‘I’m so glad you could come,’ Magda said, jumping up to kiss Rona. ‘I don’t think you two have met: Helena Maddox – Rona Parish.’
‘I do hope you’ll forgive my gate-crashing,’ Helena said. ‘I came in on the spur of the moment, and as there was no free table, Magda kindly invited me to join you.’ She spoke quickly, while her fingers continued to crumble a roll on her side plate.
‘I’m delighted to meet you,’ Rona replied, taking a seat. It was true: Helena Maddox had interested her from the first, and she was looking equally elegant today, in a short-sleeved suit in rust and cream silk – possibly from Magdalena.
‘I hear you’re planning to write about Buckford for the celebrations?’ Helena continued.
‘That’s right; part of my research involved being shown round the college.’
‘So Magda was saying. What did you think of it?’
‘Very impressive. Do you live on the premises?’
‘Yes, we’ve a flat on the top floor. Where are you staying while you’re here?’
‘With Nuala Banks, in Parsonage Place. It’s ideal, since it’s both comfortable and central.’
As they talked, Rona took stock of her. She was certainly attractive; her skin, unusually for a redhead, was tanned to a pale gold, and her almost navy-blue eyes were fringed with black lashes – doubtless mascara’d, but still stunning. Close to, though, there was a sense of strain about her, apparent in the nervous flicker of her eyes, the constant movement of her hands. Anyone who lived with Richard Maddox, Rona thought uncharitably, had a right to be stressed.
Magda passed the menu to Rona. ‘You’re here to work, remember! What do you think of the selection?’
Rona quickly read it through. ‘Very innovative. Normally I’d have been spoilt for choice, but I’m afraid I shan’t want much today; it’s only a couple of hours since I had breakfast.’
Magda looked at her in disbelief. ‘Well, a lot of help you’re turning out to be! What were you thinking of, having a late breakfast when we’d arranged lunch?’
She shouldn’t have volunteered that information, Rona realized. She’d no wish to discuss Edna’s death in front of a virtual stranger.
‘I only had a slice of toast,’ she prevaricated.
‘But why so late?’ She should have known Magda wouldn’t let it rest.
‘We had a disturbed night.’ Rona paused, but had no alterative but to continue. ‘It was all very upsetting, actually; Nuala’s elderly aunt was found dead in the street.’
Both her companions exclaimed at once.
Helena, her face filled with sudden horror, cried, ‘Not Miss Rosebury?’
And Magda: ‘The old lady you interviewed?’
Rona nodded in reply to both. ‘Nuala had to go to the mortuary to identify her, and I went along for company. Then we had to talk to the police.’
‘Why the police?’ Magda demanded sharply.
‘They – thought she might have been attacked.’
‘But – God – that’s terrible!’ Helena this time. ‘What gave them that idea?’
‘There was no sign of her handbag. When Nuala said she never took one at night, they seemed to revise their opinion.’
‘Never . . .? She made a habit of going out after dark?’
‘Apparently she sometimes went for a walk.’
‘Dangerous, I’d have thought.’
Magda clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘God, Rona! The cassette! Do you think there’s any connection?’
Rona, seeing Helena forming another question, said quickly, ‘No, I’m sure not. Look, I really don’t want to go into it again, if you don’t mind. I had enough of that last night.’
She was helped in her request by the need to give their orders, and opted for artichoke hearts in a special dressing. That settled, she turned back to Magda.
‘Were any other shops broken into? I’d have thought the mall would have security guards.’
‘It has,’ Magda said gloomily, ‘but the thieves got in at the back, where we take deliveries. The guards only became aware of them as they were driving off – but don’t get me started on that. Yes, they got away with some jewellery from next door, as well. That, not unnaturally, is what the police are concentrating on.’
Rona wondered fleetingly if DI Barrett was involved. Perhaps that was why he’d resented being distracted by Edna’s case. ‘Well, I certainly wouldn’t have known from the rails that you’d had a robbery,’ she said rallyingly.
They started talking about the autumn collection, and Rona relaxed a little. To rectify her shortcomings, she ordered a dessert from the well-stocked trolley, and pronounced it excellent, as was the coffee that followed.
‘I’m glad you think so,’ Magda said. ‘This is by way of an experiment. If it proves a success, I’m hoping to introduce cafés into some of the other shops. While I remember, Rona, Gavin was asking when you’re coming to dinner. Are you free any evening next week?’
‘That would be nice, but it would have to be Friday or Saturday. Max has classes on Thursdays.’
Magda shook her head. ‘Friday and Saturday are both booked next week, and Gavin’s away on a course the week after.’ She hesitated. ‘Would Max mind if you came solo on Thursday?’
Rona smiled. ‘I shouldn’t think so.’ Magda and Gavin were more her friends than his.
‘It’s a date, then.’
Rona and Helena left soon after, both insisting, despite Magda’s protests, that they pay for their own lunches.
‘You’ll never make a profit if you treat all your friends,’ Rona told her.
‘We must meet again,’ Helena said as they separated at the mall’s entrance, ‘and if you’d like any more details about College, do let me know.’
Rona looked after her as she set off along the pavement, trying to sum up her impressions. Helena had seemed charming, intelligent, at times preoccupied, but there was an overall sense of vulnerability about her that Rona found oddly touching. Yes, she would like to meet her again.
She’d decided to devote the afternoon to more church-visiting, and was crossing the road towards the Church of the Holy Cross when her mobile rang. Safely on the pavement, she moved out of people’s way and flicked it open.
‘Rona Parish.’
‘Oh, Miss Parish!’ Beth Spencer’s voice, and she sounded close to tears.
‘Hello, Mrs Spencer.’
‘He won’t see you,’ Beth said in a rush. ‘I phoned him last night and argued till I was blue in the face, but he wouldn’t give way. I told him it might be his last chance, but he just wasn’t interested.’
Despite her earlier misgivings, Rona was aware of disappointment. ‘That seems to be that, then.’
‘I shan’t give up!’ Beth assured her. ‘I’ll keep on at him till he changes his mind.’
‘I really don’t think that would do any good,’ Rona put in gently. ‘It’s no use my seeing him under duress, he has to want to.’
‘When he’s had time to think about it, he’ll change his mind. I was trying to rush him, so we could fit it in this week, but the more I pressed, the more he dug his heels in. Now it’ll have to be next week at the earliest.’
‘Well, I’ll be here then and the week after,’ Rona soothed her. ‘But as I said all along, I doubt I can do much good.’
Beth rang off, still convinced of eventual success, and Rona walked out of the bright sunshine into the candlelit gloom of the Catholic church.
It wasn’t until she was setting off for home the following afternoon that she saw the note, again wedged behind the windscreen wipers, and her heart seemed to stop. With shaking fingers she extracted it and smoothed it open.
Why don’t you go home and stop poking your nose into what doesn’t concern you? You’re not wanted here.
It seemed that, his scare tactics not having worked, her anonymous persecutor was increasing the pressure. Rona glanced at the house behind her, wondering whether to go back and tell Nuala of the latest development.
She’d been in trouble for keeping quiet before. But this was a more personal attack, and nothing further could harm Edna Rosebury. She decided to compromise: she’d tell Nuala when she came back on Monday. About one thing, however, she was in no doubt. She would not tell Max.
Ten
Max said, ‘What bad luck, to be caught up in it.’
‘The fact that I’d met her made it worse,’ Rona admitted, sipping a much-needed vodka. She’d told Max briefly of Edna’s death when he’d phoned the previous evening, and had just finished a more detailed account, though the omission of any reference to the missing cassette or the two notes screamed in her head.
‘She sounds a dotty old bird, to go wandering the streets at night.’
Rona rushed to Edna’s defence. ‘Why? She’d lived in the town all her life, and everyone knew her. If she couldn’t sleep, why shouldn’t she go for a walk?’
Max raised both hands in mock submission. ‘All right, all right. But weren’t you saying there have been several muggings recently?’
‘Yes, but she wasn’t mugged,’ Rona said stubbornly.
‘Then she was lucky.’
‘You sound like that odious policeman.’
‘Thanks!’
They glared at each other, then both smiled shamefacedly. Rona said more calmly, ‘Anyway, since she died of a heart attack, it could just as easily have happened at home.’
‘Except that you don’t know what brought it on. Something or someone might have frightened her.’
Rona went cold. That was a point she’d not considered. Should she have done? Had Edna in fact been frightened to death? If so, there would have been nothing to show for it.
‘I wish you hadn’t said that,’ she told him.
Max shrugged, finishing his drink. ‘Since we’ll never know, there’s no point in losing sleep over it. She was old, and her time had come, that’s all.’
‘So if she was frightened to death, it doesn’t really matter?’
Max’s mouth tightened. ‘You’re twisting my words, and you know it.’
There was a short silence. They were in danger of quarrelling, and Rona, taking a deep breath, opted for safer ground. ‘As you say, what’s done is done. So, what’s been happening here this week?’
He poured himself another drink. ‘Not much.’ He stared into his glass for a minute, then added, ‘Actually, there is something. I’m a bit worried about this new student.’
‘The watercolourist? Why?’
‘I told you she was pale and quiet, didn’t I? After today’s class, I suspect there’s rather more to it. She has some nasty bruises on her arm.’
Rona raised an eyebrow.
‘It was hot in the studio,’ he continued, ‘and she was the only one wearing long sleeves. I noticed that last week, too. At one point, when she reached for something, they rode up, and she went bright pink and pulled them quickly down again. But not before I’d seen the bruises.’
Rona regarded him over the rim of her glass. ‘You think she’s a battered wife?’
He looked at her quickly, then away. ‘I don’t know what to think. She certainly seems withdrawn and – nervous.’
‘Well, there’s not much you can do about it, is there?’
‘The trouble is, she doesn’t know anyone. They’ve only just moved here, and by a stroke of coincidence, they live in Fairhaven.’
Which was Lindsey’s road. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Adele Yarborough.’
‘Any children?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Well, you know what it’s like when you move house. She probably banged herself heaving boxes around.’
‘I was wondering—’ He broke off.
‘What?’
‘If you’d meet her. Let me know what you think.’
Rona stared at him. ‘Meet her how? For God’s sake, Max, I’m not a social worker.’
‘You could get Lindsey to be a good neighbour and invite her for coffee.’
‘And how exactly would that help?’
He looked up, and she was surprised by the genuine concern in his eyes. ‘I don’t know, love, but I feel I should do something. I might be the only one who suspects anything.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ she said dryly.
He said flatly, ‘So you won’t help?’
She shrugged, irritated at being made to feel guilty.
‘Fair enough. Well, her phone number’s on the pad, in case you change your mind.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ she said ungraciously. ‘Now –’ she pushed herself away from the counter she’d been leaning against – ‘what’s on the menu this evening?’
For a minute longer Max remained deep in thought. Then he looked up. ‘Cheese soufflé and salad,’ he said.
Tom Parish walked across the tarmac to his car, opened the door and stood back to let the furnace-like blast of hot air escape. It was a humid, thundery evening, overcast despite the hazy sunshine. He loosened his tie and flung it on the back seat, opening the neck of his shirt. Avril had gone with the bridge club on their annual outing to a West End theatre, and wouldn’t be home till after midnight. The evening stretched ahead of him to do with as he chose, and he intended to go home and change, do a bit of gardening, and then go to the Jolly Wagoner for a bite to eat.
The interior of the car now being bearable, he climbed in and drove slowly out of the car park. The traffic lights were against him as usual, and as he sat waiting, he caught sight of Catherine Bishop at the bus stop diagonally across from him. The lights changed and he turned right into Alban Road, drew up alongside and wound down his window.
‘Mrs Bishop? Can I give you a lift?’
She looked round in surprise. ‘Oh – Mr Parish. That’s very kind of you.’
He leant over to open the passenger door, taking her parcels from her as she got in.
‘Car playing up?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I’ve been having a bit of trouble with it. It’s in for a service and won’t be ready till tomorrow. This really is very good of you. With that number of people ahead of me, I shouldn’t have got on the first bus, and there’s quite a walk at the other end.’
‘I don’t know where you live, so you’ll have to direct me.’
‘We turn off in about a mile, at Barrington Road, and drive past the park. Then it’s first right into Talbot Road and first left into Willow Crescent – number twenty-three.’
‘Sounds simple enough.’
She laughed. ‘My son wouldn’t agree with you, though admittedly he comes from the other direction.’
The development off Barrington Road, Tom saw, consisted mainly of bungalows. Following her directions, he drew up at one of them, distinguishable from its neighbours only by the riot of colour in its small garden.
‘Are you the gardener?’ he asked her.
‘Yes, but as I was saying to your daughter, I’m restraining myself until I know what comes up of its own accord.’
He helped her out of the car and opened the gate for her.
‘Would you like to come in for a cup of tea? Or a glass of something, if you’d prefer?’
He hesitated, and she said, ‘Please. It’s the least I can do, after bringing you out of your way like this.’
‘Then thank you. Tea would be very welcome.’
She showed him into the sitting room, opened the patio doors for some fresh air, and excused herself to put the kettle on. Tom went to study the photographs on the mantelpiece. One was a head and shoulders portrait of a young man in slightly dated clothes – her dead husband, presumably – and the other a wedding photograph of a tall young man and a pretty blonde girl. The groom, Tom thought, had quite a look of his father.
He turned as she came into the room. ‘I’ve been admiring your photos.’
She smiled. ‘The entire extent of my family.’
‘Your son lives in Cricklehurst, you said?’
‘That’s right.’ She poured his tea and handed it to him. �
�His wife’s expecting their first baby, and she’s having a difficult pregnancy. We’re a bit worried about her.
‘This is my week for seeing the Parishes,’ she went on quickly, as though anxious to change the subject. ‘I met your other daughter yesterday. I didn’t realize you had twins.’
‘And you took her for Rona? A lot of people do.’
‘I was one of them, but of course there are differences, and I suppose they’re more noticeable when you see both girls together.’
‘Rona was very grateful for the time you gave her.’
‘It was a pleasure. I thought her charming. Would you tell her I found something else that might interest her? I was going to phone, but there’s no urgency.’
Tom sat back in his chair, feeling pleasantly relaxed. It was an attractive room, welcoming and restful, and the Impressionist prints reminded him of her weekend away.
‘How was Paris?’ he asked.
‘Wonderful, as always.’
‘You saw the exhibition?’
‘Fancy your remembering. Yes, I did. It was fantastic.’
‘I enjoy looking round galleries myself, but—’ He broke off, unwilling to say that Avril had no interest in art.
‘It’s hard to find the time,’ Catherine supplied, and he nodded gratefully.
‘I brought back some catalogues, if you’d like to see them?’
‘Oh, I would,’ he said eagerly.
She opened a bureau drawer and brought a pile of them over, settling herself next to him on the sofa. ‘This is from the Matisse exhibition. They’d arranged the paintings very cleverly.’
She went on to explain the layout of the gallery, pointing out juxtapositions and contrasts which Tom knew would have completely passed him by. He found himself thinking how pleasant it would be to walk round a gallery with this quiet, knowledgeable woman at his side.
Going through the catalogues took some time since she kept stopping to discuss individual paintings, and they were both surprised when the mantel clock chimed seven.
‘How inconsiderate of me to keep you so long!’ she exclaimed. ‘Your wife will be wondering where you are.’
Jigsaw Page 15
