Libby liked her straightaway. ‘Been talking about us, has he?’ she joked. ‘You’d better tell me what he’s been saying, so I can defend myself.’
The saucer eyes grew even larger. ‘Oh no! Nothing like that. He thinks the world of you. He’d never say anything bad about you and Mr Walters.’
Libby put her at ease. ‘I was only joking,’ she said. ‘Besides, I never take any notice of what Jack says at the best of times. He talks a lot of ol’ blarney, so he does.’ She always could mimic him to perfection. ‘Oh, and call us Libby and Dave,’ she entreated. ‘Mr and Mrs Walters sounds so formal, especially when I hope we’re going to be friends.’
‘Oh, yes. I hope so too… Libby.’
When Libby returned to the kitchen to put out the food, Patsy insisted on accompanying her. While Libby carried the dishes to the serving hatch, Patsy waited on the other side, putting them down on the dresser. When that was done, Libby came round to set out the table, and what a sight it was. There were sprouts and broccoli, fluffy potatoes mashed in milk and butter, chunky parsnips and small crispy roast potatoes, all displayed in Libby’s best china serving dishes. In the centre of the table, on a plate with miniature chef’s hats, stood the huge meat joint dressed with herbs and running with hot, golden juices.
The evening was a wonderful success. Patsy proved to be a real conversationalist, though she did have a tendency to dwell on the more morbid of subjects. ‘Did you hear about that awful murder? Near Ampthill, it was,’ she began. ‘The poor man was sitting in his own house when the killer struck. Dreadful! Nobody’s safe any more these days.’
Jack took up the story. ‘Yer right, so yer are. The poor divil had his head caved in, and for what?’ He looked round the table, wondering if any of the others had the answer. When he realised they hadn’t, he went on, ‘Sure, it’s a funny ol’ business, if yer ask me. There’s more to it than meets the eye.’
Having thought about little else but the murder since it happened, Dave was curious at Jack’s remark. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Well now, think about it.’ Leaning forward, Jack grew excited. ‘According to the newspaper reports, it was a particularly vicious attack, so it was. The intruder meant to kill him, that’s for sure, or why would he have gone for him in such a terrible way? But why? There was nothing taken. No money. Nothing.’
Against her instincts, Libby was drawn into the debate, and what she had to say shocked them all. ‘I’m not surprised he’s been murdered.’
Patsy looked up, big-eyed and curious. ‘What a thing to say, Libby.’
‘No, I mean it. I’m not a bit surprised. Dave took me to his restaurant for my birthday treat. The owner of the restaurant, the man who was murdered, was the oddest, most hostile little man I’ve ever met.’ Involuntarily shivering, she confessed, ‘He really made me feel uncomfortable. I’ve never been back there, but Dave has. I left my silk scarf and he went to fetch it. Even then, there was a problem. Daisy came home in a terrible state. She apparently followed a kitten into the house and some dreadful old woman chased her out. Mrs Fellowes, no doubt, so it sounds as if she’s every bit as nasty as her husband.’
Patsy was all ears. ‘Goodness me!’ Ramming a potato in her mouth, she almost choked on it.
‘What do you think of it all, Dave?’ Jack asked.
‘I think it’s a terrible way for any man to die but, like Libby said, he was an obnoxious little man. He, was also in a cutthroat business. I dare say he had more enemies than you and I put together.’
Libby sent the parsnip dish round the table. ‘What about that tramp they took in for questioning? Have they charged him yet?’
‘No, not yet.’ Forking out a couple of parsnips, Dave dropped them carefully on to his plate. ‘They haven’t been able to check out his story, but the man still protests his innocence.’
‘Because he is innocent, that’s why!’ Jack was convinced. Settling back in his chair, he spread his hands and smacked them on the table. ‘Remember what I said? Nothing was taken. No money. Nothing. If that tramp had killed him, what was his reason? Why would he leave empty-handed? He wouldn’t, would he? So it wasn’t a burglary. And if that’s the case, the killer wanted that man dead for some other reason.’
Libby was beginning to enjoy the debate. Wrangling round the dinner table with good company was a favourite way to pass an evening. ‘Unless someone paid him to kill Mr Fellowes,’ she suggested, helping herself to another slice of meat.
Dave nodded. ‘You’ve got a point there, sweetheart,’ he said, and wondered why he hadn’t thought of it.
Patsy opened her mouth to speak but Jack put up his hand. ‘Wait a while, me darling, I haven’t finished yet.’ By this time the wine was doing the talking for him. ‘What do you make of this then. Mrs Fellowes was in the house, and so was her father-in-law, who we’re told is bedridden. But is he? And why didn’t the pair of them hear anything? A murderer entered the house, killed the husband and left again, and not a sound was heard. I call that very unlikely.’
Libby had other ideas. ‘What makes you think the old man might not be bedridden? From what I understood, he’s been lying in that bed ever since they moved to the house, and long before that he was very ill. It said in the paper that he’d been in a medical institution for a long time, recovering from a bad accident. It wasn’t only his body that suffered, it was his mind too, and from what I can gather, he never really recovered.’
Stubborn to the end, Jack argued, ‘You should never believe all you read in the papers.’
Patsy piped up, ‘It’s possible that the old man and the wife wouldn’t have heard anybody come in. I mean, if they were in another part of the house and the killer was really quiet, he could have come and gone and no one be any the wiser.’
Dave had thought of that. ‘They’ve already questioned his wife and let her go, so they obviously don’t believe she’s guilty.’
Getting into full gear now, Jack persisted, ‘All right, let’s say the two of them didn’t hear anything that night. But there’s something else that bothers me, and if they’re doing their job right, it should bother the police too, so it should.’
‘Oh, and what’s that?’ Libby began gathering the dinner plates.
‘Why didn’t she go looking for him, eh? Jaysus! The man wasn’t found until eleven o’clock the next morning, an’ even then it wasn’t the wife who found him. It was the nurse. So, where was the wife? When he didn’t come to bed, why didn’t she wonder where he was?’
Libby had an answer. ‘Sometimes Dave stays downstairs doing the books until the early hours. I’m often asleep when he comes to bed and I don’t hear a sound. Maybe that’s what happened with the Fellowes. Maybe he stayed down and she knew exactly where he was and that’s why she didn’t worry.’
Smiling confidently, Jack shook his head. ‘As far as I’m concerned, that’s not enough.’
‘What do you mean?’
Dave had been preoccupied with his own disturbing thoughts, but now he intervened. ‘I think I know what Jack’s trying to say.’ He knew exactly what Jack meant because the very same thought had occurred to him. ‘Accepting what you say, Libby, that they heard nothing, and the wife wasn’t suspicious, because she thought he stayed down doing the books, there is still one question that begs an answer. Why didn’t she go looking for him when she woke up the following morning? I mean, if you woke up at eight or nine in the morning and I still hadn’t come to bed, wouldn’t you come looking for me?’
Libby laughed. ‘Probably with a shotgun!’ Her wry comment lightened the atmosphere and another bottle of wine was opened. ‘You’d better stay the night,’ she told Jack and Patsy. ‘I don’t want you driving home and neither Dave nor I can run you back because we’ve all been drinking.’ In fart, after only two glasses of wine, she was feeling uncomfortably light-headed.
Jack was grateful for her concern but he had other ideas about where to spend the night, with Patsy, and not to sleep if he had his way, which h
e usually did. ‘Yer not to worry about us. Sure we’re foine,’ he protested. ‘We’ll get a taxi, so we will.’
Dave was still mulling over the death of Larry Fellowes.
Amused, Libby clicked her fingers. ‘Excuse me, are you with us?’ When there was still no answer, she nudged him playfully. ‘Hey!’
‘Huh?’ Jolted out of his reverie, he stared at her. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart. What did you say?’
‘Where were you? On another planet?’ Not for the first time, little alarm bells were going off in her mind.
‘I was just thinking.’
‘About what in particular?’
‘About that fellow who was murdered.’
‘What about him?’
With everyone waiting for an answer, he gathered his thoughts. ‘I think it would be a mistake if the police completely ruled out Mrs Fellowes as the murderer. One report said there was no love lost between him and his wife, and judging by the way she put the fear of God into our Daisy, she might well be capable of extreme violence.’
Libby was astonished. ‘I didn’t know you were taking such a close interest.’
He shrugged his shoulders, his dark gaze shifting uneasily round the table. ‘I’m not,’ he lied. ‘It’s just that everyone’s talking about it wherever I go.’
‘I still say there’s more to it than meets the eye.’ Jack was feeling raunchy, eager to get Patsy home and into bed. Under the tablecloth his hands began to wander. ‘But when all’s said and done, I imagine the police know what they’re doing. If they say his wife’s innocent, who are we to argue?’ His hand wriggled up Patsy’s skirt.
‘You’re right.’ Dave feigned indifference. ‘What do we know anyway?’
It was midnight when Jack and Patsy left. As they walked to the taxi, Jack shouted, laughing, ‘Happy Christmas, you two. Get off to bed and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’
With his arm round Libby, Dave called back, ‘That means we’re free to do as we please, eh?’
Luckily the children were still fast asleep when they went upstairs. ‘God, I hope they don’t come bounding into our room too early in the morning.’ Libby felt shattered. After dinner everyone had insisted on helping with the clearing up, but the dishes were still piled high in the sink. Dave promised he’d give a helping hand in the morning, and Libby didn’t need too much persuading to leave them until then.
When they both fell into bed, there was a bit of foreplay, and the light-hearted promise of lovemaking. But it came to nothing when Libby rolled over and fell asleep. ‘Just as well,’ Dave muttered. ‘I never believed in brewer’s droop until now.’ He softly chuckled, turned out the light, and before he even had time to draw the clothes up over himself, he was asleep.
Just as dawn was breaking over the skies, Dave was awake again. Daisy was standing at the foot of the bed, rubbing her eyes and softly crying.
‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’ he asked as Libby leaped out of bed.
‘I don’t want her to go,’ Daisy sobbed. ‘Please tell her not to go.’
Libby hugged and soothed her. ‘Ssh now, it’s only a dream.’
But Daisy was inconsolable. ‘Please, Daddy,’ she begged, entreating Dave who was pulling on his dressing-gown. ‘Please don’t let her go away.’
Taking her in his arms, he asked gently, ‘Who are you talking about, sweetheart? Who is it you don’t want to go away?’
‘Miss Ledell. She was in my room just now and she said she would be going away soon. I don’t want her to go. Please, Daddy. You have to stop her.’
Momentarily stunned, he felt the chill run up and down his back like icy fingers playing on his skin. ‘She wasn’t in your room just now, Daisy,’ he said a little more sternly. ‘Mummy’s right, you’ve had a bad dream, that’s all. Look, you climb into bed with Mummy while I go downstairs for a drink.’ He couldn’t think straight. He felt strangely vulnerable, as though someone somewhere was reading his mind, urging him in a certain direction.
‘Don’t be down there too long,’ Libby said, settling Daisy in their bed. ‘You need your sleep.’ Lately he had begun to look haunted. This evening, for instance, there were times when he didn’t even hear what they were saying, as if his mind was elsewhere. That had happened a lot lately, and it was beginning to worry her.
Downstairs in the kitchen, Dave sat at the table, lost in thought. He didn’t know what to do or where to turn. ‘How could Miss Ledell be in Daisy’s room?’ he muttered. ‘Of course she wasn’t in her room. What am I thinking of? Daisy had a dream, that’s all. She obviously went to sleep thinking of the old dear, and it played on her mind. There’s nothing more to it than that.’
But what if there was more to it?
He carried on talking to himself, unaware that his voice was trembling with fear. ‘Bad things are beginning to happen. It’s like a game of chess. They make a move, then I make a move. The only difference is I can’t see my opponent.’ He was certain now that something was expected of him; the girl at the river had pleaded with him: ‘The old man. The lane. The answer is there.’
It was a strange thing but he felt different somehow, sadder, older, but not wiser. There were times when he felt lost, and yet there was a curious sense of belonging, as though he was never alone, almost as though he was sharing his body and soul with another. At other times he was filled with despair, yet he could find no reason for it. Thinking of it now, a crippling fear took hold of him.
Raising his face to the window, to the lightening skies beyond, he called out, ‘Who are you? What do you want of me?’ Suddenly aware that he might sound like a madman, he laughed softly. ‘You’re losing it, Walters,’ he told himself. ‘One minute you’re imagining things, and the next you’re talking to thin air.’ Feeling foolish, he rubbed his hands over his face and wondered if he, like Daisy, was having a nightmare.
His heart nearly stopped when Libby spoke. ‘She’s asleep. I thought I’d come down and see if you were all right.’
‘Of course I’m all right.’ Anger tinged his voice. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
Sitting opposite him now, she laid her hand over his. ‘No reason.’ She thought she’d heard him laughing and muttering to himself, but couldn’t be certain. ‘No reason that I know of anyway,’ she said pointedly.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ He hated the way he was snapping at her but he couldn’t help it. The other one was in the back of his mind, firing the rage within him.
Libby made no reply. Instead she went to the sink and filled the kettle with water. She switched it on, prepared the teapot with two mugs, and then came and sat down again. Now she regarded him carefully, the way he was slumped over the table, his shoulders drooped as though he carried a great weight, and every now and again he would close his eyes as if he was in some terrible anguish. She had her suspicions, and his erratic behaviour convinced her she was right.
Wondering how she might broach the subject, her heart quailed. The only way was to ask him. ‘Dave, if I ask you something, will you answer me truthfully?’
He looked up, surprised. Something in her voice, in the softness of her eyes, as though the tears were just beneath the surface, made him feel ashamed. ‘You know I would never want to tell you a lie,’ he answered warily. ‘If there’s something worrying you, I want to know about it.’
Consumed with guilt, Libby hesitated. How could she tell him what was on her mind? How could she ask him such a thing? Right now she couldn’t even look him in the eye. Losing courage, she answered nervously, ‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’ But it did. It mattered like hell.
Getting out of his chair, he came to where she sat. Taking her in his arms, he bent his head to hers. ‘I know I’ve been preoccupied lately and I’m sorry. It’s just that I have a few things on my mind.’
She didn’t look up. Instead she hung on to him, keeping him there, not daring to look at his face. ‘Dave?’
‘What is it, sweetheart?’ He bent his head closer, but she was d
etermined not to let him see her face either.
She took a deep breath. When she released it, the words fell out in a rush. ‘Are you having an affair?’
She felt him reel with shock. For a moment the silence was overpowering, and then gently he put his fingers beneath her chin and made her turn to look at him; his face was chalk white, his eyes wide with disbelief. ‘Is that what you think?’ he gasped. ‘That I’m having an affair?’
She paused, hating herself, hating him. ‘I don’t know what to think,’ she said. ‘These days you seem so far away, sometimes you don’t even know when I’m talking to you.’ A sob caught in her throat. ‘I forgave you once because I was just as much to blame for what happened. But we’ve been through all that, and I don’t want us to lose each other again.’ Her voice hardened. ‘But I swear to God, if you’re cheating on me—’
‘You have my word, Libby. I’m not cheating on you.’
She gazed up at him, wanting to believe he was telling the truth but not yet convinced. ‘If you’re not cheating, what’s wrong? Why are we drifting apart?’
‘Are we?’ That surprised and worried him, but then his mind had been on other things.
‘You tell me.’
‘OK. Maybe I have been neglecting you lately, but it’s not for the reason you think.’ He wished there was something more he could do to ease her mind, but he couldn’t tell her what troubled him. What would he say? I’m preoccupied because this ghost keeps bothering me? She’d think he was nuts. ‘I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we take that romantic weekend you were talking about? We could take the kids if you want, or ask May to stay over, I don’t mind.’ He was still uneasy about that. ‘We could go in a fortnight or so. What do you say?’
‘I don’t know.’ She was smarting. Unsure.
‘I thought it was what you wanted?’
‘Not if it’s just to keep the peace.’ She nearly said, ‘Ease your conscience,’ but her instincts warned her not to.
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