by Hazel Holt
‘Can I come and see her?’
‘Well, as I say, she’s being moved to Taunton and really she’s very shaken so no visitors at the moment. But you could phone Taunton tomorrow if you like.’
‘Thank you so much for letting me know, Sandra – I was getting very worried. A car accident, did you say? What happened?’
‘Well, she wasn’t making a lot of sense, but she said she had to swerve because this other car drove straight at her and she went into a tree. Honestly, she’s lucky to be alive.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When I phoned the hospital in Taunton next morning they said Janet was ‘comfortable’ (which never inspires confidence) but I could visit her. I found her in a side ward. Her face was badly cut and bruised and she looked pale and anxious. I put the magazines I’d brought on the bed and sat down beside her.
‘What an awful thing to have happened. How are you?’
She managed a wan smile and said, ‘They keep telling me how lucky I am, but I don’t really feel lucky. No, that’s not fair – I could have had all sorts of terrible internal injuries, but, thank goodness, I don’t.’
‘Thank goodness indeed! But you must be in a lot of pain.’
‘The other good thing is that the ribs are cracked and not broken – if they had been there was a possibility that they might have damaged the lung. And they’re giving me lots of pain relief, so they’re right, I have been lucky.’
‘So what happened?’
‘Would you mind pouring me some water please, I can’t really stretch to reach it. Thanks so much.’ She took a sip of water and continued. ‘I left the cottage to visit you at about seven o’clock. It was quite dark by then and a bit misty but I could see perfectly well. I was just approaching that sharp bend – you know the one, on the hill, towards the end of the lane – when a car came round the corner going very fast. The lane’s a bit narrow but there was plenty of room for it to pass, but it simply came straight at me. I couldn’t believe it, I thought it would move over, but it didn’t, it kept coming on. So I wrenched the wheel over to avoid it and drove into a tree. I must have blacked out, because the first thing I remember was an ambulance man asking me my name.’ She took another sip of water. ‘It was so frightening, Sheila, really horrible.’
‘It must have been. And, yes, you’ve been very lucky indeed.’
‘The police came this morning. That nice sergeant we saw before. I suppose it was because the accident happened in his area. Anyway, it made it easier when it was someone I’d seen before.’
‘Yes, he’s a nice man. What did he say?’
‘He said it was probably joyriders – why do they call them that? – and they’d be investigating. The trouble was I couldn’t give them any sort of description of the car or the driver – I mean, it was dark and all I saw were the headlights coming towards me…’ She broke off in distress.
‘So have you been able to get in touch with Luke or Christine,’ I asked, to change the subject, ‘or would you like me to do it for you?’
‘No, it’s all right, there’s a phone thing here I could use. I called Christine. I didn’t want to worry Luke, but perhaps you could ring him. Just tell him I’m all right and will be coming home soon.’
‘Really?’
‘They want me to stay here for another day then Christine’s arranged for me to go into a nursing home in Clifton, just until I can manage on my own. I wanted to go straight home, but – well, you know what she’s like and I didn’t want to upset her arrangements.’
‘I think it’s a good idea,’ I said, ‘and Luke can visit you there.’
She brightened up. ‘Yes, so he can. Have you got something to write on? I’ll give you his address and phone number. Are you sure you don’t mind?’
‘No, of course not.’
Janet gave me the paper with Luke’s number and said, ‘Oh, there is one other thing – if you wouldn’t mind. I had a call from Bernard’s relation, Richard Prior, who wanted to ask me about some notes. He asked if he could come and see me yesterday evening but I said I was going to see you so he said would this evening be all right and I said yes. But, of course, if I’m in here…’ She paused and went on, ‘They don’t really like you to use the hospital phone for non-urgent calls, so I wonder if you could ring him and explain that I won’t be there?’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘No problem.’
The fact that Richard wanted to know more about Bernard’s notes seemed to me highly significant and I was still wondering about this, threading my way through the parked cars and dodging the ambulances outside the hospital, when I came face to face with Roger. ‘Hello,’ he said, ‘have you been visiting your cousin?’
‘Cousin’s wife, actually,’ I said. ‘Yes, I have. What about you?’
‘I’m on my way to visit her too,’ Roger said. ‘I saw Sergeant Harris’s report and I thought I’d just have a word.’
‘Really? So you think there may have been some connection between what happened to Janet and Bernard’s murder?’
‘Attempted murder,’ Roger said, ‘since we’re both being pedantic. I don’t really think anything, but, since she’s in Taunton and so am I, it seemed sensible to see what she had to say.’
‘Do you have a minute? I’d like to have a word with you myself.’
‘Sure. Shall we sit down on this bench, given apparently,’ he said, looking down at a plaque attached to it, ‘in memory of Samuel Pride Davis – what a peculiar place to want to put a memorial bench! I wonder if he died here and his not-so-loving relatives put it up in gratitude?’
‘Not necessarily. They may have saved his life and he put it here himself. Anyway,’ I continued, sitting down, ‘it’s about Janet and the accident.’
‘Yes?’
‘It seems to me that if Bernard’s murder – all right, attempted murder – wasn’t the result of a burglary that went wrong, then it must have been because, in the course of all his digging into family history – and he did dig in the most tremendous detail – he may have uncovered something that somebody would rather have kept hidden.’
Roger nodded. ‘I’m with you so far. Go on.’
‘He gave each branch of the family he’d been investigating the big family tree, but also their own particular part of it and the notes he’d made about them. Now if whoever it was thought they’d silenced Bernard, then, after a bit, realised that Janet had also been involved in making the notes and helping Bernard with the research, they could have realised that she might be equally dangerous to them.’
‘And so,’ Roger said, ‘she had to be silenced too?’
‘It’s possible,’ I said.
‘As you say, it’s a possibility and I’ll bear it in mind. This whole accident thing may only be a coincidence, of course, but still…’
For a moment I thought of telling him about Richard’s suspicious behaviour, but then I decided to wait a bit. Roger looked at me quizzically.
‘Sheila, there’s that look on your face – is there something you’re not telling me?’
I laughed. “‘His lordship with his customary detective ability…’” I quoted. ‘Yes, there is something, but it may very well be nothing, but if it is something then I’ll tell you.’
‘Fair enough. Incidentally, the inquest will probably be adjourned for a bit, especially since Mrs Prior is injured, so you won’t be bothered with that for a while. Anyway, Sheila, I’ll leave you to carry on with your own particular form of digging and rely on you to tell me if you unearth anything you think I should know.’ He got up. ‘I’d better go and visit the invalid and see if there’s anything she can tell me. Good hunting!’
When I got home I rang Luke and he was very agitated and annoyed at what he called Christine’s high-handed arrangements.
‘Mother should have come here, we could have looked after her here perfectly well until she was able to go home.’
‘I think,’ I said tentatively, ‘your mother’s quite happy to go into this nursing
home for a bit. She didn’t want you to be worried and I know she would be worried if you had to look after her, knowing how busy you are. You can always go and spend time with her every day when you have a spare hour or so. And she’ll have proper medical attention.’
‘I suppose so. How is she, though, is it serious? Tell me again what happened.’
I went over all the details again and he became a little calmer.
‘How’s she getting to Bristol?’ he asked. ‘She obviously can’t drive.’
‘She certainly can’t do that and, anyway, I’m afraid the car’s a total write-off. I imagine Christine has made arrangements for that too. Though, come to think of it, I could drive her down. It’s not that far and I can do it there and back easily in a day.’
‘Would you, that would be marvellous. Look, if you do, please come to the restaurant – lunch on the house. It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done.’
‘That would be lovely. I’ll be in touch.’
I rang the hospital and told the Sister on the ward what I proposed to do. She said I could pick Janet up about ten-thirty, after the consultant had seen her. She also said she would phone Christine and tell her about the change of plan, which was a relief to me because I wasn’t keen to be the one to inform her that I’d upset the arrangements.
Since I was going to be out for the whole day, I rang Thea and told her what had happened and asked if she’d call in and check on the animals for me and take Tris for a short walk.
‘Goodness, what a dreadful thing,’ Thea said. ‘Poor woman, after all she’s been through already. Is she going to be all right?’
‘They seem to think so. She was very lucky. Anyway, I think she’ll be safer back in Bristol.’
‘Do you think someone did it deliberately, then?’
‘I don’t know, but it does seem like a strange coincidence. If someone did want to cover up some dark deed in the past – well, she must have known as much about it all as Bernard.’
‘Where are all these dangerous papers now?’
‘As a matter of fact I’ve got them. I borrowed them from Janet a little while ago.’
‘You be careful,’ Thea said, ‘and give them back to her straight away!’
‘No one knows I’ve got them. At least I don’t think they do. But I don’t want to give them back quite yet.’
‘Oh don’t say you’re still investigating. The wretched man died of a heart attack.’
‘But, nevertheless someone tried to kill him,’ I said, ‘it’s still attempted murder.’
‘Well for goodness sake be careful,’ Thea repeated. ‘And yes, of course I’ll look in and see to things.’
When I rang Richard to tell him about Janet all I got was the answerphone, which was annoying because I wanted to try and judge from his voice what he made of my report of the accident and the news that she was alive and well.
It was a good drive down to Bristol, not too many lorries or roadworks and I found the nursing home quite easily. It was up on the Downs and seemed very pleasant. Full marks to Christine. When I’d seen Janet settled in and promised to give reassuring messages to Luke, it was nearly twelve-thirty so I went in search of his restaurant. It was in a small parade of shops in a good residential area, but I could see why Luke longed for a more prestigious location. I couldn’t see in properly from the outside since the windows were hung with dark red curtains, hung French bistro-style from large rings. The name ‘Yves’ was written in flowing handwriting on the glass (they would have been foolish not to make the most of the French connection) and the general appearance was definitely appealing.
Inside there were plain white walls hung with just a few black and white etchings, starched white tablecloths and napkins, small vases of well-chosen flowers, and dark wood high-backed chairs. The atmosphere was calm and peaceful – I was glad to see that there was no nonsense about being able to see into the kitchen (one doesn’t expect to see backstage at a theatre), and the general effect was one of understated elegance. Although it was quite early several tables were already occupied. A tall, dark young man came towards me.
‘Madame?’
I explained who I was and he said, ‘Ah, Madame Malory, you are very welcome.’ He settled me at one of the best tables and unfolded my napkin with a flourish. ‘Luke will be with you very soon, but you will have a glass of wine while you wait. We have a charming Pouilly Fuissé you will like, I think.’
‘That will be lovely,’ I said, slightly overwhelmed by all this attention. ‘But please don’t bother Luke; I’m sure he must be very busy.’
He smiled and hurried away, returning shortly with an open bottle and a wine cooler. He poured a glass of wine and put the bottle in the cooler beside me. The wine was, of course, absolutely delicious. As I was enjoying it the middle-aged man at the next table leant over and said, ‘Splendid place, this. We come here every Friday evening, my wife and I, and I come for lunch twice a week when I can. Wonderful food, wonderful service!’
‘Yes,’ I said, a little taken aback at his conversation, but pleased to learn that Luke obviously had a faithful clientele. ‘It is delightful.’
‘Lovely atmosphere. The personal touch, makes all the difference. Luke always comes out at the end of the evening and talks to his customers, asks what they think of the various dishes. And that chap Yves, got the French flair, if you know what I mean. Everything done properly, can’t fault them on anything. This your first time here?’
‘Yes, I don’t live in Bristol. Actually, I’m a friend of Luke’s mother. She was very anxious I should come.’
‘Couldn’t do better!’ He broke off as Luke came out of the kitchen and approached my table.
‘Mrs Malory. I’m so glad you could make it.’ He sat down and said quietly, ‘How is she?’
‘Very well, considering. She’s really got off lightly, and she stood up to the journey very well and seems most comfortable in the nursing home – Normanhurst, it’s called, up on the Downs. I don’t really know how long she’ll be in there. But I imagine you’ll be going to see her.’
‘I can go this afternoon, as soon as the lunch sitting’s finished,’ he said. ‘But I’m neglecting you. What will you have to eat? There is a game terrine and to follow I can recommend the Sole Veronique. It’s sole today and sea bass – I only decide which fish to have when I know what’s fresh in. Or there is a classic coq au vin – Yves’ grandmother’s recipe. But I can bring you a menu and you can see for yourself.’
‘No really. It all sounds delicious. Just the sole for me, please. Are all your dishes French?’
‘Yes. That is what I first learnt to cook and that is our speciality. People seem to like it.’
‘Your mother says you had a marvellous write-up in one of the Sunday papers.’
‘Yes, it did help a lot. It did make me realise what we could do in a better position. I mean, we have our faithful regulars.’ He turned and smiled at the man at the next table who smiled and raised his glass in return. ‘But we can’t do the volume here in this tiny place.’ He got up. ‘I’m sorry, I mustn’t go on, keeping you waiting for your food like this.’
He went off into the kitchen and Yves brought me some gorgeous home-made bread and a dish of pale Normandy butter. ‘It will be a little while, you understand,’ he said. ‘The fish, it must be cooked to eat immediately.’ I reluctantly refused another glass of wine, knowing that I had to drive back, but sat peacefully enjoying the atmosphere. The restaurant was filling up now and there was a cheerful buzz of conversation. The man at the next table, having finished his lunch, got up to go and, as he passed me he asked, ‘What are you having?’
I told him I was having the sole and he nodded approvingly. ‘Excellent. I always have fish here when it’s on the menu. Mind you, in the evenings they do a marvellous casserole of pigeon and that special French thing – cassoulet, it’s called. You must come and try that.’ He nodded and went out and I reflected that with word-of-mouth recommendations like that L
uke was well on the way to success.
The sole was perfect, as was the Poire Hélène that followed it. When I had finished and Luke had refused to allow me to pay the bill, he said, ‘Would you like to look round?’ I agreed eagerly and followed him into the kitchen which was simultaneously very up-to-date but somehow traditional. I admired the gleaming stainless steel apparatus, but noticed with pleasure the old, well-used, battered omelette pans and roasting dishes. Like all small restaurant kitchens, I imagine, it seemed cramped and dark with only one window at the back. Looking out of this I saw a paved yard and a shed (‘Where we house the big freezer,’ Luke said) and, partly covered by a tarpaulin, the motorbike he’d travelled down to Taviscombe on. But there were also pots of herbs and a couple of large planters filled with late-blooming lavender. I found this attempt to soften a bleak area somehow touching.
Luke led the way out of the kitchen, along a passage to some stairs. Upstairs there was a surprisingly spacious sitting room and I admired the high, moulded ceilings and big sash windows.
‘It’s a Victorian building,’ Luke said, ‘so we do have the advantage of well-proportioned rooms – it helps with the restaurant space too, of course.’
The walls were white with watercolours of French scenes (‘Yves is the artist here,’ Luke said fondly) and the furniture was modern and well chosen.
‘It’s very comfortable,’ Luke said, indicating the sofa-bed, ‘but,’ he continued ruefully, ‘I do see that it wouldn’t be suitable for an invalid. No, I have to admit that Christine was right and that Mother will be better off in the nursing home. Actually,’ he said, and paused as if a thought had suddenly struck him. ‘Actually,’ he repeated slowly, ‘I suppose that when she goes home I’ll be able to visit her – there.’
‘I suppose you will,’ I said.
‘You don’t know how strange it is for me to be able to say that. Home,’ he repeated. ‘I can see her at home.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
