Edward did not look overjoyed at the news. He was still clearly uneasy about what had happened, but this was hardly the moment to try to convince him of the detective’s good faith.
Stephanie appeared from the back of the hall.
‘The buffet’s absolutely brilliant — if you want me, I’ll be looking after the meringues to see that no one disturbs them. The caterers seem fine and Ma Bateman’s there too, buttering things in a corner with a face like fizz.’
‘Oh dear,’ Helena said feebly. You did have to feel so strong to cope with Mrs Bateman in one of her sourer moods. ‘Edward, could you possibly—?’
‘Yes, of course. She’s probably upset at having all these people in her kitchen. I’ll go and smooth the ruffled feathers.’ He bustled out.
‘Thank heavens for that! I’m just going upstairs to change they’ll be here in half an hour.’
When she came hurrying back down again, fixing her earrings, Edward, trim as always in blazer and regimental tie, was hovering in the hall, fidgeting with his cuffs as if he were as much on edge as she was. He looked up as he heard her coming.
‘Darling, you look quite lovely.’ He came to take her hands.
She had put on a silk dress with a screen print of blues and greens, then, finding herself shivering, though more with nerves than cold, added a jade-green, loose jacket in mohair. Her hair lay smooth and shiny in its curved bob, and the excitement of performance had brought hectic spots of colour to her cheeks, making her eyes seem brighter than usual.
For the first time, she did not shrink from his kiss. Indeed, the feel of his cheek, well-shaven and leathery, smelling of Floris soap, was satisfying, and she rubbed her own against it, like a kitten, in sensual enjoyment. His grasp on her hand tightened, but he said only, ‘Better not spoil the effect, I suppose,’ and with a final squeeze of her fingers let her go as the bell rang to announce the first arrivals.
It was a relief to find that it was Charles and Jennifer Morley who stood on the doorstep.
Jennifer swept in, mistress of every situation. ‘Helena, how gorgeous—’ and then she stopped. ‘Oh, my dear, you’ve had to cut your lovely hair!’ Her eyes brimmed with tears, and Helena, touched, held out her arms to be hugged with Jennifer’s usual whole-hearted enthusiasm.
Sniffing, Jennifer emerged from the embrace. ‘I don’t know why I should be crying about your hair. It looks absolutely stunning. Sheer jealousy, probably. Anyway, I’m so pleased to see you.’
‘It’s good to see you too,’ Helena was able to reply with unfeigned sincerity.
To Helena’s astonished relief, it wasn’t embarrassing, much. She was moved by the number of people who seemed genuinely happy to welcome her home, and if there was a slight constraint with one or two of those who, like Edward’s colleagues from work, had known her less well, there was certainly no one who had made her feel like a freak in a sideshow.
Chris made his usual stage entrance, side-stepping the rigidly-disapproving Edward to sweep her into a bearhug.
‘Now, let me look at you,’ he said with enthusiasm that was only slightly forced. ‘Oh yes, I like the hair. I definitely like the hair — a bit more of a come-on, isn’t it? But the figure — no. You’re much sexier carrying a bit more in the strategic places, so hit the cream buns, sweetheart. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, now would you?’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Chris,’ she said, freeing herself with all the old exasperation.
‘That’s my girl,’ he said, giving her another playful squeeze before going off in search of a drink.
Helena looked anxiously at her watch. It would have been reassuring to have Frances Howarth there before Lilian made her usual entrance, late by calculation rather than chance. The Daleys were apparently bringing her, which would have the merit of getting two very trying encounters over at once. Her stomach still churned at the prospect, but otherwise she was almost ready to be convinced that Edward’s high-risk strategy of brazening it out was a triumph.
She was engaged in anodyne conversation with Edward’s partner’s wife, whose flow of small talk was so well-bred that no topic of any interest, let alone embarrassment, was ever permitted to arise, when she heard the stir of Lilian’s arrival. Her nails bit into her palms in tension as she excused herself.
As she went towards the front door, Edward materialized at her side. How like him, she thought gratefully, to understand her nervousness, and be there in support.
Lilian, however, seemed oblivious to any awkwardness. ‘Helena, darling!’ she trilled. ‘So sorry we’re so awfully late — don’t blame Jack, will you? Poor sweetie, he’s been hanging about for half an hour while I changed my mind about what to wear.’
The turquoise sleeveless dress with plunging back which had been the final selection was too summery for the weak spring sunshine, but distinctly becoming.
Halfway to an embrace, Lilian checked, as she took in Helena’s appearance. ‘Oh, my dear, twinnies,’ she said, patting her own sleek head, and Helena realized, with a jolt, that her new hairstyle had, indeed, unconsciously echoed Lilian’s. Once more, she felt at a disadvantage.
‘It — it just seemed a good idea to have a change,’ she blurted, then Edward was drawing Lilian off, leaving her face to face with Jack Daley and, a few paces behind like some unwelcome encumbrance, Sandra.
Jack, certainly, was ill at ease. He said, ‘Hello, Helena,’ abruptly, and plunged into the crowd without a pause. Sandra, making to follow him, was thwarted by a group movement, and turned her eyes on Helena.
They seemed almost unfocused, and Helena, seeing the woman for the first time in eighteen months, found it hard not to recoil in shock.
At Jack’s command, his wife had visited the hairdresser, but from the disorder of the hard curls, it seemed unlikely that she had combed them this morning. Make-up had been applied, but so indiscriminately that one cheek was noticeably redder than the other, and bright blue eye-shadow had been smeared unevenly on her lids. When she put up a trembling hand to her mouth, the nails were broken and dirty.
‘Sandra!’ Helena said, in horrified compassion, putting out a hand towards her, but the other woman backed away.
‘No,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘Leave me alone — I don’t want anyone — anyone — to touch me.’ She backed, like some frightened wild creature, into a dark corner of the hall, and Helena, recognizing that she was doing more harm than good, left her, forgetting her own awkwardness in concern. Perhaps Chris might be able to talk to the woman.
When she went through to the sitting-room, Lilian was already the centre of a group of people. Surely she, too, was a little on edge, after all; her colour was high, and her voice seemed louder than usual, her laughter forced. Looking for Chris, Helena skirted the group, but Lilian’s words brought her up short.
‘Yes, it’s all decided,’ she was saying. ‘I’m afraid you’re just going to have to get along without me. Radnesfield will never be the same again, will it?’
The hubbub of voices still rose from the hall, but from the sudden silence it was evident that she had struck dumb her audience in the sitting-room. Daley, whose hand was resting possessively on her haunch, was staring at her now with his mouth unbecomingly open; George Wagstaff, in another group, had stopped pretending that he wasn’t eavesdropping; Chris, standing detached on the fringe of the circle, was studying the tableau with the sardonic amusement of the only person unsurprised.
It was Helena who first found her voice. ‘Are you really planning to leave, Lilian? Sell Radnesfield House?’ She would need permission from the trustees, if she wanted to do that; she had only a life-interest, before Neville’s estate reverted to Stephanie.
Lilian turned to her, as if almost relieved at the chance to make her statement. ‘Well, naturally, I simply adore the place — such an amusing little village, and poor darling Neville absolutely loved it, of course — but the dear little man who made Neville that fabulous offer has gone on and on, and it simply got too exhausting
to go on saying no. He was so grateful, bless his heart, and I’m sure he’ll build simply lovely houses.’
It was Wagstaff’s bellow that shattered the silence following on this ingenuous exposition. ‘I don’t bloody believe it! Not after last time — not all over again! You’d stopped it all, you said, no need for us to do anything else, you said — you lying bitch!’ he shouted, his painful sincerity, like a blunt instrument, splintering her artifice.
‘George!’ Dora, her face white, was tugging at his arm, but he jerked his sleeve free of her plucking fingers.
‘It’s people’s lives you’re talking about, do you know that? Look here, I’m willing to offer you a fair price for the farm—’
Lilian’s eyes had flashed dangerously for a moment, but she recovered her composure to murmur sweetly, ‘I’m awfully sorry, George. I’d love to help you out, of course, but I’m afraid it simply has to be a package deal.’
Wagstaff’s round, fleshy face was suffused with purple. ‘It’s a game to you, isn’t it? But don’t think you’ll walk away from it, just like that. My lawyer was a useless bastard last time, but this time, god help me, I’m going to make you pay.’
‘George, you’ll do no good that way. Think of your blood pressure. Just come and see Jim, talk it over with him. I think he’s out in the garden somewhere with Stephanie.’ Dora was shaking, but her voice sounded calmly authoritative, and he allowed himself to be led away.
The groups reformed, uneasily; Lilian and Jack were left standing alone.
‘Never lowered yourself to breathe a word of this to me, did you?’ Helena heard him say roughly, and was almost knocked off balance as he passed her, dragging Lilian by the wrist. His face was a shade of crimson that conflicted unkindly with his hair, and he, too, was in a towering temper.
Looking for somewhere less public to have a row! That was all she needed. Helena seized a bottle from a side-table and began to circulate. Keeping everyone’s glass topped up was the best she could do.
*
‘And do tell me, has your experience made you feel you want to work for prisoners’ rights in the future?’ Marcia Farrell had not improved during Helena’s absence. ‘There’s a wonderful diocesan group that does such marvellous work in the prisons...’
Helena looked for help to Peter Farrell, who, as usual, was standing a little behind his wife, but he was uncomfortable, persistently refusing to meet her eye, and perspiring more than the temperature warranted.
‘I’m sure they do.’ In desperation, she changed the subject. ‘I’m sorry if I appear a little inattentive. I’m expecting Frances Howarth — the policewoman, you know.’
‘Oh yes, of course.’ Marcia’s pale, gooseberry eyes studied her, greedy for signs of weakness. ‘Is she helping with your rehabilitation?’
Irritation could be useful. ‘No,’ Helena said crisply. ‘She’s realized now that I wasn’t guilty, and she’s helping me establish my innocence.’
Marcia, for once, had no prefabricated response; her husband looked shocked.
‘But — but I thought the case had been closed,’ he bleated.
‘I know. And it does seem awfully unnecessary to open it all up again, doesn’t it, even if the wrong person has been found guilty.’
Helena flashed them a brilliant smile, and turned away. The atmosphere of this party, which had started so promisingly, was becoming noticeably strained, and it was beginning to get to her. She had tried to keep her voice down, but she was aware of covert glances in her direction.
She was making her way across the hall, trying to look busy so that no one would accost her, when Lilian came in from the garden. The sun was still bright and warm for the time of year, but in her flimsy frock Lilian looked pale and chilled. Seeing Helena, she came between two groups of people to reach her.
‘Look, could I possibly have a couple of aspirins and a lie-down? I’m feeling perfectly foul — I think I must have a touch of this stupid ‘flu — and Jack’s just been yelling at me in the garden, awful man.’
‘Well, there’s certainly no problem, but wouldn’t you rather go home? I’m sure someone would—’
Lilian shook her head. ‘Don’t bother. Ten minutes for the aspirin to work, and I’ll be fine. Chris is giving me a lift up to London after lunch. He’s got a new part for me, and I promised he could try to talk me into it on the way back to town. Anyway, I’ve suddenly got radically bored with Radnesfield.’
‘Whatever you like. Shall I take you upstairs, or do you want just to lie down on the couch in Edward’s office? No one will disturb you there.’
‘That would be perfect, darling.’
Helena led her along the back corridor to the office. Mrs Bateman, coming out of the kitchen carrying a tray, stood aside to let them pass, but returned Helena’s nervous smile with a sullen glare.
‘Here you are. It’s not very tidy, I’m afraid.’ Helena cleared some papers off the elderly chesterfield drawn up in front of the fireplace.
Lilian sank down gratefully. ‘Oh, that’s better. My head! And Jack would keep shouting! Whatever did he expect? It was a bit of fun, and now it’s over. A long-standing affair with a glorified mechanic isn’t really part of my career plan — however good he may like to think he is in bed.’
Helena did not comment on this supremely egotistical remark. It was, however, likely to be her last chance to talk face-to-face with Lilian. ‘This business of selling the house — have you consulted the trustees?’
Despite her headache, Lilian’s expression became alert and business-like, and she dropped her drawl.
‘You think I’m stupid, don’t you? That’s all been taken care of, and they’re delighted. You’ll be hearing from them whenever I give the word.’
‘Don’t you think it was a little unkind and — well, dishonest, not to put too fine a point on it, to lead people like poor George to think you’d dropped the whole idea? It obviously came as a terrible shock to everyone.’
Lilian’s eyes narrowed, and she bared her neat white teeth in a mirthless smile.
‘Warn them, you mean, and find myself lying there with a poker embedded in the back of my skull? Cheers! No, I wasn’t about to announce my plans to blow apart this godawful little place until I knew I wasn’t going back to the house to give them a second bite at the cherry.’
There was an underlying assumption here, which made Helena catch her breath. ‘You mean — you think someone from the village killed Neville? You knew it wasn’t me?’
When she spoke there was more than a hint of scouse in the carefully-cultivated voice. ‘Listen, chuck, you weren’t there the night they marched on the house. They scared me, you know — really scared me. They hated him enough to do anything, and if we’re being frank — we are being frank, aren’t we? — I was quite relieved they only killed Neville.
‘And as for you,’ the narrow smile held contempt, and the drawl had returned. ‘Well, face it, darling, I never thought for a moment you had the guts.’
What could you say? You could hardly take offence because someone had said you weren’t a murderess, but while Helena was groping for her reply, the other woman shivered. ‘God, it’s cold in here,’ she muttered.
It wasn’t cold, but her face was very flushed. She was clearly unwell and Helena swallowed her irritation. ‘Here,’ she said briskly. ‘Take my jacket. It’s very warm, and I really don’t need it. I’m sure there’s a rug somewhere — yes, here it is. Put your head on this cushion, and you can pull it over you.’
Lilian did as she was told without protest, snuggling into the cushion and shutting her eyes with a sigh of relief while Helena went to fetch the aspirin.
As she returned, she was drawn in to the kitchen by one of the caterers with a query about the coffee. The kitchen helper deputed to take the aspirins in to Mrs Fielding found her asleep, her breathing deep and even as a child’s, her hair fallen forward across her face. The woman set bottle and glass quietly down on a side-table, and left without waking her.
/>
In the silence of the room, the old wall-clock ticked slowly, portentously, as if spelling out the ancient motto, ‘Ars longs, vita brevis’, which was inscribed on its face in copperplate characters and flaking paint.
Chapter Eleven
Outside, on this mild and windless day, the scene was positively arcadian. In the unexpected warmth, knots of people gathered, parted and reformed, as if in some rustic dance. Some of the younger guests, indifferent to the chill of damp stone, were grouped with unconscious grace on the low, lichened wall by the lawn.
Stephanie was sitting there with Jim Wagstaff. They had been friends for a long time; she treated him much like the older brother she had never had. Today, however, their conversation was strained: he, too indignant and upset to talk of anything but the blow which had fallen, and she, feeling somehow responsible, embarrassed. She had said she was sorry, and agreed it was entirely unfair; there wasn’t a lot else she could say, but she lacked the social skill to withdraw without unkindness.
‘It’s such a helluva shame,’ Jim was saying, as if voicing an original thought, and not repeating it for the tenth time. ‘When the old man’s put so much into that place, it’s not right. There ought to be some way of putting a stop to it.’
Stephanie, shifting uncomfortably, became aware of the hurried, crab-like approach, from round the side of the house, of Tamara Farrell. She had a strange expression on her face, and in Stephanie seemed to find the person she was looking for.
The older girl watched her advance without enthusiasm. ‘What do you want, Tamara?’
Tamara rubbed one grubby leg against the other, and would not meet her eyes.
‘Your mum’s dead,’ she said, in a sort of sullen mutter.
Stephanie stared at her coldly. ‘Your stupid jokes are just so childish. Go away and bother someone else. I certainly don’t want to hear them.’
The child looked up with a defiant pout. ‘She is, too. She’s dead in there.’ She jerked her head towards the side of the house. ‘She’s got a cushion over her head, and I tried her hand and it went all like this.’ She demonstrated, horribly, a flopping arm.
Last Act of All Page 16
