I was surprised that the location was really predictable. When they retire, an awful lot of people in Nottinghamshire head east, only stopping when the land runs out and they reach the coast. A little bungalow by the sea seems to be the perennial dream of landlocked Midlanders.
It took me an hour and a half to hit the coast at Skegness, and a further ten minutes to find the property. But a little bungalow it wasn’t. ‘Saddler’s Rest’ was a large house built on the edge of the sands with a massive inland front garden sloping down to St Andrew’s Drive, an upmarket part of Skegness, with a magnificent golf course bordered by the beach only minutes away and stretching north to the village of Winthorpe.
I parked at the kerb. Thoughts of possible violence directed towards me dwindled and dissolved. Peace pervaded the place. There was a holiday atmosphere, a civilized and relaxed feel to the whole area. The only disharmony came from two mewling seagulls squabbling over a scrap of food. They disappeared from sight over the rooftops and total silence wrapped itself around everything. Maybe the communal, perennial dream of a retreat by the sea wasn’t far wrong. Maybe when I was seventy-five and retired it would be tempting. And with a shock I realized that the man I was about to come face-to-face with must be about that age. No way would he be swinging a baseball bat about or knee-capping anybody.
I walked up the long drive and rang the bell. I’d no preconceived idea of what to say, but at least I had the advantage of surprise. As far as he was aware, nobody had the slightest suspicion that Uncle George wasn’t Silvie’s father. He’d lived eighteen years in a bubble of protective silence. Known Uncle George was an honourable man who would never willingly disclose the truth. I was about to burst that bubble.
The door opened. A man stood in front of me. I’d worked for him years ago. He was my old boss: Victor Maudsley.
I watched a mixture of emotions chase across his face as we stood there staring at each other. I didn’t need to say anything; he read my face.
‘You know,’ he said flatly. It wasn’t even a question.
‘I know.’
‘You’d better come in, Harry.’ He opened the door wide. ‘I’ve been expecting you for the last three years, ever since Elizabeth died.’
‘And her death released Uncle George? I take it he gave you his word of honour to keep quiet for her sake.’
‘Yes, yes, he did.’
‘He’s a man of honour to his fingertips.’
‘A good friend.’
‘Who you betrayed.’
He looked at the floor, shaking his head. ‘I’ve no excuse, Harry, none.’ He lifted his gaze to my face. ‘Well, except for a very personal one.’ He chewed his inner lip. ‘Your mother was so beautiful, and so in need of comfort … in need of love. And I’d been denied sexual relations for many years with Elspeth.’
‘Are you asking for my forgiveness, Victor?’
‘No, I’m not. I’m just telling you how it was. I don’t expect forgiveness. I’m just giving you the straight facts.’
‘The facts are you were responsible for my mother getting pregnant, giving birth to my half-sister, Silvie.’
Pain shot across his face. He passed a trembling hand over his eyes. ‘I promised Elizabeth,’ he said brokenly. ‘I promised I’d never try to see Silvie. She’s my daughter … and all Elizabeth would let me do was set up a trust for the baby, to mature when she reached eighteen.’
I swallowed hard. His emotion was for real, his pain revealed in all its bloody rawness.
‘And when Elspeth found out, as she did – God only knows how, but believe me, son, wives always do – she divorced me. But I’ll say one thing: Elspeth never let on, not to anybody. Not even to Marriot or Paula.’
‘They don’t know?’ I could hardly believe it.
Victor shook his head. ‘The only people who knew, apart from Elizabeth, obviously, were your uncle George and Elspeth.’
‘And the solicitor who drew up the trust fund document?’
‘Oh, yes, and the solicitor.’
We were both silent for several minutes.
‘Look,’ Victor roused himself, ‘we’ve both had to face some tough truths. What do you say to a coffee with a snifter of whisky?’
‘Sounds good.’ I nodded.
He took me along the hall to a long sunny conservatory at the back of the house. It overlooked the beach. He flung both the double patio doors open and the salty tang of the sea filled the room.
‘Won’t be a moment.’ He left me. And I sat watching the breakers running up the sand in creamy, clinging fingers while I pondered over what he’d disclosed.
So much for my self-battering fear over whether to risk confronting him. He hadn’t attempted to lie, nor deny his paternity. And I was totally convinced he wasn’t behind the attacks. It was doubtful if he was even aware of them.
What I did feel was sadness for all the lives that had been wrecked through his one act of making love to my mother. An act that I was sure hadn’t been wholly selfish on his part. I actually felt sorry for him. In his own way, he was cut from the same cloth as Uncle George. He’d tried to do the best he could for Silvie without ever seeing her. Setting up the trust fund had been all he could do to try and shoulder his responsibilities.
Victor returned with a tray of coffee and a whisky decanter.
‘Here we go, help yourself, Harry.’ He set the tray down on a cream ironwork table. We sat and drank the reviving, hot, laced coffee.
I tossed him a question. ‘How do you get on with Marriot?’
‘Oh, well, don’t see much of him. You know, he’s married now.’
‘Yes, I know. I went to Chloe’s birthday party last night. She seems a nice girl.’
‘Too true she is. A really lovely girl, well, woman. She’s thirty now.’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t know why she’s waiting so long before she starts a family. Not like she’s got a career. Still, it’s their business … but …’
‘You’d like a grandchild?’
He dropped his gaze and swirled the dregs of his coffee around and around. ‘I’d love it if they had a little girl.’ His voice had a catch in it.
‘A second chance … for yourself …?’
‘Something like that.’
‘But you and Marriot,’ I prompted. ‘You two get on?’
‘Not well, no. Just go golfing sometimes.’ He jerked a thumb. ‘North Shore golf course just up the road is wonderful. We were supposed to go for a round but he rang up at the last minute, said he’d double booked himself and was playing with Samuel, Chloe’s father. Said he’d take a rain-check on our game.’
My pulse rate increased as a spasm of excitement ran through me. The nugget of information might just be the one I needed. All I needed to do was ring Samuel and check if Marriot did in fact spend that afternoon on the golf course.
‘All right with you if I say you’re good friends in the biography?’
‘Fine by me. I hope the book goes well for Elspeth. She’s mellowed towards me lately and I don’t hold her divorcing me against her. It was all my fault because she stayed faithful to me through all her married life.’
I nodded and rose to go. No way would I disillusion him about Elspeth’s extra-marital frolics with Nathanial. And maybe, just maybe, that affair started after her divorce. For his sake, I truly hoped it had. I was also not about to add to his guilt by telling him that Uncle George had had a heart attack. I looked at his downcast face.
‘Victor, do you want to see Silvie?’ I don’t know what prompted me to ask. Silvie had only two weeks more as a juvenile, as his child, before she came of age as an adult. I saw the wild hope flare up, the emotional struggle in his face. Knew he wanted very much to see her. Then he shook his head regretfully but firmly.
‘No, no, Harry. I appreciate your offer, I can’t tell you how much, but I gave my word to Elizabeth.’ He straightened his shoulders rigidly. ‘And I’m keeping my promise.’
It had been a hard decisi
on to make and I certainly wasn’t going to try to persuade him otherwise. I nodded.
‘Yes, I understand.’ And I did.
He showed me out and we said goodbye as friends.
TWENTY-SIX
As I drove home from Skegness there was no doubt in my mind that Marriot had been at Leicester races. But I needed to ring Samuel, check he hadn’t been playing golf with his son-in-law. On its own that didn’t prove conclusively that Marriot had been at the races, but I’d have bet Harlequin Cottage he had.
Sitting inside my dashboard compartment was a small plastic bag with a tissue containing one partially smoked cigarette, the one I’d picked up at last night’s party. It could, possibly, be called evidence and should be handed over to the police to help their inquiries.
I’d read the ongoing reports of the murder in this morning’s newspaper. Information had been released to the press that in a waste bin – not the same one where the supposed murder weapon, the hickory stick, had been discovered – a pair of all-weather golfing gloves had also been found. The gloves had been sent for DNA testing. But unless Marriot had previous convictions, which was doubtful, the results of the DNA wouldn’t get the police very far. However, if the cigarette checked out, it would at least prove the gloves did belong to Marriot.
It was a chargeable offence to withhold evidence in any form. After being on the receiving end of yesterday’s grilling, I didn’t fancy upsetting the police again. And as the car ate up the miles back from the coast, I reluctantly decided I’d have to detour, call at Leicester police station before going home.
‘What is it in connection with, sir?’ enquired the constable on the desk, making a note of my name and address.
‘The murder at Leicester races.’
His eyebrows raised.
‘I believe you’ve discovered a pair of golfing gloves, in addition to the hickory walking stick.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, you see, the hickory stick belongs to me. I was helping your fellow officers most of that afternoon. The stick has been sent for DNA testing and now you’ve found the gloves, according to today’s newspaper, they are also undergoing tests.’
He nodded stolidly, giving nothing away.
‘What I have here,’ I handed over the plastic bag, ‘is a partially smoked cigarette. I think it could prove a DNA match to the gloves.’
‘I see, sir. Well, I shall pass on your … er … exhibit, and comments to the correct department.’ He unbent and gave me a smile. ‘Thank you very much, sir. Wish more members of the public were as helpful. We’ll be in touch if we need you.’
I closed the door of the police station behind me and took a long, deep breath of cool air. Even when you are totally innocent, being inside on their patch is distinctly unnerving.
Twenty minutes later I drove in through the gate of Harlequin Cottage. I had to pull up sharply because there was already a car parked. A very familiar one. My heart lifted immediately and I couldn’t wait to open the door. The kettle on top of the Rayburn was singing away, coming to the boil.
‘Smelled the tea, Harry?’ Annabel was sitting in the easy chair cradling Leo in her arms. The daft animal was reaching up to her face with his paw, patting at her cheek. His purr was deafening.
‘I wouldn’t say no. I’ve just driven back from Skegness, via Leicester, of course.’
‘Oh, of course.’ She smiled and the world was a beautiful place. ‘Here, hold my gorgeous boy, I’ll fix the tea.’ She dropped Leo into my arms but he wasn’t having any of it and removed himself straightaway to sit on my shoulder.
‘I’ve something to tell you, Harry.’
‘I’ve something to tell you, too. Two things actually.’
She laughed. ‘You first.’
‘About Silvie’s father’s identity. I’ve discovered who he is.’
‘Really!’ She deposited the used teabags in the waste bin and handed me a steaming mug. Taking her own through to the sitting room, she sank down on to the settee and patted the cushion. ‘Sit with me, Harry.’
I didn’t need persuading. ‘I found out last night—’
‘How?’
‘That’s the second piece of information, but I’d rather tell you about Silvie’s natural father first.’
She nodded and took a sip of tea. ‘Sorry, go on.’ Leo slid down from his perch on my shoulder and draped himself across our knees – exactly as he used to do in the days when Annabel was living with me and life was wonderful. It was a poignant, bittersweet reminder. The cat hadn’t forgotten, and neither had I.
‘I found out the name first and then, this morning, I traced his home address.’
‘At Skegness?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do I know him?’
‘Uh-huh, we both do. I used to ride for him when he was a trainer. Retired now, of course, and enjoying living by the sea – and golfing.’
‘Harry,’ she clutched my arm, ‘is he the person? You know, the police have found a pair of golfing gloves, it was in the paper.’
‘No, no.’ I shook my head. ‘Nothing to do with all that.’
‘So, who is he?’
‘Victor Maudsley.’
‘Good heavens!’
‘Exactly. I’d never have guessed.’
‘Does Elspeth know?’
‘That’s why she divorced him. But according to Victor, she’s kept it secret all these years.’
‘And all their lives ruined.’ Annabel shook her head with regret.
‘I was prepared to go in, guns blazing, but do you know, my love, when I came out, all I felt was sympathy for Victor.’
‘Did he set up Silvie’s trust fund?’
‘Yes, poor bugger. He’s never ever been allowed to see Silvie – not from the moment she was born till now.’
‘And you gave him a choice?’ Annabel was no dumb blonde.
‘I did, yes. But he’s like Uncle George – both of them all kept in a straitjacket by their sense of honour. Said he’d promised my mother he would never see Silvie nor try to contact her in any way. The trust fund was the only thing Mother would let him do, apparently.’
‘But thank God for that provision, Harry.’
‘Oh, yes, I am grateful, believe me. It’s taken a big worry off my shoulders. Especially as my riding days may already be over.’ We looked at each other. Neither of us said anything, but I knew we were both thinking the same thing.
‘There’s still something else I have to tell you, Annabel, and it’s not pleasant.’
‘Oh?’
‘About Uncle George. Aunt Rachel telephoned whilst I was at Elspeth’s party last night. I cut it short and went over to the hospital. Uncle George had a heart attack on Friday.’
‘Oh, no.’ Her hands flew up to her face. ‘So that’s why she rang me to see where she could contact you. I told her you were at Elspeth’s, gave her the number. But she didn’t tell me about Uncle George.’
‘I did wonder how she knew but it wasn’t the time to mess about asking. We don’t know how it will go – he looked very poorly in intensive care. The thing is Aunt Rachel is with him. Everything between them is OK now. Talk about irony. At the point she almost lost him on Friday, she rediscovered she very much wanted him. And vice versa. Uncle George says everything he wants is now waiting for him and he’s determined to get over the heart attack and go home to her.’
‘Well good for him. Poor man, he deserves all the happiness he can get now.’
‘I think he may recover. Telling me all the details took a lot out of him – no doubt brought on the attack – but now he’s come clean on who Silvie’s father is, it’s all over. He can relax and start to heal.’
‘I really hope so.’ She set down her empty mug and leaned forward caressing Leo.
The closeness of her was both unbearable and exquisite. I let my left arm slide across and rest on her slender shoulders. There was a silence between us but it was a waiting silence.
‘Harry,’ she paused. ‘I
have something to tell you.’
‘Will I like it?’
‘I hope you’ll be pleased.’
‘Go on then, tell me.’ My left hand was now gently moulding the soft flesh at the top of her arm. And she wasn’t objecting.
‘I’m going to have a baby.’
It stopped me for dead. I felt like I’d walked into a brick wall.
‘A … a baby?’
‘Hmmm.’
‘Jeffrey’s?’ I said foolishly, floundering in an amalgam sea of disbelief, jealousy and incredible pain. She smiled and gently removed my arm.
‘Darling Harry, it wasn’t the milkman.’
‘No … no, stupid of me …’
‘Be happy for me.’ There was a hint of pleading in her soft voice.
I looked at her much-loved face and saw the inner glow illuminating her and shining out through her eyes.
‘Annabel,’ I said huskily, ‘your happiness is all I want.’ The words were true, and the feeling behind them, but the intense heartbreak I felt was equally true. I heard the clang of the steel door closing on any lingering hope that we might yet get back together.
‘We didn’t plan for this to happen; it’s taken both of us unawares …’
I took her hand and stroked my forefinger across it. ‘Do you love him, Annabel?’
‘He’s good to me, good for me. I feel secure, happy. And I know he loves me. My future’s with him, it has to be.’
‘But do you love Jeffrey?’
‘Harry, I’m having his baby. It’s the child that matters. He … she, is my first concern, has to be. Please, you do see that, don’t you?’
I nodded. ‘Of course. And you’ll make a marvellous mother.’
‘I didn’t want to tell you in front of Jeffrey. That’s why I came over today.’
‘But he knows?’
‘Oh, yes, he knows. He’s ecstatic with happiness.’
He would be. Bloody hell, I would be. Only I wasn’t, because the baby wasn’t mine. It was his. But despite that I was happy for her.
Dead Certainty Page 19
