‘Wicked!’ Adam laughed. ‘That’s one in the eye for old Ben, then, isn’t it?’
Libby went cold. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve been refusing him all this time. He’s not going to take kindly to this, is he? You’ve been together longer than Fran and Guy.’
‘Ah.’ Libby understood. So that was why Ben hadn’t sounded like himself. This was going to take careful handling.
It wasn’t until after supper that either the body or Fran and Guy were mentioned. Ben and Adam discussed ground management, to Libby’s amusement, followed by the difficulty of getting a job and, finally, sailing.
‘Who was this Basil, then?’ asked Adam.
‘I went to school with him back in the dark ages,’ said Ben, leaning back in his chair and twirling his wine glass.
‘Where is he now?’
Ben raised his eyebrows. ‘Why? Fancy a sail?’
‘Well, yeah,’ said Adam, with a grin, ‘but I just wondered if he might know anything about Creekmarsh before Lewis bought it.’
‘I expect the police will have done all that,’ said Libby.
‘Just wondered,’ said Adam. ‘Like you do.’
Libby shifted in her chair. ‘Not this time,’ she said, deliberately not looking at Ben.
‘Bas is still around, actually,’ said Ben, ignoring this exchange, ‘but I haven’t seen him for ages. Not since he came back to the area, in fact.’
‘What about his dad? He still alive?’
‘No idea. I would have said no, but both my parents are still alive, so perhaps he is.’
‘Why, anyway, Ad?’ asked Libby. ‘He wouldn’t know anything about this body.’
A small silence descended as all three realised that they were actually discussing the murder despite Ben’s reluctance. He sighed.
‘Sorry, Ben,’ said Adam. ‘But honestly, Ma hasn’t tried to find out anything. I’m interested – perhaps it’s in the genes – but it was Lewis who told me to tell her all about it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because when we found the skeleton I told him about her murders.’
Libby winced.
‘And did you also tell him how much trouble she got into?’
Adam looked at Libby in apology. ‘No,’ he said.
‘That’s why I don’t want to know about this one,’ said Libby firmly, ‘unless it affects Lewis’s ambition to turn Creekmarsh into a venue.’
‘It might put a damper on a wedding,’ said Ben, with a degree of relief at the change of subject.
‘That’s what I told Fran and Guy,’ said Libby, and could have bitten her tongue out.
‘That’d be cool, wouldn’t it?’ Adam rushed in to cover the awkward moment. ‘D’you reckon Lewis would let Harry do the catering?’
‘I’m sure he’d love Harry,’ laughed Libby, ‘but I doubt that Fran and Guy want veggie food.’
‘What do they want?’ asked Ben.
‘No idea.’ Libby shrugged. ‘I didn’t discuss it with them.’
‘I bet,’ said Ben, and stood up. ‘Shall we clear away?’
Adam and Libby exchanged a complicit glance. ‘OK,’ said Libby.
Ben left an hour later, saying he knew how much Libby wanted to have time with Adam.
‘Honestly, Ad,’ she said, coming back into the sitting room and removing Sidney from the sofa. ‘Whatever is the matter with him? He practically lives here, and now he’s behaving like a mere acquaintance.’
‘You know what’s the matter with him. I said earlier. He wants to marry you, or at least put your relationship on a firmer footing so he has the right to protect you and share in your life properly.’
Libby looked at him admiringly. ‘Gosh, Ad, you are grown up,’ she said. ‘But what you don’t realise is that the tax position would change radically if we moved in together. And if we got married. And not to our advantage.’
‘So why do people ever get married, then?’ asked Adam, slinging long legs over the arm of the armchair. ‘I thought the older generation were supposed to be in favour of it and encourage us lot to stop living in sin.’
‘I don’t think it means very much any more,’ said Libby, leaning over to top up his wine glass. ‘It didn’t stop your father or Ben’s wife from going off with someone else, did it? What price marriage vows, then?’
Adam frowned. ‘Protection?’
‘From what? People can be left destitute after the breakdown of any relationship, including marriage.’
‘Children?’
‘How many children did you know at school who came from a traditional family? How many of your friends had double-barrelled surnames because the school included both parents’ names?’
‘That’s true.’ Adam held his glass up to the light and squinted through it. ‘I can’t think of anything, then. But surely, the whole commitment thing is living together? Ben wants commitment and you don’t.’
Libby was feeling more and more uncomfortable. It just wasn’t right discussing this sort of thing with her son.
‘I do want commitment,’ she said slowly, ‘but I want my independence, too.’
‘That’s a man’s argument,’ said Adam with a knowing grin. ‘And a woman would say it meant he didn’t love her enough.’
‘But it’s an acknowledged thing nowadays,’ Libby persisted. ‘LATs are more and more popular. Even with married couples. I know several.’
‘Several?’
‘Well, one or two,’ admitted Libby. ‘Do you remember Marsha? When you were little?’
‘Your mate at the theatre? With all that black hair?’
‘That’s the one. Well, she met this man a few years ago and they got married. Went to live in London. But they bought separate homes. He’s got a flat and she’s got a little mews house with a huge studio space.’
Adam frowned. ‘How far apart? And when do they get together? Does she invite him over for dinner? Or does he ask her back for coffee?’
Libby sighed. ‘Only round the corner from each other, and I suppose they handle it like Ben and I do. He spends most of his time here, but goes back to The Manor when he’s finished work for the day to have a shower, and back there in the morning to change into his work clothes.’
‘But that’s because he lives with his mum and dad and works for them, in a way.’ He held out his glass for a refill. ‘Mind you, I think it’s weird that someone in his fifties is still living with his mum and dad.’
‘It’s not quite like that, is it?’ said Libby, feeling that this conversation was becoming positively mired in the unexplainable. ‘He only went back to live there the year before last.’
‘He could have moved in with you then,’ said Adam.
‘We’d only just got together,’ said Libby. ‘Anyway, Ad, I think this conversation’s gone far enough. I’ll have a chat with Ben and see if we can’t smooth things over.’
Adam looked doubtful. ‘Have a chat with Pete and Harry first,’ he suggested. ‘Pete knows Ben better than nearly anybody else, doesn’t he?’
‘OK,’ said Libby, more because she wanted to end the conversation rather than in a spirit of agreement. ‘So tell me more about your Superintendent.’
Chapter Four
LEWIS OSBOURNE-WALKER SAT in the solar at Creekmarsh Place. His laptop sat open but ignored beside him as he watched darkness falling over the inlet that led to the Creekmarsh Sailing Club and the sea beyond. The sky, streaked with orange and greyish purple, looked like an improbable picture painted by a four-year-old.
Lewis sighed, and looked back at the email he had just opened.
‘Just remember who helped you buy that sodding awful house,’ it said, ‘and remember where you came from.’
It was unsigned, but Lewis knew where it came from, and what it meant. He sighed again, and returned to the sunset.
Libby went up to The Manor the following morning after driving Adam back to Creekmarsh Place, and asked Hetty where Ben was on the estate.
‘In the
office, gal.’ Hetty looked at her oddly. ‘You can go on in.’
‘Thanks, Hetty,’ said Libby, her solar plexus fluttering like a teenager’s. She walked along the dark passage and knocked on the green painted door.
‘Lib?’ Ben looked up in surprise. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I – um – well, I’ve come to –’ Libby paused and took a deep breath. ‘I’ve come to apologise.’
Ben stood up. ‘What for?’ He came round the old partners desk and pulled up a chair. ‘Sit down, for goodness’ sake. Do you want coffee? I’ll ask Hetty–’
‘No, of course not.’ Libby sat down feeling distinctly uncomfortable.
Ben went back behind the desk, which made her feel like a naughty schoolgirl in the headmaster’s office.
‘What’s up, then?’ he said, after a long silence.
‘You weren’t happy last night.’ She swallowed. ‘Adam says I haven’t been fair to you, and I quite see what he means.’
Ben smiled slightly. ‘Well, I would have preferred you to have realised without your son’s intervention, but you can’t have everything.’
‘Oh, Ben.’ Libby looked up. ‘This isn’t like us. Can’t we go back to being normal?’
‘Normal? On your terms?’ Ben sighed. ‘I suppose if I want to continue seeing you, that’s the way it’ll have to be.’
‘I thought you were happy with the way things were,’ said Libby, the little worm of doubt and fear growing bigger inside her.
‘In a way,’ said Ben, ‘but both I and my Mother have tried to persuade you to come and live here, haven’t we? Didn’t that give you a clue? And I have, I’m sure, mentioned it several times.’
‘Well, yes, but not seriously,’ said Libby, ‘and I remember you telling me all about the LAT relationships and saying you were happy with it. That was just after your mother asked if I wouldn’t be happier moving into The Manor.’
‘I was trying to put our relationship on some kind of formal footing,’ he said, leaning back in his chair. ‘But that was nearly eighteen months ago. We’d only been together six months – less, actually.’
Libby nodded and looked down at her hands. ‘So what do you want to do?’
‘Nothing right now,’ said Ben. ‘I want you to go home and see if there’s any chance of our relationship lasting without either of us having any rights in each other’s lives. Think about what you want from it.’ He stood up. ‘Go on, off you go. I’ll do the same and perhaps we could meet up in the pub this evening?’
‘This evening?’ Libby frowned. ‘Not lunch-time?’
‘I’m working, Lib,’ Ben said gently. ‘Come on. I’ll see you about seven, unless you’ve got something else on?’
Libby stood up and turned to the door. ‘You know I haven’t,’ she said.
Hetty was in the hall as she went out.
‘All right, gal?’ she asked, flicking a duster over the carved door-frame.
‘Yes, thanks, Het,’ said Libby. She turned and frowned at her. ‘Did Ben tell you Fran and Guy are getting married?’
‘Yeah. Makes yer think, don’t it?’ She gave Libby a penetrating look and stuffed the duster in her apron pocket.
‘Mmm.’ Libby smiled and nodded and started down The Manor drive feeling like the victim of a natural disaster. When her mobile rang in her pocket, she answered it thankfully, glad to take her mind off her unexpected romantic problems.
‘Hey, Ma, it’s me again.’
‘Ad? What’s up?’ Libby slowed to a stop.
‘I don’t suppose you could pop over here again, could you? Lewis wants to talk to you.’
‘Lewis does? What on earth for?’
‘He’s being very secretive about it, but I think it’s something to do with the body.’
‘Then he should tell your friend Big Bertha, shouldn’t he,’ said Libby, wondering what Ben would say about this new development. She straightened her shoulders and decided he couldn’t tell her what to do. He had no right. She bit her lip. ‘Yes, definitely,’ she went on. ‘He should tell the police.’
‘I don’t think it’s quite like that, Ma,’ said Adam. ‘Just come over and have a word with him. Please. Unless you’ve got something else to do?’
Libby thought. ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘I suppose I could, but Ben won’t like it.’
‘Come on, Ma, what’s it got to do with Ben? I’ll square it with him, if it’s that important.’
‘Remember our conversation about him last night?’ said Libby. ‘I’ve just spoken to him.’
‘And?’
‘He wants me to think about our relationship.’
‘Ah.’ Adam was quiet for a moment. ‘Well, I think you ought to, as well, but meanwhile, pop over here and let Lewis give you some lunch. Just see what he wants.’
Libby sighed. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to go home and clear up first – don’t forget I drove you over at the crack of sparrow’s fart – then I’ll make myself presentable. I’ll ring you when I’m on my way.’
‘Great.’ Libby could hear the bounce in Adam’s voice. ‘See you later.’
It was half past eleven when Libby drove down the lane towards Creekmarsh Place. Wondering whether to drive right up to the house, she was glad to see Lewis coming towards her down the drive.
‘Leave it here, Mrs S,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit boggy up near the front door.’ He held the door open for her and waited while she locked it.
‘Thanks for coming.’ He stared down at his boots as they walked towards the house. ‘After what Ad said I thought you’d be the one to talk to.’
‘But I’m not police,’ said Libby, casting him a worried glance, ‘or a private investigator or anything.’
‘No, I know. Ad told me all about the other stuff, like that woman at your theatre and your mate’s auntie.’
‘Yes, well, they were things that involved me personally,’ said Libby.
‘But that other theatre business – where was it?’
‘The Alexandria in Nethergate.’
‘Yeah, that one. And that body on the island. They weren’t nothing to do with you, were they?’
‘Well, no. And strictly speaking, I shouldn’t have been involved. My friend Fran was asked to look into them, really.’
‘She the Mystic Meg?’
Libby looked amused. ‘You could say that.’
‘Don’t think I need that,’ said Lewis, pushing open the heavy oak door. ‘Come up to me sun room.’
He led her up a beautiful staircase, already restored, she noted, and through another oak door.
‘It’s a solar!’ she said delightedly. ‘I didn’t notice it from outside.’
‘It’s not right over the front door like some of ’em,’ said Lewis. ‘Least, that’s what I’ve been told. My favourite place.’
He went to the window and Libby followed him.
‘I can see why,’ she said. ‘That’s the river Wytch down there, isn’t it?’
‘A little bit of it,’ said Lewis. ‘That’s just a what-d’yer-call-it from it.’
‘A tributary? No, that wouldn’t be it. An inlet.’
‘Inlet, that’s it. Goes just to the sailing club. I’ll take you down there, if you like.’
‘Lovely,’ said Libby.
‘Come and sit down, then.’ He seemed suddenly nervous as he turned sharply and made for a chair beside a desk, where a slim silver laptop sat, open. Libby took the chair opposite.
‘Wanna drink? Ad’s coming up about one fer some lunch if you want to stay.’
‘If I’m still here,’ said Libby, ‘and yes, a cup of tea would be nice.’
‘Nothin’ stronger?’ Lewis got up and went to the door. Libby shook her head. He opened the door and stuck his head out. ‘Can you stick the kettle on, Katie?’ A muffled shout answered him.
‘I’ll pop down in a minute and get it,’ he said, returning to his chair. ‘They all say I should get used to Katie looking after me, but I can’t be doing with it.’
‘My – well, housekeeper, I suppose. Katie North.’ He grinned. ‘Minder, more like. She organises everything. Great girl. I met her when we was doing the telly.’
‘Aren’t you still doing the telly?’ asked Libby.
‘Oh, yeah. I meant when I was doing that Housey Housey one.’
‘Oh, where you were discovered,’ Libby nodded.
‘Yeah. Right laugh, that was. I mean, who would of believed it?’
‘That you were discovered?’
‘Yeah.’ Lewis looked uncomfortable and shifted in his seat. ‘Hang on, I’ll go and see about that tea.’
‘No need,’ said a voice, and a tray came into the room followed, Libby presumed, by Katie North. Who was a shock. Somehow, the name had suggested someone young and slim in a cropped top and a mini-skirt. And Lewis had said ‘girl’. Katie, however, was a stout middle-aged matron, who would have been right at home in the sort of book Libby had read as a child.
‘I put coffee and tea bags there, lovey,’ she said, for all the world as though Libby still was a child. ‘And that there’s boiling water in the flask. Staying for lunch?’
‘Oh – yes, please,’ said Libby.
‘You said you didn’t know,’ said Lewis, looking put out.
‘I do now,’ she said, turning to him with a bright smile.
‘I’ll yell when it’s ready,’ Katie said and disappeared.
‘I like her,’ said Libby, helping herself to a tea-bag and boiling water.
‘Everyone does,’ said Lewis. ‘She’s like everyone’s mum.’
Libby nodded and leant back in the carved wooden chair. ‘Go on, then,’ she said.
‘It’s a bit difficult,’ said Lewis, after a long pause. ‘See, I wasn’t actually “discovered” on Housey Housey.’
‘No?’
‘No. It was a bit of a set-up.’ He sighed and poured himself coffee. ‘I’d been doing this house up in Hampstead for this bloke, see. Not on me own, with a team. Worked for a subcontractor, didn’t we, specialising in posh houses, and we’d been there weeks.’ He took a breath. ‘Well, I got on well with this bloke and once or twice he asked me to stay behind for a drink.’
‘Weren’t you driving?’
Murder in Bloom - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series Page 3
