by Nicola Slade
Harriet remembered their encounter before class. ‘Did you manage to get hold of your husband?’ she asked idly.
‘Bill? Why? Why do you ask?’ the question was snapped out until Jess took control of herself and stood up. ‘Sorry, Harriet, all our nerves are on edge. Yes, I had a brief word with Bill, he’d … there was no signal where he was earlier.’
She moved swiftly across the room, her brow deeply furrowed. Watching her, Harriet was startled when someone spoke and she looked up, smiling at Tim Nicholls who stood in front of her, holding a silver tray.
‘Red or white, Harriet?’ he offered. ‘Eve suggested we try to carry on as normal and this is next on the agenda.’
‘It’s a nice idea,’ she thanked him. ‘Somebody, Fiona, I expect, told me the plan is to offer an evening meal when the whole house is occupied by a group.’
‘Ahem, could I say something?’ Donald cleared his throat and stood by the mantelpiece looking nervous but not, Harriet was glad to note, as unhappy as on the previous evening. ‘There’s been no news from the hospital since Fiona rang an hour ago. She said they were operating but that nobody’s told her very much. Until she gets in touch again Eve and I have decided our best course is to carry on with the programme as far as possible.’ He glanced round and hunched his shoulders. ‘We can’t pretend nothing has happened but I suggest we try to put it out of our minds. Hughie’s prepared a terrific meal and we should all try to do it justice.’
‘I agree.’ Sam surprised Donald by standing up and nodding to the rest of the party. ‘Thanks, Donald. There’s nothing we can do and it would be very hard on Hughie and Eve if we didn’t appreciate their efforts.’ He looked at the wine Tim was still handing round, and grinned. ‘I don’t know about anyone else but I’m going for something stronger. Is the honesty book on the sideboard still? Good, anyone else? Harriet?’
‘I’ll have another white wine, for now, Sam; you know my father always said you shouldn’t mix grain and grape. I might break the rule later.’ Harriet knew what Sam was up to. Decades of smoothing over awkward situations made him a past master at cheering up a gloomy gathering and she smiled at him. To her surprise Donald, his long face reddening, cleared his throat once more.
‘Not for me, thanks, Sam,’ he said quietly, raising his lime-and-soda. ‘I expect you’ve all guessed that the hard stuff really is my poison so, as a recovering alcoholic, I’ll stick to this.’
‘Well said, Donald.’ There was a tremor in Madeleine’s voice as she rose and went to his side. ‘I might as well admit that I’m also … well, let’s say I’m another recovering alcoholic, so I’ll have the same. It looks very refreshing.’
There was a murmur of encouragement as the rest of the group took Sam’s advice and moved over to the sideboard for more drinks.
‘That took a lot of nerve,’ Harriet whispered to Madeleine as their paths met. She touched the other woman’s shoulder gently and Madeleine’s eyes glistened.
‘Thank you, Harriet, that’s kind. Donald’s been an inspiration in several ways, not just about the painting. He’s the brave one.’
Harriet looked at her watch; another ten minutes until dinner. ‘I’d better mingle and help Sam with the soothing process’, she thought. ‘It mustn’t get too gloomy or the art group’s chance of success will look pretty poor.’ She picked up her glass and moved over to where Seren and Tim stood in the bay window looking out at the early evening light on the flowers in the border.
‘My grandmother loved her dahlia borders,’ she remarked as Seren smiled a welcome. ‘They’re colourful, though I can’t say I’ve ever been mad about them but they’re stunning in this garden.’
Tim nodded. ‘I was talking to Hughie earlier; he’s quite a gardener and he says the Aztecs used to eat dahlia tubers though it never caught on in Europe.’ He gave Harriet a diffident smile and edged closer to Seren for protection.
‘Goodness, I can’t say the idea appeals to me.’ Harriet grinned and added: ‘I’m impressed you got Hughie to talk. I don’t think I’ve heard more than two words from him all weekend.’
‘Probably fellow feeling.’ Tim seemed more relaxed and had clearly decided Harriet was harmless. ‘There aren’t many men here and I suspect he sees Donald and Sam as authority figures. I don’t count.’ His expression changed and he looked very tired.
‘That’s rubbish, Tim.’ Harriet had been about to protest but was forestalled by an indignant Seren who reached for his hand. ‘Of course you count. You’re a successful solicitor, senior partner in a very old family firm, and you paint amazing pictures. Don’t put yourself down.’
‘Thanks.’ He coloured at the vote of confidence. ‘I suppose I’m not a very outgoing type and my self-confidence has been badly dented lately.’ He hesitated but Seren and Harriet were his only audience so he took a deep breath. ‘The thing is, a … a client of mine a few months ago made a lot of trouble for me and it’s not been easy.’ Encouraged by their sympathetic attention, he went on: ‘ She … er, this client … claimed I’d made a pass at her and exposed myself when she was in my office.’
Scarlet to the tips of his ears he squeezed Seren’s hand and addressed Harriet directly. ‘I hadn’t done anything of the sort, I swear it. Luckily my secretary was able to corroborate this because she was in the office next door and the partition wall is so thin you can hear everything. We only use it for filing and archives and so forth, for that reason. Besides that, the … the client had only been in there for a few minutes and when she raised her voice my secretary thought I might need rescuing and came in.’
‘What a nasty thing to happen.’ Harriet looked thoughtful as she wondered about the identity of the client in question. ‘Why on earth would anyone make such a damaging accusation?’
‘She’d asked me to overlook a shady deal she and her former husband had done.’ Tim was more confident now he was on steady ground. ‘When I explained that I really couldn’t do that she sprang this other business on me.’ He shook his head. ‘Luckily my secretary was highly indignant and threatened to call the police and have her – the client – charged with practically any misdemeanour you could think of, so it all died down but it shook me badly.’
Seren slipped over to the sideboard and returned with a large gin and tonic. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘never mind Harriet and her grain and grape thing.’ She smiled as Harriet laughed out loud and Tim began to look less frazzled. ‘Did she – your client – back down?’
‘Flounced off and took her business elsewhere, thank God,’ he said, managing to summon up a wry smile. ‘She saved her parting shot for where it could do most damage though. My father was very ill and this … this woman … changed her line of attack completely. She blagged her way into the nursing home and told Dad she had evidence that I was gay.’
‘So what?’ Harriet frowned, quite sure now that the malignant client had been Linzi. ‘Even an elderly father in this day and age must know about that kind of thing.’
Comforted, he nodded. ‘Thanks, Harriet. As it happens, I’m not, but even if I were, my father wouldn’t have been upset. He was a bit old-school, but kind and tolerant, and a lifetime of the law had given him plenty of insights into humanity. What did frighten him though was that this … this bloody woman threatened to go to the papers and to the Law Society and tell them I’d been caught molesting boys. I used to help with Cubs until my father became so frail – that’s when I sold my place and moved in with him – and the business rested more and more on my shoulders.’ He shuddered. ‘It wasn’t true, of course it wasn’t, and Dad knew it. What he also knew, only too clearly, was that the mere rumour would be enough to ruin me. A solicitor’s good name is his most important stock-in-trade. It terrified Dad and I’m quite sure it helped speed up his death.’
At that moment Eve looked into the drawing room. ‘Dinner’s ready, everyone, do come through.’
Dinner was excellent. ‘Hughie’s planned a very simple meal,’ Eve had confided earlier to Harriet’s sympat
hetic ear. ‘I’m not sure if you know, but this is a trial weekend for us which means the art group got an extremely favourable discount. We’re on a tight budget, but that won’t affect the quality. We’ll mostly do Bed & Breakfast but we’re hoping to offer occasional Foodie weekends to coincide with the local festival and other gastronomic events, the watercress season, for instance. That would have Hughie pulling out all the stops, but tonight he’s gone for simple and rustic. It’s top quality local food, of course, but not a gourmet menu.
‘I’m sure it’ll be wonderful,’ Harriet had assured her. ‘In any case, I don’t suppose anyone would be in the mood to appreciate a gourmet experience.’ She hesitated: ‘I hope this awful business hasn’t upset Hughie?’
‘Why?’ Eve snapped, her sallow skin flushing an angry red. ‘What do you mean? What have you heard about Hughie?’
‘Nothing at all,’ Harriet’s voice was soothing, ‘just that as an artist in the kitchen he might have been disturbed by all the disruption.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Eve tightened her lips. ‘I shouldn’t over-react. It’s not Hughie so much; I’m the one who is upset.’ She looked anxiously at Harriet. ‘I can’t help panicking about what effect this is going to have on our business. We’ve not even opened officially yet. It’s a disaster.’
‘All I can say,’ Harriet reassured her, ‘is that Sam and I will give Tadema Lodge an excellent write-up on all the review sites, something you can quote on your website too. Fiona will certainly do one as well, and I’m sure you’ll find most of the others will be equally enthusiastic. I do sympathise but you mustn’t let it cast a blight over your enterprise.’
*
‘You drinking tonight, Hat?’ Sam murmured discreetly, glancing across the long, polished expanse of oak table to where Donald and Madeleine looked relaxed as they discussed the future of the art group with Jess and the Yarrows.
‘I think so,’ she gave a decisive nod. ‘I’ve already had some wine anyway and now those two have come clean, everyone knows they won’t be drinking. What were you and Tim discussing just now?’
‘We agreed we’d pay for the first two bottles and then the others can kick in if they want more. Thought we ought to grease the wheels, as it were, to stop it turning into a wake.’
‘A wake?’ She was startled. ‘Oh, Sam, don’t! I don’t like her but she’s not dead.’ He looked apologetic and she touched his arm. ‘Something else, Sam,’ she said in the same low tone, ‘I was being nosy when the policeman checked Linzi’s driving licence and I spotted that her real name was Elin.’ She spelled it out. ‘That’s Swedish, as far as I know, but I don’t think she was Scandinavian.’
‘I think it’s a Welsh name,’ he countered. ‘One of Avril’s cousins was Elin, spelled like that. Could Linzi be Welsh? Maybe her parents just liked the spelling.’ As Harriet let out a gasp, hastily suppressed, he stared. ‘What? What’s the matter?’
‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head, frowning. ‘It’s just there seem to be several Welsh connections here and I wondered if there might be any significance.’ He rolled his eyes and she subsided. ‘I suppose she thought Linzi sounded more intriguing.’
Hughie’s rustic local menu was going down well and they were all happy to take their time, anything rather than discuss what might be happening at the hospital. Sam took a long sip from his glass of Merlot and gazed appreciatively at the locally reared pork sausages that Eve placed in front of him.
‘Bangers and mash, Hughie-style,’ she told everyone. ‘Do tuck in. The potatoes and greens are from our garden.’
‘What were you saying about Welsh connections, Harriet?’ Sam tucked in with enjoyment. ‘What did you mean?’
‘I don’t know, exactly.’ She spoke quietly as she paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. ‘What I said, really. Wales has cropped up a couple of times, that’s all. Seren is Welsh-born, she said so.’ Harriet cast her mind back. ‘When Seren was talking about her name, and her daughter’s – Hafren, isn’t it? I swear I heard somebody gasp – and you needn’t pull me up, I know it’s not much of a connection.’
‘No,’ he agreed. He surprised her by adding, in an equally muted voice: ‘Your ex-neighbour Clare lived in Wales for years, she told me so, but that’s a pretty tenuous connection. In fact you’re clutching at straws with this, but I’ll tell you one thing you don’t know.’ He leaned towards her, his voice pitched to a low whisper once he had made sure nobody was in earshot. ‘My former parishioner was born in Wales too, I just remembered. She told me so, years ago.’
‘Bonnie?’ She bit off the word and stared at him. ‘Are you sure? I wonder if that’s what I’ve been hearing. I could have sworn I heard a whisper of an accent, but it’s very slight. I asked before but you said Suffolk—’
‘Told you, it’s only just come back to me, and anyway, she did move here from Suffolk.’ Sam turned to smile as Eve hovered beside him with more sausages. ‘What difference does it make anyway? My mother was born in Cornwall but she never lived there after the age of six months. So what if a couple of random people in a guest house turn out to be from the same part of the world. Avril and I were staying in a hotel in Sorrento once and we bumped into people who lived next door to her parents. Coincidences do happen, Harriet.’
She made a face then remembered her manners and turned to Tim, on her right. ‘What did you do with yourself the rest of the afternoon? You know Sam and I jumped ship which was wimpish but a lifesaver. Did you go on with your painting? I’m afraid mine isn’t going to be anything to write home about.’
‘I did,’ he told her. ‘I didn’t feel much like it but I felt I owed it to Donald to carry on, when he was holding everything together. He’s a good teacher, isn’t he? Are there any plans to ask him to teach the group on a permanent basis? I think he’d be a great success.’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’m not actually a member of the art group, but I agree, he’s very patient and puts it across even to complete beginners like Sam and me. I suppose Fiona will know—’
She broke off in mid-sentence at the thought of what Fiona was at present undergoing. ‘I wish—’
‘I know.’ He was sympathetic. ‘It’s horrible not knowing. Surely she ought to be back soon.’
‘We have to try to be positive.’ She shelved her anxiety and spoke across Tim to Seren. ‘Did you carry on with your still-life painting, Seren? I’m looking forward to seeing what the pair of you produce, you’re both so talented.’
‘I went home,’ Seren replied briefly. ‘I wanted to check on something, but I wasn’t long. When I got back I took in some tea for Tim and stayed to watch him paint.’
She clearly had no intention of elaborating so Harriet was happy to change the subject with the advent of blackberry syllabubs served in tall glasses and accompanied by home-made langue-de-chat biscuits.
‘More home-grown produce?’ she asked Eve with a smile. ‘Your garden must be like the Tardis. I was admiring the raised vegetable beds earlier this afternoon.’
‘I’ve a confession to make.’ Her hostess had a gleam in her dark eyes. ‘Our next door neighbour’s garden is longer than ours. He’s no gardener but he does have a couple of rescued battery hens so he let us fence off the end of his plot as an extension to ours, in return for scraps for the hens. That’s how we manage to grow so much of our own food and we do a deal with him for free-range eggs too.’
‘Yum, blackberries,’ Sam was frankly greedy. ‘Isn’t there some superstition about eating them, Harriet?’ He grinned at Seren who was looking puzzled. ‘Harriet’s just like our Granny Hathaway, full of folk lore.’
‘We’re quite safe at the moment.’ His cousin shot him a reproving look. ‘It’s not quite Michaelmas Day,’ she explained. ‘If you eat blackberries after that date the devil will give you a belly-ache.’
Tim gave a shout of laughter which he quickly muted, suddenly remembering what hung over them. ‘Why on earth is that?’
She smiled, glad to have cheer
ed him up. ‘Towards the end of September blackberries tend to get maggoty which could cause upsets. Most of those old sayings have some kind of basis in common sense.’
‘You’re both local, aren’t you?’ Seren’s soft voice sounded strained but she was making an effort so Harriet went along with her.
‘Oh yes,’ she agreed. ‘Winchester born and bred for generations. Look on any local war memorial and you’ll find us: Hathaways, Richmonds, Granvilles and Knightleys, de Kersac cousins from Brittany and even a couple of Quigleys on the one in town. My grandfather’s younger brother was killed at Mons and my uncle died at Dunkirk.’
Harriet remembered her superstitious forebodings of the previous day and looked down the long oak table. There were 11 people here, she counted, plus Fiona and Linzi at the hospital. She shivered and wished she hadn’t remembered.
*
Eve had just finished offering second helpings of the syllabub when the dining room door opened and the buzz of conversation died away.
Fiona Christie stood on the threshold of the room, holding the door jamb for support, her face drawn and ashen.
‘She’s dead,’ she said, her voice cracking on the last word.
Chapter 10
‘She never regained consciousness,’ Fiona explained once the clamour of voices had died down. At her startling announcement Harriet had caught Eve’s shocked gaze and jerked her head at the pale woman in the doorway. Eve picked up the message and hastened to the kitchen. Sam strong-armed Fiona into a chair ignoring her protests and Tim hovered with a glass of whisky which she gulped down. By the time she had finished choking and spluttering Eve was beside her, laying a place and putting a small plate of sausage and mash in front of her. It was clear that she found it easier to obey than to argue so Harriet was relieved to see her swallow a few mouthfuls.
