Murder in Midwinter

by Lesley Cookman

  “I hope my bequest will be of some help to you, my dear Arabella, and I regret that we did not meet during my lifetime.

  “Your affectionate aunt,

  “Maria May Alexander.”

  It was dated five years previously.

  Bella sat staring out of the window for a long time until the cat recalled her attention by changing position and kneading her knees through her jeans.

  ‘Ow! Stop that,’ she said, giving it a gentle push and standing up. It stretched and promptly jumped back on to the other chair.

  ‘Well, you obviously knew Maria.’ Bella told it. ‘What a pity you can’t talk.’ She sighed. ‘But you can’t stay here. I’ve got to go. Come on.’

  After she had put the protesting cat out of the back door, she refolded the letter and replaced it in its envelope before taking a final look round. Outside, she stepped back to have a good look at March Cottage and its six neighbours, all of which looked in good repair and quite attractive, now she came to think of it. The street, Pedlar’s Row, was only the length of the terrace of cottages and on the opposite side consisted of a high stone wall, over which hung variegated foliage suggesting a large and well tended garden behind. The village, all twisting lanes and a couple of small shops, which were now a high class delicatessen and off licence respectively, had a pub, The Red Lion, which hid round the corner of the high wall and Bella went inside.

  There was no one in the dark, flag-stoned bar, except a large, middle-aged man behind the counter.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I wondered if you had the number of a local taxi firm?’ asked Bella.

  ‘Over there,’ he said, waving a hand towards the end of the bar and retiring behind his newspaper.

  Bella dialled the number of the taxi service on her mobile and told them where to pick her up. She had ten minutes to wait, so decided to risk a half of lager instead of the longed for cup of tea.

  ‘I don’t suppose you knew Miss Alexander who lived round the corner in Pedlar’s Row?’ she asked as the landlord handed over her change.

  ‘Maria? I should say.’ He grinned. ‘Here, you’re not her niece, are you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Bella stared at him.

  He laughed. ‘Lor’ bless yer! She was always telling us that she was leaving her house to her niece. And the theatre, of course. “She doesn’t know, yet,” she’d say. “It’ll be a nice surprise for her.” I’ll bet it was, too.’

  ‘It certainly was.’ Bella took a sip of lager, surprised at how different it tasted in the middle of the afternoon. ‘So she used to come in here, did she?’

  ‘Oh, yes, reg’lar as clockwork, every evening about seven o’clock, she’d come in for her brandy. Then off she’d toddle about eight. Till last winter, of course.’ He looked gloomy. ‘The missus realised she ’adn’t been in and popped round. Lucky we knew about the spare key, or she could ’ave died then and there. Still, we got ’er to ’ospital all right. Not that she liked it there.’

  He looked up at Bella, a pained expression on his face. ‘We wanted to call you, but she wouldn’t tell us how to get hold of you, so we couldn’t. She said you didn’t know about her.’

  ‘That’s right, I didn’t. I can’t believe that I’ve gone all through my life not knowing I had an aunt.’ Bella shook her head and swallowed some more lager. ‘By the way, do you know anything about a black and white cat who must live near here? He came into the cottage with me.’

  ‘That’s Balzac. He was her cat. ’Er next door’s been lookin’ after ’im – except I don’t think she allows ’im inside.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Shame I can’t take him back with me.’ Bella finished her lager as she heard the taxi draw up outside. ‘I’ll be down again, soon, so I’ll call in again. Thanks.’

  ‘Pleasure.’ The landlord nodded. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  She hesitated. ‘I suppose –’ she began slowly, ‘you don’t let rooms?’

  The landlord shook his head. ‘No, love, sorry. Was you not goin’ to stay in the cottage?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet. Not to start with, anyway.’

  ‘I tell you where you could stay – over at Steeple Martin. There’s a nice little pub there – three rooms, I think they’ve got. Good food by all accounts.’

  ‘Is it far?’

  ‘About two miles. Reason I suggested Steeple Martin is they’ve got a theatre there. In a converted oast house. Woman over there runs it. Might know something about Maria’s theatre.’

  ‘Well, thank you Mr, er –’

  ‘Felton. Just call me George.’

  ‘George.’ Bella smiled. ‘Thanks again.’

  ‘Do you know the old theatre, the Alexandria?’ Bella asked, as the taxi drove back into the town, into tree-lined streets with shining pavements, battered by the rain which had started while Bella was in the pub and was building itself up in to a positive downpour.

  ‘Yeah. Why, do you want to go there?’ The taxi driver didn’t look at her.

  ‘Will it take us out of our way?’

  ‘It’s the other end of town, but it don’t matter to me.’

  ‘All right, then, yes please.’ Bella sat back and peered out of the window as the taxi turned and began to go back to the old part of town.

  ‘There.’ The taxi driver pulled in to the side of the road and put on his hand brake.

  The Alexandria stood alone, facing a small ornamental garden, the cliff and the sea to its right, the town ahead of it and to its left. It reminded Bella of a miniature pier pavilion that had been marooned, its pointed glass cupola smashed, the front boarded up behind important looking pillars. The pillars and the boards had been the recipients of the usual graffiti and fly posting, the whole looking gloomy and forlorn under the grey clouds and persistent rain.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Bella, sitting back in her seat. ‘I’ll go on to the station, now.’

  Two hours later she fitted her key in the lock and bent down to pick up the parcel of fish and chips.

  ‘Mum.’ Tony was there, enfolding her in a bony hug. ‘What have you got there?’

  ‘Chips.’ Amanda sniffed as she poked her head over his shoulder to give her mother a kiss. ‘Great.’

  ‘Let your mother get in, now.’ Andrew’s voice was avuncular, tolerant, someone playing a part. Bella winced. The children parted like the Red Sea and he loomed towards her.

  ‘Good journey?’ He planted a dry kiss on her lips. ‘You needn’t have bothered with fish and chips. We’ve eaten.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t,’ snapped Bella and bent wearily to pick up her holdall, no one else having thought to relieve her of it.

  ‘Here, Mum, I’ll take that.’ Tony grabbed the greasy parcel and bore it off towards the kitchen. ‘Did you get some for us?’

  ‘Yes.’ Bella dumped her holdall on the kitchen floor and pulled out a chair. ‘I’m whacked.’

  ‘Shall I put the food out?’ Amanda lounged through the doorway, chewing idly on the end of her school tie.

  ‘Yes, please, darling. And could you put the kettle on?’

  Andrew pulled out another chair and sat down opposite her at the table. ‘So, tell me. How did it go?’

  ‘All right. I saw the cottage. March Cottage, it’s called, in Pedlar’s Row, Heronsbourne. I also found out she’s left me a derelict theatre. So I found out where that was, too – is, rather. It hasn’t been used for years, but it’s still there.’

  ‘Come now.’ Andrew was big, bluff and superior. She could see him stopping himself from saying “little woman” and patting her on the hand – or the head. ‘A theatre? Prime real estate, would it be? And your father knew nothing about it?’

  ‘I don’t honestly know. I suppose so, but he never mentioned it to me, or to mum. I didn’t know until the will, you know that.’

  ‘I think it’s exciting.’ Tony put a plate of fish and chips in front of her, tastefully decorated with bits of greaseproof paper. She peeled them off.

  ‘Can I have some?’ Amanda was
hovering over the open parcel on the draining board. ‘Go on about the theatre.’

  ‘Well, there isn’t much more to tell.’ Bella chewed a mouthful of fish and extracted a bone. ‘It’s there, although I didn’t see inside it, it’s mine, and I don’t suppose there would be a problem if I wanted to re-establish it as a theatre. About the licence and all that.’

  She became aware of the silence as she finished the next mouthful and looked up. Tony and Amanda were studiously avoiding Andrew’s set face.

  ‘Re-establish it?’ he asked finally. ‘What do you mean?’

  Bella didn’t actually know what she meant. It had just come out.

  ‘Er, well – re-open it. You know.’ She returned to the rapidly cooling fish. She didn’t want to discuss the Alexandria now.

  ‘No, I don’t know.’ Andrew pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘I thought the whole idea was to see what the cottage was like in order to sell it – see if we could realise some capital on it.’

  Amanda leaned between them and put down a mug of tea. ‘We’ll be in the front room, Mum,’ she said tactfully, and vanished.

  Bella pushed her plate away and pulled her tea towards her, recognising the inevitable. There was to be a row – decreed by Andrew.

  ‘I don’t think I ever said that.’ She refused to meet his eyes. ‘I just said I wanted to go and find it.’

  ‘Yes – but I assumed you’d sell the cottage. And this theatre –’ he gave it undue emphasis ‘– I mean – what on earth would you do with a derelict building in Kent? You couldn’t live there.’

  ‘Not in the theatre, no.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Bella? You’re not seriously suggesting we move there, are you? What on earth for?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Bella was exasperated. ‘I haven’t really thought about it yet.’ She stood up. ‘I’ve only just got in, for heaven’s sake.’

  Andrew stood back, glowering at her. ‘We’ll talk about it later, then. After you’ve unpacked.’

  ‘I’m not going to unpack just yet.’ Bella swept past him, ignoring his thunderstruck expression. ‘I can’t be bothered.’

  ‘Where are you going? What about the plates?’

  ‘You can do them, if you like. Or I’ll do them in the morning. It doesn’t matter.’ She steeled herself against the barrage of words that was sure to come – but surprisingly, didn’t. Round One to me, she thought, and wandered in to the front room to talk to the children.

  It was much later, in bed, when Andrew returned to the subject. Bella didn’t mind, because if she annoyed him he wouldn’t pester her.

  ‘So what’s all this about a little theatre, then?’ She could hear the indulgent smile in his voice.

  ‘All what?’ she asked, turning a blank face towards him. She watched the twitch of annoyance, quickly smoothed away, as he settled his naked body more comfortably under the duvet, turned slightly towards her.

  ‘Well, opening it. That’s what you said, didn’t you? Or did you mean you would hand it over to the local council to run?’

  ‘I don’t know, Andrew. I haven’t thought it through, yet, as I told you. All I could think about on the train home was that I owned a theatre. That is very exciting, you know, especially for someone like me.’

  He turned heavily on to his back.

  ‘What do you want to do, then? Run an am-dram group down there, or something?’ He clasped his hands behind his head irritably. Out of the way there, thought Bella with satisfaction.

  ‘Hardly,’ she said out loud. ‘That’s difficult enough here. I couldn’t do it down there. No,’ she said, turning her back on him and switching off her bedside light. ‘It would be professional.’

  The silence that followed this remark – which had surprised Bella quite as much as it had surprised Andrew – went on for so long that Bella began to get worried. Could people have silent heart attacks? she wondered.

  ‘I don’t understand you.’ Andrew’s voice was tight. ‘Are you saying you will lease it to the council after all?’

  ‘I don’t … think so,’ said Bella, slowly. ‘I think I’d like to look in to running it myself.’

  ‘But how?’ Andrew came nearer to a screech than he ever had in his life. ‘You couldn’t run it from here.’

  ‘No.’ Bella was thoughtful. ‘But I could commute.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. For a start, where would the money come from? You can’t set up a venture like that without working capital – and I certainly haven’t got any to spare. This family takes up every penny and more, as you know.’

  I know, thought Bella. You’re always telling me.

  ‘So, tell me. Where would you get the money?’ He raised himself up on his elbow to lean over her and she buried her head more firmly in the pillow.

  ‘I don’t know, Andrew, I’ve told you. I’ve got to think about it. Just leave me be.’

  ‘When you’ve thought about it, you’ll see I’m right.’ He reached a hand down and patted her shoulder. ‘Impossible to live there or do anything with the theatre. Far better to sell them both. Cottage in the country, great as a second home, and where’s the theatre?’

  ‘On the seafront,’ said Bella tiredly.

  ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘Brilliant. Get it valued. We might even be able to get a little place in Spain, or somewhere. Bulgaria’s supposed to be nice, isn’t it? And much cheaper.’

  Oh, yes, thought Bella. It would have to be much cheaper.

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ said Bella. ‘I can’t do anything until probate’s granted anyway, and I’d like to find out a bit more about my aunt and my grandmother before I let everything go.’

  He threw himself over with his back to her and yanked the duvet away from her shoulders.

  ‘Well, do let me know what you’ve decided, won’t you?’ he muttered, and let out a gusty, disapproving sigh.

  Bella was up before Andrew in the morning, cutting sandwiches for the children when he came into the kitchen tying his conservative blue and red striped tie.

  ‘Tea?’ he asked, riffling through the pile of post on the table. Bella gritted her teeth and pushed a mug of tea across the kitchen table before turning back to the bread. ‘Do you want an egg? I’m doing one for Tony.’

  ‘No, thanks. I was up a pound or two yesterday at the club.’

  Bella glowered sideways at his stocky but well-toned figure. ‘Bloody squash,’ she muttered under her breath. Andrew didn’t hear and retuned the radio to Radio Four.

  ‘Oh, Dad.’ Amanda slouched in to the kitchen. ‘Do we have to listen to that rubbish?’

  ‘Better than your rubbish.’ He sat down and poured himself a bowl of health-conscious cereal. Amanda regarded it with dislike.

  ‘Here are your sandwiches, Manda.’ Bella handed them over. ‘Sorry they’re a bit thick.’

  Amanda shrugged. ‘’Salright. Can I have some money for the way home?’

  ‘Money?’ Andrew looked up. ‘What for?’

  ‘They always have some extra pocket money on Fridays.’ Bella scrabbled in her bag for her purse. ‘They always have. You know that.’

  ‘I do not.’ Andrew chased the last soggy flake round his bowl and Amanda sighed theatrically and raised her eyes to the ceiling. Bella handed over some money and went to the kitchen door.

  ‘Tony. Are you dressed yet? And have you got your rugby gear?’

  ‘Yes.’ An impatient and muffled reply came from the bathroom, followed quickly by size ten feet coming down the stairs two at a time.

  ‘Sandwiches?’ He grabbed them from the table and thrust them in to an already bulging sports bag. ‘I’ll be late tonight, Mum, I’m going to Danny’s after rugger.’

  ‘No “Please may I?” I suppose?’ Andrew stood up with a teeth grating scrape of his chair.

  ‘He is seventeen, Andrew.’ Bella found some more money and gave it to Tony. ‘Get your coat on, Manda.’

  ‘Hang on.’ Andrew slid his arms in to his suit
jacket and smoothed down his hair. ‘I’ll give you both a lift to the bus stop.’ He went into the hall to pick up his briefcase and Bella and the children exchanged surprised glances.

  ‘Come on, then,’ he called from the front door. ‘See you later, Bel.’

  Bella was mildly astonished when her daughter came up and gave her a hug.

  ‘We missed you, Mum,’ she whispered.

  When they had gone, Bella sat down at the table with a fresh mug of tea feeling as though she had shrivelled up like a prune. All the fight had gone out of her and Andrew had completely forgotten about her minor rebellion of the previous evening. Pointless, really, wasn’t it? She giggled. How absurd it sounded now, in the cold light of day in her own kitchen. Why had she thought she could do it? She couldn’t even plan a holiday without Andrew’s help, so why had she thought she was capable of such a gargantuan undertaking as the restoration and re-opening of a theatre?

  She rested her chin in her hands and gazed out at the grey morning. The truth was that she hadn’t thought about it, it had just popped out last night in response to Andrew’s obvious disapproval. When she thought about it logically, of course she couldn’t de-camp to Kent leaving the children here with Andrew, who was so palpably out of his depth with them.

  But she thought about it all morning while she got dressed, cleared up the kitchen and tried to tidy away all the evidence of two days away from home. She talked to herself as she wiped round the washbasin, collected damp towels and fished socks out of the waste bin and collected magazines and papers in the sitting room.

  After raiding the fridge at lunchtime and coming up with nothing but a lettuce and some cold potatoes, she decided to go early to the supermarket. The inside of her ancient Fiat was like a fridge until the dodgy heating system turned it into a blast furnace bringing her out in an uncomfortable film of perspiration which the open window did nothing to combat. By the time she had collected her trolley and pushed it in to the air conditioned bliss of the supermarket her hair was sticking limply to her forehead and the back of her neck and she was scared to lift her arms and reveal possible dark patches. Shopping was very difficult if you could only take things from below shoulder height.