Cotswold Mystery, A

by Rebecca Tope

  Thea had not observed any paintings in either the main house or the cottage. That didn’t prove anything of course, but in her experience painters could seldom resist displaying their own work on their own walls. She was caught short by the realisation that she was doubting everything Mrs Gardner told her. It was an odd, disturbing sensation, as if the world had tilted on a different axis and nothing was as it seemed. But the old woman was again striding out vigorously, the spaniel matching her pace contentedly.

  ‘How wonderful,’ Thea said. ‘This must be heaven for a painter.’

  ‘You get tired of so much beauty,’ came the deeply lucid reply. ‘You start to crave for a bit of ugliness. Isn’t that funny!’

  ‘I think I can understand it,’ said Thea carefully.

  The success of her idea was exceeding her greatest hopes, with interesting conversation a bonus. They could be any two women enjoying a stroll on a spring day, with the well-behaved dog to complete the picture. They turned up beside the green area containing the playground, and right again along a pavement. Thea hoped there would be a way back through the churchyard, and thence a return to the High Street.

  ‘There’s Thomas,’ Granny said suddenly. ‘I don’t like him.’

  ‘Thomas’ turned out to be an elderly man of military bearing, his spine so straight it looked as if it had been surgically enhanced with metal rods. Unfortunately the effect was spoilt by his waistline, which protruded from the top of his trousers like a huge over ripe peach, impossible to conceal. He was standing in the gateway of a handsome house. His face, as he registered the little group approaching him, was of blank astonishment. ‘Gladys!’ he squawked. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Where’s Julian?’ the old woman asked him, her voice full of accusation. ‘What have you done with him?’

  A red flush covered the withered cheeks, and the square shoulders sagged ever so slightly. He looked to Thea for help.

  ‘I’m Thea Osborne,’ she offered. ‘I’m house-sitting for the Montgomerys, and looking after Mrs Gardner. We thought we’d go out for a walk, it being such a lovely day.’

  His distress seemed to deepen. ‘But you can’t,’ he protested. ‘I mean, she never—’

  ‘I expect she just got out of the habit,’ Thea said firmly, ignoring the flicker of disquiet that the man’s reaction had produced in her. ‘We’re having a really nice time, actually. I’m hoping we can find a way back through the churchyard. It is all rather hilly around here, isn’t it?’ She laughed in a tone she hoped was disarming. The man’s disapproval made her feel foolish and reckless.

  He pulled his lips back from his teeth in an expression that spoke of scepticism and superior knowledge and the constraints around arguing with a strange lady. ‘Well, I wish you luck,’ he said and strode away.

  ‘He’s a stuffed shirt,’ said Granny loudly. ‘Pity about his beer gut.’

  ‘Does he live here?’ Thea asked, in an attempt to avert any further rudeness, and ready to be impressed by the discovery that he owned the handsome house.

  ‘Not here, in this house, but here in Blockley, yes he does. He lives close to where I live. Across the street.’

  There was a way into the churchyard, as she had hoped. Before reaching it, she paused again, to give Granny a rest and have another good stare at the village. The vista and character changed with every few steps, she was discovering, with the levels a complete chaos. To the south-east of the church there was a riot of roofs, houses crammed close together, many with creepers that would be flowering fabulously in another couple of months.

  Hepzie strained at the lead, which was still in the old woman’s hand, and they all moved rapidly for a few steps. The church rose before them, the square tower providing bland encouragement of a sort. Granny’s breathing had become louder, and her face seemed flushed.

  ‘Are we going to a wedding?’ Granny asked. ‘Or a funeral?’

  ‘Neither. We’ll go through the churchyard and out of the gate on the far side. Then we’ll be nearly home again.’

  Thea stopped and turned for another long look, back the way they’d come. She could see the ground falling away to where she supposed the former silk mills must be, on the small river that had provided power for the spinning machines and looms. The colours were all in the same spectrum from yellow to brown to red. A painter’s paradise, by any standards. She started to say something to that effect, but Granny was not listening. Letting go of the dog, she sank to the ground, her legs crossing like broken scissors, her weight falling onto one outspread hand. ‘Ouch!’ she squealed, her voice high and childlike.

  Thea’s first reaction was utter horror at this sudden collapse. But it was immediately followed by an urge to laugh as she saw the old woman’s face. Its expression revealed no pain, just surprise and a flicker of satisfaction at the drama of the occasion. Thea paused to assess the situation. ‘Don’t panic,’ she muttered to herself. ‘She’s not really hurt. Come on,’ she said more loudly, deliberately bracing. ‘Up again.’ She took hold of Mrs Gardner’s arm and pulled, to no effect whatever.

  Hepzie hovered close, tail wagging slowly, jaw dropped.

  ‘Get up now,’ said Thea, slightly cross. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

  The old woman merely giggled, and then winced, clutching her right wrist in the other hand. ‘Ow,’ she said again. ‘It hurts.’

  ‘Problems?’ came a voice. Thea looked up to see a very beautiful young man wearing a purple silk shirt and shoes that appeared to be covered in diamonds. His black hair was long and impossibly glossy. His skin was a kind of light black, his features sharp. A chunky gold chain hung around his neck.

  ‘She won’t get up,’ Thea said. ‘She landed on her hand, and now her wrist seems to be bothering her.’

  ‘Hey, Granny! What’s your bother, hmm? Let’s get you standin’, shall we?’ The accent was a fascinating mixture of influences, most of which Thea could not identify. The voice itself was rich and warm.

  ‘Hurt myself,’ said Granny.

  ‘Do you know her?’ Thea asked. For a wild moment she wondered whether he might actually be Mrs Gardner’s grandson.

  ‘Hey, no. Course I don’t. Just tryin’ to assist, that’s the whole thing.’ The words emerged in an iambic rhythm that made everything sound like blank verse. Who was this man, she wondered. He moved behind the collapsed woman and tried to insert his hands into her armpits. She squealed and wriggled and clamped her arms tightly against her sides until he gave up.

  ‘Not goin’ to work,’ he concluded.

  ‘Well, it’s very nice of you to try,’ said Thea, sounding hopelessly prim and pinched to her own ears. ‘We haven’t got very far to go, but even so I can’t see her walking back. And there’s the dog,’ she added foolishly. The dog was the least of her worries.

  ‘Needs a doctor, seems to me.’

  Thea huffed a scornful laugh. ‘On a Saturday afternoon? Some hope. I don’t imagine there’s a doctor in Blockley anyway, is there?’

  ‘Not so’s I know about. I just staying here a while, with another somebody.’ Was it deliberate, Thea asked herself, this mangling of the language? Some kind of perverse attitude, marking himself out as a stranger in the heart of English countryside?

  ‘So?’ she demanded. ‘What do we do? I only got here today. I don’t know anybody, either.’

  ‘You’s got a car?’

  ‘Yes. Just over there.’ She pointed down to the High Street. ‘But I can’t drive through the churchyard, can I?’ She forced herself to think properly. ‘But I could bring it to the gates, I suppose.’

  ‘Then you trots over and fetches it. I wait with poor old Granny, keeping her amused and happy, till you drive yourself up here, and takes her off to the Casualty place.’

  ‘Oh God! That’ll be Cheltenham. Or Gloucester. It’s miles. Oh, damn and blast it.’

  She felt breathless with the nuisance of it and the prospect of serious damage to the fragile old wrist. Not to mention the embarrass
ment of such a terrible beginning. At this rate, her name would be blacklisted across the whole region and she’d never get another house-sitting commission. Already she’d begun to regard herself as a jinx, the way so much had gone wrong in previous assignments.

  ‘It’s getting better now,’ said Granny, suddenly bright and considerably more focused. ‘I need to stand up, don’t I? It isn’t ladylike sitting here in the street.’

  Thea gave her a searching look. ‘Go on then,’ she said, not altogether kindly. The young man held out his narrow long-fingered hand, which had peculiar-looking callouses around the tips of the fingers.

  ‘Let me help,’ he said, sounding almost normal.

  As if a lost spring had suddenly reappeared, Granny drew her legs together, took hold of the proffered hand with her good one, and was miraculously resurrected. Thea moved closer, and inspected the injured wrist. ‘Let me see this,’ she said, with authority. Granny cooperated meekly as Thea manipulated the joints, prodding and questioning. ‘It’s not broken, that’s for sure,’ she announced. ‘Very slightly sprained, at worst, I’d say.’

  ‘You a nurse, then?’ said the man.

  ‘No, but I can tell when a wrist is broken,’ she snapped. Then she remembered herself. ‘Thanks again. I think we’ll be OK now, if we take it slowly.’

  He smiled, a wide display of wonderfully even teeth, accompanied by a complicated expression. He seemed to be waiting for something with a degree of puzzlement.

  ‘We mustn’t keep you,’ said Thea, feeling ruffled by his look.

  ‘OK, then,’ he said. Disappointment was manifest in his drooping shoulders. Thea frowned. ‘You were really very kind,’ she repeated. ‘It was obviously silly of me to bring Mrs Gardner so far. I don’t think she ever really goes out.’ As an afterthought she added, ‘My name’s Thea Osborne. I’ll be here until the middle of next week. Maybe I’ll see you again.’

  He shrugged. ‘Don’t set your heart on it, lady. Not a lot of folks see Ick twice in a single week.’

  Ick? Thea laughed awkwardly. ‘Oh, well. Thanks again.’

  Granny was a pale shadow of the exuberant self who had charged down the hill with the dog’s lead in her grasp. Now she leant heavily on Thea, and mumbled something about bread and sausages. Thea made no attempt to engage in conversation, being too busy reproaching herself for the rash adventure and worrying about the consequences. Hepzie ran free ahead of them, keeping to the pavement, obviously following their scent back the way they’d come for the final few yards.

  Safely indoors again, Thea heaved a deep sigh of relief. She doubted whether she’d have the courage to repeat the experiment – certainly not before Jessica arrived, in any case.

  Brooking no arguments, she made a pot of tea in Granny’s little kitchen, noticing that the place seemed tidy and clean enough to pass any casual inspection. There were tins of soup and ravioli and pilchards in one cupboard, packs of rice and pasta in another. ‘Who does your shopping?’ she asked, unwarily.

  Mrs Gardner looked at her blankly. ‘Shopping?’ she said.

  ‘Where does your food come from?’ An even dafter question, no doubt.

  ‘The van,’ came the reply as if Thea had asked what the big hot thing in the sky was called. ‘The van brings it on a Tuesday.’

  ‘Right,’ said Thea with a forced smile. ‘That’s all right then.’

  ‘He’s called Sid. He’s a very nice man, Sid is. He always has a joke and a wink for me.’

  Choosing to believe every word, Thea presented the old woman with a mug of well-milked tea. It seemed the milk came more often than once a week. Two pint bottles of silver-top were in the fridge. Blockley must be one of the last outposts where the milkman delivered every morning – and the stuff still came in bottles.

  There was essentially only one room on the ground floor, plus the kitchen and a small hallway which contained the stairs, the front door and the connecting door into the main house. The room was crowded with furniture: a table and three upright chairs, a two-seater sofa, an armchair, television, and a large antique bureau with a bookcase above it. ‘That’s nice,’ said Thea, admiring the mahogany and briefly scanning the spines of the books. ‘You have some interesting books, as well.’

  Granny flapped a hand. ‘Never been much of a reader,’ she said. ‘They were my father’s mostly.’

  Hepzie had automatically been included in the little tea party and was sitting up on the sofa, tongue lolling. ‘The dog ought not to be on there,’ frowned the old woman. ‘Never let dogs on the furniture. My mother would have a fit.’

  ‘Oh Lord, I’m sorry.’ Thea lifted the animal onto the floor, knowing it would be a struggle to make her stay there. ‘Down!’ she ordered. ‘Lie down!’

  It worked for the time being, although large reproachful eyes were fixed on her face throughout the rest of the visit.

  There was a neatly folded piece of canvas on the table, from which coloured wools peeped out. ‘Oh, are you doing a tapestry?’ Thea exclaimed. ‘Can I see it?’

  Without waiting for permission, she opened it out to reveal an exceptionally large piece of work. The picture was a mother and child, in the classic pose of the infant Jesus with the Madonna. It was more than half completed, the stitching neat and regular. But the colours were bizarre. The child had blue skin, and behind the figures a violent orange tree was taking shape. The Madonna’s clothes were spattered with vivid patches of red which were a complete deviation from the colours stencilled onto the canvas. Her face and hands were yellow.

  ‘Gosh!’ Thea murmured. ‘This must be keeping you busy.’

  ‘Have to use up all my old wools before I die,’ chirped the old woman cheerfully. ‘And it upsets Yvette,’ she added, as if that were a source of great satisfaction.

  ‘I can see how it might,’ Thea said. ‘A bit different from your paintings, I imagine?’

  ‘Paintings? What paintings, dear?’

  Thea was learning quickly. She merely shook her head as if it didn’t matter at all. ‘Drink your tea,’ she urged. ‘Before it gets cold.’

  ‘I’m worried about Julian,’ said Granny, ignoring the tea.

  Thea paused before taking her first sip. ‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘You said before. Can you telephone him?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Give him a ring. See if he’s all right.’

  ‘But he lives here. Why would I do that? Anyhow, I hate the telephone. Always have. Nasty intrusive thing it is.’

  Thea was trying to remember what she’d already been told about the man. ‘Here?’ she repeated. ‘What do you mean? Where exactly does he live?’

  Granny waved a hand towards the next house. ‘Other side of them. The next building.’

  ‘Julian lives next door to your daughter? That house with the railings? The one that overlooks the garden at the back?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ snapped the old woman. ‘But where is he now? He always comes for lunch. He hasn’t come. Has he?’ she creased her brow, staring hard into Thea’s eyes.

  It was a quandary. For all she knew the man had not been in Granny’s life for fifteen years. On the other hand, he did get a great many mentions; far more than Yvette or her husband. The old man they’d met had shown no surprise at Granny’s reference to Julian, either. But she had detected no signs of life in the house in question since her arrival. It added up to a puzzle which she assumed would solve itself before much longer.

  ‘Perhaps you made a note about it?’ she suggested. ‘On your notepad. Shall we try to find it?’

  Granny Gardner narrowed her eyes. ‘Who said you could look at my pad?’

  ‘I don’t want to look at it. I just thought it might help if we could find it.’

  ‘In the bureau, of course. That’s where it is.’

  ‘Shall I…?’

  But the old woman was already on her feet. She pulled down the front flap, and reached inside. The ‘notepad’ turned out to be a leather-bound book, the size of a hardbacked novel. Mrs Gardner f
licked the pages, showing almost all of them to be blank. Thea stared at it. ‘I don’t think…’ she began. ‘I mean, you haven’t written much in it, have you?’

  Granny hugged the book to her chest. ‘Too good to write in,’ she said. ‘Except the most special things.’

  Thea knew when she was beaten. ‘What about your wrist? Is it better now?’ There had been no signs of pain or reduced movement since they’d got indoors.

  The old woman had evidently forgotten the whole incident. She looked down at her hands, still holding the book, without any sign of understanding the import of the question. Then she carefully replaced the book in the desk and closed the flap. Thea made her twist and bend the wrist before judging it to be fully restored.

  ‘You’re very strong,’ she said admiringly. ‘You might easily have broken it, falling like that.’ But then she realised how light the old body was, putting little real weight on the bones of the wrist as she fell. Mrs Gardner seemed to be composed of skin and sinew and not much else.

  Hepzie was on the sofa again, and Thea judged it was time to leave. ‘I’m just next door,’ she said, speaking too loudly. ‘Shout for me if you need anything.’

  Granny didn’t look at her as she went to the front door and let herself out. Just before she closed it behind her, she heard the familiar question: ‘Who are you, anyway?’

  CHAPTER THREE

  Armed with the information that the adjacent house belonged to the missing Julian, Thea decided she was fully justified in trying to locate him and tell him Mrs Gardner was worrying about his absence. It felt as if he could answer a great many crucial questions, at the same time. She shut the dog in the Montgomery house and strolled along the pavement to the next door.

  There was no reply when she knocked. She stood at the solid oak door, with a feeling of déjà vu after the long wait that morning outside Granny’s cottage. For good measure, she moved to the street window and tried to peer in. The curtains were closed, but a small gap down the middle gave her a glimpse of a shadowy room with normal-looking furniture and no sign of habitation. As she stepped back to the door, and reached to knock again, a very tall middle-aged man approached her. ‘Good afternoon,’ he said with a friendly smile. ‘Can I help you?’ He looked over a large bulbous nose at her, and spoke in a hoarse smoker’s voice.