A Death in the Family

by Hazel Holt

  ‘Poor Janet.’

  ‘It was horrible. We met secretly sometimes when we could, but she was terrified that he would find out.’

  ‘Why didn’t she leave him?’

  He shook his head sadly. ‘She had nowhere else to go and, besides, he’d sapped her will so much…’ He was silent for a while then he went on, ‘That summer the Samuels went on holiday in France. There was this gite they always rented in Normandy and they took me with them. It was wonderful, it changed my life.’

  ‘Hadn’t you been abroad before?’

  ‘A “cultural tour” with my parents with my father setting me a portion of the relevant guide book to be learnt by heart before we visited each monument or museum. Not exactly inspiring. But this was different, living in the proper country with real people, the relaxed way of life, the food! That’s when I realised what I wanted to do.’

  ‘How splendid.’

  ‘The Samuels had been going for years to this particular restaurant and Mr Samuels asked if they would take me on. My French wasn’t very good but I managed to make Monsieur Picard understand how much I wanted to learn from him, so he agreed. I did all the menial jobs, worked from seven in the morning till late at night and fell into bed exhausted in the little attic up above the restaurant, all for virtually no money. But he was a wonderful chef and he taught me well. When he thought I was good enough he passed me on to a friend of his who had a well-known restaurant in Paris. I was so lucky.’

  ‘Hard work!’

  ‘Yes, but it was work I loved. I was there for about six months, then I began to worry about Mum. I’d kept in touch with her through the Samuels and she wrote to me when she could, but although she always said that everything was all right, I felt it wasn’t and – well, I thought I should be near at hand. Anyway, I really wanted to see her.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I came back and got a job in Bristol – sous chef in a really good restaurant, in Clifton. That’s where I met Yves – he was the maitre d’ there. He’d come over here to get more experience, but he was very homesick and we talked a lot about Paris, which is where he’d come from. Then after a bit we moved in together – he’s a very special person, I’ve been so lucky to find him. Well, we always had this dream of starting our own place and then, about a year ago, Yves’ uncle died and left him some money – not a vast amount but enough to start up on our own.’

  ‘That must have been very exciting.’

  ‘Oh yes, it was wonderful, but very hard work – there’s just the two of us. I do the cooking and the marketing, but Yves does the waiting, the accounts and all that sort of thing – he’s so organised!’

  ‘And you were able to see your mother.’

  ‘Very occasionally. But she was terrified my father would find out.’

  ‘It must have been awful for both of you. What about your sister, though?’

  He gave a short laugh. ‘Oh, she was on my father’s side. Well, she didn’t actually disown me – she didn’t care about my being gay. But she just thought I was – what was it she called me? – “a pathetic little wimp”. She was the eldest, you see, and she was resentful about the years when my father concentrated on me because I was the boy.’

  ‘But didn’t she care about the way he treated your mother?’

  ‘Oh, Christine took her cue from him, she despised Mum just as he did.’

  ‘Poor Janet.’

  We were both silent for a moment and then Luke said, ‘I’m sorry to have gone on like this, but I wanted you to know just how it’s been all these years, to understand why neither of us are sorry that he’s dead.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said slowly. ‘I do understand.’

  Luke had been leaning against the sink while he was telling me all this, but now he straightened up and said, ‘Look, I’ve got to be going – Yves really can’t cope on his own. I’m sorry to leave like this, you’ve been so kind. Mum was telling me how marvellous you’ve been. But Christine will see to any arrangements that have to be made. She’s not my favourite person, as you can imagine, but she’s very efficient. She’ll treat Mum like a backward child, but she’ll get things done and that’s what matters just now. Actually,’ he went on, ‘I have been trying lately to get her onside – to look out for Mum a bit. But she’s always busy and it’s tiresome trying to hold any sort of conversation with an answerphone. I did have a brief word with her last night, but she had to break off in the middle to do something else – oh well, I suppose it’s not that important. I can look after Mum now.’

  We went back into the sitting room.

  ‘Sorry to be so long,’ I said brightly, ‘but Luke’s kindly been helping me with the washing up.’

  Luke went over to his mother and took her hand. ‘I’ve got to go now, Mum – you know how it is.’

  She smiled at him. ‘Yes, of course, darling – you mustn’t be late back.’

  She got up and he gave her a hug, saying, ‘It’s all right – everything’s going to be all right now.’

  We stood in the drive while he put his helmet on.

  ‘That’s a very fine bike,’ I said looking at the gleaming red monster.

  ‘It’s a Laverda,’ he said. ‘Italian – a wicked extravagance, but Yves rides it too and it’s cheaper to run than a car. And yes, Mum, I’ll be careful.’

  He pulled down the visor of his helmet, mounted his bike and roared off down the drive.

  Janet and I went back slowly into the house.

  ‘I hope he’ll be all right,’ Janet said. ‘I do worry about that bike, especially on the motorway.’

  I thought how good it was to hear her talking like a normal worried mother and not just a shadowy echo of her horrible husband.

  ‘Michael always said that bikes are safer on the motorway than on our winding lanes,’ I said. ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine. What a nice boy he is! We had a chat while we were washing up and he told me how things had been for him – I think he’s marvellous.’

  She gave me a grateful smile. ‘I’m so glad you like him,’ she said. ‘Especially now you know all about him. Even now, some people…’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake,’ I said impatiently, ‘in this day and age! He’s a really marvellous person, to have done what he’s done with no real help from anyone, and so kind and caring. You must be very proud of him.’

  ‘Oh I am – you can’t imagine!’

  ‘It must have been very hard for you, all those years, not seeing him.’

  ‘It broke my heart.’

  ‘But Janet,’ I began awkwardly, ‘if Bernard was so terrible, why didn’t you leave him? You were obviously a good school secretary, you could have got a job.’

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t explain,’ she said. ‘I knew logically that it would be possible – Christine was grown up, at university, she’d be all right, and, anyway, she was her father’s favourite – but I just couldn’t. Partly, I suppose because Bernard had undermined my confidence – I didn’t quite believe that I could do anything on my own.’

  ‘Nonsense!’

  She smiled sadly. ‘True, though. But, the other thing was I knew he’d come after me and find me and make me go back to him. Not for love – I don’t believe he ever felt that for me – but I knew that he couldn’t bear to think that one of his possessions had got away from him.’

  ‘Possessions?’

  ‘Perhaps that’s not quite the right word – I don’t know, though. What’s that word they used to use? Chattels, that’s it, I was one of his chattels, part of the furnishings, but his, belonging to him.’

  ‘That’s terrible!’

  ‘It was,’ she said simply. The clock struck the half hour and she got to her feet. ‘Is that the time? I have to go. I mustn’t keep Christine waiting.’ The old, anxious note was back in her voice. ‘Do you mind if I ring for a taxi?’

  ‘Don’t be silly – I’ll take you. But, look, if the police haven’t finished at the cottage, you must both come back here. I insist.’

&
nbsp; ‘That’s very kind of you – we’ll see what Christine says.’

  I was sad to hear the old dull, indecisive tone and, as I got ready to go out, I wondered if Janet was going to exchange one sort of tyranny for another.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When we got to the cottage the constable was just taking down the police scene of crime tapes. As we went up the path Bob Harris came out of the front door.

  ‘Is it all right for us to go in now?’ I asked. ‘Mrs Prior’s daughter is coming to stay with her for a few days – to help with arrangements and so forth.’

  ‘Yes, that’s fine, Mrs Malory. They’ve finished in there.’ He turned to Janet. ‘You’ll need to get that smashed glass replaced in the kitchen, but everything else is all right.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said, as Janet gave me a helpless look. ‘I’ll phone Taviscombe Glass, they’ll send someone out.’

  ‘Chief Inspector Eliot was saying that he’d like a word with you both sometime soon,’ Bob said to me. ‘We’re dealing with it here in Taviscombe, but he’s taking an interest, as you might say.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Janet,’ I said, ‘you go in, I’ll follow you in a moment.’

  She went obediently indoors. Bob looked after her and shook his head.

  ‘Poor lady, she’s taking it very hard.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said mendaciously, ‘she’s upset, of course. Have you had the pathology report? Do you know when he died?’

  ‘Not yet. We’ll keep you informed and about the inquest too, of course. It’s always very awkward – the family want to know about arranging the funeral and so on.’

  ‘Yes. I’m glad Mrs Prior’s daughter is coming. I believe she’s very efficient, so she’ll be able to see to everything.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. I always say it’s good to have your family around you at a time like this. Well, I must be off. I expect the chief inspector will be in touch with you himself, since he’s by way of being a friend, as you might say.’

  ‘Yes, he’s married to my goddaughter and we’ve known each other for a long time.’

  ‘Well, that’s all right then,’ Bob said. ‘I’ll be off then.’

  ‘Goodbye. Give my regards to your father. I hope he’s keeping well?’

  ‘A bit of arthritis and he says he’s getting slow, but his vegetable garden’s still a picture. You should see his cauliflowers. Perfect. Very difficult to grow, a perfect cauli is.’

  He waved cheerfully and went off to the waiting police car.

  It was with some reluctance that I went into the cottage. Although the central heating had been left on there was a chill (possibly more imagined than actual) and a feeling of desolation, which I suppose was only natural given the circumstances. I felt that perhaps I shouldn’t have sent Janet in on her own, but I didn’t want her to be upset by talk of pathology reports and inquests. Though, as I considered it, I thought that she probably wouldn’t have been. I heard sounds from the kitchen and, glad not to have to confront the sitting room for a moment, I went in to find Janet at the sink, filling the kettle.

  ‘Thank goodness Christine isn’t here yet. I was so afraid I might have been keeping her waiting. I thought a cup of tea would be a good idea, do you think so?’

  ‘A very good idea,’ I said cheerfully. I looked at the broken glass in the back door. ‘I’d better go and phone the glass people. Do you think you could find a dustpan and brush and sweep up that glass while I’m doing it?’

  ‘Oh yes, of course. I can do that.’ She opened the cupboard under the sink. ‘There’s one here.’

  ‘Splendid,’ I said and went into the sitting room to make the phone call.

  The room looked amazingly normal, given what had happened in it. The body had gone, of course, and as far as I could see, there were no blood stains – though I must confess I didn’t look too hard for those. The room was cold, though – it wasn’t just my imagination – so I switched on the electric fire and the bright light of the coal-effect gave the room an air of spurious cheerfulness. I put the electric light on too, and, just for a moment, I was able to pretend this was just an ordinary room where nothing extraordinary had happened.

  I went over to the telephone and picked up the receiver. On an impulse I dialled 1471. The remote, recorded female voice said, ‘You were called yesterday at 19.15 hours, the number was 01463 704709. Please press 3 if you wish to be connected.’ I scribbled the number down on the back of a leaflet by the phone and put it in my pocket. Then I got through to Taviscombe Glass and arranged for them to send someone straight away.

  When I went back into the kitchen Janet had swept up the glass and was looking in one of the cupboards.

  ‘I’m looking for the biscuits,’ she said. ‘Christine will want something after her journey. I do hope biscuits will be enough – there isn’t any cake. Bernard ate the last of the Victoria sponge yesterday. I was going to get some more today. Oh dear!’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Oh dear, I was going to do some shopping today, there’s hardly any food in the place. Christine will want something to eat this evening…’

  ‘You can go out for a meal,’ I said. ‘She can hardly expect you to cook dinner here after what’s happened.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Janet said doubtfully, ‘but she’s always said how inefficient I am. I mean she’s come all this way specially, when she’s so busy. I really ought to have thought…’

  ‘For goodness sake. Of course she should come, however busy she is – look at Luke, I’m sure he’s a lot busier – and anyway, it’s her father who has died so it’s only right she should be here. Surely she would want to come for her own sake, as well as supporting you.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’ Janet sounded unconvinced.

  ‘After all,’ I said, ‘from what you’ve told me she was her father’s favourite, she must have been fond of him.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Janet said, ‘but you can never tell with Christine, she’s always kept her feelings to herself. Oh, I know what she thinks of me, and Luke too, but I never knew if she was really fond of Bernard or if she was just playing up to him because she was jealous of the way he concentrated so much on Luke, that is when he was young, before – you know…’

  ‘But what about her husband, Jonathan, isn’t it? Surely she must have feelings for him, else she wouldn’t have married him.’

  ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you, but I often wonder if she doesn’t despise him too, like she does Luke and me.’

  ‘Surely not. What’s he like?’

  ‘Jonathan? Very nice, always very polite to me. He’s successful in his job, they have a lovely home, all that, but it seems to me that he’s under Christine’s thumb all the time, doesn’t have a will of his own.’

  ‘Often really strong people need people like that…’

  ‘Like Bernard and me?’ Janet said, with a wry smile. ‘I don’t think it’s as bad as that, because he’s a man and he’s got a job and is out in the world, but, yes, I’ve seen the similarities and I’ve been sorry for him.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I know he’d have liked children,’ Janet went on, ‘but Christine wanted a career – said there was plenty of time, and I suppose there is – well, not plenty of time, but enough – but I don’t think she really wants any. They’d be a distraction, you see, they’d take at least part of Jonathan’s attention from her.’

  There was the sound of a car drawing up outside.

  ‘Oh, that’ll be the glass people,’ I said. ‘I’ll go and let them in.’

  But when I opened the front door I saw that it was Christine. Quite different from her brother – tall, with dark hair worn shorter than his, she obviously resembled Bernard while he took after Janet, not only, I imagined, in looks.

  ‘Mrs Malory?’ she asked and her voice was stronger and less pleasing. ‘I’m Christine Taylor.’

  ‘Yes, of course, do come in. Your mother’s been expecting you.’

  I led the way into the kitchen where Janet was stan
ding by the table, her eyes fixed anxiously on the door.

  ‘Hello, dear,’ she said, ‘it was so good of you to come when I know how busy you are.’ Christine took off her driving gloves, rather in the manner of someone rolling up their sleeves to perform some difficult task.

  ‘Right, then,’ she said, ‘you’d better tell me what’s been going on.’

  ‘Well, your father – well, you know about that – all very distressing – the police have been so kind – and, of course, Sheila – it’s all right to stay here, they said, that is, if you don’t mind – I’ve given them a statement, but I think they want to talk to me again…’

  Her voice trailed off and Christine, who had been listening to these disjointed remarks with growing impatience said, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mother, pull yourself together, do try to be coherent.’ She turned to me and said, ‘Perhaps you could tell me exactly what the situation is.’

  ‘Your mother has been very upset,’ I said coldly, ‘and under a great deal of strain. Not surprisingly, given the circumstances.’

  She seemed a little taken aback by my manner, but pulled herself together and said in a more conciliatory tone, ‘Yes, of course, I understand that. Still, if you could kindly give me the details.’

  I told her what had happened as concisely as possible, just the facts, since I didn’t think she’d want to know about feelings and reactions.

  ‘So,’ she said when I’d finished, ‘you don’t have any real information about the post-mortem or the inquest, so I can’t make the funeral arrangements yet.’

  ‘We may know more,’ I said, ‘when we go to the police station, tomorrow, perhaps. I gather they would like to see us again.’

  ‘I can’t see why that’s necessary if you’ve already given statements. No, I think I’d better go down to the police station myself now and sort this out.’

  ‘I don’t think that would be much use,’ I said firmly. ‘Chief Inspector Eliot won’t be there – he’s based in Taunton and he has overall control of the case. I don’t think Sergeant Harris will be able to tell you anything more than I have.’