by Lis Howell
‘Really? It seems that everyone’s related to everyone else round here.’
‘Yes,’ said Janice seriously. ‘It’s nice. Though sometimes Kevin feels a bit left out of it. But I think it’s good that the children have got their grandma nearby.’
I wonder, Suzy thought. From what she had seen, Kevin Jones was a self-righteous young man who probably felt he was doing Tarnfield a favour by living there. She couldn’t imagine him enjoying having his mother-in-law on the doorstep. He had once cornered Suzy, his shaved head down like a charging bull, when she was putting out the rubbish early one Thursday for the bin-men, and asked her if she felt the congregation at All Saints really knew the Lord.
‘Janice and I have had a personal experience of the living Jesus,’ he had said. ‘We know he’s with us even when we’re doing things like hoovering and tidying the garden.’ So that’s where I’ve gone wrong, thought Suzy; I really ought to try more weeding.
‘Does your mother go to All Saints?’ Suzy asked. She was surprised to see Janice’s plump, healthy face crinkle a bit.
‘Oh yes, well, not every week now. She used to get on very well with the old vicar before he had his heart attack or whatever it was, and opted out. Everyone looked up to Mr Pattinson. But of course he wasn’t as . . . well, he wasn’t as . . . committed as Nick.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Kevin says that Nick’s been quite disturbed by the lack of real witness at All Saints. Christianity isn’t about singing in the choir and flower arranging, you know. There has to be a real sense of the Spirit. Nick’s worried that we’ll never get more people into All Saints while the old guard are in control. People like the Clarks and Phyllis Drysdale.’
‘Well, you seem to be on a winning streak,’ Suzy said drily. Janice looked at her rather blankly.
‘Excuse me.’ Suzy wanted to escape. ‘I must go to the loo.’
The Bells’ house was large and modern, with four bedrooms, a big double garage and a conservatory. Frank had developed the next-door wood yard shrewdly, with a factory shop outlet selling all sorts of do-it-yourself stuff. And he’d been at the forefront of the fashion for wooden floors. There was probably more parquet in Tarnfield than any other village in the north of England, Suzy thought. But it wasn’t all good news for the Bells. Their nineteen-year-old son Matthew had failed his exams at Norbridge College the summer before and hadn’t worked since. Suzy knew he spent most of his time driving round like a maniac with the Simpsons’ son, but he wasn’t above encouraging the local adolescents so he could bask in hero worship. She suspected it was Matthew Bell who was behind Jake’s pleas to go paint-balling on Easter Monday.
There was a cloakroom downstairs but, to get well away from Janice, Suzy went upstairs to the lavish bathroom. On the landing, she was surprised to find it was fully carpeted and her feet slipped softly along. She used the toilet and was just about to clatter downstairs when, over the banisters, she saw the top of Robert Clark’s head. He had a lot of hair, and it was still surprisingly brown. And he had quite broad shoulders too, she noticed.
Then she realized there was someone else in the hall. Robert was pinned at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Well, hello, Robert,’ said Yvonne Wait. ‘I’ve wanted to get you on your own for the last hour. What’s going to happen about Phyllis’s bungalow?’
‘You know as much as I do, Yvonne.’
‘Oh, come on! I wondered if she might have told you anything . . .’
‘Why should she?’
‘Because she was Mary’s little lamb, that’s why.’
Suzy saw Robert’s head move stiffly. He was cornered. ‘I don’t know anything about it.’
‘Oh, really? You’d better keep me informed, Robert. And if there’s anything you can do to help my case . . .’
Yvonne was standing very close to Robert now. It made Suzy uncomfortable. Yvonne laughed, a deep sexy sound. She said something that sounded like, ‘After all, I know all about Mary’s insisting . . .’
‘You should mind your own business, Yvonne.’
‘It is my business. Literally.’ Yvonne put her beautifully manicured hand, with its square shiny nails, on Robert’s shoulder. Then she bent forward intimately and whispered something more. Robert stood, motionless for a moment.
What’s this all about? Suzy thought. What’s going on between them?
Yvonne left him and swung her shiny cap of hair into the Bells’ sitting room; Robert came up the stairs two at a time. Suzy wondered for a moment how she could avoid him, but it was too late. He pulled up sharply in front of her.
‘Oh, hello again . . .’ He glanced down into the hall. He’s wondering if I was listening, Suzy thought.
‘I’ve just been admiring the Bells’ lovely bathroom.’ Suzy smiled. ‘I’ve always wanted to try a two-speed bidet. Now I’m flush with success!’
It sounded asinine. But Robert laughed. ‘You know, you’re such a breath of fresh air!’
‘Wait to say that till you’ve been in the loo!’
Robert laughed louder, and she moved over to let him pass. It’s happening again, she thought. I’m finding myself liking him. But I mustn’t forget how he snubbed me in the church earlier.
And what exactly was going on between him and the ghastly Yvonne Wait?
For two years Suzy had managed to steer clear of too much involvement in Tarnfield. It had been partly her circumstances, but also partly her choice. She had been lonely but she had told herself it wasn’t her world. Phyllis’s death changed that. Over the last few months Suzy had really come to like Phyllis, and at the back of her mind something about the situation was niggling her. Perhaps the answer lay with the people in Monica Bell’s dining room.
And for once, she had nothing to go home to.
7
Easter Sunday lunch, continued
Mortify therefore your members which are upon the earth; fornication, uncleanness, inordinate affection, evil concupiscence, and covetousness . . .
From the Epistle for Easter Day, Colossians 3:5
An hour later, and much better informed, Suzy had begun to enjoy herself. The local dynasties were slipping into place. A sly remark of Frank Bell’s revealed that Jane Simpson was born Jane Strickland, who had married shrewdly. She kept that hidden! Jeff Simpson’s family had been proprietors of the once lucrative Tarnfield cattle auction mart. Well, well, well! And Monica told her that Daisy Arthur’s father and mother had kept the village shop, while Alan Robie’s great aunt had lived nearby and had left him all her money.
Chatting to Alan revealed that Janice Jones’s mother was a wealthy local farmer whose sheep dotted the fells as far as the eye could see, while Yvonne Wait’s father had been the village dentist for forty years. And everyone she spoke to assumed Suzy knew that the former vicar George Pattinson had come from an extensive Tarnfield family, and that the Piefields had been farm labourers and vociferous Nonconformists for generations.
Only the Spencers and Stevie Nesbit seemed to have no connections, and there was no likelihood of Stevie siring a bar sinister, Suzy thought, watching him mince over to talk to Nick Melling.
It was all very enlightening. Suzy had no commitments until she needed to pick up the children at six, so she offered to stay and help wash up. And then she remembered guiltily — we’re only here because Phyllis is dead. At that moment, Monica came into the sitting room and looked round.
‘Now it’s just us left,’ she said. ‘Jane, Yvonne, Suzy, Daisy, Tom, Robert, Alan and Steve, and me. And Nick of course.’ She bowed her head in the direction of the former curate, now acting vicar, who smiled winningly. ‘Nick, I think the question is, do we go on with the Bible study group a week on Tuesday? Or should we cancel it?’
‘No!’ Everyone looked surprised at Yvonne Wait’s outburst. ‘I mean, Phyllis went to all this trouble to set up the group, I think we should go on.’
‘But really,’ Jane Simpson laughed in a light, braying fashion which put Suzy’s teeth
on edge, ‘don’t we all feel that the Bible study group is a bit pointless now? I’m sure Nick doesn’t really want us to do it, do you, Nick?’
The Reverend Nick Melling ran his fingers through his coxcomb of thick blond hair. ‘This is a difficult one, Monica. Bible study is vital. But I think Phyllis’s idea of taking a text and talking around it isn’t what we want to do any more.’
Suzy looked up and caught Robert Clark’s eye. He was half amused and half annoyed, she could tell. When she had been to the Bible study groups she’d enjoyed Robert’s contributions. Phyllis had told her that Robert had studied theology as a mature student, just for the interest. But she sensed that Nick Melling didn’t like too much competition. For a moment she had a mad picture in her mind’s eye of Robert Clark and Nick Melling holding a God-calling contest, like the ancient Hebrew prophet Elijah versus the pagan prophets of Baal. She would want Robert to win, despite Nick’s film star looks.
‘Well, we’ll go ahead with the group then, shall we?’ said Monica. ‘But we need a new secretary.’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Yvonne. There was a wriggle of interest that passed through all the listeners like a tiny, seated Mexican wave. Yvonne Wait, volunteering! I wonder what she really wants out of this, thought Suzy. She remembered the shiny nails and that bobbing, snaky motion of Yvonne’s head as she leant towards Robert, trapped in the stair well. Yuk.
Yvonne was still talking. ‘But of course, we’ll have to hold it in the vicarage, Nick. My house isn’t big enough.’ Suzy saw Monica raise her eyebrows ever so slightly.
‘Oh. Well, I suppose we could.’ Nick looked slightly peeved. More work for him!
‘That’s agreed then.’ Monica heaved herself from the sofa, and started to clear up. Suzy stood alongside her in the kitchen and helped load the plates into the dishwasher. Monica seemed surprised not only that Suzy was doing it, but that she was doing it efficiently. So what had Mary Clark said about me? Suzy thought. That I was some sort of slut? Together they scraped and stacked.
Suzy said casually, ‘It’s helpful of Yvonne to take over the Bible study group, isn’t it?’ Monica worked at a smear of caked mayonnaise. ‘Helpful? Pull the other one!’
‘So why would she do it?’
‘Because she’s got an eye for the main chance. For a start, she’s tried it on with every man in the village.’ Monica scrubbed at a clean plate. ‘She even had a go at my husband once.’
She paused, waiting for Suzy’s reaction. Suzy laughed and Monica relaxed.
‘You watch, Suzy. She’s got an ulterior motive. She’s got a finger in every pie round here. She inherited that lovely Georgian town house from her father’s family and property is her sideline.’
‘So was her father a local man?’
‘Oh yes. Who else would be a dentist out here? His mother was a Drysdale. Like Phyllis.’
Suzy thought again about the conversation she had overheard from the landing. She was about to ask what it might mean, but Monica was still talking: ‘. . . of course Phyllis had no family. Robert will sort out her effects, as she and Mary were so close. He’s pretty organized as you’d expect from someone who lived with Mary Pattinson for twenty-five years.’
I can see that, thought Suzy, remembering the tweed hats, and the anorak neatly hung on a hanger, in the vestibule at The Briars. Not like my hallway, with Jake’s bike and a box of muddy garden toys and the doll’s buggy for Flowerbabe —
‘Oh no,’ she said, nearly dropping one of Monica’s Indian Tree plates. ‘Flowerbabe! Phyllis’s kitten.’
‘What? Did she have a cat?’
‘Yes, she only got it a few weeks ago. It’ll be trapped in the bungalow. We need to go and get it. Does anyone have a key?’
‘I’m sure Robert will. What shall we do about it? Matthew has allergies so I can’t have it here.’
There was a significant pause, then Suzy heard herself say, ‘I’ll take it home with me. Molly will love it.’
I must be mad, she thought. The last thing I need, as well as two kids and a career, is a kitten. Perhaps somebody else could rescue it? But Alan Robie was still eating trifle in the dining room, and pontificating on Choral Evensong to Nick Melling. Daisy Arthur was sitting alongside them, looking mesmerized over a cold cup of coffee. Tom Strickland was in the kitchen helping himself to more of the Bells’ beer. Jane Simpson was walking around the garden talking plants with Frank.
And through the door into the sitting room Suzy saw Stevie Nesbit, his hands between his knees as he perched uncomfortably on the big stuffed sofa, with Yvonne Wait berating him. What’s she up to now? Suzy thought. Yvonne looked like a harpy.
‘I can take you up to Phyllis’s house.’ Robert had appeared.
‘Thanks. That would be kind.’
But in his car on the way to the bungalow, Suzy felt uncomfortable. Perhaps when she had asked about who would inherit Phyllis’s belongings, she had hit a nerve? Maybe her estate was an issue and he hadn’t meant to shut her up, he just genuinely couldn’t give her an answer. And he must know she had overheard Yvonne in the hall.
She took a deep breath and said, ‘Look, I didn’t mean to listen, but I heard Yvonne talking to you earlier . . .’
The car jumped slightly. ‘And you want to know what it was about?’
‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘I’m curious.’
He liked her frankness. Perhaps he owed her an explanation. He had been a bit short with her earlier. And he had the feeling that despite her chatty manner Suzy Spencer was quite discreet. You couldn’t talk people into appearing on TV if you weren’t, he thought. And something else occurred to him. How much had Suzy really heard? It might be better to offer her a satisfactory explanation than to have her conjecturing. Whatever his wife might have said about her, Suzy wasn’t stupid.
She prompted him. ‘Monica told me that Yvonne and Phyllis were related.’
‘Yes. Everyone knew that. But only Mary and I knew how close they really were.’
‘Close enough for Yvonne to think she should get everything? Even the flower-arranging box?’ She smiled. ‘Is that why you shut me up in the church?’
‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’
‘Don’t worry — after the crass things I’ve said to you I can’t afford to be touchy. So why is that a problem?’
‘Because if Phyllis has made a will, Yvonne could be bypassed. That’s why she’s worried.’
‘And she was hoping you could tell her?’
He shivered. ‘Yes.’
So that was the explanation. Suzy remembered what Monica had said about Yvonne and property. That was her ‘sideline’. She hadn’t thought about it before, but Phyllis’s old-fashioned blue and white bungalow with its jerry-built porch, peeling paint and large English country garden was on a prime site, just under the brow of the hill where The Briars stood. For someone with an eye for these things it would be well worth having.
‘I see! So Yvonne’s sitting pretty. Or she hopes she is. And that’s why she was quizzing you . . .’ She paused, remembering. She might as well get it all cleared up. ‘And there was something else Yvonne said, about Mary. Insisting on something.’
There was a long pause while Robert stared intently out of the windscreen.
‘Oh, that. It was about Mary trying to get Phyllis to make things clear.’
Really? But he sounded unsure. And why had Yvonne stressed it so much? There been a touch of predatory sexuality in her movement. Suddenly Robert swung his car to an abrupt halt outside Phyllis’s house and turned to face her.
‘Look, I don’t know why I’m telling you this — probably because, like me, you’re not from this bloody village. But Yvonne Wait is one of the nastiest people I’ve ever met in my life. Just don’t let her get her hooks into you as well as everyone else round here.’
‘Thanks, but I’m in media. I’m used to nasty people. And anyway, I’m a woman. It’s men she seems to go for.’
Robert laughed sharply. ‘Oh, you thought ther
e was something going on between Yvonne and me. Well, that’s not her game. And if it was, I wouldn’t be playing.’
Good, Suzy thought, but she suddenly felt embarrassed that it should matter to her. If Robert Clark and Yvonne Wait were bonking like rabbits why should she care? She jumped out of the car and raced up the path to the sound of mewling inside the house.
‘We’d better go in,’ said Robert. He slowly opened the door into the dim, empty bungalow. Suzy followed him inside.
* * *
‘But I can’t think why you suddenly want to do this!’ Alan Robie’s voice was still deep and powerful, but all hint of amateur theatricals was gone. This was real drama. They had only been back from Monica Bell’s lunch party for ten minutes, and Stevie had started this!
‘That’s not fair, Alan.’ Steve Nesbit’s voice had taken on a whiney tone, less cute kid than moaning brat. ‘You’ve been saying for weeks that if we sold off the orchard then we could afford to build an extension over the garage. Then we could have more people to stay, do more things—’
‘Stevie, that’s not true! It came up once, in conversation. Anyway, is that what you really want?’ This wasn’t just a discussion about selling land. This cut to something much deeper.
For Alan, as a boy, coming to stay with his Aunt May Robie in Tarnfield had been one of the highlights of his summer holidays and their mutual affection had continued into his teens and adulthood. She’d been a butch, bad-tempered woman who’d lived alone in a smallholding she had acquired after being a Land Army girl in the war. The Robies originally hailed from the Border country and May Robie had been accepted in Tarnfield despite her eccentricity. It wasn’t unusual for tough women to manage the land. It was tolerated faute de mieux. May Robie had worn men’s clothes and done men’s work well. When she died, the money she had left had been enough to set Alan and Steve up together and provide for the best of everything.
Alan wondered sometimes if, as a teenager, he had sensed in her the homosexual gene he suspected in himself, and there was no doubt Aunt May had provided him with some sort of hope when his conventional family and respectable friends had talked about ‘queers’. Interestingly, he felt more secure in Tarnfield than in the town, which was why he’d brought Steve there to live. Like Aunt May, he felt he was respected in his own right. He knew everyone and everyone knew him. It was a sort of damage limitation exercise. The last thing he wanted was more room, so Stevie could invite his gay friends to stay and draw undesirable attention to their set-up.
