Day for Dying

by Dorothy Simpson

  ‘How long was she away?’

  He raised his shoulders. ‘I wasn’t timing her, Sergeant!’

  ‘Approximately, then?’

  ‘Gerald and I were halfway through our first course when she joined us, so it must have been, let me see, about ten o’clock.’

  ‘And she had left at . . .?’

  ‘Around twenty to, I suppose. She said she’d had to queue for the loo. And she’d had to collect her supper too, of course.’

  ‘But you and Mr Argent stayed together?’

  ‘Well no, not for the whole time. I went off to the loo as well.’

  A general exodus, thought Thanet. But understandable. Everyone stands around talking and drinking, not wanting to break up conversations, and then supper is announced, people queue up and some of them, seeing that they’ll have to wait to collect their food, decide to go to the lavatory – where they also find queues, of course.

  ‘And what time did you rejoin Mr Argent?’ said Lineham.

  ‘Ten minutes later, or thereabouts.’

  ‘Around five to ten, then?’

  Hartley nodded.

  ‘And you’re sure you didn’t see your brother? That was where he said he was going, too, at around the same time.’

  ‘No. I told you.’ A hint of impatience there. ‘He may have gone to a different one.’

  ‘So in fact, at suppertime each of the three of you was alone for at least ten minutes, longer in the case of Miss Greenway?’ At around the time your brother disappeared. The words hung on the air, unspoken but implicit in what Lineham was saying.

  Hartley sat up with a jerk and a quick, sideways glance at Thanet. ‘Hang on a minute. What, exactly, are you implying, Sergeant?’

  ‘I’m simply trying to get the facts straight, sir.’

  ‘Oh come on! I’m not an idiot, you know! You’re saying you suspect one of us, aren’t you?’

  ‘Not at all. We don’t suspect anyone at this point. That’s right, sir, isn’t it?’ Lineham glanced at Thanet.

  Thanet nodded. ‘Much too soon.’

  It was clear that Hartley didn’t believe them. ‘Well, to answer your question, each of us was alone in the sense that we weren’t with the other two, but each of us was emphatically not alone in the literal sense of the word. I’m sure that when you check you’ll be able to find other people who can vouch for us.’

  Lineham nodded, as if to accept this statement at its face value. ‘To go back a little, did you by any chance see anyone hand a note to your brother, earlier in the evening?’

  ‘Definitely not.’

  ‘Have you any idea what it could have been about?’

  ‘Not the faintest, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Just one more question then, Mr Argent. How upset was he when Miss Sylvester broke off their engagement and became engaged to your brother instead?’

  Thanet noticed that the door to Mrs Jeopard’s quarters was opening. Hartley, seated with his back to it and intent upon the conversation, remained unaware.

  ‘Well a bit upset, naturally. You don’t ask a girl to marry you unless you’re in love with her. But if you’re suggesting Gerald could have had anything to do with Max’s death, you’re out of your mind. He wouldn’t hurt a fly!’

  ‘You’re being ridiculously naïve, as usual, dear.’ The incisive voice sliced into the conversation.

  This was a very different woman from the pathetic figure in the wheelchair last night. This morning Mrs Jeopard’s back was ramrod straight and she had armoured herself against the world’s pity in an elegant black silk dress. She was immaculately groomed, her greying hair framing her face in soft curls, her make-up discreet, her long, delicately-boned hands heavy with rings. Last night Thanet had put her in her early seventies but today he saw that she was considerably younger – mid-sixties, perhaps. He wondered what illness or accident had put her in a wheelchair.

  Her sister was also dressed in black, though less expensively. They were really very alike, he realised, and wondered which was the older. It was difficult to tell. He soon found out.

  Mrs Jeopard held out her hand. ‘I don’t believe we were properly introduced last night, Inspector. I am Eleanor Jeopard and this is my twin sister Louisa Burke.’

  Non-identical twins, obviously, thought Thanet as he responded. Even seated it was evident that Mrs Jeopard was much the shorter of the two.

  ‘I’m afraid you have to take everything my son says about Gerald Argent with a pinch of salt.’ Mrs Jeopard gave Hartley what could only be described as a frosty smile. ‘They’re practically inseparable. “A bit upset”, indeed! The fact of the matter is, Gerald has always been a fool over that girl. He couldn’t believe his luck when she actually agreed to marry him so you can imagine how he felt when she threw him over.’

  SIX

  Hartley was driven to protest. ‘Mother, really! You simply cannot go around saying things like that!’

  ‘Why not, if they’re true?’ She turned her cool blue gaze upon Thanet. ‘I assume you have come to the conclusion that my son’s death was no accident?’

  ‘Well, I . . .’

  ‘I agree, there is no other possible explanation. Louisa, do stop hovering and sit down. I can’t think with you looming over me like that!’

  Louisa sat.

  No doubt about who was in control in this house, thought Thanet.

  Mrs Jeopard fastened her attention upon him again. ‘There’s no doubt in my mind. Someone must have pushed him in deliberately. Probably hit him over the head first. In fact, they must have done, or he’d have managed to get out. I’m sure that’s what you’ll find, when you do the post . . . post-mortem.’ For the first time there was a tremor in her voice, but she recovered immediately. ‘So naturally I have spent most of the night thinking who it could be. I assume you’d like to hear my conclusions?’

  ‘Yes, of–’

  ‘The trouble is, Inspector, everyone was jealous of Max, weren’t they, Louisa?’ The merest flick of a glance in Hartley’s direction hinted – perhaps unconsciously, Thanet thought – that even her other son was not excluded from this accusation. ‘He had everything, you see. He was handsome, intelligent, athletic, and creative, too, a most gifted writer. Have you read his book?’

  ‘No, but–’

  ‘I brought this for you.’ Draped across her knees was a mohair travelling rug in a beautiful range of blues and greens and now she put one hand beneath it and pulled out a paperback, held it out to Thanet. Peephole into China. ‘More than anything it will show you the sort of man he was.’

  Thanet took it from her. ‘Thank you.’ The jacket design was striking, a typical two-dimensional Chinese landscape of high rounded mountains, misty gorges and stylised trees, glimpsed through a huge keyhole. He turned it over and Max Jeopard’s face grinned up at him, assured, confident of his charm and ability to cope with any and every situation. Perhaps on that last, fatal occasion it was over-confidence that had brought about his downfall. Perhaps he had made the mistake of underestimating the strength and determination of someone known to him but to whom he had felt superior.

  Mrs Jeopard was watching him and now she gave a nod, as if satisfied that Thanet’s interest was sufficiently aroused for him to follow her instructions.

  ‘That girl, of course, was besotted with him.’

  ‘Miss Sylvester?’ Thanet wondered how Mr Sylvester would have felt at hearing his daughter referred to as ‘that girl’.

  ‘Yes. We always knew it would never work with Gerald, didn’t we, Louisa?’ Once again Mrs Jeopard did not wait for a reply, apparently taking her sister’s agreement for granted. She cast a scornful glance at Hartley, as if he, not his friend, had been the inferior suitor. ‘We knew that if Max came back before they were actually married, she’d leave Gerald like a shot. I prayed he wouldn’t, I can tell you.’

  ‘You didn’t approve of your son marrying Miss Sylvester?’

  ‘I most certainly did not!’

  Louisa Burke had made an
involuntary movement of protest and now Eleanor Jeopard snapped, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Louisa, why bother to pretend any more? You see, Inspector, while Max was . . . There was no point in opposing Max’s wishes. He was such a determined person he always got what he wanted in the end and I’m afraid that what he wanted was Tess. The trouble was, she couldn’t accept that she had to come second, after his work. She got tired of him going off on his travels. I think she thought it was pure self-indulgence on his part. She seemed incapable of understanding that if he didn’t have the material to write about he couldn’t make a living! She wanted first and exclusive rights in him and Max felt he absolutely could not be tied down like that.’

  ‘Was that your only reason for disapproving of her?’

  ‘Not at all. My reasons, as one might say, were many and various.’

  ‘Mother, really! How do you think Tess would feel if she could hear you talking about her like this?’

  ‘To be honest, I don’t care a jot what Tess feels.’

  ‘I thought you liked her,’ said Hartley. ‘You always made her welcome and –’

  ‘Hartley. I sometimes think you’re an even greater ninny than you look. Of course I made her welcome. She was Max’s choice, wasn’t she, and I accepted her for his sake. If I hadn’t, it would have driven him away, can’t you see that?’

  Hartley jumped out of his seat and stood looking out of the window, jingling the change in his pocket, his frustration revealed in hunched shoulders and rigidity of stance.

  Thanet wondered what it must have been like for him, being Max’s younger brother, probably overshadowed at school, always second in his mother’s affections.

  ‘But really, dear,’ Mrs Jeopard’s tone had changed. Now she was trying to coax him into agreement. ‘You must admit the Sylvesters are not exactly our sort of people.’ Somehow she embued the words with capital letters.

  Hartley swung around. ‘In your view, very few people are.’

  ‘Well, even you will agree that it’s not exactly a promising prospect, to know your son is marrying a girl with a brother who is insane!’ Mrs Jeopard switched her attention to Thanet again. ‘You have heard about him, I suppose, Inspector?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Syl –’

  ‘And they did tell you he was actually on the loose last night?’ Mrs Jeopard twitched angrily at the rug on her knees. ‘How irresponsible can you get?’

  Thanet wondered if he would ever be allowed to finish a sentence. He was running out of patience. He caught the glint of amusement in Lineham’s eye and decided that the time had come for him to assert himself.

  He opened his mouth to speak but Hartley got in first. ‘Mother, they did explain that it was one of the guests who –’

  ‘I don’t care what they explained, the fact remains that Carey was roaming about last night and he’s always been jealous of Max, as you very well know. He was furious when Max got into Oxford and he didn’t. And he resented the fact that Max had so often made Tess miserable by going off on his travels again. He was always trying to persuade her to break away from him. You told me that yourself, years ago.’

  Right, thought Thanet. He cut in, quickly. ‘Do I gather that Carey Sylvester has only recently become schizophrenic?’

  Mrs Jeopard was about to reply but this time Hartley pre-empted her, returning to his seat as if to re-establish his right to participate in the conversation. ‘Carey was fine until halfway through his second year at university. He was taking a degree in Urban Land Management at Reading. Then suddenly he just . . . fell apart.’

  Mrs Jeopard didn’t like being ousted from centre stage. ‘He went into a mental hospital for six months or so and he’s been in and out of them ever since. Until that absurd Mental Health Act, in fact, when he was forced to stay out permanently. I don’t know what the Government was thinking of, turning all those madmen out into the streets. Really, it’s enough to make one think of resigning from the Conservative Party!’

  ‘The Sylvesters,’ said Hartley with a reproachful glance at his mother, ‘have had a rotten time of it. In the end they hired a nurse for Carey. And I think it’s downright unkind of you, Mother, to call them irresponsible. They’ve done everything they can to –’

  ‘Maybe they have. But it still doesn’t alter the fact that last night that maniac got out. Nor the fact that your brother was found dead in their swimming pool.’

  ‘We don’t know that there’s any connection!’

  ‘I’m not saying there is. I’m just saying that there’s a distinct possibility there might be! Anyway, that’s not exactly what the Inspector was asking. He was asking for the reasons why I disapproved of Tess Sylvester as a wife for Max. And I’m simply saying that madness in the family was one, and one that I certainly consider valid, as I’m sure most people would. Have you got any children, Inspector?’

  ‘Two,’ said Thanet.

  ‘Then I’m sure you’ll know what I mean.’

  And she was right, of course. But he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of admitting it.

  ‘And last but not least,’ said Mrs Jeopard, ‘I didn’t like the idea of Max marrying a girl whose father didn’t appreciate him.’

  ‘In what way?’ said Thanet.

  She waved a vague hand. ‘I suspect Ralph Sylvester didn’t like the competition. That man absolutely dotes on Tess and he would, I’m sure, have preferred someone more . . . malleable, like Gerald, as a husband for her. Someone local, who wouldn’t be liable to whisk her off to the other side of the world at the drop of a hat. Someone with a nice steady boring job who’d settle down a couple of miles away and present the Sylvesters with a couple of grandchildren in the not too distant future. Max was altogether too unpredictable, too unconventional for his taste.’

  ‘Your son didn’t get on with his prospective father-in-law?’

  It depends what you mean by get on. Louisa, do you mind? This cushion . . .’

  Her sister sprang to adjust the offending article. So far she had not, Thanet realised, contributed a single syllable to the conversation, and was unlikely to have the opportunity to do so in the presence of Mrs Jeopard. He wondered how he could manoeuvre an opportunity to speak to her alone. In his experience the quiet ones often noticed far more than those who were too busy projecting their chosen image to be aware of the nuances of other people’s behaviour.

  ‘They obviously didn’t get on in the sense of having much common ground or enjoying each other’s company,’ she went on. ‘But if you’re asking if there was any overt antagonism between them then no, there wasn’t. Like me, Ralph Sylvester was making the best of a bad job. He didn’t want to risk alienating his daughter by open disapproval. All the same, I’d be willing to wager that in private he’ll be rubbing his hands together with glee this morning.’

  Hartley was again driven to protest. ‘Mother!’

  ‘Don’t “Mother!” me,’ she said furiously. ‘What is the point of pretending? Nothing will convince me that Ralph Sylvester isn’t secretly delighted that Max is dead.’

  Delighted enough to have helped him on his way was the implication.

  From the moment she entered the room she had dominated the conversation but now, suddenly, her vitality seemed to fade away. That last spurt of anger seemed to have depleted her. The colour had drained out of her face and the skin of her forehead glistened. She produced a dainty lace-bordered handkerchief and dabbed at her upper lip. Hartley jumped up and bent over her solicitously. ‘Mother . . . are you all right?’

  For the first time she managed a faint smile, gave his arm a reassuring pat. ‘Yes, of course, dear. Perhaps a glass of water . . . ?’

  He hurried off at her bidding. It was time to bring this interview to a close, thought Thanet. He wondered again what was the matter with her and wondered too how much it had cost her, just how far she had had to draw upon her evidently meagre reserves, to give the performance they had just witnessed.

  ‘Well, you’ve certainly given us food for thought, Mr
s Jeopard,’ he said. ‘And if you could just bear with me for a few moments longer while I check one or two facts, we’ll leave you in peace.’

  She inclined her head. ‘Of course.’

  Hartley returned with a cut-glass tumbler of water and she took it, sipped from it gratefully before returning it to him. She verified that yes, she had last seen Max when he had escorted her to their table at about 9.40, and that it must have been around ten when Tess announced that she was going to look for him and Ralph Sylvester went instead. She had no knowledge, she said, of any note handed to Max earlier in the evening.

  ‘One last question, then,’ said Thanet. ‘There was an incident before supper involving some kind of argument between your son and a friend of Tess Sylvester, Anthea Greenway. Do you know anything about that?’

  When Anthea’s name was mentioned there had been an immediate flicker of comprehension in her eyes, quickly suppressed. She shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not,’ she said.

  No doubt about it, she was lying. But why? Whatever the reason, questioning her about it would have to wait. She was clearly exhausted. Thanet stood up and thanked her.

  Louisa Burke rose also and spoke for the first time. ‘I’ll see you out.’

  Thanet was pleased. The opportunity to speak to her alone had unexpectedly been handed to him on a plate.

  SEVEN

  Thanet suspected that there was something specific Louisa Burke wanted to say to him, but that she would be frightened off by too direct an approach. In the hall he said conversationally, ‘Have you lived here long, Miss Burke?’

  She plucked at her black cotton skirt, as if to gather up courage. ‘Ever since my sister’s marriage.’

  ‘Beautiful house,’ said Lineham, playing along.

  ‘I don’t actually live in the house. There’s a little flat over the stables . . . It used to be the chauffeur’s, in the days when people had chauffeurs. Eleanor’s husband very kindly did it up for me. It’s nice to be independent.’

  Thanet wondered how much independence she actually had. ‘Your sister is very fortunate, to have you to look after her.’