by Gill Mather
“I just meant getting turned down by RADA.”
“Oh yes. Of course.”
ROZ AND GUY were up earlier the next day than they might have liked in order to make as much use of the natural light as possible. Guy had volunteered to spend a morning keeping a group of young children amused and Roz was providing desultory assistance. They’d already been outside and made several snowmen and snow animals. They’d fashioned a sort of igloo too but it quickly collapsed.
Now they were inside again. After a mid-morning break (almond milk, sourdough bread and honey), Guy was playing a number of games with the kids, the current of which he called “Adam and Eve”. He formed the boys and girls into two small teams. One team had to draw two animals on a blackboard, say two cats or two pigs, and the other team had to guess which was Adam and which was Eve. It wasn't difficult or at all sophisticated with the animals portrayed in trousers or dresses, but the children were in stitches which seemed to be the main object of the game.
He was so good with kids, Roz thought. At some point, they’d probably have grandchildren themselves which would be great. Little children to come and stay and be bought treats and presents, taken on outings. But she pulled herself up sharp realising suddenly what a turnaround this was. That she, a childless woman, should be carelessly thinking of grandchildren was truly amazing. Until a few months ago, no such hopes would have entered her head. They would of course be Guy’s grandchildren and only her step-grandchildren but all the same.
Since getting together with Guy again, she’d spent time dwelling on his two children Andrea and Boris, and in her mind developing an affection for them. Boris of course had tried to frighten her at one point during the investigation last year. The investigation which had resulted in Guy now facing a possible charge of having brought Boris into the country illegally as a very young child. But Roz didn't blame Boris and had forgiven him. She knew how desperately mixed up and confused he’d become after discovering that his real family were Romanian. Ultimately he had poured out to the police what he knew after the murder of his Romanian twin sister. Because of his evidence and that of others, a conspiracy to murder charge was proceeding through the courts against Guy’s first wife Liz.
If anything Roz found it easier to start to love Boris than Andrea. Andrea was very friendly, but somehow she was just so perfect; so pretty, so clever, so composed, so good at everything. Whereas Boris was amusing and quirky. And of course, having never been formally adopted by Guy and Liz when he was a child, he still faced worrying immigration and citizenship issues. And as he wasn't Guy’s natural son, then in that respect, she and Guy would stand in the same shoes legally and biologically at least regarding any “grandchildren” he gave them which made Roz feel a little more “in the frame” - or less out of it. However twenty-five year old Boris probably wouldn't produce any children for years yet. Young people didn't these days.
But Roz knew she should be more involved in today’s exercises, not hanging back so. Though she wasn't the only one. A little boy aged about six wasn't taking part in the game and sat at the edge colouring a picture book and looking up now and then. Roz walked over and sat beside him, introducing herself. He said his name was Ralph. She complimented him on the colouring.
“Aren’t you interested in the game?” she asked him.
“Not really,” he said. “And none of them look anything like Adam.”
“D’you mean Adam who used to live here?”
Ralph nodded.
“No. I don't suppose they do,” said Roz. “What was Adam like then?”
“Nice. When he went out, he bought us sweets back. But Jack didn't like him.”
“Why do you think that was?”
“I don't really know. My sister and I don't live with our dad. It’s just what my mum said.”
“Do you mean Jack’s your dad?”
“Yes. Of course,” said Ralph as though it was obvious.
Roz decided she shouldn't ask anything else. Apart from it being wrong to pump children, she didn't want Ralph going back to his mum, or indeed his dad, saying that that holiday lady had interrogated him. She spent the rest of the time talking to him about his colouring and helping him with his reading as there were a few lines under each picture.
IT WASN'T UNTIL she was in bed with Guy that night that she managed to talk to him properly. They had been surrounded by people at lunchtime, and in the afternoon, she had helped to clear the orangerie while Guy was with what he called the “theatre group”. He was going to sing a couple of songs in the revue and might take a small part in the short play being organised. As they had no access to the internet, they would be writing it as they went along. They were to go back the following morning with their ideas.
Roz had enjoyed her afternoon but it was clear that the rejuvenation of the orangerie would be more than half a day’s work and someone was going to have to venture out to one of the outbuildings where they kept building materials including, some suggested, panes of glass. For now the gaps were covered with sheets of wood. It kept out the worst of the wind but it was still bitterly cold and they had to shut the door to the main house to stop the heat from escaping into the orangerie. Roz in her earlier enthusiasm hadn't considered how it was going to be possible to heat the orangerie with no electricity.
They made considerable progress however, sweeping between the flagstones and pulling down long dead climbing plants, cleaning the glass and making a start on staining the oak wood frames. There were some twelve helpers and it was beginning to look quite presentable by the time they called it a day as the light was fading.
As they stood regarding the fruits of their efforts, Amelia loitered by Roz trying to interest her in a palmistry class she and others were holding the following day. Roz was relieved to be able to say that she would be at Fairymead’s sewing session and, to divert Amelia’s attention, she asked her why the orangerie had been left unused.
“You can see it’s only got two glass sides, being wedged in a space between two house walls. Historically, I believe it was built here to replace some sort of derelict annex many years ago with a view to growing tropical fruits.”
“So what went wrong?”
“I suppose with just two glass sides, it wasn’t very successful. I think it probably wasn't really a proper conservatory because usually they were made of cast iron. I can't really remember now but I think some people thought it wasn’t worth the trouble and wanted to build a proper glass house somewhere else, but nothing came of it and this place fell into disuse about the late seventies. Or quite possibly earlier. I can't actually remember it ever being used.”
“Not even for sitting about in.”
“Oh. There wasn’t the time for that with this place needing so much attention. We’ve come a long way since then.”
“What a pity.”
“Yes, well, I think there was some work done shutting it down, insulating the door to the house for example and it was just left. I'm surprised it’s lasted so well. Probably because it’s oak.”
“So….er…. what do you normally do for the community by way of work?”
Amelia laughed. “I'm well past retirement age but I can't be idle. I work in the office looking after the books. It’s a full-time job I can tell you. I could do with some help.”
“Doesn't anyone else work there then?” Roz had asked.
“Well Jack oversees it but he won't have anyone else in the office. Adam asked to help out but Jack wouldn't hear of it.”
“Adam! But I thought he wanted to be an actor. Accounts doesn't seem a very artistic occupation. Though I’m surprised actually to hear that you’re in effect the bursar.”
“Oh, I find that worldliness and other-worldliness are quite a good mix really. You won't believe it but I did a maths degree many years ago. Seeing patterns in things does help with accounts. Doing all the sums and making the books balance keeps me grounded.”
“Yes. I’m sure it does,” was all Roz could think of s
aying. She was tempted to ask Amelia what she thought had happened to Adam but restrained herself. Instead she pulled from under her jumper a leather thong around her neck and showed Amelia the little jade dragon she’d attached to it.
Amelia was delighted. “Have you given him a name yet?”
“No. I hadn't thought of it.”
“Oh. You have to give him a name so he becomes yours and brings good luck to you only.” Roz tried to ignore the implication that that meant he might bring misfortune to others.
Their conversation was interrupted by a man, introduced earlier as Damon, announcing what he thought was the discovery of a fireplace against the side wall. Everyone turned in that direction. Boarding had been torn away to reveal a pile of bricks, timber and other debris in a tall wide alcove. Though darkness was falling, it was decided to postpone their departure for fifteen minutes or so to investigate.
When the loose material was pulled away, the large fireplace became more obvious though heaven knew what could be lurking up the chimney. They’d missed it as there was no surround, no mantle piece, and no obvious chimney breast. They watched as Damon walked along the wall one side of the fireplace knocking it lightly with his knuckles. He raised an eyebrow. It was clearly hollow inside. He did the same the other side with the same result. The chimney breast must have been boxed in and the fireplace covered over. For whatever reason.
A cheer went up at the prospect that the orangerie could be heated. A few of the men discussed attempting to sweep the chimney the following morning.
In their bedroom, Roz had had to quickly clean herself up ready for dinner. They’d been to the hall for their evening meal. The company was in high spirits from their various activities and anxious to discuss their ideas. So there was no time to talk until later.
“GUY.”
“Hmm.”
“What do you think about Jack? I mean what do you really think about him?”
“Well. You’ll have to tell me what you really mean by that question?”
“Well. Do you think he’s….perhaps….a bit extreme in various ways?”
“Actually. I’d say he’s one of the less extreme people here. Especially having spent an afternoon in the company of the Thesbians of the community. You should hear what some of them want to put on to entertain us all. Why?”
“Tell me one thing first.”
“OK.”
“What about Mrs. Jack? Is there one? If so where is she? Do they have any children? And if so where are they? And what does he do for a living that he can just take all this time off from work? Surely his employers would want him to make some effort to get into work. And….”
“Hang on. That’s….er….at least five things. You said one thing.”
“Well OK then. What about them?”
“It’s late Roz. I’m tired. Mrs. Jack is marooned with their children at her parents’ in Norfolk. The family stayed with them over Christmas. She went abroad to work for a few days after Christmas and Jack went to work in London. She went to collect the kids from her parents two days ago, but the weather changed and now they can't get back here.”
“So why couldn't Jack look after his own children while his wife was away?”
“How would I know?”
“But that’s what I mean about him.”
“Sorry. You’ll have to enlighten me.”
“Well. Jack’s the father of Fairymead’s daughters but he took no notice of them last night at dinner. And a little boy this morning in the group you….er….we were looking after said Jack was his father too. I mean it seems a bit odd to me.”
“Well I suppose Jack’s lived here for a long time.”
“Yes but. You don't think it’s one of those cult things do you?”
“What cult things?” Guy yawned.
“One of those power things where the most dominant male gets the pick of the available females. That sort of thing.”
Guy chuckled. “I think you’re letting your imagination run away with you,” he said sleepily. “Jack is OK as far as I can tell. And he owns his own wealth management practice in London so presumably he can take time off if he wants to. Anyway, how did you get on today? In the orangerie.”
Roz told him at length. “And,” she yawned, “Amelia told me that Jack wouldn't agree to Adam working in the office. He won't let anyone do it apart from Amelia. I think that’s a bit suspect too, don't you?”
But Guy was gently snoring. Roz gave up and she too surrendered herself to sleep.
Chapter 3 Medallion Man
BETWEEN THEM ROZ and Guy scraped together the hundred and forty pounds Fairymead was charging for her sewing day. Guy thought it was expensive but Roz had looked at the notice the day before and had been rather glad to see only four names signed up to the course.
“Actually I think it’s very good value for the amount of individual attention.”
After breakfast, clutching the cash in her hand, she walked in the direction of the back staircase. This, she’d been told, was the best way to get to the first floor room where the course was to take place. Her route took her past the orangerie. She wondered if anyone would be in there yet. Seeing that the door was slightly ajar, she decided to take a peep. She was about to push the rather heavy panelled door further open when a piercing scream came from within.
Instinctively, instead of drawing back, she burst in. Decades of police work dictated that this was what she should do. If someone was being hurt or was in difficulties, she should try to help. She saw Sally, who had sat opposite them at dinner the first night, alone in the orangerie, standing near the newly opened up fireplace with her hand to her mouth, staring down at something on the recently re-exposed hearthstone.
“Are you OK?” said Roz hurrying to the fireplace and peering down.
“Look,” Sally said unnecessarily.
There, at their feet practically, lay the curled up body of an adult human, blackened and desiccated, the remains of its clothing covering the trunk, a garish flowery print though heavily marked with soot. The long bones were clearly visible through the darkened skin. The body was curled up, its limbs at odd angles, possibly some of the joints dislocated. A thick chain around the corpse’s neck ended in a circular piece of metal.
On the floor between the two women were the keys to the orangerie, Roz assumed dropped automatically by Sally at the sight that had met her.
Neither of them said anything immediately. Suddenly Sally bent to the corpse and started pulling at it.
“No. Stop,” said Roz, taking Sally’s arm. “Don't touch it.”
“But. Shouldn't we try to revive him or her? You know, CPR or whatever?”
“Sally,” Roz said gently, “Whoever it is, they’re well past any help we can give them.”
“Oh.” Sally’s shoulders slumped. “Well then. We’d at least better remove it from here to….I don't know….put it somewhere more suitable. Out of respect for it. And we need to get on with doing up the orangerie.”
“Certainly not,” said Roz.
“Why ever not?”
“Sally. Have you any idea who this might be?”
“No. Adam perhaps?”
“I really doubt it. He only disappeared a few weeks ago. This person’s been dead some time. Years, maybe decades. It won't be Adam.”
“Oh,” Sally said again.
“Well whoever it is,” Roz repeated, “the death needs to be properly investigated.”
“Really?”
“Well of course it does.” Roz began to wonder if Sally was in some sort of shock since her brain appeared to have stopped functioning. “Look it’s odd to say the least to find a body up a chimney or in a fireplace. The most likely thing is that all the debris we pulled away yesterday was supporting the body, and after we left for the night, gravity brought it down. Alternatively, someone brought it in here last night and left it here.”
“What? Why would they do that?”
“Obviously I haven't the faintest idea. But i
t could be a crime scene or the body could be the victim of a crime. Or both. It needs to be preserved for forensic examination.”
Sally looked at a loss. Then she straightened up. “I’d better go and tell Jack.”
It was Roz’s shoulders’ turn to sag. But the others had to be told some time. She decided to let Sally get on with it and wait by the body for the time being. Sally hurried out, shutting the door behind her.
It was of course bitterly cold in the orangerie and Roz hadn't dressed this morning for the arctic conditions. Looking outside, at only nine thirty in the morning, the sky was gunmetal grey and it was snowing again. The drift against the glass was at least three feet high. She shivered.
It seemed to be an age before Sally returned. By the time Jack, Sally and others turned up, Roz’s teeth were chattering. It looked as though half the household had come to view the spectacle and the orangerie started to fill up. Guy came over to Roz and, seeing her shaking, he rubbed her arms up and down. It made little difference and he removed his fleece and pulled it over her head. She pushed her arms into it, feeling the warmth of his body inside it, and she buried each hand in the opposite sleeve. He put his arms around her.
“Come on. We’ll have to shift it,” was the first thing Jack said.
“You can't do that.” Roz forced her jaw to stop vibrating, the effort making her chin jut out. She feared it made her look stubborn and bone-headed. Speaking slowly and deliberately, she said, “I’ve already been through this with Sally. It’s a possible crime scene. It’s got to be preserved until we can communicate with the outside world again and report the discovery of a body to the police.”
“Don't be ridiculous,” said Jack.
Roz bridled, her anger overcoming her stiffening limbs and blue lips. Still in Guy’s arms, she turned more in Jack’s direction. “On the contrary,” she said, “anything else would be unlawful.”
“Come off it. The body’s probably centuries old. You probably hadn't realised,” he said, “that this building is Elizabethan, parts of it older.”
