London Rain

by Nicola Upson

  ‘Have you ever thought of swapping Suffolk for St Mary Mead?’ he asked, amused.

  Josephine ignored him and took the newspapers out of her bag. ‘I found these.’

  Archie glanced through them and there was no need for Josephine to explain any further. The smile left his face, and he looked furious. ‘You found these in Millicent Gray’s flat?’ he demanded.

  ‘Yes. Her parents had used them to wrap her things in. You promised not to be cross, Archie. I know I probably shouldn’t have gone back in, but . . .’

  ‘I’m not cross with you. I’m cross with the person I put in charge of searching that bloody flat. These newspapers weren’t wrapped round an ornament then, were they?’ She shook her head and waited while he read through the pages more carefully. ‘Have you telephoned this number?’ he asked, pointing to the house advertisement.

  ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘I’ll do it in the morning. We need to confirm that the property for sale is Paradise House, but that’s easily checked – and I think it’s a fair assumption. So Millicent Gray went there a couple of weeks ago?’

  ‘It looks like it, and I know she’s been asking questions about Olivia Hanlon’s party since then.’

  ‘Do you?’

  She was beginning to enjoy the expression on Archie’s face, hovering as it did somewhere between pride and bewilderment. ‘You remember that photographer I told you about? Gerard Leaman – the one who opened his mouth at the wrong time during the read-through?’ Archie nodded. ‘Well, he’s the photographer I went to see. He’s been giving interviews in the press to anyone who’ll listen, and I read that he claims to have known Olivia. I thought he might be exaggerating to get the publicity, but it’s true. He was at that party.’

  She repeated everything she could remember from Leaman’s account, and Archie listened, fascinated. ‘It was a very different picture by the time I got there,’ he said when she had finished.

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Josephine refilled their glasses and leaned back in her chair. Archie was a good storyteller – his job had only improved a talent he already had – and his voice was rich and warm. She closed her eyes, trying to picture the scene he was recalling.

  ‘The call came through in the early hours of the morning, and obviously it took a while to get there. The roads were very narrow, I remember, and the lane was closely hung with trees, so there was no help from the moon. We’d been told to look out for a small, octagonal lodge house on the road – the turning to Paradise House was shortly afterwards. Eventually we found it and the headlights picked out a small wooden sign. I remember wondering then how long the name had been so wholly inappropriate’

  ‘What was the house like?’

  ‘Lovely. One of those old, rambling redbrick affairs – a typical English country farmhouse, and very private. She’d chosen well, I think – no one would have disturbed her there. The trees cleared suddenly, and my first sight of the place was under a clean, white moon. All the lights were on – well, most of them. It was like looking at an ocean liner, but it was quiet, far too quiet. The ambulance had already arrived, and the front door was open, but no one came when we called so we waited a moment and then went in.’

  ‘What sort of state was everything in?’

  ‘Well, there was certainly no evidence of the chaos you’ve described. The sitting room was interesting, I remember that – lots of books and paintings, and decorated in very strong colours. But it was tidy. The only things out of place were a wrap draped casually across a chaise longue and a pair of shoes left abandoned in the middle of the room. I thought that was poignant at the time, but I was quite naive. Now, I suspect they’d been carefully placed.’

  Josephine smiled at the image of Archie as an eager but inexperienced detective, the professional mirror image of the earnest younger man she had known. ‘Were you still a detective constable?’ she asked.

  He glanced at the date on the old newspapers. ‘June 1927. No, I was a sergeant then, but only by a few weeks. I was with a chief inspector called Jim Townsend at the time – he was a very good policeman, and he taught me a lot.’

  ‘I don’t suppose he was a regular at the Golden Hat, was he?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge. Why?’

  ‘Oh, just something Gerard said. Go on.’

  ‘There was still no sign of anyone, so we went through to the back garden. The swimming pool was down some steps, a little way away from the house.’

  ‘Was Olivia’s body still in the water?’

  ‘No, she was lying by the side at the deep end, partially covered with a towel. Beresford was with her, and the two ambulance men stood further back on a strip of grass, looking awkward and redundant like they always do when they get there too late.’

  ‘What was Beresford like back then? Did you know who he was?’

  ‘Not really. He hadn’t made a name for himself at the BBC, so I only knew what I’d been told. He was very polite – almost too polite – and very obliging. You couldn’t wish for a more co-operative witness – not that he claimed to have seen much. His story was a little polished, but he was a professional storyteller, so perhaps that’s a bit harsh.’

  ‘And what was the story?’

  ‘That he and Vivienne had been there for dinner with a few other friends, but everyone else had left earlier in the evening. Later on, Olivia announced that she was going for a swim. Vivienne asked her if that was a good idea – she’d had a lot to drink, apparently – but she wouldn’t be told and she went upstairs to change.’

  ‘That part tallies, at least.’

  ‘Yes. Beresford told me that he and Vivienne were newly married. He admitted that they’d gone back into the house and were too wrapped up in each other to think much about Olivia. After a while, Vivienne went out to check on her sister and the next thing he knew, she was screaming and calling his name and he rushed back outside.’

  ‘He definitely said she was calling his name?’

  ‘I think so. I’d have to check the statement because it was a long time ago, but I’m sure that’s what he said. Olivia was lying face down in the water, obviously in trouble. Beresford says he dived in and managed to get her out, but it was too late. He blamed it on an asthma attack while she was in the water. There was a half-empty packet of Potter’s Asthma Cigarettes by the pool.’

  ‘You don’t sound convinced by any of that.’

  ‘There was a lot that didn’t ring true. The length of time he’d waited to call the police, for a start, although you’ve explained that now – there must have been an awful lot of tidying up to do. Then there was this diving in business. He said he’d changed out of his wet clothes when he went inside to call us, but I couldn’t find any wet clothes in the house.’

  ‘Did you look in the laundry bin?’

  He smiled again and Josephine had the decency to look embarrassed. ‘Yes, Miss Marple, I did. It was in the bathroom, and it was empty.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I thought it was strange that he’d let Vivienne go. If I’d been in his position and she was that upset, I’d have wanted to stay with her to make sure she was all right. Beresford said he was concerned, but he didn’t act it.’

  ‘He’d never have won spouse of the year, though, would he?’

  ‘No, I suppose not. And I remember how he watched me. I went over to look at the body while he was answering Jim’s questions, and he never took his eyes off me.’

  ‘What about the body? I’m assuming there were no signs of anything suspicious.’

  ‘No, none at all. No telltale bruising, nothing to contradict Beresford’s explanation of her death – just a small plume of froth on her lips, which would have been consistent with drowning.’ He closed his eyes, and Josephine wished she could picture the scene as clearly as he obviously still could. ‘She was on her back with her face turned towards the pool, and strands of dark blonde hair drying across her cheek. It’s funny, but it’s the bathing costume I remember. It was bright red
and her skin was so pale – it seemed such a sudden shock of colour. Someone had thrown a towel across her body and even that seemed a half-hearted act – it didn’t give her any dignity in death, and she was long past taking any purposeful comfort from it.’

  ‘What was she like? I was so pleased earlier when I thought I’d seen a picture of her, but she eluded me.’

  ‘And she still does. That’s one of the things I find so difficult about going to a body – it’s always impossible to imagine what that person was like in life. Even when they’ve died peacefully in their beds or in a chair by the fireside, too much has already been lost. It’s the best argument for the existence of a soul that I know of. And it was the same that night – Olivia Hanlon looked like she’d just fallen asleep, but the woman she had been was long gone.’ He stubbed his cigarette out thoughtfully. ‘Have you asked Vivienne about her?’

  ‘No, not really. She came up briefly in conversation, but there was no real reason then to push the subject. I will now, though. I’d like her version of that night.’

  ‘You’re going to see her again?’

  ‘I promised I would.’ Archie nodded but didn’t offer an opinion, and Josephine was grateful. ‘Is that everything you remember?’

  ‘Not quite, no. When I’d had a quick look round inside, Jim sent me down to the lodge house to see who lived there and if they could tell us anything.’ He smiled to himself and slipped easily into a convincing Yorkshire accent. ‘“It’s a bit too bloody neat for my liking, lad.” I can still hear him saying it. “Nip down to that funny house at the gate and see if they know anything. All hell’ll break loose when the papers get wind o’ this, so we might as well have their story now before people start paying ’em to make it up.”’

  ‘I’m starting to like your inspector. Is he still in the force?’

  ‘No, he retired a couple of years back, but we still keep in touch. He’s living in Bournemouth now, near his grandchildren, and growing prizewinning tomatoes.’

  ‘Something to look forward to, I suppose.’

  ‘The tomatoes, perhaps. I’ve left it a bit late for the grandchildren. Anyway, I fetched a torch and walked down to the lodge. There were no lights on and no one answered when I knocked, but I walked round the back and caught a woman looking out of the window. She came to the door when she knew she’d been seen, wearing a dressing gown and looking frightened. She was Olivia Hanlon’s housekeeper.’

  ‘Gerard didn’t mention a housekeeper.’

  ‘Why would he? She certainly wasn’t at any of those parties, so he’d probably never set eyes on her. But it stands to reason that you’d want someone to look after the place. Anyway, she let me in and she seemed upset, as if she knew bad news was coming. She kept finding things to distract me from speaking it aloud – washing cups, offering me tea. Then eventually she asked me if something awful had happened to Miss Hanlon.’

  ‘She knew why you were there, then?’ He nodded. ‘And she liked Olivia?’

  ‘She certainly seemed to. She’d been there ever since Olivia bought the house in the early twenties.’

  ‘And could she tell you anything about that night?’

  ‘No, not really. She did admit that Miss Hanlon often had lots of people to stay at weekends. It used to take her all day to clear up on Mondays, apparently. But she claimed that nothing untoward ever went on, and that this weekend was no different.’

  ‘Was she surprised at the way Olivia died?’

  ‘She told me she often swam at night. Apparently, Olivia always said that a pool was a ridiculous thing to have in England for nine months of the year, so she liked to make the most of it. And she was a good swimmer, even with her asthma.’ He poured the last of the wine into their glasses and got up to fetch another bottle. ‘It’s been good to hear a more honest version of what went on that night – I’ve always wondered. But I’m not sure where any of it gets us. There’s nothing in Gerard’s account to implicate Beresford, any more than there is in mine.’

  ‘Ah, you spotted the flaw.’

  ‘If you’re right about Millicent Gray, she must have discovered something else.’

  ‘Gerard told me that Olivia never forgave Viv for marrying and turning over a new leaf. I suppose she felt betrayed. What if she’d been trying to persuade Viv to come back to the clubs and Anthony intervened and went too far?’

  Archie looked sceptical. ‘It’s a bit speculative, and I’m not sure how you’d ever prove it now that they’re both dead. You’ll have to see what you can get out of Vivienne, but I can’t help feeling that if she knew anything, she’d have mentioned it long before now.’

  ‘I know. I’m probably clutching at straws. But like you, I just feel that Beresford managed that night a bit too well – clearing people out, getting Billy to drive Vivienne away somewhere . . .’

  ‘Billy? Billy Whiting?’

  ‘That’s right. Did you question him at the time?’

  ‘No, I had no idea he was even there. Again, I’d have to check the statement, but I’m sure Beresford just said at the time that a friend of his had come to collect Vivienne because she was so distressed by Olivia’s death. I know Whiting from the current investigation. He’s Beresford’s driver at the BBC, and he found the body.’

  ‘Gerard told me that he cleared up Olivia’s messes.’ She hesitated. ‘I wonder if it would be more accurate to say that he cleared up Anthony’s?’ Archie said nothing, but Josephine suspected that they were thinking along the same lines. ‘The timings you went through for Beresford’s whereabouts – do any of them depend solely on Billy’s word? Would he lie for him, do you think?’

  Archie thought about it. ‘He seemed very loyal, certainly. But the timings are fairly solid, even without Whiting’s testimony – there were meetings and briefings and engineer checks. Unless . . .’

  ‘Unless what?’

  ‘The other possibility is that Billy killed Millicent Gray on Beresford’s behalf. I haven’t checked his whereabouts for that morning. There was no reason to. I have no idea where he went after he dropped the Beresfords off at Broadcasting House. If he was working for Beresford and loyal to him for all those years, if he had helped Beresford cover up Olivia’s death, it’s not too incredible that he would go to Millicent’s flat and put an end to the threat once and for all, knowing all the time that Beresford had a cast-iron alibi for the whole day. He wasn’t to know that Vivienne Beresford was going to throw everything out by choosing that day to shoot her husband.’

  ‘That might explain how Vivienne’s compact got there, too. It could easily have slipped out of her bag in the car – what if Billy kept it and used it to incriminate her?’ They were both quiet for a moment, and Josephine waited anxiously for Archie to spot a problem that was invisible to her, but he didn’t. In the end, she dared ask the question that had been preying on her mind for some time. ‘If – and I know it’s a big if – if this turns out to be true and we can prove it, will it have any mitigation on the murder that Vivienne did commit? Will she still hang?’

  He didn’t answer straight away, and Josephine wondered if he was considering the question or working out how best to protect her from something she didn’t want to hear. ‘That’s hard to say,’ he admitted eventually. ‘From her point of view, the two things don’t seem to be connected. She planned to kill her husband and she did it coldly and methodically. It wasn’t in the heat of the moment, he wasn’t violent towards her, and she can hardly argue that she was protecting herself. If she could go back now and say she did it because she found out that Beresford had murdered her sister, that might make a difference – but she can’t. She’s been very clear about why she killed him, and if anything her honesty will hang her. Her attitude won’t go down well with a jury, even without the huge weight of public opinion against her.’ Josephine was quiet, and Archie looked at her in concern. ‘This is really troubling you, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it is. Marta warned me not to get too involved, and that’s exactly what I’ve
done. What you’ve just said brings it all back into perspective. You and I can sit here all night speculating and playing at being detectives – no offence meant – but it’s very real, isn’t it? It’s life and death for Vivienne, and that suddenly makes everything we’ve said sound stupid and naive. We’ve got absolutely no idea what happened – on coronation morning or ten years ago – and there’s no way of finding out.’

  ‘Don’t give up just yet,’ Archie said. ‘I think I’ll pay a little visit to Mr Whiting tomorrow morning.’ He grinned, and she forced a smile in return. ‘If you’re happy to leave that line of questioning to me?’

  ‘Of course I am. It’s about time you did something.’

  ‘Good. And in return, I’d like you to ask Vivienne Beresford why she left Paradise House so quickly that night. If it were my sister, I’m not sure I’d be so keen to go. I’ll be interested to know if it was her decision or her husband’s.’

  ‘All right. Will you let me know how you get on with Billy?’

  ‘As soon as I get back. Where will I find you?’

  ‘I’m back at the club for a couple of days.’ She was touched by how concerned he looked, and quickly explained. ‘There’s nothing wrong – not now, anyway. Just the opposite, in fact. Marta’s gone to Cambridge to look at houses.’

  ‘Marta’s moving to Cambridge?’

  ‘She’s thinking about it. She asked me to go with her, but I know she needs time on her own to come to terms with the place again. She was so happy there, and so desperately unhappy. Only she can decide which one will prove more lasting.’

  ‘And how would you feel about her moving out of London?’

  Josephine shrugged. ‘I don’t mind where she lives, as long as she’s happy and as long as we can be together. I’ve always got the club if I need to be in town, and Cambridge isn’t far.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. We can travel up together if Bridget ever invites me. Now – how about some supper?’

  She drained her glass and followed him through to the kitchen. ‘Is it safe for you to question Billy? What if your boss finds out?’