Betrayed in Cornwall

by Janie Bolitho

  ‘No. It was because of that man you’re seeing, I knew about it and I knew he was married. It seemed so unfair, you having a go at me about my friends when – well, when you were carrying on like that.’

  ‘You’re right. It was hypocritical. But it’s over, Sarah. I won’t be seeing him again.’ It was a relief to have come to that decision. She would keep to her word whatever conclusions Roger had come to while he was in Greece. Nothing mattered more than the restoration of her remaining child. No, not a child, a woman, she realised. Nothing must come between them again. If she met another man, fine, but she would make sure he did not have a wife and he would not be hidden from Sarah. ‘How did you know? You never said anything.’

  ‘I was with Roz in St Ives. We saw you.’

  Etta blushed and stared at her freckled, work-worn hands. ‘I’m sorry. It was an awful way for you to find out.’

  ‘He’s very rich, isn’t he?’

  ‘You know him?’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘When he left you we followed him. He went up this long drive, it led to a big house with a swimming-pool. We knew he lived there because he let himself in.’

  Etta had never been there, had never even seen it. Her daughter knew something about Roger Hammond which she did not. She frowned. ‘Did you or Roz ever mention this to anyone?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I just wondered. The house was broken into recently. It was on the news tonight. A lot of valuable things were taken, paintings mostly, I believe.’

  ‘Oh, God.’

  ‘Sarah? What is it?’

  ‘I told Mark. I was so upset and Roz didn’t seem to understand. She said good luck to you and that I should grow up because you were entitled to a life of your own. I thought Mark might take my side. He said he’d find out the man’s name. It’s Roger Hammond, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, Sarah, it is.’ Roz may, as Etta suspected, be taking drugs, but she had far more common sense than she had credited her with if she believed adults were not over-the-hill once they reached forty.

  ‘Oh, Mum, I think I’ve done something incredibly stupid.’ Near to tears again, Sarah would not allow herself to cry. ‘I also told Mark that Roger and his wife were going away.’

  ‘But how on earth did you know that?’ Feeling a need to do something with her hands other than clench and unclench them as she had been doing, Etta smoothed down her cotton dress and tucked her hair behind her ears.

  ‘I overheard you on the phone. At first I wasn’t sure it was him you were talking to, but when you hung up as soon as I came into the room I knew it couldn’t be anyone else.’

  Etta recalled the conversation which had taken place several days after she had met Roger that time in St Ives when they had snatched a few minutes together before he went away. ‘We’ll discuss it when you get back from Greece,’ she had said, referring to their relationship. ‘You’ve got a whole month to think about what I’ve said. Let’s leave it in abeyance until then.’ This is what Sarah must have heard.

  ‘We’ll have to tell the police.’

  ‘But, Mum, if we do it’ll all come out, about you and him. And what about his wife?’

  ‘It’s time we were both more honest with each other, Sarah. I promise you nothing like this will ever happen again. Anyway, it might not have to come out, and if it can be avoided I’d rather not hurt his wife.’ Etta smiled wanly. ‘Some boyfriend you picked if he is involved in the robbery as well.’

  Sarah smiled back. ‘You can talk.’ It was the closest she had felt to her mother for a long time.

  As they made their way upstairs the rain began to fall. Etta felt the prick of tears as it beat a tattoo on the attic skylight under which Joe had slept. She had not been up to his room since before his death. At some point she would have to face it, she would have to sort out his things. But with Sarah’s help she thought she might be able to get through it.

  Rose was standing in the kitchen doorway, a half smile on her face.

  ‘You’ll get wet, dear,’ Evelyn said as she frowned at the low, grey sky. Rain was gusting into the kitchen, speckling the flagstone floor.

  ‘I was just enjoying the fresh air. We needed this. And, believe it or not, I’d decided to water the garden today.’

  Evelyn doubted that – it would have been left to Arthur who was far more particular about such things. ‘Will it last, do you think? It was raining in the night.’

  ‘Probably. Oh, did you hear that?’ A distant rumble of thunder was just audible over the sounds of running water. ‘If we’re in for a summer storm it could last all day.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to find some way to amuse ourselves indoors, unless there’s anything you’d like to see at the cinema.’

  ‘Let’s wait until Dad gets up before we decide.’

  Arthur Forbes appeared minutes later. ‘We’re in for a storm,’ he commented, missing the look which passed between mother and daughter.

  ‘Yes, dear, we noticed.’ Before she had finished speaking a flash of lightning lit up the bay which was then thrown back into relative darkness, the sun hidden behind a solid bank of charcoal cloud.

  They took their coffee into the sitting-room in order to be able to watch the storm. The sea was dark and menacing; white caps rose higher and higher as it rolled in towards the shore. Gulls shrieked and wheeled on their way inland to more sheltered places. The zigzags of lightning and claps of thunder came more frequently and what little daylight there was grew dimmer as the clouds took on even darker hues.

  ‘It’s quite exciting,’ Evelyn said as the wind strengthened and howled around the house. All three stood in the recess of the bay window, steam from their drinks misting the glass. ‘At least, from in here. I certainly wouldn’t want to be out fishing in this.’

  Over the noise of the elements Rose heard the telephone. It was Etta.

  ‘Yes, I heard last night,’ Rose said when she told her that Sarah was back. ‘I was so pleased for you. I wanted to ring then but I guessed you wouldn’t want to be disturbed.’

  ‘The thing is, Rose, Sarah has some other information. It concerns what I was telling you. I don’t think there’s much chance of it remaining a secret any longer. Good heavens.’

  They had both heard it and jumped. The storm was directly overhead now. Thunder seemed to shake the house and almost deafened them.

  ‘You think I can help in some way?’

  ‘I don’t know, Rose. Oh, dear, I really hate doing this, it seems like taking advantage. Well, look, you couldn’t tell Jack Pearce, could you? I mean now, before Sarah has to go and make her statement?’

  ‘Etta, is this to do with the Hammond break-in?’

  ‘Good heavens, yes. How did you know? Look, perhaps you’d like to have a word with Sarah.’

  Before Rose could concur Sarah was already speaking. ‘I told Mark that Mr Hammond would be away. I knew where he lived and that he was rich. It’s all my fault, Rose, and now Mum’s going to have to suffer for it.’

  ‘Hang on, Sarah. You were with Mark from Sunday morning. We don’t know when the burglary happened. You might actually be his alibi if it was after that time.’

  ‘I know, but Mark wouldn’t know how to get into somewhere that was alarmed, and a house like that must’ve been for insurance purposes.’

  ‘I see what you mean. You think he used the information, or sold it, and someone else did the job?’

  ‘Yes, something like that. Oh, God, what’re the police going to think of me?’

  ‘They might be annoyed that you didn’t tell them about seeing Mark on that Thursday night before, but numerous people must’ve known that your mother’s friend was rich. It wasn’t a secret. What time do they want you to go in and make your statement?’

  ‘About eleven.’

  ‘Right. Then leave it with me. I’ll speak to Jack and warn him – if he can make things easier for you, then I know he will.’ Rose had her fingers crossed as she spoke. Jack would still be in bed if he had any sense. He n
eeded rest and had obviously been in pain last night. The last thing he required was a begging phone call from her. ‘I’ll ring you back soon,’ Rose promised, then turned to face her parents who had been unable to avoid hearing her side of the conversation.

  ‘What now?’ Evelyn asked, placing her coffee cup on the windowsill with a sigh of resignation.

  ‘Nothing. I’ve just got to make a phone call.’

  ‘To Jack? Honestly, that poor man. Can’t you leave him in peace?’

  ‘She never gave us any, my dear,’ Arthur said. ‘It makes a change to see someone else on the receiving end.’

  Rose took a deep breath and prepared herself for Jack’s wrath. He took a long time to answer and she guessed he had had difficulty in getting out of bed and walking through the flat.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, Jack. How’re you feeling?’

  ‘Christ! Did you ring at this ungodly hour just to ask me that? Like hell, if you must know.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Well?’ he demanded after the several seconds of silence which followed.

  ‘The thing is, Jack …’ She heard his groan, ignored it and spoke quickly, telling him what Etta and Sarah had so recently told her.

  ‘What on earth do you expect me to do about it? The girl’s got to make a statement anyway. She can tell them herself.’

  ‘She will, I’m sure. I was thinking more of Etta.’

  ‘Ah, we’re back to last night. You want me to cover up her affair, is that what you’re asking?’

  ‘I’m not asking anything. Etta wants to protect the wife, that’s all.’

  ‘Has it occurred to you that Mark Hurte might not be involved at all?’

  ‘Yes. But it’s also a possibility that he is.’ I tried, Etta, Rose thought. Jack was in one of his stubborn moods, one where he would belittle or twist anything she said.

  ‘Can I get back to you?’ he asked, surprising her by his change of tack.

  ‘Yes, of course. We’ll be in all morning.’

  ‘How is he?’ Arthur inquired.

  ‘The same as ever – bad-tempered and objectionable.’

  ‘I meant his leg.’

  Rose shrugged. ‘It hurts, I expect.’

  ‘Honestly, Rose, as far as I can see, you two deserve each other.’ Evelyn had never witnessed her daughter interact with anyone in the way in which she did with Inspector Pearce.

  Rose decided they would eat a proper breakfast and skip lunch. She lit the grill and got out hog’s pudding, bacon, eggs, mushrooms and tomatoes. Cooking it would give her something to do until Jack returned her call. After she had heard from Jack she would get back to Etta.

  ‘Smells delicious,’ Arthur said appreciatively as the meat began to sizzle. ‘Remind your mother to buy some hog’s pudding to take home with us, won’t you.’ They both loved the loops of pale Cornish sausage which was sliced then grilled or fried. Each butcher had his own recipe and some added herbs to the filling. Their own butcher had laughed, thinking it a joke, when they had tried to purchase some after returning from their first visit to Rose and David’s house soon after they were married. The Forbeses had had no idea then that it was only made in Cornwall and some areas of Devon.

  They ate at the kitchen table with the lights on. There was no sign of the storm abating or the gloom dispelling. Rain lashed against the window, obscuring the view of the garden. Streams of water ran down the glass and the drain by the back door gurgled as the gutters overflowed and filled it.

  Rose switched on the radio to listen to the news but it crackled so badly words were indecipherable. She swivelled the aerial but it made no difference so she gave up and sat down again. One day she would replace it with something more modern. But she had been telling herself that for years.

  ‘Toast?’ she asked when their plates were empty.

  ‘Um, I wouldn’t mind a slice.’

  Evelyn declined and poked Arthur’s waistline. ‘You’ve already had a slice of fried bread.’

  ‘I know, but you’ll starve me when we get home, so allow me to enjoy my food whilst I can,’ he told her.

  ‘I don’t starve you, Arthur, I try to give you a well-balanced diet.’

  ‘Mum, could you see to it?’ Rose indicated the grill under which a thick slice of crusty bread was beginning to turn golden, then she hurried to answer the telephone, hoping it was Jack and that he was ringing to say that eveything would work out all right for Etta and Sarah Chynoweth.

  12

  Struggling to reach the telephone before the caller hung up, Jack surmised it could only be Rose who was ringing. ‘Who else would be so damn inconsiderate?’ he muttered as he half hopped across the room, trying to bear weight on the stick instead of his injured leg, but failing.

  He had been awake for a while but had gone back to bed after drinking his coffee in the kitchen because he could not carry it without spilling it, not until he had mastered the dreaded walking-stick. Lying in bed, on his good side, he had listened to the rain, knowing it was the best place to be, especially when thunder started crashing overhead. Now the blasted woman had disturbed him again. What chance did he have of healing quickly?

  He heard Rose out with the intention of snubbing her, of telling her in no uncertain terms that he was not only off duty but recovering from flu and a gunshot wound and that his only plan for the day was complete rest. He might have added that she was thoughtless and selfish and a pain in the arse, although that would not have got him far. But as he listened an idea grew. Instead of cutting her off abruptly he found himself promising to get back to her.

  Turning the hated stick upside-down, he used the crook end to drag a dining-chair nearer to the phone. He sat down, his throbbing leg stretched out, which helped to ease the pain a little, then he dialled his own number at work and spoke to his counterpart who informed him that Mark Hurte had made a statement.

  ‘Good. Can you give me the gist of it?’ Jack listened carefully, making the occasional note on the pad he kept by the phone. ‘Yes, well, keep trying,’ he said. ‘Any news on this trawler? It was supposed to land this morning. Blast it,’ he said when he heard the answer. He tapped his teeth with the chewed end of a capless biro then shook his head in frustration. Every time they turned to follow new clues they only pointed in other directions. ‘You’re taking a statement from the Chynoweth girl this morning, I believe. This is what I’d like you to ask her.’ Jack explained what he wanted. ‘And then go back to Hurte and see what he has to say about it.’ His instructions were repeated back to him. ‘Okay, that’s it. Thanks. I’ll be at home if there’s anything new. Yes, I’ll live,’ he added in response to a belated question regarding his leg.

  He replaced the receiver, thought for several seconds then rang Rose back. ‘Fancy a coffee?’ he asked sweetly, picturing her puzzled face, a pencil, no doubt, tucked behind her ear and the furrow on her forehead deepening in suspicion because she had no idea what he was up to. Well, good. She had kept him guessing often enough.

  ‘Yes, if you’re up to visitors.’

  ‘I’m not really, it’s just that I don’t think I can make it to the kitchen so I thought I’d get you to come over and spoil me. How soon can you get here?’

  ‘In about fifteen minutes. Jack, did you –’

  ‘See you soon,’ he said, cutting her off.

  Jack wanted a long soak in the bath but it was an impossibility. He had been told not to get the dressings on his leg wet until he had seen his GP in two days’ time. Which meant no shower either. Was there time to shave before Rose got there? He did not think so, it would take him that long to get to the bathroom. He rubbed a hand over the bristles on his chin and wondered just how bad he looked. There wasn’t even a comb within reach. She would have to take him as he was. Perhaps he could persuade her to make the bed, not that a duvet needed much seeing to, but he hated leaving it in an untidy heap and he did not think he could balance long enough to give it a shake.

  It was darker t
han ever. He reached out and pressed the switch on the table lamp but its low wattage bulb only threw out a small circle of light. Thunder continued to rumble, sometimes receding, distant for a few minutes, then returning again. Summer storms had a tendency to last for hours, as if they were at home in the bay and liked to make a day of it there.

  Car tyres hissed and one or two pedestrians straggled past, bent beneath umbrellas which flapped in the wind. A car pulled in, headlamps on. The driver switched them off and cut the engine. It was Rose. He had not recognised the car because it was her parents’. They must have been parked behind her Metro and lent her theirs rather than get soaked moving it.

  She ran to the door, her head unprotected, her hair flying about her face and shoulders. A sudden gust lifted it and she pulled her raincoat closer around her slender body.

  ‘Damn it.’ He had not thought to get up and start making his way to the door in preparation for her arrival. She would be saturated by the time he let her in.

  The bell rang a second time and he called out, ‘I’m on my way.’

  Rose was bedraggled. She stepped over the threshold dripping water on to the black and white tiles of the hall floor. A droplet clung to the end of her nose then fell like a tear. The shoulders of her raincoat were soaked and her hair straggled around her face, darkened by the rain.

  ‘You look a mess,’ he said, with a wide grin.

  ‘You might take a look in a mirror yourself, Inspector Pearce.’ She squinted up at him. ‘Did you really invite me over to make you coffee or is there something you wish to discuss?’

  ‘Both. Coffee first. You wouldn’t have abandoned your parents if you thought it was merely the former.’

  Rose helped him back into the front room and settled him into a chair. She glanced around. Nothing had changed since her last visit. The grate in the marble surround fireplace stood empty. The flat was centrally heated, Jack never lit a fire, neither did he fill the large gaping fireplace with logs or dried flowers. There was a cobweb in the corner of the high ceiling but no dust on the mantelpiece or surfaces. Jack did his own housework and was not ashamed to admit it. He kept the flat reasonably clean and tidy but he had no desire to improve his surroundings. He considered the place as somewhere to sleep and, occasionally, to eat.