Doomed to Die

by Dorothy Simpson

  By the time she sat down again he had it all clear in his mind. ‘It was after that conversation we had on Wednesday night. You remember? We’d been talking about the case, after supper, and I’d been telling you about Vanessa Broxton’s visit to my office, how I’d suddenly realised that there must have been two people involved, not one.’ He shook his head, ‘I still can’t understand why I didn’t see that sooner. Anyway, if you recall, we had quite a long discussion about who the second person could have been.’

  Joan was nodding. ‘I remember.’

  ‘And naturally, that was the question that was paramount in my mind that night, all the time, whatever else I was doing or thinking. Anyway, my back was playing up and you suggested I have a hot bath, so I did. I lay there for ages just thinking about the case, and about Perdita in particular. She was the key to it all, of course. Random violence apart, no one gets himself murdered without good reason. I knew that somewhere in her character, in her life, was something, I’d no idea what, which had brought about her death. So I turned over in my mind everything I’d heard about her from different people … I think that what I was trying to do at that point was put aside preconceived ideas, try to find a new way of looking at the case. It’s so easy, as you go along, to formulate theories which, if you’re not very careful, seem to become fact, which they’re not. Then they get in the way.’

  Joan was listening intently, nodding from time to time, chin propped on hand, grey eyes fixed unwaveringly on his. A shaft of sunlight falling on her hair turned the soft fair curls to gold. Perhaps it was this talk of Perdita that made Thanet, for the first time in his life, wish that he could paint. How, he speculated, would Perdita have painted Joan? But Perdita had never painted people, only drawn them. Why? he wondered.

  He became aware that Joan was waiting for him to continue.

  ‘According to her mother, Perdita never got over her father’s death when she was ten. She’d always been a Daddy’s girl, apparently, and found it very difficult to adjust to having a stepfather – Harrow had already told me as much himself. Mrs Harrow said she changed a lot, became withdrawn and gloomy and everyone – yourself included – told me how much of a loner she’d been at school. Mrs Harrow told me too that at one time Perdita became obsessed with death and then, a few years ago, when Perdita was having an especially difficult time with her husband, she said something which really shook her mother. She said, “I don’t suppose it matters much, does it, Mum? I don’t expect I’ll have to put up with it much longer.” When Mrs Harrow asked what she meant she told her that she’d always thought she’d die young. Mrs Harrow said it was almost as if she knew that she was doomed to die before her time.’

  Joan shook her head in sorrow. ‘Poor girl.’

  ‘Yes … Well, everyone knows that the death of a father will have a profound effect on a child of that age but usually, if the child is reasonably well-adjusted, in time he’ll get over it. But Perdita didn’t. It seemed to have blighted her life. Not as far as her work was concerned, of course. On the contrary, she seemed to have poured all her emotion into it, which is presumably why it has such a powerful impact. You’ve seen her paintings, you must know what I mean.’

  Joan nodded. ‘After our talk on Wednesday night I hunted out an old catalogue I knew I had somewhere, of one of Perdita’s local exhibitions.’ She got up, disappeared into the sitting room for a few moments. ‘Here it is.’

  The catalogue was dated 24 October 1985, and there were several illustrations in it. Thanet glanced through them, aware that he was hoping to find a reproduction of the lilies in the garden. But he was disappointed. None of the paintings was familiar to him. All, however, had the same haunting quality. ‘What a waste,’ he said, shaking his head with regret. ‘Think what she might have achieved, if she’d lived.’

  ‘I know. It makes me so angry as well as so sad, when I think about it … But what I wanted to say was that looking at those illustrations I found myself for the first time trying to work out why they have such a powerful impact. And I agree with you, it must be because of the strength of emotion that went into them.’

  ‘Did you come to any conclusions, as to what that emotion was?’

  Joan looked diffident. ‘I’ve thought about it a lot … I think, a combination of anger and despair.’

  Thanet stared at her. Into his mind had flashed once more an image of the first of Perdita’s paintings that he had seen, the one in her sitting room. He remembered feeling the power of that brilliant explosion of colour, noting the violent contrast with the cool neutrality of the colour scheme of the room and thinking that the effect was deliberately contrived to enhance the impact of the painting. He remembered thinking, in the bath, that it was anger which animated it, remembered wondering against what or whom that anger was directed. At the time he had not followed up this line of thought, but now he understood. It was anger at the way life had treated her in her impressionable adolescence, anger at being trapped in a loveless, claustrophobic marriage, anger perhaps also mistakenly turned inward against herself for somehow having been responsible for her stepfather’s behaviour. It was no doubt this belief, reinforced later by the discovery of her attraction for men, which had brought about the despair, the darkness which lay beneath.

  ‘Harrow made her feel guilty, didn’t he?’ he said grimly. ‘He made her feel it was all her fault … And he was doing the same thing to Stephanie.’

  He told Joan of Stephanie’s fears that the social workers would blame her, think she had led her father on.

  ‘Poor kid. Poor both of them … And I expect he also made them terrified of telling their mother because of what it would do to her. Her health has been poor for years, you said?’

  ‘Yes. I can just imagine it. “It would kill your mother, if she knew …” Makes you sick, doesn’t it, what these people put their children through.’

  ‘It really does. I assume Harrow will also be prosecuted for child abuse?’

  ‘Yes. It’ll all come out at the trial anyway, of course, but in any case Stephanie is determined to go through with it. She wants to be sure that it goes down on his record so that when he gets out of prison he won’t ever be able to be employed in a position of authority over children again. It’s going to be a tremendous ordeal for her, but she has a lot of courage.’

  ‘She must have. Do you think she’ll ever get over all this?’

  ‘I don’t know. I hope so. She’s lucky, in having Mrs Bonnard to fend for her, but she’s been through so much …’

  ‘Luke … I wonder …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘D’you think, if Perdita felt as Stephanie did, that it was somehow her fault, that people would blame her and believe perhaps that she’d encouraged it, that she could almost in some way – subconsciously, I mean – have precipitated her own death?’

  ‘The thought had crossed my mind.’

  ‘She marries a jealous husband, then fans the flame by telling him she wants a divorce …’

  ‘And fate took a hand by arranging that she break the news to him and go home on the one night when unknown to her her mother is away and her stepfather is taking advantage of the fact to molest his daughter. D’you realise that if she had chosen any other time, she would still be alive?’

  ‘Not necessarily. And you always say there’s no point in saying “if”.’

  ‘I think Stephanie overheard Perdita tell him that as soon as she felt her mother was well enough, she would tell her the truth and report him to the authorities … He says, of course, that when he went to see her on Monday night, he just wanted to talk to her, to convince her he would never do it again.’

  ‘Do you believe him?’

  ‘I don’t know. At this point I don’t want to think too deeply about him any more. That’s something the jury will have to decide … We seem to have got side-tracked.’

  ‘Not really. You were saying you couldn’t understand why her father’s death seemed to have had such a profound and lasting eff
ect on Perdita.’

  ‘Ah yes, that’s right. I couldn’t make up my mind. Had it simply been that she couldn’t reconcile herself to someone taking her father’s place, or had there been some other, deeper reason?

  ‘I then moved on to thinking about something that had really puzzled me all along, which was why Perdita had trained as a nanny instead of going to Art College. If you remember, you suggested it might have been because she wanted her independence but didn’t want to hurt her mother by saying so …’

  ‘Because her mother assumed that if Perdita studied art she’d go to one of the two local Art Colleges, both of which have a very good reputation.’

  ‘Exactly. So if Perdita went away it would have to be to study something other than art … But I still wasn’t satisfied. I knew Mrs Harrow was frail and would no doubt have been disappointed if Perdita had gone away, but she struck me as being a very sensible, well-balanced woman. I couldn’t see that she would have been so desperately upset by Perdita saying she wanted to go to, say, an Art College in London. I think she would genuinely have wanted what was best for her daughter. No, I was very confused by the whole business. Even if Perdita had another reason for wanting to get away from home, surely she could still have studied art instead of going off on a completely different tack?’

  ‘Perhaps she wanted to be sure that when she’d finished her training, whatever it was, she would have a cast-iron excuse for not living at home again, if her mother wanted her to?’

  ‘Yes, that’s possible. I hadn’t thought of that. And nannying would be perfect, a live-in job. Yes, that could have been part of it.’ Thanet shrugged. ‘Anyway, I was still trying to make sense of it and I thought, Let’s approach it from another angle. Let’s assume that the decision had nothing to do with her mother, that Perdita was desperate to get away for a completely different reason. What if it was simply that she wanted to get away from her stepfather? I knew they didn’t get on, her mother had told me so. But even then I still didn’t see it. At that point I drifted off to sleep. I can’t remember what I dreamt but you woke me up, if you remember, said I was having a nightmare.’

  ‘And you said you weren’t. In fact, as I recall, although you looked a bit dazed, you were really rather full of yourself …’

  They exchanged reminiscent smiles.

  ‘Well, I was in what we could call a celebratory mood. I suppose my subconscious must have gone on worrying away at the problem while I was asleep and when you woke me it hit me, like a revelation. Do you remember when we met Harrow and Stephanie at the hospital, after we’d been visiting your mother, the way Stephanie flung her father’s arm off her shoulders when he was trying to comfort her? As I watched them go I was thinking how sad it was that they didn’t seem able to turn to each other for help. I suppose that because of your mother’s heart attack I was very aware of how much it meant to have the support of someone close at a time like that. I remember thinking how if – God forbid – it had been Bridget and I in that situation, we would have been depending on each other to see us through. Harrow, I thought, didn’t seem to get on any better with his daughter than his stepdaughter … Now, as I say, it hit me. What if Perdita had wanted to get away from her stepfather for the strongest reason of all …? What if she had been sexually abused, and what if, when she sought refuge in her mother’s house on Saturday night, she found that Stephanie was having to suffer the same torment? Suddenly, it all fell into place. If this was what had happened, it would explain why Stephanie was staying at a friend’s house while her mother was in hospital – no doubt Perdita would have insisted on it. And if she had told her stepfather that this time she wasn’t going to keep quiet, that as soon as her mother was well enough she would tell her the truth and also inform the authorities, this would certainly give Harrow a powerful motive for the murder. He would not only lose his wife and daughter but his job, too, no one would want to employ an assistant headmaster convicted of sexual abuse. And he must have known his wife’s condition was critical, that if he didn’t act quickly and she died, Perdita wouldn’t hesitate to go straight to the police. And, of course, he knew where Perdita was – she’d had to tell him so that he could get in touch with her if her mother’s condition suddenly deteriorated.

  ‘Then I remembered something else. Do you remember that the reason why I suspected that Vanessa Broxton might be guilty was because the one piece of concrete evidence we had was a scrap of blue woollen fibre found inside the polythene bag with which Perdita had been killed, and I’d remembered seeing Vanessa wear a blue woollen jacket on the night of the murder? Well, I then remembered that Harrow had told me he’d taken a woollen bedjacket in to his wife on the night of the murder, and I recalled seeing Mrs Harrow wearing the bedjacket when I interviewed her in hospital … It was blue.’

  ‘And you thought that if he’d gone to see Perdita after visiting his wife that night, he might well have still had in his pocket the polythene bag in which the bedjacket had been wrapped.’

  ‘Exactly! Which was, in fact, what happened. Of course, all this was theoretical until we could check that the fibres matched, but I was sure that this was the answer.’

  ‘I suspected you had something up your sleeve on Thursday morning, when you left for work.’

  ‘I didn’t want to say anything until I’d got confirmation of the match, in case I was wrong.’

  ‘But you weren’t,’ said Joan, smiling. ‘Brilliant!’

  ‘You’re biased.’

  ‘No, I mean it. I hope Draco was impressed.’

  ‘I think he’s too worried about Angharad to be impressed by anything at the moment. I do hope she’s going to be all right. I don’t know what he’ll do if she doesn’t get better.’

  ‘No.’

  They were both silent for a moment, thinking of the Dracos. Then Joan glanced at the clock. ‘My goodness, just look at the time! I must go and help Mother get dressed.’

  ‘Yes, she told me she was getting up later. She’s looking a lot better, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, thank God. I’m not sure how good a patient she’s going to be, though.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve been laying down the law on that!’

  ‘Ah, but will she listen?’

  ‘I think so. I certainly hope so. Anyway, you go and see to her and I’ll clean up down here.’

  Thanet was halfway through the washing-up when the telephone rang. He hurriedly dried his hands and went into the hall, calling ‘I’ll take it,’ up the stairs.

  A telephone operator asked him if he would accept a reverse charge call from London. It must be Bridget. ‘Certainly,’ he said.

  A moment later he heard her voice. ‘Dad?’

  ‘Bridget!’ He was filled with joy.

  ‘You’ve been very elusive this week. You’ve been out every time I’ve spoken to Mum. Been busy on a case, I gather.’

  ‘Yes. I was sorry to have missed you.’

  ‘How’s it going? The case?’

  ‘All finished.’ He heard the ring of satisfaction in his voice and so did Bridget.

  ‘Brilliant!’ she said, unconsciously echoing her mother. ‘That didn’t take long. Was it an interesting one?’

  ‘I’m not sure how I’d describe it. Anyway, enough about me. How about you? How are you settling in?’

  ‘Fine.’

  But he at once detected the reservation in her voice. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  Now he was sure of it. Joan had been right. Something was wrong. ‘Sprig,’ he said, using her old nickname, ‘what’s the matter? Your mother told me she wasn’t too happy about you. What’s wrong?’

  There was a brief silence, then a sigh. ‘I might have known I couldn’t fool you two.’

  ‘Is it serious?’

  ‘No.’ This time she sounded more positive. ‘I’ll sort it out in time, I’m sure.’

  ‘What’s the problem, exactly? Are you homesick? It would be perfectly natural, you know, it’s nothing to be a
shamed of. In fact, we half expected it. It’s the first time you’ve actually lived away from home, after all.’

  ‘No, it’s not that. Not really. At least, it wouldn’t be, if … It’s the other girls, really.’

  Thanet was astonished. Bridget had always been sociable, had never had any serious problems in relationships with either fellow-pupils at school or colleagues at the restaurant where she had worked for the past year. ‘In what way?’

  ‘It’s just that, oh, I don’t know, they’re so different from me. Most of them are much better off, for a start, they seem to spend money like water – not that that worries me in the usual sense. I mean, please don’t think I’m complaining about being hard up or anything like that, I have all I need. It’s just that, well, I suppose most of them come from such different backgrounds from me and they have such a different attitude to life. For instance, when they go out in the evening they seem to take it for granted that they’ll go to a pub and spend the evening there, drinking and smoking … Oh, that sounds terrible, it makes them sound positively depraved, and they’re not, it’s just that that’s not the way I want to spend either my money or my time, and it makes things a bit difficult, that’s all.’

  What it boiled down to was a clash of values, Thanet thought. And if Bridget was in the minority it wasn’t going to be easy for her. ‘Yes, I can see that. But surely all the girls aren’t like that?’

  ‘No. There is one girl, she comes from Yorkshire … And I’m sure there’ll be others. It just takes time to find out, that’s all. There’s so much to take in all at once.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right. And you’ve only been there a few days.’

  ‘Yes. You mustn’t worry about me. I wasn’t going to say anything … How’s Gran?’

  ‘Much better. Hold on a minute.’

  Joan had appeared at the top of the stairs, arm in arm with her mother, who was wearing a dressing gown. ‘Is it Bridget?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell her her grandmother’ll have a word with her.’