Gideon shook his head. ‘Nothing. I’ve told you everything.’
‘Perhaps you’d go through it again for me . . .’
‘I went over it again with Coogan, just two days ago.’
‘Nevertheless, if you don’t mind,’ Rockley said placidly.
Gideon swallowed his frustration and complied. After all, the police had a job to do, and he wanted Damien’s killer found, as much as anyone. The constant repetition, though, was keeping the horror fresh in his mind.
‘And other than the dog walker, you didn’t see a soul?’ Rockley asked when he’d finished.
‘No.’
‘And on your previous rides, can you remember whether you saw anyone then? Maybe more than once?’
‘No, sorry. If we did, then I don’t remember. Do you have any ideas about the motive yet?’
‘We always have ideas – it’s finding the right one that’s the problem.’
‘In other words – mind your own business,’ Gideon observed. ‘I suppose it’s no good asking if you’re making any progress?’
‘The release of information has to be very carefully thought out,’ Rockley told him. ‘A careless word could warn our murderer that we were onto him. He might destroy evidence or even flee the country. It’s safer to say nothing.’
‘On the TV they said you were looking for the drivers of a white van and a red hatchback . . .’
‘Only to eliminate them from the investigation. We made a list of vehicles that people remembered seeing in the lay-by on the main road, and so far those are the only two we haven’t traced, but to be honest, if the owners don’t choose to come forward, there’s not much we can do. It won’t necessarily be important.’
‘So, do you think this is related?’ Gideon waved a hand towards the house.
Rockley pursed his lips. ‘Can’t say for sure, at this point, but the possibility can’t be ignored. Unfortunately this kind of burglary is all too common, as you probably know, targeting a house when the family are at a funeral. The Danielses did the right thing in leaving someone to keep an eye on the house but it seems, in this case, that the thieves were prepared for that.’
‘So, does that make a connection more likely?’
Rockley shrugged. ‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. We’ll know more in a day or two.’
3
GIDEON LEFT PUDDLESTONE Farm as the rest of the family and staff began to return from the reception. It was late afternoon, and he called Giles on his mobile to reassure him that he hadn’t driven the Merc into a ditch – or anything else, for that matter.
‘If you’re not doing anything, why don’t you come for supper?’ Giles was apparently none the worse for wear, which didn’t surprise Gideon. He seemed to have been born with an astoundingly hard head where alcohol was concerned, and had been notorious at university for being able to drink anyone under the table.
‘I’d say yes but I’m not sure whether Eve’s coming over.’
‘If she is, bring her along. I was going to show you the plans for the launch, and with her background she might have some useful suggestions.’
Eve was very much her own woman, and Gideon hesitated to make plans on her behalf. He’d have liked to ask whether Lloyd would be there, but good manners forbade it.
‘I’ll see, but I’ll get the Merc back to you, whatever.’
‘OK, well let me know.’
When Gideon finally turned between the stone gateposts at the end of the drive to Graylings Priory, the first thing he saw, parked outside the Gatehouse, was Eve Kirkpatrick’s cream-coloured Aston Martin. He stopped the Mercedes behind it, shaking his head in mild exasperation at the haphazard way she had parked. Never one to slot into one space if there were two available, she had left the rear end of her expensive sports car jutting some eighteen inches out into the lane, just asking to be hit by a careless driver. Admittedly, it was a private drive, but Gideon knew she’d have parked the same way anywhere. His own Land Rover was parked on the short drive in front of the shed-cum-garage.
The lights were on in the Gatehouse, one burning in almost every room, as far as Gideon could see, and smoke curled from the central chimney pot.
‘Hi,’ he called, opening the heavy oak front door.
‘Hiyah.’ The response came from the kitchen, at the back of the house, and Eve came through to the hall, tall and stately, with a glass of red wine in her hand. Born of an English father and Jamaican mother, she was six feet tall and had olive skin and wavy black hair that, worn loose, reached the small of her back. More striking than beautiful, she was forty-two, the widow of a property developer, and had been left, by her own admission, quite disgustingly well off. She worked from choice rather than need, and the small art gallery she ran had become one of the most prestigious on the south coast.
‘This isn’t half bad,’ she said, holding the glass up. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘Giles,’ Gideon said, putting a hand down to greet Zebedee who came, wagging delightedly, to meet him.
‘You’ve been a long time. How did it go?’ Eve asked, leaning forward to kiss Gideon on the cheek. ‘Sorry I couldn’t make it.’
‘The service went OK, but there was a bit of a drama afterwards,’ he said, going on to tell her about the break-in at the farm. ‘Actually, I’ve just been talking to Giles. I’ve got to take the Merc back, and he wondered if we’d like to come to supper – both of us.’
‘That’s kind of him,’ she said in her rich, musical voice. ‘What time?’
The evening was as pleasant as it could be, following, as it did, on the heels of such a day. They dined ‘in state’ as Giles dubbed it, in the wood-panelled dining room, with candles for light and a CD of Gregorian chants playing softly in the background.
Eve, a child of the Sixties, was dressed, as often, in long flowing garments of Indian cottons and silks, this evening in gold and amber, which lent her whole being a kind of ethereal glow in the soft light. Around her neck hung a huge red and gold pendant, and countless bangles and bracelets jangled on her wrists. Gideon thought she looked like a dancer from some Eastern land, and felt a warm contentment that it was his bed she was sharing, that night.
Lloyd was there but, for once, his presence didn’t grate on Gideon. He seemed a little preoccupied, and Gideon wondered if it was reaction to the service, overindulgence at the wake, or a combination of the two. Pippa sat next to him, her jeans and lambswool jumper a sharp contrast to Eve’s ethnic finery. Gideon caught her eyes on the older woman a couple of times, and wondered what she was thinking. Being based primarily on a mutual sexual attraction, his four-month-old relationship with Eve was mostly a thing of the night, and it was pretty much the first time Giles and his sister had had a chance to get to know her properly.
The conversation during the first course was inclined to dwell on the events of the day, but as the lamb pasties were polished off and fruit salad passed round, Giles changed the subject to that of his latest business venture.
After years of flirting with first one outrageous idea, then another, he had finally come up with a possible winner. The Graylings estate had, amongst many other resources, several acres of extremely productive orchards, said to have been planted by the Franciscan brothers who’d inhabited the original priory, long since gone. A certain amount of scrumpy cider had always been made, but a foray into the world of winemaking had led to Giles blending apple juice with the grapes from the age-old vines in the greenhouses, and developing a light, sparkling apple wine that he was now preparing to launch onto the market under the name Graylings Sparkler.
They had, in fact, been drinking Sparkler with their meal, and to Giles’ delight, Eve, who had a far more discerning palate than the rest of them, had pronounced herself agreeably surprised.
‘To be honest, I expected it to be nothing more than a glorified cider,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s really rather good. There’s grape in there too, isn’t there?’
‘Just a little.’
‘It works
,’ she said, and Gideon knew that she wouldn’t have said it unless she meant it.
‘I’ll buy a case,’ Lloyd agreed, nodding.
Pippa gave him a dig in the ribs. ‘You’d buy anything remotely alcoholic,’ she said, laughing.
‘You make me sound like some old soak,’ he protested. ‘I only buy what I like – it’s just that I tend to like most things.’
‘So how are you planning to promote this?’ Eve enquired of Giles, ignoring the other two.
Given this invitation, Giles immediately started to run through his plans for the launch and marketing of the wine, which kicked off with a grand reception at the Priory in just over a week’s time.
‘You’ve invited the press and local hoteliers, I presume?’ Eve broke in, arching black brows drawn down over equally black eyes.
‘Yes, and the local TV and radio stations.’
‘Good. What are you feeding them?’
‘Just canapés and stuff. Pippa’s taking care of that,’ Giles told her, and they became immersed in the details.
Eve was clearly in her element. Her deceptively languorous air hid a razor-sharp mind, and Gideon guessed there was nothing she would like better than to be planning a marketing coup.
Be careful, Giles, he thought, as he watched the pair. You’ll find you’ve got yourself a business partner before the night’s out.
When the supper party broke up, just before one o’clock, the sky was clear and moonlit, and Gideon and Eve turned down the offer of a lift back to the Gatehouse in favour of walking the quarter-mile or so.
As the door shut behind them, Eve wrapped her long, woolly coat around her and, tucking her arm through Gideon’s, said, ‘I like Giles and Pippa.’
‘Good,’ he responded, trying not to dwell on the way Lloyd’s arm had wrapped possessively around Pippa as they’d turned back into the house.
‘Have you ever dated her?’ Eve asked after a moment.
‘Who, Pippa? No. We’re just friends. I’ve known them for ever.’
‘You don’t like her being with Lloyd.’
‘I don’t think he’s good enough for her.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Yes . . . Why?’
Eve didn’t answer. For a moment there was only the sound of their footsteps crunching on the gravel, then she said, ‘I don’t think they’re in love.’
‘Lloyd and Pippa?’ Gideon was surprised. ‘But he’s obviously staying the night.’
‘So am I,’ she pointed out.
The following morning brought a telephone call from Tilly Daniels.
It was past nine and Gideon had been lying in bed listening to the birdsong outside his window and enjoying the play of the sunshine on his closed eyelids.
He opened his eyes. Beside him, Eve lay sprawled on her back, apparently asleep, her dark hair tousled on the pillow and her long lashes touching the smooth caramel skin of her cheeks. She had only the faintest of laughter lines and no hint of silver in her black mane; Gideon imagined she’d probably look the same for another fifteen or twenty years.
The phone trilled on the bedside cabinet on Eve’s side of the bed, and without opening her eyes she reached out a slim brown arm and located it, handing it across to Gideon.
‘Hello?’
‘Gideon? It’s Tilly here – Tilly Daniels. It’s not too early, is it?’
‘No – not at all,’ Gideon said. ‘How can I help?’
‘Well, it’s about Nero. I was lying awake last night, worrying about him. The thing is, you and Damien were getting on so well with him, but since . . . well, you know . . .’
‘Yeah, sure.’
‘Well, since then he’s been a real pig, and I’m not sure I can cope with him. It’s partly the lack of time. One of my lads didn’t turn up for work yesterday and I’ve still got a yardful of horses to deal with – except for a couple whose owners whisked them away as soon as they heard about Damien. Nero needs more attention than I can give him, and the lads that I’ve got left aren’t too happy about managing him . . .’ Her voice tailed off.
‘And you’d like me to have him for a while, and continue his training,’ Gideon said.
‘I hate to ask, but would you, Gideon? It’d be a weight off my mind. I don’t really want to sell him – even if I could in his present state – because Damien thought such a lot of him, but just at the moment . . .’
‘Well, I’ll have to check with Pippa, but I’m pretty sure she’s got room.’
‘Oh.’ Uncertainly. ‘I didn’t realise – I mean, I just assumed you had stables yourself.’
‘I’m sure there won’t be a problem. Listen, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.’
Eve was already out of bed as Gideon leaned over to put the handset back. Yawning, she wrapped a black satin housecoat around her and padded across to the door, winding her hair into a knot in preparation for her shower.
‘You don’t have to get up, if you don’t want to,’ he told her.
‘Oh, but I do,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’ve got a gallery to open and I’m late as it is. I’ll only be five.’
As predicted, Pippa raised no objections and the Daniels’ cream and brown horsebox delivered the problem horse just after three that same afternoon. Tilly backed the vehicle right up to the stone arched entrance to the Priory stableyard, so that Nero, should he somehow get free, would only have the run of the yard.
‘Thanks guys, this is brilliant – such a help,’ she called, jumping down from the cab as Pippa and Gideon went to meet her.
‘That’s all right,’ Pippa said. ‘How are you? Gideon told us about the break-in; how awful!’
‘Yeah, it’s been pretty bloody, but at least they didn’t take too much.’
‘How’s your mum?’ Gideon asked.
‘Much quieter, thanks. She’s still sedated but at least she’s finally facing up to everything. We were beginning to wonder if she ever would. It’s been awful, and what makes it worse is not being able to have Damien’s body for a proper funeral. It makes it hard to move on, you know?’
From within the lorry came a heavy banging as Nero began to complain at being kept waiting, and Tilly made a face.
‘Oh, he’s done that all the way over. Every time we stopped at a junction he’d start up: bang, bang, bang. It was almost driving me mad!’
‘Well, let’s get him in. Have you got time for a cuppa before you start back?’ Pippa enquired.
‘Oh, I’d love one,’ Tilly said, going round to the back of the lorry. ‘Where do you want him?’
‘In the end box,’ Gideon said. ‘Shall I bring him down?’
‘Be my guest.’
Nero had worked up a sweat and came out of the lorry with a rush, pulling right to the end of the extra-long lead rope Gideon had fastened to his headcollar. Once in the yard he went into rapid reverse, his head held high and shod hooves drumming a frantic tattoo on the cobbles. Gideon went with him for a few strides, offering no resistance and avoiding eye contact until the brown horse backed himself into a corner and stopped. Then, still not looking directly at Nero, he moved slowly up the rope, soothing him with a steady stream of nonsense. Gradually the animal’s head came down and when Gideon was finally close enough to reach out a hand and rub him between the eyes, Nero sighed and relaxed.
‘All right now? Come on, you daft bugger,’ Gideon said. ‘Let’s go and see your new home.’
With the horse safely installed, Tilly fetched his saddle and bridle from the lorry, and Pippa followed with a big canvas bag containing a number of rugs and blankets.
‘He has to have his own saddle because he’s got such a high wither,’ Tilly said, meaning the bony part of a horse’s anatomy, at the base of its neck. ‘And we always keep separate rugs for each horse, so I’ve brought those, too.’
Ten minutes later, happy that Nero was settling, the three of them made their way across the yard, through the boot room and into the huge kitchen, where heat from the old-fashioned range banished the c
hill of the cold wind outside.
The Priory kitchen was one of Gideon’s favourite places on earth. Cavernous and cosy at one and the same time, it had dark beams, warm ochre-painted walls and a wide, diamond-paned window over the biggest earthenware sink he’d ever seen. The uneven stone floor was scattered with rugs and supported, among other things, a range of cupboards and shelves, an oak table, three armchairs that had seen better days, and two dog beds.
Giles was already in the kitchen and, anticipating their need, had the kettle boiling. His greeting woke the dogs, who’d been occupying both beds and armchairs, and for a moment all was chaos as five assorted canines pressed forward to welcome them.
‘Oh, my goodness! What a crowd!’ Tilly exclaimed. ‘Are they all yours, Pippa?’
‘No, one of them’s mine,’ Gideon admitted, adding, ‘the well-behaved one,’ whereupon he was immediately shouted down by Pippa and Giles.
‘Hallo, sweetie, what’s your name?’ Tilly said, leaning down to fondle the ears of Pippa’s black Labrador.
‘That’s Fanny,’ Giles told her. ‘The two handsome Jack Russells are Yip and Yap – they’re mine. The other two are Fanny’s pups; the black one is Bella, and the brindle monster is Zebedee – he belongs to Gideon.’
‘They’re gorgeous. I love dogs but Damien’s allergic – was allergic – so we’ve never had one. We could have done with a couple in the house yesterday . . . But Zebedee? Why on earth Zebedee?’
‘Because he bounces,’ Gideon explained. ‘You remember The Magic Roundabout?’
They talked dogs while Giles made and served the coffee, but after a while they drifted inexorably back to the subject of the break-in.
‘Honestly, it’s just the lowest of the low,’ Pippa said. ‘And Gideon said they let the horses out. Did you get them back OK?’
Tilly nodded. ‘It was only two of them. Megan – she’s our Girl Friday – found one of them straight away – he’d only wandered a little way down the lane and started eating grass – but she couldn’t find the other one anywhere. She was distraught, poor girl! I mean, what a nightmare – left in charge and twenty minutes later two of the horses go missing!’
Time to Pay Page 5
