after another, shut my eyes tight and eventually, in the early hours, drifted off to sleep. Despite my fitful sleep I managed to have quite a good dream which involved me rescuing Prince Harry from under the wheels of a speeding taxi in Pall Mall. As a result I became Princess Diana’s new b.f. and had loads of chummy lunches with her in San Lorenzo’s. Prince Charles was also incredibly grateful and I became his new confidante too – apparently he found me a refreshing change from Laurens van der Post. I was just trying to patch things between him and Diana, when the doorbell rang.
‘Oh Lord,’ I murmured sleepily, raising my eyebrows at Charles, ‘I do hope it’s not that blasted Camilla again.’
‘There’s someone at the door,’ said an equally sleepy voice in my ear.
‘What? Charles? Nick? Oh God, what time is it?’ I rolled over and peered at the clock.
‘Seven o’clock. I’ll go,’ groaned Nick. He sat up, yawned, scratched his head vigorously, then threw on some clothes and went downstairs.
I lay very still, straining to hear and hoping to God it wasn’t the police again, wanting to know if I’d kindly accompany them to the station. A few minutes later I heard my mother-in-law’s unmistakably deep baritone voice resounding confidently and emphatically up from the kitchen. Hetty! I felt quite weak with relief.
I gave Nick a few minutes to break the news then put on my dressing gown and went downstairs to greet her. I hoped she wasn’t going to be too upset; I was extremely fond of her. I needn’t have worried – Hetty was as unpredictable as ever.
‘Polly, darling!’ she boomed as I shuffled sleepily into the kitchen. ‘Wonderful news! I heard at six thirty this morning; it’s absolutely the talk of the village. Isn’t it simply marvellous!’
I blinked. Hetty was perched on our kitchen table, swinging her legs excitedly, her dark eyes and dark bobbed hair shining brightly. She was dressed, as usual, in her own alternative, inimitable style. Today she’d chosen a pair of corduroy knickerbockers, an England rugby shirt, a red silk scarf for her neck and a tweed Baker Boys cap for her head. A cigarette was poised in her bejewelled fingers and she carried the whole arresting ensemble off with effortless style and panache. I groped around in the larder, searching for a new box of tea bags.
‘Er, marvellous, Hetty? Are you sure?’
‘Of course, it’s fabulous news!’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Mum,’ snapped Nick, banging the kettle on the Aga. ‘How can it be?’
‘Well, think about it, darling,’ she boomed, flicking ash nonchalantly into a saucer. ‘There’s no way you’d ever have sold all that ghastly old china, and quite right, you can’t sell off the family silver, I wouldn’t have done either, although your father and I were sorely tempted at times – but, well! Now that it’s been stolen, that’s quite a different matter, isn’t it?’
‘Is it?’ I poured boiling water into the teapot with a rather unsteady hand.
‘Well, of course it is,’ insisted Hetty, ‘don’t you see? It must be insured for thousands, so this way you get all the loot, with none of the guilt – terrific!’ She kicked her heels up gleefully and beamed triumphantly.
I grinned. I had to admit she had a point. We’d never have sold the porcelain, but now that it had gone walkabout – well! How much was it insured for? I wondered. I raised my eyebrows enquiringly at Nick.
‘Don’t be absurd, Mum,’ he snapped. ‘I’d much rather have the porcelain, and I’m going to make every effort to get it back!’
‘Oh well, suit yourself,’ sighed Hetty with a shrug. ‘I personally think it’s a blessing in disguise, couldn’t bear the stuff, actually; it took so bloody long to dust, and just when you’d finished you had to start all over again. I’d much rather have had the money, would have used it for something fun – a gazebo perhaps, or an amusing statue in the garden.’ She took a sip of tea. ‘Yuck!’ She made a face. ‘Revolting – any coffee going, Polly? I need something strong and dark in the mornings, can’t be doing with this Earl Grey chappie; he wouldn’t have been my type at all, insipid and chinless, I bet.’
‘Oh, sorry, Hetty, here –’ I threw some Nescafé into a mug, poured boiling water on and handed it to her.
‘Marvellous, darling – spot of brandy, perhaps? Awfully chill for May, isn’t it?’
I giggled and added a splash of cooking brandy.
Nick raised his eyebrows. ‘It’s only seven o’clock, Mum.’
‘Don’t be a boring old fart, darling, the French would have knocked back a couple of cognacs by now – cheers! Here’s to the insurance money!’ She winked and I stifled another giggle.
‘Now’ – she lit another cigarette while the previous one was still smoking in the saucer and leaned forward conspiratorially – ‘any ideas? Any inkling as to who it might be? I gather the key was used so it must be someone from around here, don’t you think? Someone local who knew the house? Shall we make a list? Isn’t it thrilling!’
‘Hardly,’ said Nick grimly. ‘It’s bloody irritating and pretty unpleasant too. D’you realize Polly could have been badly hurt? As far as we can tell it happened on Friday night while Polly was alone here. I hate to think what might have happened if she’d disturbed them.’
‘My dear!’ Hetty turned to me in surprise. ‘You were here? I had no idea! I thought you were in London!’
‘Er, no, I got back on Friday evening,’ I mumbled into my tea.
‘Really?’ Hetty looked puzzled. ‘That’s odd. I rang on Friday night, but there was no answer. What time did you get back?’
‘Oh, er, about nine,’ I muttered, pitching it fairly late.
‘But I rang at about quarter to ten! There was this marvellous programme on the television. I wanted you to watch it so I –’
‘Oh, I was – having a bath. I heard the telephone but couldn’t be bothered to get out to answer it.’ I buried my flushing face in my mug. This was horrible, just horrible.
‘Oh, what a shame, you’d have loved this, it was a David Attenborough thing all about the praying mantis – fascinating. Did you know, for example, that after they’ve had nooky, the female eats the male? Just pops him in her mouth and swallows him whole – isn’t that terrific! You see, once he’s done the business he’s totally redundant as far as she’s concerned, so she just has him for her supper, a little post-coital snackette, as it were – isn’t it killing! I
think I shall have to ring Harrods pet department and order a couple!’
I tried to grin, but my mouth twitched with terror. This was awful. These were really dirty lies now, not just the harmless little whitish-grey ones I’m wont to pepper my life with – no, these were thumping great black ones. I busied myself slicing some bread, my hand shaking. Luckily Hetty started prattling away again. I turned to get some bacon out of the fridge, keeping my eyes down, and, when I deemed it safe, turned to Nick and said as normally as possible, ‘Bacon sandwich, darling?’
‘Please.’
Was it my imagination or did he give me the strangest look? No, I was getting paranoid. The telephone rang and Nick went to the hall to answer it. Good. Phew, this was getting much too hairy for my liking. I fried the bacon and listened whilst Hetty outlined her list of prime suspects.
‘Well, for a start there’s Tom Rawlings at the butcher’s, I wouldn’t put it past him at all. He knows the house and he’s delivered here loads of times so he could easily have seen the key in the jug, and he absolutely loathes us because I caught him fiddling the bill once and switched the account to the butcher’s in Helston, and his silly fool of a wife likes to think she dabbles in antiques although in actual fact she wouldn’t know a Queen Anne cachepot from a Victorian piss-pot – oh yes, the pair of them are high on my list of possibilities.’ She nodded sagely, narrowed her eyes and took a long drag from her cigarette.
‘Then of course’ – she looked for the saucer, couldn’t find it so leaned back and flicked her ash in the sink – ‘there’s Mrs Bradshaw, who I was delighted to hear you’d fired! Should have done it myself long ago – sour old bag – it was only loyalty to her poor old henpecked husband who worked on the farm that made me keep her on. Mind you, she drove him to an early grave; he probably would have thanked me if I’d given her the boot. Yes,’ she mused, taking another long, thoughtful drag, ‘Mrs Bradshaw, a little too obvious at first glance, perhaps, but …’ She sat up straight suddenly. ‘How about this – suppose she put someone up to it? Eh, Polly? What d’you think?’
‘Er, sorry? What did you say?’ I gave her an ashtray. I was finding it hard to concentrate.
‘Mrs Bradshaw, suppose she put someone up to it?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose it’s a possibility.’
‘Of course it is! A very distinct one at that, and shall I tell you who that someone might be?’
‘Do, Hetty,’ I said, sitting down wearily and putting three bacon sandwiches on the table.
She leaned forward eagerly. ‘Ted Simpson,’ she whispered.
‘What, that enormous great chap from the hardware shop?’
‘Exactly. And d’you know why?’ I shook my head and bit into my sandwich. ‘Well, I’ll tell you. Not only is he practically bankrupt, but apparently he used to work for a house-clearance company in London so he’s got plenty of contacts in the antiques world, but even more pertinent – and get this – word in the village is that Simpson and Mrs Bradshaw are having a ding-dong!’
‘No!’ I abandoned my sandwich, agog now. ‘But he’s enormous, and she’s so tiny!’
‘Precisely! Isn’t it disgusting? That hideous great whale of a man with that shrivelled little prune of a woman – imagine! How d’you think they do it – with her perched on top like a little gnat, or with him on top squashing the life out of her? Or do you suppose he suspends himself from some sort of trapeze from the ceiling so as not to crush her, or even – goodness, what’s the matter, darling?’
She broke off as Nick came back into the kitchen. His face looked strange, twisted almost.
‘Nick, what is it?’ I quickly got up and went to him but he seemed almost to back away. He thrust his hands in his pockets, he wouldn’t look at me.
‘That was Tim. He’d heard, of course, from one of his farm hands, he was ringing to commiserate. But he said he was here on Saturday morning, Polly, he brought us some vegetables, early, at about seven thirty. He rang the doorbell but no one answered. Then he came back about an hour later, just in case you’d been asleep, there was still no answer. Eventually he used his key to get in and left the vegetables in the pantry. He said the house was deserted.’ At last he turned to look at me, his eyes full of pain. ‘Where were you, Poll?’
Chapter Fourteen
I was a rat and his eyes were the trap. He pinned me with them. I looked at the floor, and then rather desperately at the skirting boards, hoping perhaps for a handy little rat hole through which to slip, but there was no escape. The eyes had me.
‘Well, Polly?’
I licked my lips. ‘It’s a long story,’ I whispered.
There was a terrible silence.
‘Oooohhh!’ breathed someone excitedly to my left. ‘You naughty girl, Polly, what have you been up to?’
Hetty had blown her cover. For a moment there I think both Nick and I had actually forgotten about her. Her eyes were wide with wonder, her face agog.
‘Come on, Mum, we’ll see you later,’ said Nick, thrusting her latest handbag, a tartan rucksack affair, into her arms and hustling her towards the door.
Hetty pouted and dug her heels in. ‘But, darling, I want to hear where Polly was, oh come on, don’t be a spoilsport,’ she wailed as she was dragged across the floor, physically outmanoeuvred.
‘Polly, do tell, where were you?’ she asked breathlessly, swivelling her head round a hundred and eighty degrees as she was bundled past me.
‘Come on,’ said Nick, holding her in a vicelike grip with one hand and reaching for the door handle with the other. But, just as he was about to grab it, the door flew open of its own accord. Sarah stuck her head round.
‘Hello there, thought I’d pop in for coffee. I say, terrible news about the burglary, who d’you think it was? Any theories?’ She raised her eyebrows and looked from one face to another – one guilty, one grim, one bursting with excitement – then she took in the half-nelson grip Nick had on his mother.
‘Bad moment?’ she ventured.
‘Not great,’ agreed Nick. ‘Mum was just leaving, actually, and Polly and I have something we want to discuss. Could you come back later, Sarah?’
‘Sure, no problem,’ she said, not moving an inch. ‘What d’you need to discuss? Is it the burglary?’
‘No, they’re having a domestic!’ hissed Hetty loudly. ‘Nick’s just found out that Polly stayed out all Friday night, imagine!’
‘Really?’ Sarah’s eyes grew round. ‘Goodness, Polly, where were you?’
‘Out, please!’ said Nick, depositing Hetty on the doorstep and bundling Sarah off with her. ‘Out, out, OUT!’
‘Pop round later, Polly!’ yelled Hetty as the door shut on the pair of them – slammed, actually.
Through the glass I saw them give one last lingering look in our direction before turning away, heads bent together, whispering furiously as they went down the path. What I wouldn’t have given to have been on the other side of that door, whispering with them. I began to clear the table, frantically burying my head in the dishes.
‘Now,’ said Nick calmly, turning to face me, ‘if it’s not too much to ask, perhaps you’d be good enough to let me be the first to know what the hell’s going on here, before Mum and Sarah spread tidings of our impending divorce throughout the county!’
‘Oh, don’t be silly, they wouldn’t do that!’ I said, desperately trying to change the subject. ‘They’re very well meaning really, and if their tongues do tend to wag a bit it’s only because they’re taking an interest and –’
‘Terrific, so am I,’ interrupted Nick, grabbing my arm and turning me round to face him. ‘Come on,’ he said grimly, ‘spill the beans.’
I started to tremble. I was holding a pile of dirty plates which began to clatter uncontrollably.
‘Just let me get rid of these,’ I muttered, ‘before I spill them instead.’
I bent down to load the dishwasher, hiding my flushing face in its stainless-steel depths and desperately playing for time. When I stood u
p I had a feeling my time had run out, but I had one last shot.
‘Look, Nick, it’s an awfully long story and I’m feeling so hot and bothered, would you mind terribly if I just had a quick bath first and then I could –’
‘Get your story straight? Think of a few lies with which to embellish it? No, Polly, you couldn’t, I want it NOW!’ He banged the table with his fist, his face livid. ‘Where were you?’ he asked in a dangerously quiet way.
I sat down, it was a must, my legs just wouldn’t do their supporting act any longer.
‘Sit down,’ I mumbled. I couldn’t possibly look up at that man-mountain towering above me. He sat. I licked my lips, they were like sandpaper.
‘I was … still in London.’
‘At Pippa’s?’ he asked, somewhat hopefully.
I hesitated, sensing an escape route here. It would be the work of a moment to ring Pippa and make her corroborate, but something stopped me – Nick’s face. It was deadly, but at the same time vulnerable, frightened even. I couldn’t lie to him any more. After all, as far as I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, I was convinced I was totally in the clear – nothing had happened at all. I’d tell him everything, he’d just have to understand, of course he would. He loved me, didn’t he, and didn’t he always say honesty was the best policy?
‘No, not at Pippa’s – look, Nick, I’m going to tell you exactly what happened and I swear to God this is the truth, OK?’
‘Fire away,’ he said, tight-lipped.
‘But it’s most important you believe me,’ I urged. ‘Promise me you will, because – well, what I’m going to say may not exactly sound like the truth.’
He looked at me squarely. I tried to look back equally squarely but ended up looking all sort of sideways.
‘Get on with it, Polly.’
‘And if I look shifty now it’s only because you make me very nerv–’
Going Too Far Page 20
