A SHROUD FOR DELILAH
ANTHEA FRASER
© Anthea Fraser 1984
Anthea Fraser has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in 1984 by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
This edition published in 2014 by Endeavour Press Ltd.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
Extract from Island in Waiting by Anthea Fraser
CHAPTER 1
When I half-closed my eyes, she looked like Sandra. I’d never noticed it before. They’re the same type, of course — selfish, inconsiderate, wanting their own way and not caring who gets hurt. Well, my lady, you won’t be hurting anyone else.
God, how her face changed! Polite interest, alarm. Then terror, starting up out of her chair.
And it was so easy! All those nights of sweating and shaking, but when the moment came it meant no more than swatting a fly.
And the look on her face: I keep remembering that...
CHAPTER 2
It was warm in the small room, though the windows were open to the garden. Through them drifted the voices of the children as they played. The scent from the vase of roses was cloyingly sweet, but Madge would be hurt if she pushed it away. Dear Madge, watching her now with the anxious encouragement one reserved for convalescents.
And Kate felt like one: fragile, distanced from reality, like waking from an anaesthetic with the outcome of the operation in doubt.
Madge said quietly, ‘What did Michael say, when you told him?’
‘He refused to listen. I think it only really sank in this morning.’ Memory returned sharply, painfully. Sunlight glinting on the marmalade dish and Michael, in a hurry as usual, frowning up at her.
‘Going?’ he’d repeated, his tone a mixture of belligerence and disbelief. ‘Going where, might I ask?’
Even then, she thought wryly, if he’d stopped to listen, to discuss things calmly, he might have talked her out of it. But he made no attempt to.
‘In any case,’ he added, with the air of putting an end to her nonsense, ‘you can’t go anywhere now. Josh starts at St Benedict’s next week.’
‘Which is where I’m going. To Broadminster, that is. It’ll cut out the travelling.’
Michael snorted derisively. ‘No doubt you and Madge cooked this up between you. Forgive me if I don’t take it seriously.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I must be going.’
She had made one last final effort. ‘Michael, it’s Saturday morning. Surely, in the circumstances, you can spare the time to—’
‘News is no respecter of weekends, Kate. You knew that when you married me. It’s too late to complain now.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed flatly. ‘It’s too late.’
He darted a quick look at her and pushed back his chair. ‘I can’t stop now. We’ll talk about it this evening.’
‘But I shan’t—’ she began, and broke off as Josh wandered into the room. Michael ruffled his hair on the way out and a moment later the front door closed behind him.
Madge watched the emotions cross her friend’s face. Had she done right, helping Kate find work and accommodation here? Paul didn’t think so. ‘Keep out of it,’ he’d advised. ‘Left to themselves they’ll sort something out.’ But she couldn’t refuse Kate’s plea for help. They’d been friends since their first day at school, and in today’s vulnerability Madge saw the bewildered child of twenty-five years ago.
She couldn’t imagine why Kate had left Michael. He was abrasive, clever, and intolerant, but Kate adored him. And despite their many shared secrets, there’d been no hint of marital trouble, a loyalty Madge understood.
‘We’d no idea there was anything wrong,’ she said.
Kate’s eyes flickered as she came back to the present. ‘I hoped it would blow over, but it didn’t. It’s not a sudden decision, Madge. Things have been getting worse for months. Then the usual kind person told me he’d been seen with a girl. I didn’t believe it at first, but people started making veiled comments so I tackled him about it. He flew off the handle and accused me of listening to gossip, but when I persisted he said the girl was a colleague on the paper, and did I grudge him a little relaxation? He seemed to forget he used to relax at home.’ She was silent, staring down at her clasped hands. ‘The crunch came when Josh and I bumped into them.’
‘Oh, Kate!’
‘Josh was taking part in a sponsored swim. He wanted us to go and support him, but Michael said he was too tied up with this murder story.’
‘And wasn’t he?’
‘I doubt if there were any corpses in the Red Lion, which is where he’d apparently spent the evening. We were just passing when they came out with their arms round each other.’
She stood up and walked to the window, staring out at the long, narrow garden and the children playing in it. Josh and Tim were up the apple tree, Donna dancing impatiently beneath. The scene had a golden, timeless quality about it, suffused with the late-summer sunshine of remembered childhood, and fleetingly it could have been herself and her two cousins playing there. Kate shook her head to clear it.
‘Which,’ she said without turning, ‘was when I phoned you, and, as always, you came to the rescue.’
‘It was a piece of luck hearing the same day that Molly was leaving Pennyfarthings.’
‘Did she live in the flat too?’
‘No, she was local. Wangling the flat took a bit more doing. They use it as a showroom and for entertaining, but when I explained the position, Mr .Bailey agreed. What did you think of him, by the way?’
Kate turned from the window, and to Madge’s relief her smile was less strained. ‘Quite the ladies’ man, isn’t he?’
‘Given the chance, but his wings have been clipped. Molly said his girlfriend’s moved in with him.’ Madge looked up at the clock. ‘I’ll put the kettle on; Paul should be back any minute.’
The local paper lay on the table and Kate picked it up, automatically assessing the layout. The front page was devoted to the murder which had made national headlines.
‘Stalemate on “Delilah,”’ she read. ‘There have been no new developments in the case of divorcée Linda Meadowes, found stabbed at her Shillingham home two weeks ago. In his column this week Michael Romilly, an acquaintance of the dead woman, considers the implications of her murder.’
Madge came back as Kate dropped the paper onto the table. ‘I hadn’t realized Michael knew the woman.’
‘Only casually, but that’s why he’s following it up himself.’
‘What was she like?’
‘A bit flighty. She and two men were had up recently for causing a disturbance, and neither was the man she was living with.’
‘Delilah indeed! Still, she didn’t deserve to die.’
The sound of the front door reached them, and Paul came into the room. Tall, thin, and bespectacled, there was an air of dependability about him which today struck Kate more forcibly than ever. He gave her a quick hug and patted her shoulder.
‘Good to see you, Kate, t
hough I’m sorry about the circumstances. Where’s my godson?’
‘Up the apple tree, when last seen.’
Paul felt for his pipe, not looking at her. ‘How’s all this affecting him?’
‘Not at all, so far. I explained it was easier to live here once he starts at St Benedict’s, but that Michael couldn’t because of his job.’
‘And he accepted it?’
‘Yes. We don’t see much of Michael anyway.’
It had been Paul, a master at the school, who suggested they send Josh to St Benedict’s. Traditionally it supplied choristers for the Minster and Josh’s clear, sweet treble had helped to secure him a place.
‘I’ll call the children in for tea,’ Madge said.
Josh, taking his place at the kitchen table, was flushed and bright-eyed from play, giving no hint of dismay at his uprooting. But this house was his second home, and its familiarity soothed Kate too on this day of displacement — the clock ticking on the wall, the row of wilting plants Madge always forgot to water. They had had tea here so often that it was hard to accept that this occasion was any different from the others. She felt a burst of gratitude for them all, looking affectionately round the table at Paul, and young Tim with the brace on his teeth, and Donna, small and ponytailed, intent on her tea. And especially at Madge. During their schooldays, she had reminded Kate of a small brown bird, and she’d hardly changed. Her hair was still smooth and glossy, her eyes bright, and the soft roundness of contented motherhood merely intensified the impression. Kate wondered what she’d have done without them.
After the meal, Paul suggested they walk back to the flat with her. ‘There’s no parking in Monks’ Walk so you’d better leave the car here till you find out where you can garage it.’
Monks’ Walk was the historic heart of Broadminster. Basically it formed a crescent curving round three sides of the Minster and its wide expanse of Green. Coming from the Netherbys’ house, they joined it two thirds of the way along. To their right, the eastern section swept round towards St Benedict’s and Broad Street, one of the busier thoroughfares of the town, while on their left, its ancient houses a hotchpotch of differing styles, lay the centre block where Kate would be living. Though the majority of the buildings were three-storeyed, they presented anything but a uniform skyline, being a wide variety of shapes and heights. At ground level, most of them housed boutiques, art galleries, and coffeehouses. And facing them across the Green, the majestic lines of Broad Minster soared to the sky.
‘Don’t expect a lie-in on Sundays!’ Paul warned with a grin. ‘Once the bells start, there’s no point in staying in bed.’
‘Here we are.’ Kate stopped at a glass-paned door immediately next to the antique shop. ‘As you see, we have our private entrance.’
The linoleumed passageway smelt of polish. There was a door in the right-hand wall and another, glass-paned, at the far end, giving access to a courtyard behind the premises. Just short of it, a flight of stairs led upwards.
‘What’s behind here?’ Madge asked, tapping the interior door as she passed.
‘The office at the back of the shop. It’ll save me getting wet when it rains.’
They followed her up the stairs and looked about them. A fair-sized living room took up most of the floor space but at the back of the room a counter separated it from the kitchen area. Mullioned windows at the front looked directly out to the Minster. The room was plainly but attractively decorated, a perfect foil for the large watercolours hanging on the walls and the handsome chairs and tables with which it was furnished.
‘It’ll be like living in a museum,’ Madge said a little doubtfully.
‘Some of the delicate things have been put away, but Josh is very careful. I don’t think he’ll damage anything.’
‘It’s the more modern trappings that interest him,’ Paul commented as Josh and the other children, having switched on the television, flopped to the floor in front of it.
‘At least you have modern plumbing.’ Madge had turned her attention to the kitchen. ‘You never know, with these old buildings. Oh, and look, Kate, at the lovely little courtyard down here.’
She was peering out of the window, and Kate and Paul joined her. The walled yard below was imaginatively adorned with tubs of ornamental trees and shrubs. In one corner a couple of iron tables were piled on each other against the wall and a garden umbrella drooped over them.
‘Would you like to see upstairs?’
Paul and Madge followed Kate up the second flight of stairs, where three doors opened off a tiny landing. The main bedroom ran along the front of the building. A second, much smaller, was next to it, and the bathroom at the stair head.
‘Small but adequate,’ Kate said brightly, feeling like an estate agent.
‘Does Michael know where you are?’ Paul asked.
She coloured. ‘That we’re in Broadminster, that’s all. He didn’t show any interest, but if he wants us, no doubt he’ll contact you.’
‘You’re quite sure about this, Kate? Taking the flat makes it seem rather permanent.’ He glanced accusingly at his wife.
‘We have to live somewhere,’ Kate said defiantly, ‘whether for three weeks or three months. I had to get away, Paul,’ she added in a low voice. ‘Madge will explain.’
‘As long as you know what you’re doing. But if you’d like me to ring Michael and ask him to come and fetch you, I’d be only too happy.’
Kate shook her head and started back down the stairs. Madge gave her husband a warning look and followed her. ‘How about coming to lunch tomorrow?’ she suggested as they reached the living area.
‘Bless you, but no. I want to get everything straight before starting work on Monday.’
‘Josh had better spend his time with us till school starts. You won’t want him under your feet, and Tim’ll be glad of his company.’
Shortly afterwards the Netherbys left. Kate and Josh stood at the window till the bend of the crescent hid them from view and she turned away, suddenly overwhelmed by what she had done. Would Michael have arrived home yet, and be surprised to find her gone?
As though catching the echo of her thoughts, Josh broke into them. ‘Will Daddy be coming tomorrow?’
Kate switched on a smile she hoped he was too young to analyse. ‘I shouldn’t think so, as soon as this. He’s very busy at the moment.’
He accepted her answer without comment, extracting a toy car from his pocket and starting to run it along the windowsill.
‘Don’t scratch the paint,’ she said mechanically. She looked with love at the toffee-coloured hair and large candid eyes, obscurely grateful that he resembled neither Michael nor herself, though his quick frown as the toy fell to the floor was undeniably his father’s.
‘Come along, then,’ she said briskly, ‘you can help me unpack.’
Two hours later the flat was tidy and Josh asleep in his little room. Kate made herself some coffee and walked with it to the window. For some minutes she stood staring across at the Minster until a movement in the street below distracted her. Tilting her head, she could make out two figures straining together in the shadows and she moved back in case they should see her. ‘Don’t cry, young lovers, whoever you are; don’t cry because I’m alone.’
She turned away and switched on the television, but her mind refused to register it. Now she and Josh had gone, there’d be nothing to keep Michael from his girl. Jealousy twisted her stomach as his image blazed across her mind — lean face, impatient mouth, alert dark eyes. Though she accepted that enjoyment of each other’s bodies no longer outweighed the mental hurt, she knew that should Michael walk into the room, she’d go to him. Knew it, and despised herself.
Wearily, drained by the pressures of the day, she went upstairs. The narrow room was stuffy, the day’s sunshine stored beneath its sloping ceiling. Kate pushed up the sash window. From this height the Minster was still visible against its background of trees, but the parapet which edged the building shut off everything below.
An ivory tower, she thought.
She had made up the bed earlier with linen from the spare room in Shillingham, and the bedspread looked oddly familiar in its alien setting. The floorboards were polished and a sheepskin rug lay beside the bed. Adequate, as she’d assured Madge and Paul.
She crossed to the dressing table and, leaning forward, studied her reflection. Her short dark hair fell as usual in soft curls over her forehead, and the large eyes Michael had laughingly described as navy-blue stared solemnly back at her. The traumatic day had left surprisingly little mark.
With a sigh she straightened and started to undress.
CHAPTER 3
Detective Chief Inspector Webb switched on the ignition and the car moved slowly forward. It was a hell of a way to start a week. In the last twenty-four hours he had attained his forty-sixth birthday, upset Hannah, and received news of another murder. And, for good measure, it was pouring with rain.
Another murder, for God’s sake. Down in Broadminster this time, but the M.O. tied in with the Meadowes case, which landed it neatly in his lap. And they hadn’t got anywhere with the first one yet. Nearly two weeks of searching, interviewing, house-to-house inquiries, and they were no nearer murderer or motive than when they’d started.
The traffic lights at the foot of the hill turned red as he approached and he swore briefly, reaching up to adjust the rear-view mirror. Starkly the glass gave back his reflection: plentiful brown hair, hard mouth, bleak grey eyes.
So what had they got so far? Not a lot, he thought with grim humour, and what they had was mostly negative. No break-in, no robbery, no murder weapon. The victim had been in her own armchair, stabbed once through the heart. Nothing out of place —except for the scrawled word ‘Delilah’ in lipstick on the mirror. A bizarre touch, that, almost as shocking in the neat little room as the corpse herself, seated comfortably in her chair.
Webb frowned and, as the lights changed, inched the car forward. No clue there, either. The tube of lipstick, discarded on the hearthrug, had proved to be the dead woman’s, and hers were the only prints on it.
A Shroud for Delilah (DCI Webb Mystery Book 1) Page 1
