by Faith Martin
‘Sorry, no. Thomas noticed that the door was open and he walked over and slammed it shut. Naturally, I carried on walking and went to join my wife in the kitchen.’
‘Yes, naturally,’ Trudy agreed blandly. Obviously, his father-in-law had spied him lurking outside the door and hadn’t been any too pleased. She felt almost as chagrined as her witness that the opportunity to learn more about the argument between brother and sister had been cut short.
‘Look, if you don’t mind, I have an appointment in …’ Kenneth made a show of looking at his watch. ‘Well, any minute now, in fact. So if that’s all …?’
He stood up, an expectant look on his handsome face.
‘Of course, sir. Thank you for your time,’ Trudy said. Although she had no doubt that his appointment was totally fictitious, she knew that she had got more than enough from the man to be going on with.
Clement nodded at her in silent agreement. They had all but reached the door and Clement was, in fact, reaching out a hand towards the handle in order to open it, when it suddenly opened for him and he jumped back a little. A pretty young blonde woman, around Trudy’s age, gave a startled gasp and put a hand up to her chest. Clearly, the coroner had not been the only one to be taken by surprise by the close encounter.
She was wearing a powder blue skirt and cardigan twin set, with a creamy silk blouse and a row of cultured pearls at her throat. She had a small briefcase in her hand, and her big blue eyes went straight to Kenneth.
‘I’m so sorry Mr Wilcox, I didn’t realise you had visitors. I’ve dealt with that matter at the bank, sir.’
‘Thank you, Susan,’ Kenneth said stiffly. ‘My secretary, Miss Royal,’ he introduced them briefly. Susan backed out into the small little anteroom cum office and took her seat, watching them curiously as her employer ushered them out.
Back on the street, Trudy smiled. ‘Well, that was interesting, wasn’t it?’
‘On many levels,’ Clement agreed with satisfaction. ‘This case is definitely beginning to have possibilities after all. Did you get the impression that our Mr Wilcox and his father-in-law didn’t get on?’ he asked dryly.
‘I’ll say. Dirty old devil. Did you see the way he was looking at me?’
Clement smiled. ‘Some women might have found it flattering to be so openly admired.’
Trudy snorted. ‘Well, I don’t. And I feel sorry for his poor wife. Shall we talk to her next?’
‘No. I rather think I’d like to talk to sister Mary, don’t you? Find out what the big argument was about. Any idea where she lives?’ Clement asked.
‘It’ll be in my notes.’ Trudy reached into her satchel and rummaging through her accoutrements for her notebook. ‘Here it is … Oh yes, Mary Everly – her name was mentioned by the other witnesses. She lives in Wolvercote.’
Chapter 10
As Trudy and Clement climbed into his Rover and headed for the attractive village of Wolvercote, which overlooked Oxford’s pretty Port Meadow, back in her home on the hill in Headington, Alice Wilcox was blissfully unaware that she had just had her own interview with the police postponed.
She was busy clearing out her father’s things. He’d appropriated a study and separate sitting room for himself on the ground floor, and the largest of the bedrooms upstairs. But his clothes now sat in neat piles, ready to be given to a jumble sale, and his books and other assorted, inexpensive items, were quickly finding their way into a series of cardboard boxes, ready to be sent on to Oxfam.
As she worked, she felt a certain sense of satisfaction. Now the house was all theirs, they could spread out a bit and have all the space to themselves. No more cooking meals just how he liked it either. They could start having things that they liked instead. And they’d get to pick which television programmes to watch, and they’d be able to go on proper holidays at last and … oh, all sorts of things, she mused happily. Life was going to be so much better now – for everybody. But for herself especially. No more penny pinching and tip-toeing around him, making sure he was happy and comfortable all the time and had nothing to complain about.
Once the family solicitor had been and read the will, confirming that the house was all theirs now, perhaps they might even sell it and move somewhere else? She’d have to discuss it with Kenneth, but she didn’t think he’d have any objections.
She hummed a happy song as she worked. Her brothers and sister would be glad to see the will read as well. Matthew would be the happiest of them all to finally get his hands on his share of their father’s fortune, of course. And Godfrey could indulge in his own weird little hobby to his heart’s content. And Caroline … Alice sighed. Well, if Caroline had been written out of the will, she was sure that she could persuade Kenneth to agree that she must have something. After all, they also had his nice little inheritance on top of everything else, so they would be on easy street.
Alice paused in the act of dusting down an old hunting-scene painting that her father had always admired (and she’d always hated) and frowned slightly.
Yes. The inheritance – that was safe enough now too. She’d been a bit worried about that, ever since she’d discovered that father had been badgering Kenneth to hand it over so he could play with it.
But Kenneth had held firm.
Alice smiled, then happily thrust the hideous painting into the box due to go to charity and nodded in satisfaction. Yes, she really admired Kenneth for standing up to her father. Not many people had the gumption.
With not a care in the world, Alice began to sweep up her father’s eyeglasses and shaving kit and other personal bits and pieces, busily and competently erasing her father’s presence from her home.
Rupert Burrows drove his Austin Healey into Wolvercote and tooted the horn as he crossed the very high, humped back bridge on the far side of the village. It was almost impossible to see any other car coming up the other side, so everyone knew you had to sound a warning, but hearing no answering toot, he motored over and a few yards on, automatically indicated left, down a narrow, rather over-grown lane.
He was no stranger to Mary Everly’s delightful cottage, that stood back from this lane in large grounds, surrounded by weeping willows and more often than not, wild rabbits, that trespassed regularly into her garden from the surrounding fields.
But as he drove closer, he saw that an unknown Rover was already pulling up in front of the small garden gate, and he instinctively drove past without stopping.
Although there was nothing wrong in him visiting Mary, after all the fuss her brother had kicked up, he knew she was still rather sensitive about their recent engagement, and probably wouldn’t want him to put in an appearance if she had unexpected callers.
A tall man with fair hair and moustache and large, pale blue eyes, he met his own reflection in the driving mirror and frowned. He could see her point of view, of course, and he was in no position, really, to object to it, but damn it all, it came to something when you had to pussyfoot around when visiting your own fiancée. It wasn’t as if they were youngsters, needing Daddy’s permission!
And yet, with a sigh, he carried on driving. He’d park up somewhere and have a stroll along the river, now that the rain had finally stopped. Not the ideal weather for it, perhaps, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that whoever was calling on her probably wouldn’t be staying long. Mary knew that he was coming, so she’d be sure to get rid of them as quickly as possible.
Anyway, he couldn’t feel annoyed for long. After all, now that Thomas Hughes was dead, all their troubles were over.
Chapter 11
Trudy heard a car drive past behind them in the narrow lane but didn’t bother to look around as she walked up the somewhat unevenly paved front path of Mary Everly’s garden.
She could tell by the neatly trimmed rose bushes, box hedging and a now leafless wisteria vine that was growing rampant up the cottage walls, that the owner must be a keen gardener – or employed someone who was. No doubt in spring and summer, she mused, this would be a wo
nderful spot to behold.
Beyond the cottage, a water meadow that was now looking grey and damp lay flat and forlorn, but between the bare willow trees in the distance she could just see a flat glimmer of silver grey – which was probably the river Cherwell or possibly the Thames. For a lifelong native of Oxford, Trudy could be remarkably vague on its geographical features!
The cottage was a classic example of its type, with a front door set firmly in the middle complete with an upside-down V-shaped porch, and with a window on each side. Above, two bedroom windows mirrored the arrangement below, and at one side, a chimney stack climbed up, and was currently emitting a steady grey plume of smoke from the fire.
‘Pretty place, and a pretty spot,’ Clement said, unerringly echoing her own sentiments. In one sheltered spot beside the coal shed, a stand of Michaelmas daises still bloomed, their shade so pale a tint of lilac that they almost looked grey. Trudy was still admiring them as Clement lifted up a polished brass doorknocker and rapped it briskly.
There was a short moment of silence and then the door opened quickly. The woman who stood in front of them looked to be in her late fifties or early sixties, and was tall, thin and somewhat regal-looking. The eager look of welcome that had been on her face subsided abruptly as she realised that they were strangers to her.
‘Oh, good morning. I’m so sorry, I was expecting someone else. Can I help you?’ she added politely. Her pale blue eyes flickered slightly as they swept over Trudy’s uniform.
‘Hello, Mrs Everly. I’m WPC Loveday, and this is Dr Clement Ryder, city coroner.’ Trudy showed her credentials, which the older woman studied briefly.
‘This is about my brother, I take it?’ she said with a long-suffering sigh. ‘You’d best come in then.’ And so saying, she stood aside to let them pass.
She was dressed in a pair of warm, tailored wool trousers in a deep navy tone, and with it wore a Fair-Isle-style jumper in shades of blue, white and grey, set in a geometric pattern. Her hair was the colour of old gold, and fashioned in the latest style. Discreet make-up made her look younger than her probable years, and apart from a gold watch, her only other jewellery was a pair of neat, pearl earrings.
She gave the air, Trudy thought, of somebody who was used to living well and always putting up a good front.
‘Please, come into the lounge,’ Mary Everly said, leading the way from the small hall, where a grandmother clock ticked ponderously in a shadowy corner, and into a small but pleasant room that overlooked the front garden. Done out in tones of apricot and apple green, it did a lot to brighten up the gloomy, grey November day that was trying to press in from outside.
‘Is Mr Everly not at home?’ Trudy asked curiously. It was possible that the interview might prove upsetting, and sometimes the steadying support of a spouse could be an advantage.
‘My husband has been dead for some years now,’ Mary Everly said, with a slightly wry smile, and Trudy felt herself flush.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise!’
‘No reason why you should. Please, take a seat.’ Mary indicated the two armchairs and a small sofa that were grouped around a low walnut coffee table. ‘He died abroad. He was a diplomat you see, and we were often in the tropics. In the end, he got one of those vague fevers that sometimes see us Europeans off. Now—’ she dismissed her widowhood with a wave of one bony hand ‘—what exactly can I do for you?’
Trudy reached for her notebook and opened it at a fresh page. ‘I take it that you are aware of the articles that have been written about your brother’s, er, fatality, that have been showing up recently in the Oxford Tribune?’ she began cautiously.
Her witness, seated in one of the armchairs, folded her hands neatly in her lap. ‘Yes, Godfrey telephoned me about it, all hot under the collar as usual. Of all my nephews and nieces, he tends to be the most vocal,’ she added sardonically.
‘Well, as a result of the questions raised, my superior, DI Jennings, has asked me to just check up on a few details. You were there at the bonfire party the night the shed caught fire, I take it?’
‘Yes, I was. I got to the house in Headington around … let me see. It must have been, oh, six-ish, I would say. I helped Alice in the kitchen for a while – preparing the food and things. Then we all went outside to see the bonfire lit. But it was such an atrocious night – wet and windy, as I’m sure you know. And they had trouble getting it lit.’
She paused for breath, and Trudy nodded. ‘Can you remember who recommended they try paraffin?’ she asked quietly.
‘I think it was Kenneth,’ Mary said after a moment of thought. ‘But I didn’t really take much notice,’ she added punctiliously. ‘Anyway, they got it lit and going eventually, and then the children started clamouring for the fireworks to start. So my brother went into the shed to collect them.’
‘Did you see him actually go into the shed, Mrs Everly?’
‘Now that you mention it, no, I don’t think so. I saw him set off and presumed that’s where he was heading. I wasn’t really paying much attention, to be honest. I’m long past the age when fireworks are a cause for excitement. Besides, the shed was in the back of the garden somewhere, where it was darkest. And I was watching the bonfire, trying to make sure it didn’t run out of control. It was a bit silly to have lit it in such a strong wind, even if it was set up in the most sheltered part of the garden. I said as much to … who was it now … Matthew, I think, at the time. But my brother insisted things go ahead as planned. Thomas never did like to have his plans thwarted – even by Mother Nature,’ she added. She sounded both grim and amused, and Trudy looked at her thoughtfully.
‘He sounds like he was something of a character. Was he always so stubborn, even as a child?’
‘Oh yes, always,’ Mary said at once. ‘More often than not our parents despaired of him. He was one of those people who always think they know it all – and will move heaven and earth to prove they’re right, even when they’re wrong. Most especially, I suspect, when they are wrong and secretly know it!’ The older woman shrugged and spread her hands in a ‘what-can-you-do’ gesture. ‘But then, they forgave him when he became so successful.’
‘Yes. He inherited the family business, didn’t he?’ Trudy nudged her.
‘Not quite. Our parents owned a couple of shops, and when he was twenty-one, Thomas badgered them into letting him have one of them to run as he wanted to. He always maintained times were changing and new business practices needed to be followed in order to make “proper” money as he always called it. Dad was cautious at first, being both old-fashioned himself and wary of Thomas’s eager enthusiasm for change, but within a year my brother’s shop was making more than twice the amount that Dad’s was.’ She gave a brief shrug. ‘After Dad retired, Thomas naturally took over the second shop, sold them both, diversified, and within a decade, had built up Hughes Enterprises. The rest, as they say, was history.’
‘Were you surprised by any of this?’ Trudy asked. Having a witness who was obviously so willing to talk – and so honestly – was always a bonus, and she intended to make the best of it before putting the woman on her guard with more personal questions.
‘Not at all,’ Mary said. ‘I was younger than Thomas by some years, but even back then I could see how driven he was. He was clever, willing to take risks and, to give him his due credit, work like a dog, for years and years, in order to make something of himself.’
‘He sounds like an ambitious man.’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Money meant a lot to him, would you say?’ Trudy pressed.
‘Oh, good grief, yes. It was his be-all-and-end-all if you ask me. I never thought it was particularly healthy – but of course, his cronies and other men of business thought him the bees’ knees.’
‘What did his wife make of all this?’ Trudy slipped in.
‘Mildred? Oh, she didn’t mind. Why should she? She got a grand home and furs and holidays abroad. Plus her children went to the best schools and what have you
.’ Mary shrugged one elegant shoulder.
‘You don’t think she minded her husband working such long hours?’
Mary gave another of her sardonic smiles. ‘I very much doubt it, Constable. I imagine that she was relieved to have the house to herself most of the time. My brother tended to … shall we say, fill the space, wherever he was.’
‘We’ve spoken to your niece, Caroline,’ Trudy pressed on. ‘She was rather, er, emphatic, when it came to her mother. And about her final illness in particular.’
Mary Everly’s thin face tightened perceptibly. ‘Yes. I imagine she was,’ she conceded.
‘She said, in fact, that her father refused to pay for treatment that might well have helped prolong her life.’
‘Yes,’ Mary said shortly.
‘Yes, that’s what Caroline believes, or yes, you think it’s true?’ Trudy asked frankly.
‘Both.’
Trudy blinked at this rather flat, terse statement. She shifted a little on her seat, not quite sure how to take this witness. She was not exactly hostile (well, not yet!) but she wasn’t being all sweetness and light either.
Beside her, she noticed Clement was also watching the widow with keen interest. She cast him a quick glance, tacitly offering him the opportunity of taking over if he felt like it, and he accepted the silent invitation by leaning forward slightly on the sofa.
‘Did you get on with your sister-in-law, Mrs Everly?’ he asked quietly.
‘Mildred? Yes, in so far as it went. You have to remember, I was a diplomat’s wife and spent many years away from England, so I never saw a great deal of my relatives. So I can’t claim to be any expert on my brother’s family life. But whenever we met up, I always got on all right with her.’
‘Were you here when she was in the final stages of her illness?’
‘No – well, not when she actually died,’ Mary admitted. ‘We were over here for a few months between our Singapore posting and the Malay posting, when she’d just been diagnosed and was beginning to go downhill fast, the poor old girl. It was quite sudden and the change in her was shocking. She went like a skeleton almost.’ Mary sighed heavily. ‘Of course, Caroline, as the youngest one, and the only one still left at home, felt it all the most.’
