‘Don’t look like that, darling.’ Joan knew how he felt about Louise and could read him only too well. ‘I did rather bring it on myself, you know.’
And that too, he thought, was typical. Joan always seemed willing to attempt to carry the troubles of the world upon her shoulders.
‘Anyway, I was surprised,’ said Joan. ‘I’d always thought she was raring to get back to work. I told her it was perfectly normal to feel like that, that I’d felt like that myself, that we all did after taking a long break to look after the children. I said I was sure that if she did a refresher course she’d get her confidence back in no time.’
‘Good. That’s exactly what I told Mike. D’you think it helped?’
‘Well, she certainly seemed more cheerful when we parted … Ah, there’s Doctor MacPherson.’
A tall, lanky Scot, with sandy hair and brows, the doctor had a reassuring air of authority. It was good news. He was increasingly confident now that Joan’s mother would be all right. If all went well, in the morning she would be moved out of intensive care and there was even a chance that by afternoon she might be allowed home.
Joan was radiant. ‘What a relief. Oh, thank you, doctor. Everyone here has been wonderful.’
‘She was a lucky lass, that her neighbour found her almost immediately. Tomorrow we’ll have a wee chat, and discuss the course of treatment she’ll have to follow. It will mean changes in her life-style and of course it would be best if there were someone to keep a close eye on her for a few days, at least.’
‘We can arrange something, I’m sure,’ said Joan. ‘I can take a few days’ leave. She can come home to us, to begin with.’
‘Excellent. The heart has tremendous powers of regeneration and there is no reason why she shouldn’t get back to living a perfectly normal life.’
‘That really is great news. Thank you so much. Can we see her again, now?’
‘Just for a wee while. Then she should rest.’
Mrs Bolton was looking much more her usual self. She looked pale and tired, of course, but that was to be expected. Her body was recovering from a major trauma.
Thanet took her hand. ‘How are you, Margaret?’
She smiled. ‘Fine, thank you.’
‘You certainly look better than when I came in this morning. You gave us all a few nasty moments there.’
‘Me too!’ She glanced at Joan. ‘You really must go home, dear. You look exhausted.’
‘Don’t worry about me!’
‘Did the doctor tell you? He thinks I’m going to be all right.’
‘I know. What a relief!’
‘So you will go and get some rest now, won’t you?’
‘For goodness’ sake, Mother, do stop worrying about other people! It’s the last thing you should be doing. Just relax and concentrate on getting better.’
‘Don’t worry, I shall. But –’
‘Mum,’ said Joan, taking her mother’s other hand, ‘if it’ll stop you fussing I’ll go, very soon, I promise. But there’s someone Luke has to see, here in the hospital, so I’ll just sit with you quietly until he’s finished, OK?’
‘All right. This a case you’re working on, Luke?’
‘Yes. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
Visiting time was not yet over and most of the beds in the women’s surgical ward were surrounded by small family groups. Unlike most of the other patients, Angela Proven, Vanessa’s nanny, looked remarkably bright and cheerful. She had just one visitor, a young woman of her own age.
‘I’ll be off then, Ange,’ said the girl, when Thanet introduced himself. ‘I’ll try and get in again tomorrow.’
‘OK, Ros, thanks.’
Curtains were drawn around the bed and they were left alone.
TWELVE
‘I think you’re here under false pretences,’ said Thanet, smiling, as he sat down.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You look much too healthy to be in hospital. Positively blooming, in fact.’
She grinned. ‘I didn’t know police officers were allowed to pay compliments.’
She was solidly-built, verging on plumpness, with a mop of dark curly hair, round face and bright dark eyes. She was wearing a nightshirt with rows of ladybirds marching across the front. She would be good with children, Thanet thought, practical, reliable, but with a sense of fun.
Her eyes clouded. ‘I suppose you’re here about that poor woman.’ She shivered and rubbed her arms, where gooseflesh had suddenly appeared. ‘To think it might have been me …’
‘I think we have to reserve judgement on that, for the moment, Miss Proven –’
‘Angela,’ she cut in.
‘–Angela.’
‘But why? It was a burglar, surely?’
‘That is a possibility, yes. Though nothing was taken.’
‘Only a possibility? You mean, it might have been someone she knew? That it was deliberate?’ She shivered again. ‘That’s even worse.’
‘We really don’t know yet. That’s what I’m trying to find out.’
‘I don’t see how I can help. I never even met her.’
‘I’m aware of that. But part of my job is to talk to everybody who is even remotely connected with the crime. And as it took place in Mrs Broxton’s house and that is where you work …’
She shrugged. ‘Go ahead, if it’ll do any good.’
Thanet sat back in his chair. It was important to look relaxed, somewhat difficult in the circumstances. Despite the spurious air of privacy induced by the curtain this interview was in fact taking place in public and within the hearing of anybody who cared to listen. His tone was casual as he said quietly, ‘You’ve worked for Mrs Broxton for some time, I believe?’
‘For nearly two years – well, twenty months, to be precise. I came when Henry was born.’
‘You obviously get on well with her – with them.’
‘She’s pretty good to me. Treats me fairly – sees I don’t get landed with all the housework, for example, makes sure I get my time off. And they’ve provided me with a Mini. I know it’s so that I can go shopping with the children and take them out, but even so, I have the use of it in my spare time, and that’s great. Especially living where we do. Some employers never think you might not like being stuck out in the country with no means of transport. And she doesn’t try to undermine my authority with the children, that’s another thing. You wouldn’t believe how some mothers carry on.’
‘She’s very fond of the children, I understand.’
‘Potty about them. She absolutely hated having to leave Henry, when she went back to work after having him. “Angela,” she said to me, “for two pins I’d chuck it all in.’”
‘But she didn’t.’
‘Well, it’s difficult for someone in her position, isn’t it? I mean, you spend years building up your career and then you have children and you’ve got to decide whether to stop altogether or try to keep things ticking over. I think she knew that if she opted out she’d be very bored later on, when they didn’t need her so much. But it wasn’t easy for her, I can tell you.’
A bell rang and at once there was a scraping of chairs, a sudden heightening in the buzz of conversation up and down the ward. Goodbyes were said, footsteps receded, silence seeped back.
Thanet lowered his voice still further. ‘How did Mr Broxton feel about this?’
She frowned. ‘I really can’t see where all this is leading.’
Thanet grinned. ‘To be honest, neither can I. But can you bear with me? Believe me, the only way to proceed in a case like this is to gather as much information as possible and keep sifting it through. Most of it is irrelevant, but you never know.’
She grinned back. ‘OK, you’ve convinced me. As long as you don’t expect me to gossip about my employers …’
‘Not gossip, no. What I would value is straightforward information, or conclusions based on your own observation. If you really feel you don’t want to answer a question then fine,
that’s all right by me.’
‘You mean that?’
‘I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.’
‘OK, then. Not that there’s anything to hide, but …’
The curtain suddenly swished back and there was some confusion while Thanet explained to a startled nurse that no, he was not a visitor trying to get away with extending visiting hours and the Sister came bustling up to clarify the situation. Those patients who were not comatose watched with interest. What was going on?
Finally they were left in peace again.
‘You were saying, Angela, about Mr Broxton …’
A teasing look. ‘You were asking, you mean … Well, Mr Broxton is a busy man. He really doesn’t have much to do with the children. A lot of men aren’t very interested in infants. Later on, when they’re older, he’ll probably find them much more rewarding. But I think he was quite keen for Vanessa to resume her career. I think he realises that she’s the sort of woman who needs to use her brain.’ Angela grinned. ‘Not like me.’
‘Now here’s a question you might take exception to.’ And if you do, thought Thanet, you’ll have answered it just the same. ‘Is everything all right between Mr and Mrs Broxton?’
‘You mean, does he have a bit on the side? Not to my knowledge. No, they get on pretty well, really. They have the occasional argument, but no monumental rows or anything like that. He’s very fond of her I think, in his own way.’
But Angela evidently wasn’t as taken with Guy Broxton as with his wife, thought Thanet. Her tone was definitely lukewarm. Relevant? Most unlikely, he thought.
‘Was Mrs Broxton friendly with Perdita Master?’
The mop of hair swayed to and fro as Angela shook her head. ‘Not so far as I know.’
‘So Mrs Master never rang up, came to the house …?’
‘No.’ She hesitated.
‘What?’ Thanet prompted.
‘I did hear Vanessa mention her once, though. She and Mr Broxton were discussing some exhibition they’d been to. Vanessa had wanted to buy one of Mrs Master’s paintings, but Mr Broxton hadn’t liked it.’
‘It just isn’t to my taste, that’s all.’
‘Well I thought it was excellent.’
‘I’m not disputing its quality. I agree, it was a very fine painting. I just don’t want to have it hanging on my wall.’
‘But why not?’
‘It was too … dark.’
‘How can you say that? There was a lot of colour in it.’
‘I didn’t mean visually. I meant in mood. Perhaps “dark” wasn’t the right word. “Sombre”, then.’
‘I just think we ought to buy one soon. She’s getting so well known, the prices will go sky-high and we’ll be kicking ourselves for not buying earlier.’
‘I thought we agreed we’d never buy anything for the house just because it’s a good investment.’
‘But if we like it and it’s a good investment, that’s a bonus, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. If. But that doesn’t apply here. Perdita Master is, I grant you, a very talented artist, and her work may well, as you say, appreciate in value. But I find it depressing, not uplifting, and I don’t want to have to look at it every morning when I come down to breakfast. Now if you want to buy that painting and hang it in your study, then go ahead that’s fine by me.’
‘And did she?’ said Thanet.
Angela shook her head. ‘No.’
‘And that was the only time you heard either of the Broxtons mention her name?’
‘Until yesterday, yes. It stuck in my mind because we read A Winter’s Tale at school, and I always thought Perdita such a sad name. Lost. The lost one.’ The corners of Angela’s mouth tugged down at the corners. ‘And now she is, isn’t she? Poor woman.’ She looked on the point of tears.
Thanet was surprised, but reminded himself that robust as she may appear Angela had not only just undergone surgery but had sustained a nasty shock. She must have felt that she had had a narrow escape when the woman who replaced her had been murdered in the kitchen which by now must feel as familiar to Angela as that in her own home. He hurried to reintroduce a brisk note of commonsense back into the conversation. ‘Mrs Broxton never mentioned that she had a friend who trained as a nanny?’
‘No.’ Angela shrugged. ‘There was no reason why she should. It’s not as though we ever met.’
There was no more to be learnt here, it seemed.
At the intensive care unit Joan was back in the waiting room. She stood up when she saw him. ‘She’s asleep now. It’s what she needs most of all, they say. Rest.’
‘Good. You’re ready now, then?’
He helped her on with her coat. ‘An early night for you, love. We’ll pick up something to eat on the way home.’ He held the door open. ‘Do you think you’ll be able to arrange a few days’ leave?’
‘Oh yes, I’ve already made tentative arrangements.’ Joan tucked her arm into his as they set off along the corridor. Now that all the visitors had gone the place seemed virtually deserted. ‘There’s nothing the others can’t deal with.’ She pulled a face. ‘Except, I suppose, Sharon. It’s taken so much hard work to get her into the right frame of mind to make a real effort to kick the habit of shoplifting, I’m afraid she might revert if she feels I’ve let her down, walked out on her.’
‘She’ll understand, surely, if you tell her why.’
‘With her head, yes. But not with her heart. By now her reaction to rejection is automatic, virtually outside her control. People have been walking out on her all her life – mother, father, boyfriends, husband … It’s really tough being a single parent. It’s difficult enough trying to work with two young children if you have the support of a husband, but when you’re on your own … It must seem so much easier to her just to go out and steal the things she needs, especially when there they are, spread out all around her every time she walks into a shop. And she’s offended four times already. It was only because of the children that she was given probation last time. I’ve got a nasty feeling that next time she might get six or nine months inside. And the children will be taken into care.’
‘Yes, I can see that. What time are you seeing Dr MacPherson tomorrow?’
‘Eleven o’clock. After he’s finished his rounds.’
‘In that case, couldn’t you fit in one visit to Sharon tomorrow morning, first? Then if you arranged another appointment for, say, Friday, that would probably see her through the week. I’m sure we could find someone to sit with your mother for an hour or so on Friday.’
A door they were passing opened and a man stepped out without looking where he was going, bumping into Thanet. Thanet put out a hand. ‘Look out … Oh, it’s Mr Harrow, isn’t it?’
Perdita’s stepfather was almost unrecognisable in heavy tweed overcoat and fur hat pulled down over his ears. Presumably years of living in a hothouse had made him especially vulnerable to chills when he went out. He looked dazed, disorientated, and looked at Thanet without recognition.
‘Inspector Thanet. We met this morning … And this is my wife.’
Harrow looked at him for a moment longer before his eyes cleared. ‘Ah, yes. Of course. I’m sorry, I …’
‘Are you all right?’
Harrow frowned. ‘It’s hot, isn’t it?’
He put his hand up to his head and tugged his hat off, looked at it as though he’d never seen it before. His face was red and his forehead wet with perspiration. ‘Sorry, Mrs Thanet, you must think me very rude. How do you do?’
Joan smiled as they shook hands.
They all began to move along the corridor.
‘I’ve just been having a word with Sister, about my wife … Are you here visiting someone too, Inspector?’
‘Yes. How is Mrs Harrow?’
Harrow frowned. ‘If only they could find out what’s the matter with her … Ah, there’s Stephanie.’
So this was the Harrows’ daughter, Perdita’s young stepsister. The corridor had widened out into a wa
iting area and the girl sat there alone in an attitude of dejection, head bent, thin shoulders bowed. She looked up as they came into view and Thanet was disturbed by her expression. She’s afraid, he thought. Terrified, in fact.
Harrow advanced on her, smiling. ‘Sorry I was so long, Steph.’
The girl stood up. Small, slight, with a froth of frizzy fair hair, she looked disturbingly like her dead sister. She glanced at the Thanets, dismissed them as of no importance. ‘What did she say?’ Her tone was urgent.
That, no doubt was the reason for her fear. She thought her mother was going to die.
And, thought Thanet sadly, remembering the pitiful state that Mrs Harrow was in, she was probably right.
Harrow shook his head. ‘She had nothing new to tell us. We’ve just got to be patient, that’s all. Steph, this is –’
‘Patient!’ Stephanie looked frantic. ‘How long do we have to go on being patient? Until Mum is …’ But she couldn’t bring out the word, choked on it. ‘All this stuff about advances in medical science! It’s been months now, and they can’t even tell us what’s wrong with her!’
‘I know. Hush.’ Harrow put his arm around her but she flung it off, grabbed up her anorak and began putting it on. ‘Let’s get out of here!’
She marched off along the corridor still struggling to get her arms into the jacket. With an apologetic glance at the Thanets Harrow followed her.
Thanet watched them go. He felt desperately sorry for both of them, sorry most of all, perhaps, that they didn’t seem able to turn to each other for comfort.
‘Poor girl,’ said Joan, looking after them. ‘It’s not surprising she’s in such a state. Her sister murdered, her mother … Is there really a possibility that Mrs Harrow might die?’
‘More than likely, I should think.’ Thanet was grim. He had encountered enough misery for one day. He put an arm round Joan’s shoulders. ‘Come on. Home,’ he said.
THIRTEEN
When Thanet looked out of the window next morning he thought for a moment that it had been snowing. Trees, shrubs, lawn were all covered with a filmy blanket of white. Then he saw that it was merely an exceptionally heavy frost. Although it was warm in the bedroom he shivered at the prospect of going out. He hated the cold. Winter could never pass too quickly for him.
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