She had just transferred a portion of soup from the freezer to the microwave when she heard an approaching car. A hasty peek from the sitting-room window revealed Iris alighting from a taxi. Catching sight of Melissa, she signalled ‘See you in a minute’ before paying off the driver, dumping her suitcase inside her own porch and then striding purposefully towards the door of Hawthorn Cottage. Melissa hurried to let her in.
‘Guess what!’ she said, almost before the door had closed behind her. ‘Dudley Ford’s in intensive care in Stowbridge Hospital. Suspected heart attack.’
‘Good heavens! When?’
‘About half-past nine. In the shop for his morning paper. Here’s yours, by the way.’ Iris thrust a copy of The Times into Melissa’s hands.
‘Thanks, I’d forgotten all about it. How bad is Dudley?’
‘Not sure. Still partly conscious when the ambulance came. Someone sent for Madeleine and she went with him. No news since.’
‘I can’t say I’m surprised. He didn’t look at all well when he called here this morning.’
Iris’s brow lifted. ‘How did that happen?’
Without realising what she was doing, Melissa prevaricated. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Mrs Foster said he was much later than usual. Madeleine wanted to know why.’ Iris gave Melissa a keen glance. ‘You know something.’ It was a statement, not a question.
‘Yes, I do … quite a lot,’ Melissa admitted. ‘Some of it was told to me in the strictest confidence.’
Iris’s grey eyes gleamed with curiosity. ‘You know me. Soul of discretion.’
Through the open kitchen door they heard the ping of the microwave. ‘That’s my lunch-time soup,’ said Melissa. ‘Why not come and have some with me – I’ve got plenty for two. Carrot and coriander in vegetable stock,’ she added, forestalling the inevitable question from her fiercely vegetarian friend.
‘Thanks, I will.’
In the kitchen Binkie, who had remained skulking in the garden until he had seen his canine enemy leave the premises, was happily dozing in his accustomed place beside the Aga. He opened one eye as the two women entered and was greeted with a cry of joy by Iris, who scooped him into her arms, sat down with him on her lap and crooned over him while Melissa, studiously ignoring this outpouring of affection, took a further portion of soup from the freezer and put it to thaw and reheat. She got out crockery, glasses and cutlery and cut slices from a loaf of olive bread, part of a selection of Italian-style loaves that Mrs Foster, in an attempt to ‘go foreign’, had recently begun stocking.
‘So what’s it all about?’ asked Iris, still vigorously caressing Binkie’s soft fur.
‘It’s a job to know where to begin, it’s all getting so complicated. You remember the two travellers who were arrested in connection with Hannah’s murder and later released without charge?’ Iris nodded. ‘It seems Hannah’s family had made up their minds they were guilty anyway and went off to their camp to dish out a bit of rough justice.’
‘The sort of thing you’d expect from that lot.’
‘Yes, well, no one knows for sure, but it looks as if the travellers managed to convince the Romanys that they didn’t kill Hannah and told them exactly where they nicked the freezer her body was hidden in. They all jumped to the same conclusion … the owner of the freezer must be her killer.’
Iris’s hand froze in the region of Binkie’s tail; her eyes rounded and her mouth fell open. ‘Dudley?’ she exclaimed. ‘Don’t believe it! Kill a gipsy – why would he do that?’
‘Why indeed?’ Melissa felt it was fortunate that she was at that moment engaged in pouring soup into bowls, giving her the excuse to turn her head away from Iris. She had a feeling that it would not be long before that astute lady, without any outside help, would think of a highly believable motive for such a murder, but she had no intention of betraying the Major’s confidence by feeding in any further direct information. It would not require a great leap of imagination for Iris to find the answer to her own question.
For a few moments the friends ate in silence. Presently, Iris laid down her spoon, drank some mineral water and said, ‘D’you reckon there’s anything in it … Dudley and the gipsy?’ When Melissa hesitated, she went on, ‘Have you been hearing his confession? Is that what you meant by “in the strictest confidence”?’
‘Well … yes.’ There was no point in denying it, and at least she knew Iris would keep it to herself. ‘But there’s a lot more to it than that,’ Melissa went on. ‘Last night, he had a very narrow escape.’ She outlined the attack on the old soldier which had so nearly succeeded. ‘I suspect it was delayed shock that brought on his heart attack. I wonder if there’s any news? Perhaps I ought to give Madeleine a call.’
‘Probably still at the hospital.’ Iris helped herself to some grapes from the bowl of fruit that Melissa put on the table. ‘So, what made him come and see you?’ It was plain that she had no intention of being deflected by speculation about the progress of Dudley’s illness.
‘He was terribly anxious that Madeleine shouldn’t know about the attack on him. He thought it would upset her.’
‘That all?’ The sharp grey eyes were like miniature lasers. Whilst listening to Melissa’s account of the previous night’s adventure, it was obvious that Iris had been doing some swift thinking. ‘Didn’t want her to know about his fancy woman, more like it.’
‘Well, yes, that too,’ Melissa admitted. ‘It did occur to me, on reflection, that Dudley had seen Hannah that night in the Lamb and Shearling, but didn’t want to admit it for fear of getting involved in more police inquiries. It seemed odd, though, knowing how he’s always going on about civic duty and upholding law and order. It set me wondering whether perhaps he was the man Gloria’s Stanley saw with Hannah in the pub car park. Stanley’s sure to have heard about the Fords from Gloria, but I doubt if he’s ever actually set eyes on either of them, so he wouldn’t have recognised him – especially as it was dark.’
‘And was it Dudley?’
‘Yes. He said he offered her a lift because someone had stolen her purse and she had no money to get back to the Crossed Keys.’
‘And that’s how it started,’ Iris mused. ‘Poor old Dud. And now he’s in the ITU. Wonder if he’ll make it.’ She ate the last of her grapes and began peeling a banana.
Melissa made coffee and cut slices from a home-made fruit cake. ‘I do hope so,’ she said with feeling. ‘In a way, I feel responsible.’
‘How come?’
‘As I said, it must have been an almighty shock, being set on by those villains … enough to give anyone heart failure. And you see, I might have been able to prevent it. I knew the Romanys were plotting a revenge attack on the man they believed had killed Hannah.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Rachel. She came to see me soon after you left yesterday and told me what was being planned. She was terrified of the trouble it would cause and begged me to warn the intended victim. If I’d only known it was Dudley … but I was so sure it was Rocky Wilkins. And Rachel’s going to be mad at me as well.’
‘Now you’ve lost me,’ said Iris as she accepted a slice of cake and a mug of coffee. She listened attentively to the account of Rachel’s visit. ‘Won’t be getting Brownie points from Ken over this lot,’ she predicted with a cackle when Melissa had finished.
‘You can say that again. He turned up just as Rachel was leaving and we had the mother of all run-ins.’
‘Made it up yet?’
‘A sort of armed truce. I know what you’re thinking,’ Melissa added, seeing Iris’s knowing expression. ‘Today is Friday, and tomorrow’s the day I’ve promised to give both you and Ken a decision.’
‘As long as you haven’t forgotten.’ Iris’s voice and expression were deceptively bland, as if she already had a shrewd notion of what that decision was going to be.
‘I haven’t,’ Melissa said a little curtly. Then she asked in a softer tone, ‘Tell me about the London trip. Did it go w
ell?’
‘Fine. No problems. Got the last of the legal points sorted, Jack’s off to France to do the necessary in front of the notaire and then the property’s ours.’
‘That’s great. Oh Iris, I do hope it all works out well for you both.’
‘Thanks, me too.’ Iris stood up. ‘Better get home now and do some more sorting out. Gloria show up yesterday, by the way?’
‘Oh yes, and she returned your key.’ Melissa fetched it from a drawer and handed it over.
At the door, Iris hesitated and said, ‘D’you reckon Dudley might have done it?’
‘Killed Hannah, you mean?’ Melissa shook her head. ‘He solemnly swore he didn’t and for all his faults, I find it hard to believe he’d harm a woman, even to save his own reputation.’
‘So who d’you think did?’
‘It could have been Rocky. Maybe Hannah was threatening to tell his wife too … and I can certainly believe him capable of murder.’ Involuntarily, recalling her own recent violent encounter with the man, Melissa put a hand to her throat. ‘And then there’s the two men the police originally arrested. They haven’t yet got enough evidence to charge them, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t guilty.’
‘They convinced the Romanys,’ Iris pointed out.
‘That’s only surmise on my part.’
‘Hm, see what you mean. Maybe we’ll never know.’
At that moment the telephone rang and Melissa went back to the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, ‘This might be news of Dudley. Hang on a minute.’ She picked up the handset and said, ‘Hullo’, but at first no one answered. After a couple of seconds she said, ‘Hullo, is anyone there?’ and a faint voice that she barely recognised as Madeleine’s said, ‘Melissa, is that you?’
‘Yes. Oh Madeleine, Iris and I are so worried … is there any news?’
There was another pause, during which Melissa could hear unmistakable sounds of a battle against tears. At last, Madeleine quavered, ‘Dudley … he had a second heart attack … he died two hours ago.’ Before Melissa could say anything, she rushed on, choking over the words. ‘Please … I must talk to you … could you possibly—?’
‘I’ll be with you in ten minutes.’
Melissa could not remember ever before having seen Madeleine Ford without her make-up or other than immaculately dressed, and for a moment she barely recognised her in the apparition who opened the front door when she arrived at Tanners Cottage. Her silvery-grey hair, which she normally wore in an elegant knot at the back of her head, had lost its lustre and hung limply around her shoulders. Her greenish eyes, their papery lids pink and swollen and their colourless lashes almost invisible without mascara, seemed to have shrunk to half their normal size, and her skin had a greyish tinge and the slightly puckered texture of a partly deflated balloon. Her mouth was bunched in a despairing attempt at self-control, an attempt that collapsed as Melissa, almost in tears herself, stepped into the hall and embraced her, saying, ‘Oh my dear, I’m so sorry … so very sorry.’
For several minutes she sobbed on Melissa’s shoulder without restraint. When she became calmer, she blew her nose, wiped her eyes and made ineffectual attempts to pat her hair and tweak her clothes into place. ‘Please excuse the déshabillé,’ she said pathetically. Even in her distress, she was careful to give the word its correct French pronunciation. ‘I was still in bed when the call came … there wasn’t time to …’ The tears threatened to flow again, but this time she fought them back.
‘Can I get you anything?’ Melissa said gently. ‘Some tea, or maybe a brandy?’
‘I’ve already had a scotch … will you have one with me?’
‘Maybe just a small one.’
‘Come this way.’ As she spoke, Madeleine took a few steps along the passage, swayed and grabbed at the old-fashioned hall-stand. Melissa had a suspicion that the hiccup she uttered at the same time was not entirely the effect of excessive weeping. Her suspicions were confirmed when they reached the sitting-room and she saw on the sideboard an uncorked whisky bottle with an empty tumbler beside it. Madeleine took a second tumbler from a cupboard and slopped whisky into it with an unsteady hand.
‘No really, just a small one if you don’t mind,’ Melissa repeated, dismayed at the size of the drink she was offered.
‘If you say so.’ Madeleine tipped half the contents of the glass into her own and put both drinks on a tray with a small bottle of soda water. She swayed a little as she picked up the tray and Melissa stepped forward to take it from her, but she gave an impatient toss of her head saying, ‘I can manage. You go and sit down.’ She set the tray on a low table in front of the hearth, where the remains of the previous day’s log fire lay in a cold, ashy heap, waved her guest to an easy chair and lowered herself into another. ‘Help yourself to soda. I’m having mine neat.’ She raised her glass, gave a mirthless laugh and said, ‘Here’s to widowhood!’
Melissa diluted her scotch with a generous splash of soda and sipped it slowly, while watching with increasing disquiet as Madeleine tossed hers back and then sat turning the empty glass between her fingers. She had slim, elegant hands with beautifully shaped and varnished nails. They made a bizarre contrast to her neglected face and the rumpled slacks and baggy sweater which were evidently the first garments that came to hand when the news of her husband’s collapse reached her. After a moment she hoisted herself out of her chair, saying, ‘Haven’t you finished your drink yet? I’m ready for another.’
She stumbled against the table and almost fell. Melissa hastily got to her feet and grabbed her by the arm. ‘Madeleine, I don’t think you should drink any more for the moment. Have you had anything to eat?’
‘They offered me something at the hospital, but I couldn’t touch it.’ Madeleine pressed her lips together and put a hand to her eyes; once more, she appeared on the point of breaking down. She made what was evidently a supreme effort at control and said, ‘Dudley and I had a cup of tea in bed first thing. He made it and brought it up … and it was his turn to get the breakfast, but he said he was going to collect the paper and walk the dog first. I must have fallen asleep again … and then the phone woke me up … it was Mrs Foster from the shop, telling me—’
‘So you’ve had no food all day? Shall I make you a sandwich?’
‘No thank you … I’ll have something presently. You’re quite right, it’s a mistake to drink on an empty stomach.’ With a theatrical gesture, Madeleine put the glass on the tray and sank back into her chair. ‘There’s something I want to tell you,’ she said, ‘and I’m not sure where to begin.’
Melissa waited, sipping her drink and thinking what a bizarre state of affairs it was that within a single day both husband and wife – the one through guilt and the other from the shock of sudden bereavement – should have been forced to abandon their pretensions and reveal something of their own weaknesses. It was even more strange that circumstances had made her their chosen confidante. Ah well, she thought as she waited patiently for Madeleine to collect her thoughts, at least it helps to put my own problems into perspective.
At last, Madeleine began to speak. ‘Dudley was conscious when we got to the hospital,’ she began. ‘I had to wait while they worked on him … gave him drugs and wired him up to the monitor in the ITU … and then they let me see him.’ Her manner suddenly came alive as she added, ‘I was astonished at all the hi-tech equipment … we had nothing like it when I was nursing for the army.’ For a moment, professional interest had superseded emotion.
‘Was Dudley still conscious?’ prompted Melissa after another pause.
‘Oh yes, and he was fairly calm … the drugs, of course … but he was so afraid, poor man … he asked me to go to the police and tell them about the people who attacked him last night … and why. It came as a shock … he never mentioned it at the time, but I understand you and your friend came to his aid.’
‘It was very fortunate that we and the Woodbridge boys came along when we did.’ Melissa found herself hoping that Madele
ine would never learn of her own partial responsibility for that ugly incident.
‘Yes, so I understand. Dudley told me he came round to see you this morning. He said he asked for your opinion about what he should do.’
Melissa detected an underlying note of resentment in Madeleine’s voice. ‘It was only out of concern for you,’ she said. ‘He knew he should report the attack, but he—’
‘Didn’t want me to learn of his affair with that little gipsy tart!’ Madeleine interrupted with a sneer. Her manner had undergone a dramatic change; her greenish eyes had hardened and her voice had a contemptuous edge as she went on, ‘He said he knew it would all have to come out and he wanted me to hear it from him. I had to sit there listening to a sickening, maudlin confession … pleas for forgiveness … promises to reform … and—’ Suddenly, she sat bolt upright and leaned forward until her face was inches away from Melissa’s. ‘He told me nothing I didn’t know already … nothing! Not just about the gipsy tart, but a dozen stupid little infidelities over the years. Did he really think I didn’t know? Until her,’ she spat out the word, ‘I never set eyes on the women … at least he had the decency not to get involved with anyone in our own circle, but I always recognised the symptoms … the perfume clinging to his clothes, the petty lies, the chocolates and flowers he’d buy me to assuage his pathetic conscience. And all the time he thought he was getting away with it. Men are such fools.’ As if exhausted by this outburst, Madeleine sat back and closed her eyes.
Murder in Langley Woods Page 22
