‘Peter? Where are you?’ Rose could hear background noises which she guessed were traffic.
‘In a call box. I need some TLC. I have been grilled by the police. They tied me to a chair and shone a bright light in my eyes and whipped me with wet towels until I begged for mercy and confessed.’ He was gratified to hear her laughing. ‘So is there any chance of us meeting for a drink or dinner?’ He was surprised to find himself holding his breath while she made up her mind.
‘Not tonight, I’m getting ready for the 31st.’ She hesitated briefly then added, ‘But I’m free tomorrow.’
‘Fine. What time shall I pick you up?’
‘Oh, seven thirty?’
Turning the car around he realised how much he was looking forward to it. There was nothing run-of-the-mill about Mrs Trevelyan, he thought as he headed for home.
Rose’s head was spinning. Another man wants to take me out? she thought, returning to the kitchen. Laura’s suggestive smirk didn’t help. ‘You’ve got flour in your hair,’ Rose told her acidly.
‘Perhaps you’d better take a look in the mirror yourself, girl.’
They had been enjoying themselves, wrist deep in pastry dough as they prepared the cases for flans. Wine glasses stood near to hand, their bases dusted with flour, their stems smeared with greasy fingerprints. At least with Laura Rose could avoid the topic of Jenny Manders.
‘For a woman who, not many days since, was crying into her beer over the inadequacies of men and who vowed to have nothing more to do with them, you’re doing a fine impression of exactly the opposite. You’re on the phone to Jack when I get here and less than an hour later someone called Peter rings up. That’s two, without Nick.’
‘Oh, honestly, Laura!’ Rose made as if to slap her arm and knocked over the bag of flour. A small cloud of it settled on them both and they collapsed laughing.
‘Rose?’ Laura, who was facing the window, frowned over her shoulder.
Rose turned around. ‘What is it?’
‘God, I’m getting as bad as you. For a second I thought I saw someone out there. It was probably my own reflection.’
Rose went to the door and opened it. The sloping garden and drive were deserted. There was nothing but the bone-like rattle of the leafless trees as the wind lifted the boughs. Out in the bay the lights of three trawlers winked as they followed each other in procession. The chug, chug of their engines carried clearly across the expanse of water. ‘There’s no one there,’ Rose said, closing the door again. She made them both supper while they waited for the flan bases to bake.
Spearing omelette on to her fork, Laura watched Rose surreptitiously. ‘Okay, out with it, what’s bothering you? Did you really think there was someone out there?’
‘I don’t know. I went over to St Ives today. They all seem to have hang-ups of some description.’
‘By that you mean your arty friends?’
‘Yes. But I can’t believe one of them’s a murderer.’
‘Can’t, or won’t?’
‘You’re right. I won’t. But I have been thinking about it and they all seem to have had something to gain by killing Jenny, even if it doesn’t amount to much. But for the life of me I can’t understand why there’s so much mystery attached to the other body. I mean, surely someone knows who it is? I was convinced it was Renata Manders but it seems I was wrong.’
‘It could be absolutely anyone. Not everyone’s lucky enough to have people who’ll miss them.’
‘I know.’
‘Rose, at the risk of sounding like Barry Rowe, leave it to Jack. I know there’s something going through your pretty little head. If there is, tell him. Oh, God.’ Laura jumped up, suddenly remembering the pastry which they could now smell.
Her hands encased in oven gloves, Rose lifted several fluted-sided dishes from the oven. She had borrowed some from Laura. ‘Thank goodness you remembered. That was just in time.’
‘On the other hand,’ Laura continued, ignoring the results of their work, ‘if you think you know something you really ought to tell Jack.’
‘I know.’ But Rose suspected Jack was ahead of her and that all he wanted was some conclusive evidence.
‘But you want to solve it all yourself. I can tell by that grin that you’re dying to show him what a clever girl you are.’
‘Yes. Now are you going to help with the fillings or are you rushing off home now that I’ve fed and watered you?’
‘That depends.’
‘On what?’ Rose followed the direction of Laura’s gaze. ‘I never was lucky in my choice of friends,’ she said, reaching for the corkscrew.
After Laura had left Rose cleared up the kitchen and surveyed the food laid out on the worktops to cool. There was probably too much of it but some could be left in the freezer until the last minute.
Physically tired from her achievements in the kitchen but still on a high mentally from an idea that had crept into her mind, she was not quite ready for bed. She poured the last glass of wine, went through to the sitting-room and settled into the chair which faced the one where David had always sat and where she often pictured him.
Over the telephone she had asked Maddy if she knew of any of Renata’s friends. Maddy had not been in the area very long but she seemed to soak up information like a sponge. And she had been close to Jenny who talked a lot.
‘Jenny told me the name of one. She had a vague memory of her from when she was little but mainly because she was forbidden to go near her by her father. Alec said she was a bad influence on Renata. Anyway, Jenny always thought there had been something going on between her father and this woman.’
‘What’s her name?’ Rose had asked impatiently.
‘Josie Deveraux. At least, it was, she might have married.’
Rose had written it down, disappointed when Maddy went on to say, ‘She moved away ages ago.’
Sitting quietly at the end of a long day Rose felt extremely sorry for Renata Manders. Her domineering mother-in-law had alienated her from her family and she had been more or less forbidden to see what may have been her only friend.
When Rose had gone to St Ives that morning she found the house where Josie Deveraux used to live was now inhabited by an elderly couple who had never heard of her. She realised now that even if they had done so they were hardly likely to have answered the questions of a complete stranger.
Why she wanted to know about the Deveraux woman, Rose wasn’t sure, except it stemmed from her innate curiosity which would not be satisfied until she knew the whole story.
She had hoped the two women had kept in touch. Deep down she wanted to hear that, if it wasn’t Renata they had found, things had worked out for her, that she was now happy.
Rose’s head ached. A dull thudding behind her temples made her nauseous. It was time for bed.
By morning her headache was worse. Rose regretted acceding to Laura’s wishes by opening the second bottle of wine. There was a heavy stillness in the air which did not help. As she watched, the grey canopy of the sky became sulphurous and then darkened. She realised that it was the weather rather than the wine which was responsible for how she felt. The bitter scent of the narcissi filled the room just as the first flash of lightning crackled over the bay. Seconds later thunder crashed and seemed to shake the house. The rain came suddenly, hammering down. Storms such as this had been known to roll around the bay for hours on end. Rose had intended going to Penzance to try to find something to wear for her party but for the moment it was impossible to go out.
The storm died down around eleven and the rain eased a little. She gave it half an hour then picked up her car keys and left the house.
The traffic was heavy and she joined the slow crawl up through Market Jew Street where buses were at the stops on both sides of the road causing further delays.
Her expedition was unsuccessful. Being a size eight and only five feet two inches tall, Rose was swamped by most modern fashions. She put it down to the after-effects of the headache which ma
de her feel uneasy, but she had the impression that something was wrong.
As she turned into her drive she noticed a van parked across the road. The driver’s face was turned away but she still recognised him. She quickly locked the car and went into the house, also locking the kitchen door, something she rarely did unless she was going out. Her heart was racing. Had she been right all along? She rang Jack immediately. Aware that she was gabbling she wondered if Jack had any idea what she was talking about.
‘Stay there. Don’t move,’ he told her. ‘I’m on my way.’
Minutes later there was a knock on the kitchen door. For a second Rose was filled with relief. It was too soon for Jack to have arrived but Laura had said she might call in with some paper plates and serviettes she had left over from her own Christmas preparations.
But on the other side of the glass stood Alec Manders, rain running down his face. ‘Let me in,’ he mouthed.
Rose froze, mentally urging Jack to drive faster. She backed out into the hall, terrified by the anger in the man’s face. If she got to the front door she could reach the side of the house unseen and come out further down the drive below him. Then she would have a chance of making it to the road before he realised what was happening.
‘Oh, God.’ Her voice was hoarse. She had heard glass breaking. The key was on the inside of the kitchen door. If she had had the sense to remove it Alec Manders would have had to smash the wood which supported the four panes and she would have had more time.
In one movement she reached the front door and unlocked it. Grabbing the round, brass handle and the flat metal plate of the Yale, she heaved. The door didn’t budge. So recently she had broken a nail doing this and promised to do something about it. More rain had swollen the wood further. It was too late now.
‘Mrs Trevelyan.’ His voice was low and controlled and therefore all the more terrifying. ‘Why are you asking questions about me?’
He wanted to talk. Maybe that was all he wanted. ‘I’m not.’
‘You’ve been speaking to people in St Ives. You bothered an old couple who live near me. And you came to my house to offer your condolences which was just an excuse to poke your nose into my business. I know what you’re thinking and it isn’t true. And you’re not the only one. I didn’t kill my wife. She left me, you stupid bitch.’
Something about his words struck a chord. He had not denied killing Jenny. ‘Why did you break in?’ Rose knew she must keep him talking.
‘So you’d know what it feels like to have your privacy invaded. You’re in the phone book, it wasn’t hard to find you. What were you doing out at the mine?’
She knew then that she was right. Alec Manders, most probably through Jenny, had learnt that she was working there. ‘Painting.’
‘Painting.’ His voice was scornful as he took a step nearer.
She had her back to the door. To her left was a small table which held a plant pot. Beside it was an old walking-stick stand. All it contained was an umbrella. Rose reached for it as Alec simultaneously reached for her. She felt the heat of his breath on her face and, as she tried to swing away and he grabbed at her hair, she thought how clean he smelt.
There was a jolt of pain in her back. Opening her eyes Rose realised that she was on the floor, that what she had felt was herself falling. Alec was on top of her, one knee pressed into her stomach, pinning her down. The pain made her want to vomit. ‘I didn’t want to have to do this,’ she heard him say from a distance. ‘But I didn’t kill Renata.’
Weakly she raised her hand and brought the umbrella down on his head. It was the most ineffectual thing she had done in her life. It bounced off his thick hair causing him to jeer. ‘I don’t think so, Mrs Trevelyan.’ He wrenched it from her and threw it down the hall, his knee still in place. Above Rose’s head the ceiling began to swim as she struggled for breath. ‘You’re coming with me,’ he said, pulling her to her feet. Rose tried to kick out at his shins but he twisted her arm behind her. She felt it might snap. There’s still a chance, she thought, he hasn’t killed me yet and I don’t think he’ll do it here. I’ve got to play for time, to give Jack a chance to get here. She was convinced that her destiny also lay in that mine shaft.
There was glass all over the kitchen floor from where Alec had stuck his elbow through the pane. It scrunched beneath the soles of Rose’s boots. They had almost reached the door but Alec pushed her sharply against the edge of the sink, her arm still bent behind her. With his spare hand he rummaged in drawers, cursing when he couldn’t find what he was looking for.
He has to tie me up, Rose realised. He has to do that before he can go and fetch the van. There was string upstairs, and whole rolls of strong cord with which she hung her pictures. Would he think of that? It would use up more time, he would have to take her up there with him, time in which Jack might arrive. Part of her mind was listening for cars but none had slowed. She sensed Alec was losing control of his temper. He yanked harder at her arm and she screamed in agony. ‘There’s string upstairs,’ she told him, unable to help herself. She would do anything to make the pain stop.
Halfway up the stairs she stumbled. What if Jack wasn’t coming? What if he was so fed up with her he couldn’t be bothered or he had decided she was making a fuss about nothing again? Tears were rolling down her face and her nose began to run. If he did turn up she vowed she would never, ever be horrible to him again.
A car door slammed and was echoed by another. Downstairs there was a noise, quite a lot of noise, Rose thought.
‘Let her go.’ Jack took the stairs two at a time and twisted Alec around to face him. Rose fell awkwardly on the stair above but not before she had seen Jack raise his fist.
‘Sir!’ DS Green grabbed Alec’s hands, one then the other, and encircled his wrists with the cuffs he had pulled from his pocket. He turned to Jack with a glare. ‘It’s just as well you didn’t,’ he said.
Jack nodded. He had nearly lost it there, had almost broken the rule about least possible restraint, and all because of Rose Trevelyan. ‘Take him out to the car,’ he said gruffly, reaching for Rose’s arm.
Rose winced, staring at Jack uncomprehendingly as he got her upright with far more force than was necessary. Instead of gratitude she felt only disappointment. Hadn’t she just provided the necessary evidence for them to arrest the murderer? Why did she always rub Jack up the wrong way?
There were two uniformed officers downstairs. One offered to make Rose a cup of tea. ‘Thank you.’ She sat at the kitchen table, trembling. Jack ignored her until the tea was in front of her. ‘Tell us what happened,’ he said. ‘Not your assumptions or any wild guesswork, just the facts as they relate to today.’
Rose did so, wishing she had a chance to show him she had been right. It did not take long.
‘Thank you. Now I suggest if Laura Penfold is busy you get your good friend Barry Rowe to come over.’
The way he spoke Barry’s name made Rose cringe. Inspector Jack Pearce could be truly obnoxious when he chose. ‘He’ll be delighted,’ she said spitefully, already having forgotten her earlier vow.
‘Come on.’ Jack nodded to the man who had made the tea, indicating that it was time to go. ‘And ring someone to take care of this,’ he added, pointing to the broken pane. ‘We’ve got to go. Your other friend, Mr Pascoe, has just been arrested.’
‘What?’ She looked startled. ‘You bastard,’ she hissed loudly enough for Jack to hear as he walked away. As he closed the door firmly another shard of glass fell to the floor.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
On the last morning of the year Rose began to lay out the food and drink for the party, which no longer seemed like a good idea. Since Alec Manders had broken into her house there had been no word from Jack, officers she did not know had taken her statement. Nor was there any further news of Nick.
With all that had happened she wondered how many people would turn up. Certainly not Jenny and Nick and, by his silence, not Jack either. That a man had been arrested for t
he murder of Jennifer Manders had been given out on the news, that his name had been withheld was irrelevant. Everybody locally knew it was Nick.
Alec’s attack upon Rose convinced her that he had known of the presence of the woman in the mine shaft even if he hadn’t put her there. Why else would he have been so angry and determined to stop Rose asking further questions?
I must forget it, she told herself. She had been way out in her calculations and was relieved now that she had not had a chance to mention them to Jack.
Tomorrow was the start of another year, one she would be entering with the loss of three friends. Jenny was dead, Nick in prison and Jack had finally abandoned her. The last, she thought, was no more than she deserved yet this loss hurt her most of all.
At lunch time she walked down to Newlyn to buy the olives she had forgotten. What does Peter Dawson make of me? she thought as she stopped to count the fishing-boats in the harbour.
She had cancelled their dinner date after Alec’s unwelcome visit but had offered no explanation.
It was a mild day and the smell of fish hung in the air. Rose returned with the olives, reassured by the sight of her car in the drive. It had been returned as promised a week ago with the cursory comment that it would not be required again. Nick’s car had not been returned as far as she was aware so she could only assume the worst: it had contained incriminating evidence and that was why he had been arrested. To someone of Rose’s temperament it was extremely frustrating not to know what was going on.
At six o’clock, satisfied that everything was ready, she ran a bath and tried to relax before spending some time on her hair and make-up. There was no new dress and the wardrobe didn’t hold out too much promise. In the end she chose a plain black velvet dress she had had for a number of years. Around her neck was the single strand of pearls David had bought her for no other reason, he had said, than because he loved her.
Buried in Cornwall Page 17
