‘Totally. Loves everything about them. Except having one himself.’ Pom laughed.
Parker was sniffing at a sodden book on the floor.
‘Robbie’s not married?’ Laura bent forward and picked it up.
‘Married to his work. He’s got a new venue in Northumberland. Fantail Hall, such a cool name. Says it’ll open up a whole new market in the North. He’s recruiting staff at the moment.’
‘So that’s why your sister said he’d be so cross. All the bother of dealing with an insurance claim here, when he’s so busy up there.’ She read the title, Hymns Ancient and Modern.
Pom crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders in the chill of the chapel. ‘I don’t want to seem disloyal to my sister, but agreeing to the lakeside wedding was a mad idea in the first place. I should have stood up to her.’
Laura clenched the hymnbook. Pom was such a nice girl and so delightfully indiscrete.
‘The lakeside ceremony went okay but then the bride fell out of the boat even though the water was only about two inches deep, so Tam had to take her into the house to have a bath and change. I know we’re not meant to go upstairs but she was covered in mud. Tam found her Lady Matilda’s old silk nightdress that was still in the cupboard. Then the bride came down screaming at me that she’d seen a ghost. She was probably drunk.’
Laura turned the hymnbook over noticing there was something stuck to the back of it. It was another, thinner volume. ‘Where was Tam?’ She peeled off the slimmer volume, looked at the cover then put both books down beside her.
‘Cleaning the bath I should think. Luckily they all had fun in the end and the bride said she loved the nightdress so we let her keep it.’ Pom giggled. ‘What’s that?’ she asked.
‘What?’
‘That other thing stuck to the hymn book.’ Pom pointed.
Laura hesitated and then picked it up and flicked through the pages. ‘It’s a Libyan passport.’ The photograph of a man stared out at them. She closed it and held it thoughtfully in her hand.
‘Honestly people are careless,’ Pom said. ‘I’ll put it with the rest of the lost property. I’d better be getting on anyway; we’ve got the plans for Friday to finalise.’
Laura handed her the document and they got up and walked out into the warm sunshine.
‘Luckily it’s a family of Sikhs from Birmingham,’ Pom continued. ‘So they don’t need the chapel.’
Laura left her outside the State of the Union office and hurried through the backdoor her mind abuzz. All the little things she had learned about Tam were coalescing like tributaries into a river and that river led out to a sea of suspicion. Feeling slightly dizzy at the speed at which her thoughts had progressed, she put her head round the kitchen door. There was no sign of Cheryl or Sir Repton so she carried on and found him in his office, his head resting on a mass of papers on his desk.
‘The assessors will come out tomorrow,’ he said, without raising his head. ‘Tam says she will deal with them. In the meantime the Christians will have to go back to using the church in Chipping Codswold. Oh weary with toil, I haste me to my bed.’ Sir Repton lifted his arm up and checked his watch. ‘Even though it’s only twelve o’clock.’
‘I think you’d better come back with me. Mind you, what the nutritionist from Age Related Inconvenience will have told Edward Parrott, who knows. There may be nothing to eat at Wellworth Lawns either. Poor Alfredo will go mad if he interferes with the menus again.’
As they walked up to the house, they saw Edward Parrott wearing a pair of yellow rubber gloves, and Mimi’s boyfriend, Tom standing by the ramp at the side of the steps to the front door.
‘But don’t you need it for the wheelchairs?’ Tom asked.
‘It’s the wheelchairs that are the problem. Like the mobility scooters, they promote inactivity. Residents must be encouraged to walk.’ He turned to Laura and Sir Repton. ‘Now Lady Boxford here is a prime example of one fighting the malaise of the aged. And Sir Repton, a walking stick I see? Make sure that you do not succumb and find yourself any more reliant – the Zimmer frame is the slippery slope, quite literally, that so often leads to a sedentary existence and then the inevitability of infection. Bed sores and other such pestilences. MRSA and it’s curtains for the lot of us.’
Sir Repton tucked the stick under one arm. ‘I’ll do my best, Edward.’
‘Coming to stay again?’ the manager continued. ‘Get the key to your old room from Mimi. Now Tom,’ he turned back to the handyman. ‘Get this ramp into the storeroom and then meet me in the recreation room. I want you to help unpack the treadmill that has arrived.’
Laura got Sir Repton settled back in and went to call on Strudel and Jervis. She followed Parker who followed Strudel from the kitchen into the sitting room.
‘I’m certain Matilda’s death is connected to Tam and the wedding business,’ she said, as Strudel decided where to place the plate of flapjacks she was carrying.
‘Matilda must have found out something,’ Laura continued.
‘Your feeling for the finding of clues is without parallel, but I am not seeing so much of evidence.’ Strudel put the plate down on a table by the sofa.
‘And what’s more I think Tam may be having an affair with Robert Hanley Jones.’ Laura carried on regardless. ‘Do we know how old he is Jervis?’
‘Fifty. She must go for the father figure,’ Jervis called out from where he was sitting at his computer. ‘Mind you with fifty being the new thirty it’s not so bad. Before you ask me, I haven’t got round to researching Ned Stocking yet, I’m afraid,’
‘But that would make Tam about two,’ Laura pointed out.
‘Yes, that analogy doesn’t quite work does it? But it makes sense them having an affair; she’s a director of his property company. Her real name’s Tamara Fettes.’
‘Interesting. And Pom, is she a director too?’ Laura asked.
‘Paloma? No, just Tamara.’
‘My goodness you’ve been busy Jervis. Can you Google a place called Fantail Hall; it’s going to be their next wedding venue.’
‘Half a tick.’
Laura and Strudel gathered round the screen as Jervis brought up Google Maps and zoomed in on the house.
‘I am feeling most sorry for these people in the north for having to be married in such a fabelwesen… a monster,’ Strudel said.
‘Strudel’s taste in architecture is not one of her strong points, is it my love? Do you remember when we went round Blenheim and you said it reminded you of the Reichstag building.’ Jervis snorted with laughter.
Laura leaned closer to the screen to get a better look. ‘It must be Grade One listed,’ she said. ‘But it’s got the same run down air of Mount Cod. Think how much it would cost to repaint all those window frames.’ She had a brief memory of the days of Chipping Wellworth Manor before double-glazing and the never-ending bills for upkeep.
‘Getting back to Robert Hanley Jones,’ Jervis continued. ‘Let me tell you an intriguing story I gleaned online about another of his wedding venues; Casswell Grange in Dorset. Look at this.’ Jervis clicked and a headline flashed up. “Casswell’s of Casswell Grange in Fatal Car Accident.”
‘It’s from the Daily Mail about a year ago, not long after the old couple had signed up with Robert Hanley Jones.’ Jervis got up, stretched and took a flapjack from the plate. ‘Sad but not unusual I hear you say, but the circumstances are not clearcut. They were out for a jolly when their car breaks down. So they’re being towed to a garage when a passing truck hits them. Bang. Lights out. But guess who’s towing them at the time?’ Jervis paced about, the flapjack in his hand.
Laura shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Robert Hanley Jones.’
She gasped. ‘You’re joking?’
‘No way of telling where the fault lay. The truck driver was concussed although he claimed to remember the two vehicles coming out of a side turning without warning and trying to slam on the brakes. Of course it was inadmissible and Robert Hanl
ey Jones swore it was a terrible accident.’ Jervis took a bite of flapjack. ‘Christ, Strudel.’ He spat it out. ‘Have you mixed up the salt with the sugar?’
Thinking it best to ignore the culinary mishap, Laura carried on. ‘Are you suggesting the accident could have been engineered?’ she said.
‘Again, oh dear.’ Strudel picked up the mess on the floor. ‘But what are you saying of this engineering?’
‘It’s not impossible, but the upshot was that the family were forced to sell up. Inheritance tax planning a shambles. That’s when I discovered old Mrs Casswell’s maiden name was Laverack. Amazing the kind of stuff you can find on the Daily Mail website.’
‘You mean a member of Matilda’s family? I wonder if Venetia knew her?’
‘A cousin I believe. Debrett’s online is pretty handy too. But now we get to the crux. Guess who steps in and snaps up the house before it’s gone on the open market?’
Laura nodded knowingly.
‘Robert Hanley Jones?’ Strudel said. ‘Jesus wept, as my Ronny would have said.’
‘Have you been checking the Daily Mail too? My poor love!’ Jervis turned to Laura. ‘I tried to keep it from her, but Strudel’s getting pretty internet savvy.’
‘There’s a warrant out for my Ronny’s arrest. They are tracking him down to a villa just outside Puerto Banus, but he is scarpering again.’ Strudel sat down on the sofa next to Parker, who was snoring loudly. ‘It is all making my nerves most frayed, but this Casswell Grange is a scandal I am feeling in my bones.’
‘I must tell Victoria.’ Laura said. ‘It may be too late to get Robert Hanley Jones on the Casswell case but I’m sure Vince will know what to do. We should tell him about Fantail Hall, and in the meantime I believe a little pressure on Miss Tamara Fettes will pay dividends.’
Chapter twenty-four
The air in the wedding planner’s office was static with tension. Laura had persuaded Sir Repton to convene the meeting with Tam and Pom on the pretext that the insurance company needed certain facts to process the flooding claim.
It did not take long before Laura had launched in on the offensive.
Tam gripped the edge of the desk. ‘And you are seriously suggesting that I had something to do with Lady Willowby’s death? This is preposterous,’ she said.
Laura kept her mind firmly focused on Tam’s upper lip. ‘Matilda found out that you were in league financially with Robert Hanley Jones and having successfully dispatched the Casswell’s, you and he intended to get your hands on Mount Cod and that meant getting rid of Matilda.’
‘The Casswell’s? What’s this about?’ Sir Repton said.
Laura hadn’t filled him in with all the details.
‘Repton, tell your friend that she’s completely mad,’ Tam protested.
‘But for my own part it is all Greek.’
‘Leave the talking to me, Repton.’ Laura returned her attention to Tam. ‘So having got rid of Matilda, you had to finish the job. But here you took a more pragmatic approach. Frightening Sir Repton with your fake apparitions would, you believed, hasten his departure, one way or the other.’ Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Parker sniffing a crate on the floor. ‘And further; by appearing as the ghost in front of the bride, you were insuring the haunting of Mount Cod became public knowledge thus further devaluing the property.’
She could just make out the label on one of the bottles. ‘Finding your name on the list of directors of Robert Hanley Jones’ property company,’ she continued, ‘was all the evidence I needed.’ Her heart raced faster as she realised it was Suffolk Mead.
‘Tell me it’s not true,’ Pom said.
Tam turned sharply to her sister. ‘That may be true but the rest is all a slanderous lie.’
‘You mean you’re on the board of JHJ?’ The colour was draining from Pom’s face.
Laura shifted in her seat, drew up her shoulders and turned to Pom. ‘Oh yes, your sister and your so-called boss, have been intentionally and systematically devaluing Mount Cod so that they could buy it cheap and turn it into a care home. But Lady Willowby found out.’
‘Robert Hanley Jones? Turn Mount Cod into a care home?’ Sir Repton cast around for assistance.
‘There’s nothing wrong with care homes,’ Laura said. ‘Now you sit quietly, I haven’t finished yet. My friend Jervis has done a fair bit of research into Robert Hanley Jones. The Casswell’s; a tragic accident? My foot. And Matilda would have known about it.’
‘Known what?’ Sir Repton asked.
‘Known about Robert Hanley Jones towing the poor old couple in their car into the path of the oncoming truck. Oh yes, Matilda saw through it. Watched as the family had to sell up; they were her cousins after all. That’s the reason Tam had to act.’
‘Her cousins?’ Sir Repton said.
‘You should take the Daily Mail, Repton, that’s how she knew.’
Tam turned to him and began to laugh. ‘Do you really expect anyone to believe her insane ramblings?’
Laura tried to keep calm, she knew the dangers of losing her temper but she could feel an uncontrollable urge to shout. She took a deep breath and lowered her voice an octave. ‘You deliberately tried to cover your tracks by implicating Sir Repton. Making out that he was careless; leaving his wife in precarious situations, losing his keys so that any amount of people had access to the house.’ Laura delved into her handbag, pulled out a lipstick and continued, somewhat inadvisably. ‘Yes you, Tam, were the one who intruded into her bathroom on that fateful day.’ She could feel her voice rising but there was no stopping her. ‘You,’ she continued. ‘Who had openly discussed euthanising your own grandmother with her. The flagrant cheek of it.’
‘We took my grandmother to Dignitas in Switzerland. She had motor neurone disease.’
‘That means nothing. You drowned Matilda in the bath. Then hid the nightdress she was wearing as she applied her makeup, only to replace it in her cupboard when it was dry. And then you gave it to that bride.’
Buoyed by her own eloquence, Laura got up and walked over to the crate. ‘But the serving wench conceit was a step too far, and I can prove it.’ She picked out a bottle and held it up, the label clearly visible. ‘This is proof if ever it was needed. Suffolk Mead.’
Tam clenched her fists on the desk. ‘You are demented.’
Sir Repton cowered.
Laura could see Tam’s knuckles whiten.
‘If you must know,’ Tam spat the words out. ‘The gypsies ordered that without telling me.’
Tam’s curt riposte cut Laura short. She looked at the bottle but was not put off. ‘We’ll see what the police have to say about that,’ she countered wildly. ‘And there’s no doubt in my mind that those mushroom spores Robert Hanley Jones planted in the cellar were a part of your plan.’
Tam’s jaw dropped. ‘What are you talking about now? Those are rare cepes we’re going to use for a canapé recipe.’
‘Cepes? You can’t fool me. You planted them to make it look like dry rot. Come on Repton, there’s no point hanging around here.’
‘Do sit down, you’re making my neck ache and I keep dropping stitches. I have to watch the needles when I’m knitting,’ Venetia said, as Laura paced up and down.
‘Thank goodness I managed to persuade Repton to go and rest; he’d only have muddled things up. Phil Sandfield should be here anytime now.’ She glanced out of her sitting room window half expecting to see him tramping over the lawn.
‘You’re very confident,’ Venetia said. ‘It doesn’t happen like that on Inspector Morse. Normally he listens to an entire opera and then what with driving that old car of his, he probably has to stop at the garage and get his gaskets fixed.’ Venetia put down her knitting. ‘You say you left a message at the station switchboard?’
‘Yes, the woman said he was coming out this way. What is that you’re making?’
Venetia held up the fat wooden needles and loosely woven purple square. ‘It’s going to be a picnic rug. I got the idea f
rom Kirsty. After I’ve finished knitting it, I have to boil it for some reason. I can’t quite remember why. I expect I’ll end up giving it to Parker for Christmas.’
‘What a kind thought, I used to love a picnic.’ Glyndebourne flashed into Laura’s mind. Cosi fan tutte with Tony and… who had the other chap been? She was just trying to remember when she heard a knock. She got up and opened the door. Phil Sandfield stood in the corridor, greasy cap in hand. Beside him, a young woman in uniform.’
‘Afternoon Lady Boxford,’ he said. ‘You remember WPC Lizzie Bishop don’t you?’
Laura could hardly forget the Inspector’s heavily mascaraed assistant. ‘Come in, Inspector, Miss Bishop. I knew you wouldn’t let me down. I’ve a lot to tell you.’ Laura introduced them to Venetia and offered them a seat.’
Venetia’s tucked her elbows in and continued knitting as Lizzie Bishop sat down on the sofa next to her. ‘My feet are killing me,’ Lizzie said, slipping off her shoes and wiggling her toes.
‘I’d prefer to stand thank you, Lady Boxford,’ Phil Sandfield said.
‘As you wish, I’ll get straight to the point. I expect you’ve heard of Sir Repton Willowby of Mount Cod.’
‘That’s why we’re here.’ Lizzie Bishop rubbed her calves.
‘If you wouldn’t mind Lizzie.’ Inspector Sandfield coughed and held his belly.
‘Has he rung you as well? How silly of him, I told him I’d do it. Did he tell you about the wedding planners?’
‘Miss Tamara and Miss Paloma Fettes.’
Laura sat down. ‘Tam and Pom, exactly.’ Parker jumped up on her lap and she began to stroke him.
‘I believe that they are commonly known as such.’ Inspector Sandfield nodded.
‘Good, so you are abreast of the situation?’
‘I have received a complaint, if that’s what you mean.’
‘From Sir Repton?’
‘Not from him, no, Miss Tamara has lodged a complaint of some seriousness in regard to yourself. You are not actually under arrest but I’d like you to accompany me down to the station for questioning.’
The Haunting of Mount Cod Page 16
