Somebody had rather unprofessionally rifled through Belinda’s chest-of-drawers.
Her dressing table was the same.
One of my suits in my side of the wardrobe was in the wrong place. I went over to Belinda’s bedside table and slowly opened the top drawer. It was where she kept many of her private possessions. The lower drawer contained birthday, anniversary and Christmas cards going back as many years as we had known each other. She hadn’t kept them all, only those from immediate family and then from the twins when they had become old enough to write their own cards. The top drawer contained her more personal items and I had never looked inside it. I didn’t know whether it had been opened and searched but the belief that some stranger had breached Belinda’s secret life made me feel extremely angry.
While I was in Germany, and more specifically Cochem, and I was being approached by what I believed were representatives of a British security organisation, the house had been methodically – but none too professionally – searched from top to bottom.
But for what?
I could think of nothing that would be of any use to the security services. If burglary was the motive and items stolen then – ironically – I would have felt a little better than I did. Burglary and the invasion of privacy that goes with it, is bad enough but at least the intruder is there for personal gain and may only take items of value.
Having my life, and more importantly my memories of Belinda, invaded in the most underhand of ways, was totally unacceptable. Even if Elizabeth had been in to tidy, she would not have opened any drawers, let alone touch what was inside them.
The twins’ rooms were their own private sanctuaries, and as long as they kept them reasonably tidy, Belinda and I had let them have them the way they wanted them. Isabelle was the more adventurous, making a good deal of effort for her room to reflect her young personality. David had settled for a few risqué posters and a Star Trek bedspread. Regardless, somebody had been in the house and, if it wasn’t Elizabeth, then my expensive security system had been easily breached.
I left the house and drove the short distance to see Elizabeth and Charles. They were busy in their greenhouse tending their tomatoes, peppers and lettuces. I had sensed a slight distancing develop between us since Belinda died, so I was pleased when they were happy to see me. Of course they didn’t blame me in any way and maybe I was being overly sensitive, but Elizabeth in particular gave me the impression that as a couple we were to be doted on; as the father of two of their grandchildren I still had her respect but not a lot else.
They stopped their chores and we went into the house for a cup of tea. I told them about my trip to Germany, leaving out what had happened in Cochem. I saw them exchange looks when I explained the continuing need for solitude.
Charles was an ex-Army officer who had reached the rank of Colonel before retiring early and becoming a management consultant. He always found it somewhat amazing that people in industry actually listened to him regardless of his lack of experience in the private sector. He had doubled his Army salary for twelve years before retiring for good. Their house on the outskirts of Market Harborough wasn’t palatial but it suited them admirably. They were both keen gardeners, spending most of the late spring and summer months pottering. They took three months off every year and flew to Cyprus for what they called peace and relaxation. Charles was now sixty-seven; he still had his military bearing and he tended to converse in short, sharp sentences. Verbosity for him was a waste of energy.
Elizabeth, as I explained before, took Belinda’s death very badly. She accepted that when the time came it was a release, and being deeply religious she also accepted that what Belinda would have found on the other side had to be better than the pain her daughter had suffered during the last few years of her life. An elegant lady, Elizabeth was the same age as Charles but she looked a good few years younger. Tall with beautifully styled grey hair, she had handed on her personality to Belinda. She always saw the best in everybody – except for the Germans in Belinda’s case – and was at times unforgivably generous. She helped in many of the charity organisations in Market Harborough but was always worried sick that people would regard her as a do-gooder.
It was for this reason I felt guilty thinking that her attitude towards me had changed. It was more likely that it hadn’t – maybe even the opposite applied – but perhaps I felt responsible to them for letting their daughter die so young.
“Did you go to Blue-Ridge while I was away?” I asked as Elizabeth poured me a second cup of tea.
We were sitting in their sunroom, and although it was overcast outside, the brightness of the flowers and plants lit up the room.
“Called in the day before yesterday, erm … Thursday,” Charles offered.
“Why?” Elizabeth asked as she handed me my cup and saucer.
“Just wondered,” I said. “The mail was on the telephone table, that’s all.”
“Wasn’t going to leave it on the floor, old boy,” said Charles, a smile on his face.
“Has something happened?” Elizabeth gave Charles a disapproving look. She always said he would cut himself on his sharpness one day.
“No, not at all,” I responded, perhaps a little too quickly. “I wondered, that’s all.” I thought it was best to change the subject. “I spoke to Isabelle earlier today.”
“Oh, how was she?”
“Fine thanks. David was away playing cricket at Haileybury. I’m going down to pick them up on Saturday for an unexpected exeat, something to do with being good boys and girls, and they want to spend what’s left of the weekend at home. Would you both like to come over for Sunday lunch?” They exchanged looks. “Don’t worry, Isabelle will be doing the cooking!”
“For all of us? Why don’t you all come over here?” Elizabeth suggested. “It’ll be lovely to see the children, especially as it’s unexpected.”
“Isabelle is bringing a friend for the weekend.”
“One more won’t make any difference, and anyway Charles would prefer it that way,” Elizabeth said rather brusquely. Charles was a creature of habit and I knew his Sunday lunches at home were sacrosanct. He didn’t mind how many were there to eat as long as they ate round his table.
I wasn’t too sure Isabelle would be happy because she had specifically asked me not to plan anything. She loved her grandparents dearly but she could be quite stubborn when she wanted to be.
“That might be better, thank you,” I said. “We won’t be able to stay too long after lunch because I’ll have to get them all back.”
“We’ll have an early lunch then, say twelve for twelve-thirty?”
“That’s fine.”
Charles followed me to the car leaving Elizabeth standing at the front door.
“Everything all right?” he asked, putting a friendly arm round my shoulders. We were about the same height and probably the same weight. He had lost most of his hair but his face was still handsome and tanned. Belinda had idolised him.
“I miss her, Charles,” I said. “I feel incredibly empty without her.”
“We all do, old boy. She left a gap in all our lives but none of us knows what you must be going through.” It was quite a speech for him, especially one in which he shared emotions. “But is there anything else? Ever since you came back from Derbyshire you seem to be preoccupied. Is it the young girl you found?”
I smiled at him. “Did Elizabeth put you up to this?” I asked, ignoring his question.
“We have discussed you, yes. I would be lying if I said we hadn’t.”
“I’m all right. It’s just that –” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
I shook him by the hand and waved to Elizabeth as I got into the car. She raised her hand in response but her whole manner was one of concern. I hoped by saying what I had that they would accept that Belinda’s loss was my only reason for being the way I was.
Indicating left to turn onto the main road, I felt Belinda beside me, already discussing how well her mother and fath
er looked and how nice it was to have them living quite close.
Involuntarily I felt my eyes begin to water … again.
I am not going to dwell on the Coroner’s Inquest into Ingrid’s death. Suffice to say that in my considered opinion, it was a farce and severely dented my previous faith in the British justice system. I appreciated that the job of a coroner was to establish the cause of death, and not to determine criminal liability but for me, this particular inquiry fell short of determining the truth..
It was obvious that orders had come down from above as to the conclusions the Coroner should draw, and any evidence that might contradict this order wouldn’t be introduced in the Court. The probable involvement of Governmental departments wasn’t even hinted at, and I could not introduce anything I gleaned from my experiences in Cochem. No wonder the inquiry was over in a day.
After giving my evidence, the Coroner looked at me over his reading glasses, and asked me whether, in retrospect, I would have left Ingrid Mesterom on her own while I went in search of her rucksack. I wanted to reply by saying that had I stayed, he could be sitting in judgement over two deaths, not one. I did explain, perhaps a little sarcastically, that like all other human beings, I didn’t have the benefit of hindsight. If I had, then no, I would probably not have left her.
The Coroner glared at me but said nothing.
The short-lived inquiry concluded ‘unlawful killing’ in the case of the death of Ingrid Mesterom.
During the drive to Buxton, I wondered whether Marie and Michael would make an appearance but concluded that it was unlikely.
I was right.
The press were in Court but not in great numbers. The police from Ashbourne also gave their evidence and there were passing nods of recognition but little else. It was as though the authorities accepted that there had been a murder and the appropriate procedures had to be gone through, but other than that it was to be swept under the carpet as soon as possible.
At least I could now get on with my life.
Chapter Eleven
Although I hadn’t decided what to do – if there was anything I could do – about Blue-Ridge being searched, I needed to put it to the back of my mind, Isabelle and David deserved an untroubled weekend. The last thing the twins needed was a distracted and paranoid father. Nevertheless, there were still so many unanswered questions. There was an obvious connection with what I had been told by the two stooges in Cochem, but my imagination didn’t let me go any further. Then there was the farcical inquest in to Ingrid’s murder.
What real proof did I have that anybody had been in the house in the first place? There was nothing stolen and, to the unknowing eye, nothing had been disturbed. It was probably too late for me to do anything official about the intrusion, plus the fact that it was unlikely the intruders had left any fingerprints or any other evidence. What I wanted to know was – if the trespassers were from some Government department – had they gone in before the meeting in Cochem or after? If it was after, then I believed I had real cause for concern.
Saturday was a bright but windy day. After passing through the school gates and negotiating the bend before driving up the long driveway to the main building of St Edward’s School, my thoughts were at last on the weekend. Other than Sunday lunch with their grandparents and in accordance with Isabelle’s wishes, there were no other plans.
Similar to other older boarding schools, St Edward’s was an awesome building. I did hope though, that its splendour wasn’t taken for granted – I wanted it to be inspirational for its students as well. The driveway opened out onto spacious lawns and a car park that fronted the junior school to the left, with the main school to the right. The recent extension – 1960s – to the junior school included some not so architecturally acceptable classrooms on two floors, but the old chapel and living accommodation dated back to the early nineteenth century. There had also been extensions to the senior school but four floors of classrooms, offices and accommodation that had been adapted from an even earlier late eighteenth century seminary, hid them from immediate view. The whole school seemed to convey a message of power, authority and influence from within, and relaxation and leisure outside.
David was already waiting with a small rucksack slung over his shoulder. He waved as he saw me coming and I steered the car towards him.
“Hi, Dad,” he said climbing into the front of the car. We gave each other a hug and then he threw his rucksack on the back seat.
“Where are the others?”
“Others?” he asked.
“Bella said she was bringing a friend home for the weekend. She said her name was Jane.” I turned off the ignition.
“She didn’t tell me,” he commented critically. “Who did you say it was?”
“Jane somebody or other.”
I saw Isabelle come out of the main building and look around for the car … I flashed the lights before getting out and waving.
“Hi, Daddy,” she said with a beaming smile on her face. “This is Jane.” She indicated a tall, slim girl behind her who was eyeing me a little anxiously.
“Hello Jane.” I held out my hand, smiling. “I’m Richard.”
“Hello Mr Blythe.” Her face went from looking anxious to exhibiting a radiating smile that uncovered a set of gleaming white teeth against her dark brown skin. “I’m Jane.”
I let go of Jane’s hand and looked at Isabelle who came forward, threw her arms round my neck and kissed me on the cheek. “Good to see you again, Daddy!” she said.
“And it’s good to see you, all three of you,” I said, stealing a glance at Jane to make her feel part of the family group. “Right, come on, the longer we stay here the less time you’ll have at home.”
There was little traffic on the roads, which allowed us to cover the sixty miles in about an hour and a half. There was constant chatter from the back seat as Isabelle and Jane recounted various events that had occurred at school since I had last seen Isabelle. David kept on giving me sideways looks and raising his eyebrows, but remained silent, watching the road ahead.
The latest gossip included the fact that Miss Jessop, their history teacher, was leaving to get married. According to the girls, she was far too old to marry and have children.
“She must be at least thirty-five,” Isabelle said. “And do you remember Jessica, Daddy?”
I was negotiating the roundabout under the A1 (M). “I think so, she’s in the year above you, isn’t she?” I looked in the rear-view mirror; Isabelle and Jane were watching me intently. I wondered what was coming because they were both keen to see my reaction.
“Was,” said Isabelle. “She’s been expelled.”
“No, she hasn’t,” snapped David. “She’s been suspended while the situation is being investigated,” he added in a tired, monotonous tone. It was the first time he had spoken since getting in the car but, in his defence, it hadn’t been easy to get a word in edgeways.
“It’s as good as being expelled,” retorted Isabelle.
“What’s she been up to?” I asked, slightly amused.
“She and Mr Langley were found together,” Isabelle volunteered in a mischievous voice.
“Found together? What do you mean?” I asked, knowing what was coming next.
“She and Langley were caught together in his rooms,” David chipped in before Isabelle could say anything.
“David! I wanted to tell Daddy.” There were times when there was a reversal of David’s supposed immaturity next to Isabelle’s. I knew he was looking at me. I smiled.
“But she can’t be more than fifteen. What do you mean, they were caught together?”
“Well,” Isabelle began, “she says she’d gone to see him to get some help with a maths assignment but that’s not what Mrs Craig said.”
Mrs Craig was the school nurse, and from previous reports she spent a lot of her time skulking round corridors and eavesdropping. She regarded it as part of her duties but the pupils thought she was strange, but obviously not so strang
e as to refrain from broadcasting her side of the story on this occasion.
“So what was Mrs Craig’s version?”
“Well,” Isabelle began again, “Mrs Craig said that she went to Mr Langley’s rooms to discuss the open day that’s planned for early July before we break up …”
“Get on with it,” David pleaded next to me.
“Shut up, David.” The twins rarely argued or were nasty to each other. I put the current exchange down to the fact that Jane was in the car. “Mrs Craig said that she admits she was at fault because she knocked on Mr Langley’s door and then walked straight in without waiting for a reply, but she also says that it’s a good job she did.” Isabelle paused for breath and David kept quiet. “According to Mrs Craig, Jessica and Mr Langley were kissing and the front of Jessica’s shirt was undone.”
“I see,” I said. Although I knew what had been coming I felt quite concerned. “And Mrs Craig told you all this, did she?”
I accelerated past a combine harvester that was taking up more than its share of the road.
“Not exactly,” Isabelle explained. “She didn’t tell us face-to-face but that’s what happened. We were told by one of the girls in Jessica’s year.”
“And what has happened to Mr Langley? I presume he has been suspended too.”
“Yes, but he’s still on the grounds because he’s got one of the school houses.”
“Do I know him? I can’t recall the name.”
“No, he only started this term. You haven’t met him yet.”
“It doesn’t sound as though I’m likely to. He hasn’t made an auspicious start.”
“It will be Jessica’s fault,” Jane suddenly said. “She flirts with all the boys and it probably goes beyond flirting with some of them.” I looked in the rear-view mirror and Jane was looking straight at me. “She will have led him on.”
Pooh Bridge: conscience stricken Page 11
