A Grave in the Cotswolds

by Rebecca Tope

  ‘Um…’ I said. ‘I don’t think… I mean, I have to get home. I can’t just abandon everything for days on end. If the police don’t come up with something definite by tomorrow afternoon, they’ll either have to let me go home, or charge me with something.’

  ‘Aren’t you already charged with something? They wouldn’t bail you otherwise, would they?’

  I shook my head, to try to clear my thoughts. ‘They did charge me, yes. But I don’t think they can actually insist I stay close by. It’s only for their convenience. I really will have to go home tomorrow.’

  ‘OK. But we can still go to the commune on Saturday. I can meet you there. It can’t be far from where you live.’

  ‘No,’ I agreed, feeling strangely unhappy. ‘It’s about twenty-five miles.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

  ‘Lots of things. This is not an ideal situation to be in. I keep wondering where I went wrong.’

  ‘Waste of time,’ she said airily. ‘What you should be doing is working out what to do next. Take control. Make things happen.’ She reached for the wine bottle, which we’d opened but not yet started, and poured out two large glasses full. ‘Here,’ she invited. ‘This’ll make you feel better.’

  I sipped it warily. ‘Doing what you say, I’ll only get myself into worse trouble.’ I sounded useless, even to myself.

  ‘How much worse can it get?’ She gave me a teasing smile, her head tilted sideways, making me think of Stephanie.

  ‘According to you, the police can make their forensic findings fit their theory that I’m the murderer, and I can end up serving thirty years in prison. Isn’t that bad enough?’

  ‘I didn’t quite say that.’

  ‘You implied it. And it’s probably true. If I hadn’t been such an idiot as to get lost after I’d made those phone calls, I’d be perfectly all right. As it is, it looks exactly as if I saw Mr Maynard, followed him into that bit of woodland and bashed him with a stone. It would only take five minutes, and then I went back to you and had lunch as if nothing had happened.’

  ‘They have to find evidence that you did that.’ She looked doubtful, as if the full force of this hypothesis had only just struck her.

  ‘If they look hard enough, they’ll find it. I did walk that way. I had argued with the bloody man. Your daughter can testify to that.’ I was too polite to remind Thea that it was her Jessica who had originally marked me out as the likely killer.

  ‘Well, I can testify that you looked perfectly normal when you got back here. Only slightly out of breath and not a bit bloodstained. I already told them that, actually.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Anyway, it’s time for our supper now, and we can light one or two candles. It’s nearly seven o’clock. I can’t see a thing.’

  Night had fallen gradually, and although our eyes had adjusted to the fading light, there was no way we could see to find anything, or cross the room without collisions with furniture. Thea lit two candles and we ate our little meal, finishing the wine rather quickly, still discussing the murder and the people of Broad Campden.

  It was probably about half past seven when we fell silent, and I found myself watching her face in the flickering, flattering light. My irrepressible body was misbehaving worse than ever and I felt a growing panic about how we were going to get through a whole night without something outrageous happening. I summoned the faces of my wife and children, my inevitable shame and fear at what I had done, the horror of being found out, as I surely would be. Besides, I assured myself, Thea herself would have far more sense than to let such a thing happen. She knew the situation, she would feel sisterly solidarity with Karen. There wasn’t really any danger at all.

  But somehow our eyes had become locked together, and I found myself sinking into the brown depths of her gaze. The normal controls were weakening, my mind no more than a quiet little voice nagging somewhere in the distance. But Thea’s controls were evidently stouter than mine. She pulled back and blinked, severing the eye contact. I was still giving instinct too much rein, when I was saved.

  Like a sudden bucket of cold water, or the outraged voice of God, someone started loudly knocking on the front door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I got up and started across the room to answer it, before Thea hissed at me. ‘No! Let me. You’re not supposed to be here, remember. Go in the kitchen, quick.’

  Stumblingly, I obeyed her, hiding in the dark, but listening intently for whatever was to follow. Why was I not supposed to be there, all of a sudden? Who did she think she was protecting me from?

  ‘Oh…hello!’ Thea’s voice was as warm and friendly as always. ‘You scared me, banging like that.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ came a woman’s voice. ‘You ought to be gone by now. Shouldn’t she, Frank?’

  A confirmatory rumble indicated Frank’s proximity. I began to guess who they must be, but was no nearer knowing whether it would be safe to reveal my presence. I opted to listen for a while longer.

  ‘Oh, it’s all right,’ said Thea easily. ‘I’m not doing any harm.’

  ‘That is not the point,’ said the woman sternly. ‘You’re trespassing. Why have you got candles burning? I’ll tell you why – because the power’s been turned off. And that means the house is supposed to be empty. Doesn’t it, Frank?’

  ‘We just thought—’ Frank began, with a hint of apology for his aggressive wife.

  ‘With everything that’s been going on here this week, I should think you’d have more sense than to hang around where you’re not wanted. This house has caused nothing but trouble for everybody – ever since old Mr Goodwin died, and that must be twenty years or more.’

  ‘It was seventeen according to Judith,’ Thea said, with an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry – I’m just showing that I’ve been keeping up.’

  The woman shook her head impatiently. ‘What difference does it make? It’s a long time, that’s all I’m saying, with all kinds of drama and crisis going on. Those awful tenants, for one thing, and now this. You’re only going to make it worse, you know.’

  ‘Make what worse?’ asked Thea calmly.

  ‘Everything,’ insisted the woman. I had managed to work out that our visitors were the Watchetts, Frank and Susan, long-time residents of the village, friends of Greta Simmonds and very annoying busybodies.

  ‘Poor Judith – hasn’t she got enough on her plate without her house being squatted?’ Mrs Watchett continued. I could imagine her wagging a finger at Thea as she advanced into the house. Her voice did seem to be coming closer. ‘You’re a squatter, young lady, and that’s illegal.’

  Thea said nothing.

  ‘And the boy, poor little Jeremy. Hasn’t he been upset enough already? He doted on his Auntie Greta, loved this house. If Charles sells it, his heart will be broken. Won’t it, Frank?’

  ‘Susie,’ rumbled Frank. ‘I really don’t think—’

  ‘Not to mention Helena Maynard, poor thing.’

  ‘How on earth does my being here affect her?’ Thea spoke more sharply, finally fighting back.

  ‘It’s all connected,’ said Susan obscurely. ‘After all, she and Greta were lifelong friends. She might have expected – well, she’s got other things to think about now. But take my word for it, she won’t like you intruding like this, any more than the rest of us do. And parading around all afternoon with that undertaker, for everyone to see. What did you think you were doing? What are people supposed to think? I wouldn’t have been surprised to find him here as well.’

  Silently, I shrank back against the wall. Unfortunately, my movement must have attracted the notice of the spaniel, which came trotting into the kitchen, tail wagging. She jumped up against my legs, making little squeaks. I tried to push her away, but she had suddenly decided I was her biggest chum and we had to play a game together.

  ‘What’s that dog doing?’ The suspicious question came not from Susan, but her hitherto monosyllabic husband. ‘I think there’s somebody
in there.’ And before I could move, he was in the room with me, the faint candlelight from the living room quite enough to reveal my presence.

  ‘Aha!’ he cried, like somebody in a stage melodrama. ‘Got you!’

  It was all desperately embarrassing. I emerged with as much dignity as I could summon, keeping my chin up and saying nothing. ‘Lurking in the dark,’ said Frank scornfully. ‘Guilt written all over him.’

  Was it possible that they knew I was the main suspect in the murder investigation? Would that black cloud follow me everywhere I went for evermore?

  ‘I was hoping to save Thea from embarrassment,’ I said.

  ‘Oh yes, I’m sure,’ sneered Susan Watchett. ‘Well, this is a fine thing, I must say.’

  ‘It really isn’t any of your business.’ Thea was cool on the outside, but I could tell she was angry. ‘I think you should go now. You don’t have the right to march in here and make accusations.’

  ‘Oh, don’t I? Even when you’re breaking the law, and trespassing in my friend’s house?’

  ‘It’s my house, as it happens,’ I said recklessly. ‘Mrs Simmonds left it to me.’

  It worked beautifully. Her jaw sagged, her eyes bulged, and her hands met in a loose fist resting against her chest. ‘Surely she never did that?’ she gasped. ‘The stupid woman!’

  Frank laid a cautious hand on her shoulder. ‘Come on, Suse. We should go. I did say…’ The man never seemed to complete a sentence.

  Susan glared at me, her mind clearly functioning well. ‘You cunning devil! No wonder Gavin was onto you. No wonder you had to murder the poor man. Well I hope they lock you up for life, that’s what. It would damn well serve you right.’

  It was highly unpleasant. In the gloomy light of the candle, her face was sinister, with shadows across her cheek and a reflected glow in her eyes. She looked like a very enraged avenging angel. I tried not to cower.

  ‘Does Judith know about this? That she and Charles don’t get the house? I bet she’s furious, if so.’

  ‘I haven’t seen her, but I’m sure she’s been told. Charles is the executor.’ For some reason this last detail was important to me. It also brought me a pang of guilt towards the rightful heir of the cottage. I felt doubly wretched. ‘It came as a total shock to me. I had absolutely no idea.’ I remember Oliver Talbot’s confrontation with Graham Ingram, in which there had been no sign at all that they knew this latest twist in the tale. The sight of me would surely have elicited a more agitated response from Oliver, if he’d known. ‘I don’t think Mr Talbot has heard about it, at least.’

  ‘And Helena,’ Susan Watchett pursued. ‘What about Helena?’

  ‘What about her?’ demanded Thea.

  ‘She…well, she always liked this place. She might have thought – I mean, she could be thinking she might buy it.’

  ‘Susan, for the Lord’s sake,’ bleated Frank. ‘Be careful what you’re saying.’

  But there was no stopping the enraged woman. ‘I think you planned the whole thing, seducing poor Greta into thinking she could make use of you for her daft notions.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Thea sturdily. ‘Now, if you’d just go and leave us, we can all get on with our own business.’

  I was rather sorry she’d spoken when she did. It had felt as if we might be getting somewhere, straightening out some of the muddled connections between Greta Simmonds and Gavin Maynard. But it was too late. The Watchetts departed, oozing self-righteousness. Their thoughts about us were all too vividly portrayed in the set of their shoulders and twist of their lips.

  ‘Oh, God,’ I said, when they’d gone. ‘That was horrible.’

  ‘Yes, but useful.’

  ‘I suppose so. That bit at the end, Mrs Simmonds using me for her ambitions.’

  ‘She didn’t say that,’ argued Thea mildly. ‘She said you used Mrs Simmonds.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t.’

  She went to sit on the sofa, the dog jumping onto her lap. I remained where I was.

  ‘That wasn’t the important bit. They confirmed that Mr Maynard had some beef about you. Gavin was onto you, she said.’

  ‘Well, yes – but that isn’t a surprise. He didn’t like the way I buried his friend. That’s what he was shouting about when I met him. Nothing else. Besides, it was all mere speculation on Mrs Watchett’s part. She was just jumping to conclusions – exactly as I knew people would when they heard about the will.’

  ‘Mm.’ She wasn’t really listening to me. Fondling the dog’s ears, she stared into space. ‘At the very least, it confirms what we were thinking.’

  ‘None of this gets us any further,’ I objected impatiently. ‘It’s all about Mrs Simmonds, not Mr Maynard.’

  ‘Right,’ she agreed equably. ‘But I think one leads to the other. I just can’t quite see how.’

  The candles were burning low, but it was still well short of nine o’clock. I could yet go and find myself a hotel, even if it meant walking to Chipping Campden in the dark. The accusations of trespass and squatting had unnerved me. The police were sure to discover where I’d been, and add further transgressions to my file. I was shaken and shamed. ‘I ought to go,’ I said.

  ‘What do you mean? Don’t be daft. You can’t leave me here on my own. I’d be awake all night wondering who else was going to turn up and shout at me.’

  ‘Don’t give me that. You’re the one who copes with people, much better than me. I can’t see that anything much bothers you, Mrs Osborne.’

  ‘Just don’t call me feisty,’ she smiled. ‘Then I really would have to throw you out.’

  We were, thankfully, back to an earlier humour: bantering, familiar, our minds meshing together quite effortlessly. I sighed.

  ‘Look,’ she went on, ‘I have to say this, even if it makes me seem a fool.’ Her voice was jerky, some of the sweetness missing. ‘I know something might have happened before the Watchetts turned up. Probably it wouldn’t, though. Probably we’ve got more sense. We’re grown up enough to work out what the consequences might be. And they wouldn’t be very nice, especially for you. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

  It was new territory for me. I had almost never had anything remotely like this conversation before. At least, not for a long time. There had been a woman named Genevieve Slater, several years ago – but I had retained my virtue, if not my dignity, in my dealings with her.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

  We managed to sleep chastely in two separate bedrooms. Knowing that there were people outside very much aware of our presence made it easier to behave properly. It was all too likely that the news would spread so widely that even my wife could get to hear about it. I therefore had to be able to look her in the eye, cross my heart and swear that Thea and I never even touched each other. Except that Karen was most unlikely to ask for such an assurance. She trusted me so completely that the thought might very well never enter her head. Maggs, however, would be less naïve. Maggs, often the custodian of my morals, had seen me looking softly at other women, once or twice, and dragged me back onto the path of righteousness. Maggs might still be capable of mentioning Genevieve in the reproachful knowing way she had, reminding me that I could be weak and easily led, just like any other man, if the circumstances were right. Maggs would look into my soul and see the truth.

  Thea and I admitted to each other that we had half expected a dawn raid from the police, with the front door being battered down at half past five. Instead, we drank water and ate some oversweet muffins for breakfast and debated inconclusively what we ought to do next.

  ‘I guess we are trespassing, technically,’ she admitted. ‘It all looks a bit more wrong of us this morning.’

  ‘I can’t imagine how I let you talk me into it.’

  ‘The thing is, I’ve already been here for nearly a fortnight, so it feels sort of normal.’

  ‘And we did know Mrs Simmonds,’ I contributed. ‘In the circumstances, I really don’t think she would have minded.’
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br />   ‘Right.’

  ‘If she had minded, maybe her ghost would have appeared to tell us so.’

  ‘You don’t believe in ghosts, do you?’ She looked at me with something like concern, as if I had confessed to a worrying medical condition.

  ‘Do you want the long or the short answer?’

  ‘Long, obviously.’

  ‘Well, I believe that some people have seen some things that were manifestations of some kind. Traces left by a very violent or traumatic event – like echoes of a very loud noise. But I have never personally had anything remotely like a ghostly experience – and in my job, you’d expect that if anyone would be haunted, it’d be me.’

  She opened her mouth to reply, but I went on, ‘Except, of course, that by the time the dead people reach me, the trauma’s all over and done with. I’ve never had one sit up and talk to me, the way they do in Six Feet Under – which I love, by the way. I can’t honestly bring myself to believe that dead people suffering terrible remorse or rage or frustration revisit to patrol the place where the event happened. But just possibly they do leave a shimmer in the air, which a few very sensitive individuals can detect. Is that all right?’

  ‘You took the words right out of my mouth.’

  I gave myself a shake. ‘I must phone home,’ I said. ‘It’s the last day of term. The kids’ll be excited.’

  ‘Easter’s next weekend,’ she remembered. ‘That was when Mrs Simmonds was due to come home – Good Friday.’

  The death of Mrs S seemed a long, long time ago. She had been visiting the co-housing place when she died. I had collected her body from the hospital at Yeovil where they had done the post-mortem. ‘She was staying there quite a long time, then?’

  ‘Actually, I think only one night, before going on to London for a few days, then Paris on the Eurostar. She was very excited about it, going to the theatre and museums and all that.’

  ‘Expensive. She must have had quite a bit of money.’ I remembered the way she had so readily paid in advance for her funeral. ‘Where did she get it from?’