‘Hetty,’ I interrupted sternly.
‘What? Ah, yes, right. Sorry, darling, I’ll try to mind my own business, shall I?’ She sighed wistfully. ‘Awfully hard though.’
‘I can imagine,’ I sympathized. ‘I’d be the same and, just for the record, no it was not a rugger team. But look – what I do want to talk to you about is the burglary.’
‘My dear! Isn’t it too exciting? Come over at once and I’ll tell all.’
Half an hour later, having washed my hair and put on make-up for the first time in weeks, I borrowed Larry’s car and drove over to Hetty’s cottage.
Hetty had moved out of Trewarren just after Nick’s father had died. The house had been left to Nick on her death, but she’d asked him to take over immediately, saying it was much too big for her and that she found it too sad and empty now that her husband had gone. Much to Nick and Tim’s horror she’d found herself a tumbledown cottage just outside Gweek and insisted on buying it. No surveyor in Cornwall would swing a plumb line at it, it was so rotten and derelict, but Hetty had been adamant and within a twinkling had bought it. In fact, it was a sensible decision. She’d needed to do something with her grief and had poured all her energy into lovingly restoring it until she’d transformed it into the house it was today – the showpiece of the village.
There it stood at the bottom of the hill, a welcoming sight as one approached the village. The new wing that she’d so cleverly added looked as if it had been there forever, the brand-new thatched roof was weathering nicely, sparkling leaded windows poked out from under the eaves and the whole thing was painted the palest shade of putty. It was surrounded by a beautiful cottage garden full of lupins, delphiniums, honeysuckle and climbing roses.
Inside, the original warren of tiny dark rooms had become one enormous, bright, airy ground floor, and upstairs had likewise said goodbye to its dividing walls to become a huge circular gallery with all the bedrooms and bathrooms running into each other. There were no doors to speak of and any staying guests had to leave their inhibitions firmly at home, but as Hetty said – who needs doors?
I peered through the bay window and rapped on the stable door – no bell, of course.
‘Hetty, coo-ee!’
‘Come in!’ she yelled from within.
I stepped in and was simultaneously taken aback. All the rugs on the floor had gone and in their place were green floorboards. Actually they were clearly in the throes of being painted green, because in the far corner of the room I spotted Hetty, crouching low and eagerly covering what remained of the wood with copious amounts of emerald paint. She was dressed in a rather elegant Noël Coward silk paisley dressing gown, a pair of trainers and a New York Yankees baseball cap. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hetty without a hat; she probably wears one to bed. As usual, most of the ensemble was spattered with paint.
‘Darling!’ She turned around, beamed and waved her paintbrush in the air. ‘Be with you in a minute, but I must just finish this bit of grass.’
She bent down again and carefully added what was obviously a crucial finishing touch.
‘There!’ She straightened up. ‘Like it?’ she asked proudly, cocking her head to one side and eyeing her handiwork.
‘Er … well, it’s certainly unusual, Hetty. All right to step on it or is it still wet?’ I gingerly tiptoed in.
‘Oh no, that bit’s dry, I did it yesterday. Isn’t it divine? I’m going to add some daisies later, and a few poppies, just scatter them liberally around. It’ll be just like strolling through a summer meadow,’ she said dreamily.
I looked down doubtfully. ‘I suppose it will, but won’t it get a bit chipped? With people walking on it?’
‘Oh yes, possibly,’ she said airily, wiping her hands on her dressing gown, ‘but I’ll probably be bored with it by then so I’ll change it to something else – a beach, maybe, with shells and a spot of seaweed. Anyway, sit down, darling, and I’ll get us both a large drinky – God, I could use it, I’m exhausted!’
She strode off to what passed as the kitchen but was actually a stove, a sink and a few cupboards in the far corner. A woman after my own heart, Hetty thought cooking was wildly overrated and didn’t believe in setting aside a whole room for it. I meanwhile installed myself in a large, squashy blue sofa, by the fire which Hetty lit – for colour, darling – even in August. I glanced around and couldn’t help noticing that the grass seemed to be growing up the side of most of the furniture too.
‘So what’s he like, this Bruce chap?’ foghorned Hetty from what was effectively the other side of the house, but then she’d never been one to let a little thing like distance come between her and conversation.
‘Terribly nice,’ I yelled back, but my voice doesn’t have quite the same resonance, as her answer confirmed.
‘What? A complete bastard? I bet he is. I’m so disappointed I didn’t meet him. Everyone in the village is asking me about him and I’m having to make it up, rather like you do, Polly.’ She marched back armed with two hefty gins and handed one to me.
‘Oh, thanks very much!’ I said indignantly.
She flopped down at the other end of the sofa and opened her eyes wide.
‘Oh, but I’m right behind you, darling. I mean, why tell the boring truth when you can get away with a good lie? But do tell, is he mean and conniving? Has he got a pinched, sly little face and slitty, piggy eyes like this’ – she twisted her features accordingly – ‘only that’s how I’m pitching it to everyone at the moment.’
‘Well don’t,’ I said, sipping my gin, ‘because he’s not like that at all. He’s got a lovely face – angelic even, with big blue eyes. He’s such a waste. When I first saw him I couldn’t stop hitching my skirt up and sucking my cheeks in until I realized the only cheeks he was interested in were the ones in Nick’s jeans.’
‘Ah yes, I gathered he was a poof. Awfully amusing company on the whole, but they can be a bit sly, you know,’ observed Hetty sagely, as if she were describing a completely different species.
‘No, but he’s not, that’s just it. When you elbow your way through his rather whimsical ways you realize he’s an absolute darling underneath, very kind and sincere, and actually if anything rather insecure. Nick and I both really liked him and Nick spent quite a bit of time with him.’ I shook my head. ‘I really can’t believe he’s done this. The police down here must have got it wrong. You know their alarming propensity to get everything wrapped round their necks.’
‘Not this time.’ Hetty pursed her lips. ‘No, for once they’ve done their homework. They’ve got conclusive proof. You see, apparently he was stupid enough to give a piece of the porcelain to his mother for a birthday present–I mean, for heaven’s sake!’
‘What!’
‘I promise you it’s true. His mother’s in a hospice somewhere near here –’
‘In Truro; she used to live in Penrith.’
‘Precisely, well it turns out she was rather grand at one time and had an amazing porcelain collection – not as amazing as ours, of course, but, still, quite good stuff – but when Bruce’s father died she was clobbered by death duties and had to sell it all.’
‘D’you know, I think Bruce mentioned that,’ I said slowly, suddenly remembering.
‘Exactly, which is why it all makes sense. You see, according to Mrs Parker –’
‘The fount of all knowledge and inventor of rugby anecdotes,’ I put in sourly.
‘Well, quite, but no, this time it’s gospel. According to her the poor old dear is absolutely riddled with cancer and your chap Bruce is beside himself with grief. She’s clearly dying, so Bruce thinks – wouldn’t it be wonderful to give her something really special on what will obviously be her last birthday, something beautiful that she can hold in her hands and get some sort of final pleasure from? So what does the poor silly boy go and do? He visits her in hospital and gives her a piece of the porcelain he’s nicked from us – sorry, darling, from you – the week before.’
‘Good
grief, he must be mad!’
‘Totally, but wait, there’s more.’ Hetty leaned in eagerly and took an enthusiastic drag from her cigarette, thrilled to have such a captive audience.
‘Presumably he told her to keep very quiet about it, to hide it and keep it a secret, but of course as soon as he’d gone she couldn’t resist showing it off around the ward. Well, eventually one of the nurses saw it and suspected it might be worth a bit. She’d also read about the burglary at our place in the local paper, so she put two and two together and tipped off the police. They arrived hotfoot, checked it out and Bruce was arrested that afternoon at his flat in London.’ Hetty sat back looking frightfully smug. ‘You see? Caught red-handed, in flagrante, fingers in the till and absolutely with his trousers down – what further proof do you need?’ She raised her eyebrows and stubbed her cigarette out triumphantly in the geranium pot behind her.
I shook my head incredulously. ‘God, I just can’t believe it, it’s ludicrous, how could he have been so stupid? And what on earth made him take the whole lot, Hetty? Surely if all he wanted was one piece to give to his mother before she died he could have slipped that away easily. We probably wouldn’t have noticed for ages.’
‘Ah, but you see it wasn’t enough – he needed the rest of it too.’
‘Why?’
‘Because’ – Hetty leaned forward eagerly to deliver her pièce de résistance – ‘he was being blackmailed!’ she hissed.
‘What!’
‘I promise you it’s true. The police searched his flat and found all these blackmail notes – you know, letters cut out of newspapers and stuck on to Basildon Bond paper, that sort of unspeakable stuff.’
‘God, how horrid! What did they say?’
‘Oh, ghastly things about how perverted his sexual preferences were and how disgusting it was that he was gay, but the main thrust of it was – if you’ll excuse the expression – that if he didn’t cough up with some money soon, his mother would be told.’
‘What, that he was gay? Surely she knew that?’
‘Apparently not. According to Mrs Parker’s niece who lives in Penrith’ – I rolled my eyes to heaven but she swept on – ‘Bruce is an only child, and was a very late arrival. So just imagine, right? He’s got elderly parents who absolutely dote on him – the child they thought they’d never have and all that – and then, quelle horreur! He discovers he’s gay! Now how d’you think a sweet old couple living in the depths of conservative Cornwall are going to take that piece of news? Not quite on the chin, I can assure you. So, naturally, Bruce keeps quiet. His gay world is up in London so there’s no reason why they should ever find out, and when he comes to visit them at weekends he plays the dutiful bachelor son, presumably dropping all his camp ways, and they’re none the wiser.’ Hetty took a quick swig of gin and licked her lips. ‘Of course, the father’s dead now so there’s only the mother, and now she’s dying too, so why shatter her illusions when she’s only got weeks to live?’
I nodded. ‘I couldn’t agree more, but – God, how ghastly, you mean some vile bastard is threatening to spill the beans while she’s on her deathbed?’
‘Precisely. Isn’t it unspeakable?’
‘It’s horrendous.’
We both sank into our gins. I stared at the fire. Poor Bruce, sitting in a prison cell somewhere with all this hanging over his head. Somehow it seemed to eclipse even my own monumental problems.
‘But you see, what I want to know,’ said Hetty, cradling her gin thoughtfully, ‘is how he got into the cabinet in the first place without breaking the lock? How on earth did he know where the key was kept?’
‘Oh, that’s easy,’ I said miserably. ‘Nick and I practically showed him where it was. He was very interested in the porcelain so Nick let him go up and look at it on his own. In fact, if I remember rightly, Nick even took the key down from the dresser in front of him.’ I shook my head. ‘Gosh, we practically talked him into it. I’m surprised we didn’t help him pack his swag bag.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Hetty briskly, ‘you just trusted him, that’s all. How were you to know he was up there pricing it all with his Miller’s Guide with a view to selling it on?’
‘He did have a Miller’s Guide too,’ I remembered gloomily. I took another gulp of gin. ‘Poor Bruce. I almost wish he’d got away with it.’
‘Polly!’
‘Well, he obviously needed that china more than we did.’
She sighed. ‘That’s true, I suppose.’
We were silent for a while, staring at the fire as it crackled away in the grate. I shifted position, tucking my feet up under me.
‘But how do the police think he got into the house? Have they worked that one out? There was no sign of what they so pompously call “a forced entry”, was there?’
Hetty stubbed her cigarette out. ‘Well, I think they’re still working on that one but apparently they’ve got enough conclusive proof without it to lock him up for quite some time.’
‘Where have they got him at the moment?’
‘Oh, he’s not behind bars yet, he’s out on bail. He’s got to wait for his court case to come up first.’
‘Oh! So he’s not in a cell or anything?’
‘Oh no, I imagine he’s at home, sweating it out. I think he’s free to come and go as he pleases as long as he doesn’t leave the country or anything.’
I stared at her and put my gin down slowly on the table. ‘I’ll go and see him then,’ I said suddenly.
‘Polly!’ Hetty looked alarmed. ‘You can’t do that, he’s – well, he’s a hardened criminal. I mean, he stole from you, after all.’
‘Yes, but it’s totally understandable, isn’t it, Hetty? I mean, think about it, if you had some awful secret which you knew would break your mother’s heart and some bastard was threatening to break it to her on her deathbed, you’d move heaven and earth to do something about it, wouldn’t you? You might even steal, I know I would. God, I think it’s outrageous!’
I quickly collected my cigarettes and lighter from the table and popped them in the pocket of my denim shirt.
‘No, I must go and see him, tell him I understand – especially since it was me he stole from. At least if he knows I’m on his side and I forgive him it might make him feel a little bit better.’ I got up to go.
Hetty looked up at me anxiously. ‘Polly, I’m really not sure you should. I’m sure burglar and burgled don’t usually fraternize before the court case.’
‘Maybe not usually, but this is an unusual case. In fact – I think I’ll go up today. I was going to go the day after tomorrow anyway to see Sa–’ Hetty’s eyes glinted with excitement, she held her breath. ‘Er – well, to see someone else,’ I finished.
Hetty looked disappointed. She stood up and pulled her dressing gown around her. ‘Ah. Oh well, if you were going anyway – but do be careful, my dear, he might be feeling awfully bitter and resentful – you don’t want him to take it out on you.’
‘Don’t worry, I can take care of myself. I’ll ring him up first and if he sounds murderously inclined I won’t go.’
We walked to the door. Hetty took my arm.
‘D’you know, Hetty,’ I said with a smile, ‘I feel a bit better now. It’s probably an awful thing to say but other people’s problems can sort of put yours into perspective, can’t they? For the first time in over two weeks I’ve got something positive to do.’ I pecked her on the cheek. ‘Thanks for the drink. I’m glad I came.’
‘You’ll let me know what happens, won’t you?’ she said anxiously, opening the stable door for me. ‘And don’t go to his flat or anything; meet him in a bar, or a restaurant – somewhere public.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.’ I smiled and shut the bottom half of the stable door after me. Hetty leaned over it.
‘Oh, and good luck with your other little assignation too,’ she said slyly. ‘Who did you say you were meeting in London?’
I grinned. ‘I didn’t. Bye, Hetty.’ I waved cheerily an
d ran off down the garden path.
Hetty stood and watched as I got into the car. I drove off and she waved till I was out of sight. As I roared back to Trewarren I delved around in the glove compartment and found an ancient bag of Opal Fruits. I sucked one thoughtfully. It was true. Strangely enough, I did feel a bit better now that I had something other than myself to focus on and, anyway, I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, being in bed for so long had practically given me bed sores.
When I got home I ran upstairs to the bedroom to pack a bag, but as I pulled a case off the top of the wardrobe, for some reason I suddenly had to drop it and sit down very quickly on the floor. God. Yuck. I put my head between my knees. I felt most peculiar, rather woozy and sort of – sick. I sat there for a minute or two, then, when I deemed it safe, got up and had a glass of water. I steadied myself on the basin. Clearly my body wasn’t used to all this frenzied activity, having spent such a long time horizontal on a mattress.
After a moment I felt better so I flung open the case and ran around the room, throwing things in – as usual I packed for about a month, much preferring to travel heavy in case of a sartorial emergency. Then I sat on it, snapped it shut and ran downstairs to ring Pippa. She wasn’t at her desk – out at a meeting or something important – so I left a message to say I was coming to stay. Then I rang Sarah and told her I was going away for a few days.
‘What shall I tell Nick?’ she asked doubtfully.
‘What’s it got to do with him?’ I snapped. ‘I mean, he’s left me, hasn’t he? I can come and go as I please now, can’t I?’ As I said it I remembered Hetty had said exactly the same about Bruce. So I was out on bail too, was I? Conditional discharge pending the court case. The divorce court case. I saw red.
‘Tell him to go to hell!’ I stormed.
Sarah gasped. ‘Oh, Polly, you don’t mean that!’
I sat down on the hall chair and bit my lip miserably. ‘No, you’re right. I don’t.’ My eyes filled with tears and I fiddled with my wedding ring. I sighed. ‘OK,’ I said after a while, ‘tell him I’ve gone to see Bruce, that I’ve taken the old Renault, and tell him … tell him I love him very much.’
Going Too Far Page 24
