Gibbons raised a brow. “I don’t see what you expect to find out from her in the middle of a funeral.”
“Nothing,” said Bethancourt. “I just want to see how she behaves.”
“If you can see anything at all,” said Gibbons. “That funeral’s going to be a three-ring circus.”
Bethancourt waved this away. “It will be an event,” he said. “I imagine everyone in Chipping Chedding will turn out for it.”
“No doubt,” said Gibbons with a shrug and turned his attention to his dessert, which was just arriving.
CHAPTER 12
Gibbons’s prediction of a circus was not far wrong. Bethancourt reflected on it as he stood beside Astley-Cooper the next morning. The church was packed. People who would ordinarily never have come to Charlie Bingham’s funeral had come because he was murdered. Others who would not have turned out for a mere murder had come because Joan Bonnar would be there. The media was represented in full, and there were large numbers of people who simply could not be gotten into the church and were milling about outside, waiting for the coffin to make its final journey to the grave. Some of the younger people had even climbed the trees at the churchyard’s edge to ensure themselves a better view, and every man jack of the local police had been enlisted to try to control the crowds and deal with the parking and traffic problems.
The vicar had abandoned his tweed jacket and threadbare worn cassock for the appropriate vestments and appeared perfectly calm, going about the service as if it were any ordinary funeral. In the front pew, Leandra Tothill stood beside Eve Bingham, her dark gray coat making a poor showing alongside Eve’s elegant black Chanel suit. The strain was showing badly in Eve’s face and in the tense way she held herself; Leandra’s concerned eyes frequently strayed to her. Eve, however, gazed fixedly ahead at the vicar and the coffin. He stood behind.
On her other side stood a large, pleasant-faced man in a dark gray suit, whom Bethancourt had identified as Andrew Sealingham. Beside him was a small, vivacious-looking woman who was obviously his wife. Christopher Macklin was not present.
The pallbearers occupied the other front pew; Bethancourt knew only two of them. Steve Eberhart, the vet, was the tallest of them and looked solemn but at ease. In contrast, James Benson’s face was strained and nervous, the result, no doubt, of being without the support of either his sister or Martha Potts.
They were not far off, however. In the pew behind the pallbearers, Julie Benson and Mrs. Potts flanked Joan Bonnar. She had dressed carefully in a matching dress and coat of dark navy wool. On the collar of the coat was a small diamond-and-sapphire brooch; Bethancourt wondered if Bingham had given it to her. She was rigidly in control of herself, although her eyes were suspiciously bright at times. Mrs. Potts, on the other hand, let a few tears fall unashamedly; she wore a black outfit of ancient vintage. Julie had solved the whole problem of funeral wear by donning a dark brown coat and keeping it well-buttoned up. Her only emotion was mild distaste whenever her mother reached out for her.
There was no sign of Derek Towser, but Peg Eberhart stood on Bethancourt’s other side. Her eyes were also full of tears, although the majority of her attention was taken up with keeping the baby in her arms quiet. Bethancourt, who had a young nephew, assisted as best he could by fishing various distractions out of Peg’s capacious black patent leather purse, which was apparently standing in for the usual nappy bag.
Eventually, the vicar stopped speaking and the pallbearers moved forward. At the back of the church there was an indecorous commotion as some of the onlookers tried to get out first in order to have a good place at the graveside. The vicar raised his voice and put a firm stop to that, stating in no uncertain terms that the funeral procession would go first, followed by the orderly emptying of the pews. The ushers moved up to support this view, and Eve shot the vicar a grateful look.
The slow procession moved forward. Outside, the police were valiantly keeping the crowds back, leaving open a path from the church door to the graveyard. They had done their best to keep people out of the churchyard, but they could do nothing once the people from the church started filing in and others flooded after them. Soon the graveyard was jammed with a milling throng, all in search of some way to get a glimpse of the action. Several of them climbed up on gravestones to peer curiously over the heads of their fellows.
This was nothing new to Joan Bonnar. Her face was set and she paid no attention whatsoever to the interlopers. Astley-Cooper, however, was looking nervous as he and Bethancourt attempted to protect Peg Eberhart and her son from the worst of the crush around the gravesite. Others were also looking wary, their attention distracted from the vicar, who was saying a prayer from his station at the head of the grave.
The lowering of the coffin into the deep, squared hole roused everyone’s attention again. Eve Bingham stared at it, tears slipping silently down her waxen cheeks. She had a single rose clutched tightly against her chest, and once the coffin was lowered, she stepped forward and tossed the rose in after it. She stood gazing down into the grave for a long moment, making no attempt to wipe her tears away. When at last she turned away, the vicar and his wife came up on either side of her.
Bethancourt had lost sight of Joan Bonnar in the crush, but he saw her come forward after Eve had passed. She, too, held a flower, and she brought it to her lips before casting it into the grave with a beautifully dramatic gesture. Bethancourt did not think the gesture was deliberate; it came naturally to her.
Various other people began to file past the grave, but Bethancourt turned away with Astley-Cooper and Peg Eberhart.
“Are you going on to the vicarage?” Astley-Cooper asked her.
She nodded, shifting the baby from one arm to the other. “I’m meeting Steve there,” she said. “We can’t stay long—Steve has to drop me back at the cottage and change before he goes on his rounds.”
“Let me carry the baby for you,” offered Bethancourt.
“Thanks,” said Peg gratefully, handing over her offspring. “I didn’t want to bring his usual baby carrier or anything—they’re such bright, cheerful colors.”
The Tothills, at Eve’s request, were hosting the after-funeral gathering, with Constable Stikes on guard at the door to ensure that only those who had actually known Bingham were admitted. Most of the crowd was now slowly dispersing, preparing to create fresh traffic problems for the police to deal with. The media had congregated at the vicarage gate to get shots of the bereaved daughter and the grieving film star.
Eve had already passed into the house with the Tothills, but Joan Bonnar was only just approaching, accompanied by Mrs. Potts and a thin, gray-haired man whom Bethancourt thought must be the press agent, Watkinson. This was confirmed by the way he guided a silent Miss Bonnar past the media and their questions with practiced ease. The twins were nowhere to be seen.
It was unfortunate that several onlookers saw her enter. They immediately assumed that the vicarage was Miss Bonnar’s country retreat and began chipping bits off the fence for souvenirs and climbing into the garden in search of more. Constable Stikes put a stop to this desecration while endeavoring to keep one eye on the front door, which was instantly attacked by a couple of reporters. Stikes turned back to prevent their entry, thus giving the souvenir hunters the opportunity to sneak around the back. The situation was getting out of hand when a second constable, involved in trying to get the cars unparked and moving, noticed the trouble and went to help. He succeeded in evicting the rest of Miss Bonnar’s fans from the vicarage garden while Stikes maintained her guard at the door and equably watched the traffic situation deteriorate rapidly. As Bethancourt followed Peg into the vicarage, horns were beginning to sound frantically, and Inspector Adams of the traffic division was running up with fire in his eyes.
Inside the front hall of the vicarage, they met Leandra, evidently posted there as a second guard on the door. She welcomed them and pointed them toward the drawing room.
“Eve’s not down yet,” she said, “b
ut Richard’s in there serving coffee.”
There was already quite a crowd in the drawing room. Peg found her husband and Bethancourt returned the son and heir to his father. Then he followed Astley-Cooper toward where the vicar was handing out coffee behind a table loaded with small savories and fancy cakes. They complimented him on the service and Tothill shrugged.
“It went off as well as could be expected under the circumstances,” he said, pouring out. “Here you are, then. Cream and sugar down at that end.”
They moved off.
“I wish Miss Bingham would come down,” said Astley-Cooper. “I’d like to offer my condolences and get to a pub or something.”
Bethancourt nodded absently and glanced about the room. His eye fell on Andrew Sealingham, Bingham’s business partner, standing not far away. His genial features were set in appropriately sober lines and he had his eye on the door. His wife was not in evidence. Bethancourt eased over until he was standing next to him.
“Very sad, all this,” he said casually.
Sealingham turned to look at him. “Yes, indeed,” he agreed. He eyed Bethancourt quizzically, noting the tailor-made gray suit and silk tie. “I suppose you met Charlie down here?” he asked doubtfully.
“Actually,” confessed Bethancourt, “I didn’t know him. But my girlfriend knows Eve, and I happened to be staying down here with friends, so I thought I’d push along and offer condolences. Were you a very old friend of his?”
“Yes,” answered Sealingham. “We were in business together and very close. I hadn’t seen as much of him in recent years, of course, but we still wanted to come.”
“Then you must know his daughter, too.”
“Oh, yes.” Sealingham looked a little uncomfortable. “To tell the truth,” he said, lowering his voice, “I barely recognized her—she was still a girl when I last saw her and now she looks the way I remember her mother. My wife and I thought perhaps Evie could use a bit of support at a time like this, but it’s difficult to know what to say to a young woman you only knew as a child.”
Bethancourt sympathized and added that Eve seemed to be bearing up well. “It must be doubly hard for her,” he said, “knowing he was murdered.”
“Quite,” said Sealingham and frowned. “I really can’t understand that, you know,” he added. “Charlie could be a bit eccentric, but he was always very well-liked. He had a certain charm. I can’t imagine how anyone could have hated him enough to kill him.”
“Well,” said Bethancourt, “you said you hadn’t seen much of him lately. Perhaps he’d changed.”
“No, no.” Sealingham shook his head. “He stopped with us for a weekend when he returned to England, and he was still just the same. Characters like Charlie don’t change much, they just get more so as they age. You’re still a young man, but you’ll find as you get older that it’s true.”
Bethancourt assented to this and said that it was certainly all very mysterious.
“That it is. Ah, here’s my wife. Annie, dear, this young man is a friend of Evie’s. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
“Phillip Bethancourt,” he said, reaching to shake hands.
“Andrew Sealingham and my wife, Ann.”
Ann smiled. “Such a pity about Charlie,” she said. “I do wish now we’d made more of an effort when he came back, but of course we thought there’d be plenty of time to fit him back into our lives.”
“If he’d taken up my offer of an office down at the plant, we might have seen more of him,” said Sealingham.
“Offices were never Charlie’s thing, dear.”
“No, m’dear, you’re right there.”
They began to reminisce, and Bethancourt listened to stories of the old days while his eyes watched the room. Leandra had come in from the hall and made her way to her husband. She murmured in his ear and then Tothill nodded and moved away, his wife taking his place behind the coffee urn. Bethancourt, having finished his coffee, excused himself to the Sealinghams and edged his way back to the refreshment table.
“Hello,” said Leandra. “Can I get you a refill?”
“Yes, please,” said Bethancourt, handing over his cup. “How is Eve doing?”
Leandra sighed. “She’s pulled herself together,” she replied, “but I think she’s rather dreading coming down. I’ve sent Richard up to escort her.”
“I thought she bore up wonderfully,” said Bethancourt.
“She did, for the most part,” said Leandra. “But she came all to pieces when she saw the coffin actually going in. They often do,” she confided. “It’s the dreadful finality, I always think. Oh, here she is.”
Eve moved mechanically, the vicar at her elbow, but she seemed in control of herself again. Tothill steered her over to a chair, while Leandra excused herself to Bethancourt and brought over a cup of coffee, murmuring into Eve’s ear as she handed it to her. Eve smiled and thanked her, taking a careful sip.
“I think you’ve met the Eberharts,” came the vicar’s voice, as the vet and his family came over to offer condolences.
“Yes, of course,” said Eve. “Thank you so much for acting as pallbearer, Mr. Eberhart …”
She had herself in hand now, thought Bethancourt, and was taking refuge in formality.
“So sorry …” Peg Eberhart was saying, “ … very fond of Charlie …”
Bethancourt had said that this sort of thing was really meant for the bereaved, so that they could let their loved ones go amid the company and sympathy of friends, to ease them over the loss, and that was true. But none of these people were Eve Bingham’s friends and so it became an ordeal. He wondered why she had agreed to go through with it. After all, she would never see any of these people again; if they thought she was a barbarian for leaving them at the graveside, why should it matter to her? He could understand her having a desire to do right by her father, though it was rather out of character for the persona she presented to the rest of the world, but he was also aware that a murderess might have thought it would be suspicious not to do the usual thing.
He turned to find Leandra back behind the coffee urn.
“She’ll do now,” she told him in a low voice.
“I’m rather surprised she wanted to go through all this at all,” said Bethancourt. “I mean, it’s not as if she knows most of these people.”
“I was surprised myself,” said Leandra, “but Richard said she wanted to do it for her father, to show respect, I suppose. Richard said she seemed quite anxious all along that everything should be just as if she and Charlie had lived here for years. Oh, look—there’s the Eberharts off. I must go and see that everyone’s lining up nicely. Excuse me.”
Bethancourt nodded and moved to a vantage point by the fireplace. He slid his coffee onto the mantel and lit a cigarette. The vicar was introducing someone else to Eve, and she was saying something about a wreath. Hovering on the edge of this conversation was Joan Bonnar. She was alone now; Watkinson had disappeared and Mrs. Potts was chatting on the far side of the room with a plump woman in a purple dress whom Bethancourt did not recognize. As Eve was saying thank you for coming, Joan straightened, automatically smoothing her skirt, and approached. A moment ago she had been biting her lip, but now she appeared quite sure of herself.
“Ah, Miss Bonnar,” said Tothill, a smile belying the uneasy look in his eyes. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Miss Bonnar, Eve.”
“Of course,” said Eve steadily, holding out a hand.
“I’m very sorry about Charlie, Miss Bingham,” said Joan. “As you may know, I was … very fond of him myself. It’s a great pity we should meet under these circumstances—I had once rather looked forward to our meeting.”
Eve met her eyes, pausing for a moment. Then she said, “I’m sorry for you, too. You were probably closer to him these days than I was.”
“I was there,” said Joan simply, “but it was you who were always in his thoughts.”
“Thank you,” said Eve, barely audible.
Joan
inclined her head. She reached out and touched Eve’s shoulder and then turned away. Eve followed her with her eyes, even while Tothill was introducing someone else.
“There you are, Phillip,” said Astley-Cooper. “Let’s move up, shall we, so we can get it over with? At least you’ve met the girl before.”
“Yes,” agreed Bethancourt dryly, flinging his cigarette into the fireplace. “I met her while questioning her as to her whereabouts at the time of her father’s murder.”
“Oh, come,” said Astley-Cooper. “You said yourself you’re branded in her mind as Marla’s boyfriend. Besides, she wouldn’t hold it against you.” He chuckled. “She certainly didn’t hold it against Gibbons.”
Bethancourt eyed him suspiciously. “Did Marla tell you that?” he asked.
“Of course. She’s very amusing, that girl of yours, Phillip.”
“Very. I wouldn’t let that story get about, Clarence. It wouldn’t do Jack any good if it did.”
“My dear chap, who would I tell?” Wounded innocence suffused Astley-Cooper’s features.
“The whole of Chipping Chedding, probably,” muttered Bethancourt under his breath. “Come along—we can pay our respects now.”
While the sedate pace of life in Chipping Chedding was being disrupted, Gibbons and Carmichael were driving to London. They had been at the farmhouse earlier that morning, and were comparing notes as Gibbons guided the police Rover down the A40.
“So Watkinson confirmed what we thought?” asked Carmichael.
“What you thought, yes, sir,” answered Gibbons. “On the night of the murder, he stopped off at the Indian restaurant while Miss Bonnar went on to the house. In all, he thought it was about fifteen or twenty minutes before he joined her there.”
Carmichael grunted. “Plenty of time for her to drag Bingham’s body into the bedroom if she needed to. Unless, of course, she enlisted Watkinson’s help.”
Village Affairs Page 20
