Rosie Meadows Regrets...

by Catherine Alliott

  ‘Oh, er, right, yes, I’ve got to go anyway. Got masses to do. See you!’ I leaned forward to peck his cheek but somehow, caught his ear instead.

  ‘You moved!’ I laughed.

  ‘Did I? Sorry. ’Bye then, speak to you soon!’ And with that he shut the door.

  I gazed at the green paintwork for a moment, then walked thoughtfully back to the car. How odd. He’d seemed … strange, somehow. Distant. And fancy forgetting he was taking me out on Saturday when he’d literally blackmailed me into it. I got in the car and drove off slowly. Was this the same man who’d lusted after my body so very recently? Who’d practically lived in my kitchen, telephoned me at all hours, wrestled me on to sofas, hustled me into corners, begged me to succumb to his burning passion and appeared to be beside himself with desire for my very person? I shook my head, bemused. And the funny thing was, I reflected as I drove along, I couldn’t ever remember him wearing contact lenses, or glasses. Suddenly I went hot. My hands gripped the wheel. He’d been hiding. He’d seen me all right, he’d seen me the moment I’d walked past the sitting-room window and he’d lunged for cover under the window seat. He’d heard me ringing the bell, ringing and ringing, and he’d hoped I’d go away. He hadn’t wanted to see me because … he knew. The gossips had already got around to his picturesque neck of the woods and he’d discovered I had a nasty little habit of poisoning husbands. He’d decided not to swell the ranks. He thought I was a liability and wanted nothing more to do with me lest I slip something into his cocoa. He thought I’d done it. They all thought I’d done it.

  With a pounding heart I drove home, sick to the stomach, and feeling very, very alone.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Somehow, the days passed. To a casual observer it might even seem as if my life went on as normal, but I knew better, the telltale signs were there. There was the way my antiperspirant no longer did the trick, for instance, and the way it took half a bottle of wine and a generous slug of Night Nurse to get me to sleep at night, and the way I was getting through loo paper like there was no tomorrow. Alice, loyally, rang every day, and on hearing my voice would say triumphantly, ‘You see!’

  ‘See what?’

  ‘Well, you’re obviously still there, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, well, I haven’t actually been clapped in irons and dragged to a prison cell if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Precisely! There you are then.’

  Yes, here I was then. Intestinal malaise worsening by the minute, hysteria mounting daily, branded as a murdering witch by all and sundry but still here, still breathing. So that was all right. But actually, as I nervously watched the days pass on the calendar and still no imperious knock came at the door, still no black-gloved hand gripped my shoulder to steer me to the police station, I did begin to wonder if Alice wasn’t right after all. Perhaps all I did have to do was go to ground and keep stumm, and then miraculously it would all just go away, like some hideous dream that had no bearing on reality.

  Reality soon reared its ugly head though, in the form of Bob. He rang to give me my marching orders.

  ‘I’m sorry, Rosie, but it’s the missus. She says you’ve gotta go. No one’s eating see, and she says she don’t like the way you never touch your food neither. Keeps banging on about not knowing where you get your ingredients … What can I do, luv?’ He was clearly distressed.

  ‘It’s all right, Bob. I’ll go quietly.’

  Like most ebullient, overblown men, Bob had a shrewd little woman behind him, with her thumb well over him.

  And so I was unemployed again, but in the general scheme of things that didn’t actually seem so cataclysmic, and apparently life went on. Joss and Annabel were still away, Martha took over the reins again at Farlings, and the children went back to school. Martha took the girls, but on the day Toby was due to go came white faced and tearful to my cottage.

  ‘Poor little devil, what do they think they’re up to, bloody boarding school.’

  I sighed, reached for my coat and handed her Ivo. ‘All right, Martha, I’ll take him.’

  ‘Oh, would you, Rosie? I reckon he’s better wiv you.’

  And so it was that half an hour later I drove Toby, pale faced but otherwise betraying no emotion, to the huge Gothic pile in seventy sprawling acres which was to become his home for the next five years.

  We drove silently up the long gravelled drive. I parked, Toby got out wordlessly, then together we walked up the stone steps and through the open doorway into a flagstone hall, where the reception committee was waiting. Mr Archer, the steely-eyed but consciously avuncular headmaster, bore down on us beaming and patted Toby on the back with such brio that the poor child’s cap flew off. By his side his twin-setted and pearled wife was equally eager to please, and clasping my hand in both of hers did an extraordinary sort of bob, so that for an awful moment I thought she’d curtsied. They couldn’t have been nicer actually, if a little obsequious, but then, at £2,000 a term, who could blame them?

  I hugged Toby hard but he felt like a statue. He wouldn’t even kiss me goodbye, just turned, stony-faced, and walked down a passageway with his new housemaster, like a prisoner going to his execution. As he disappeared round a corner, I fled with a choking heart, hoping, pretending even, that he’d be happy, but knowing full well that the odds were against it.

  I went home wearily and kept to myself. Aside from Martha and Vera, I saw no one. They both stayed as staunchly loyal as ever, assuring me that they hadn’t said a dicky-bird to anyone in the village and that all the old busybodies had heard through Mrs Fairfax’s brother who was desk sergeant at the Cirencester nick and who had ‘quite a mouth on him’. Vera declared herself outraged at the reaction of her friends, most of whom, she said, if the truth be known ‘had skeletons in their cupboards like you wouldn’t believe and were nothing but a load of bloomin’ hypocrites!’ She promised me she could tell me a thing or two about that lot all right, but it didn’t really help.

  I avoided shopping in the village and used the out of town, anonymous Waitrose, and I spent most of the time alone in the cottage with Ivo. Another cheery call had come from Mr Mendleson (I’ve-done-my-level-best) to inform me that despite spending an enormous amount of time showing countless people round the London properties there were no bites at the cherry. Right. Excellent news. All the time I longed for Joss to come back, longed for the sane, sensible slant he seemed to put on everything, but Joss was now in Italy and couldn’t possibly be hassled with this. All he wanted to hear was that the home fires were burning brightly and that the children were okay, so when he rang the first day and asked how it had gone at the police station, I said fine, just some routine questions, and left it at that. It had been on the tip of my tongue to blurt out, ‘Come back, they think I did it, I’m going to bloody swing for it!’ But I never did.

  I couldn’t help thinking, though, that despite Alice’s advice to do nothing, I should be doing something other than sitting by the fire reading Spot the Dog to Ivo and sucking wine corks. Shouldn’t I be hiring a team of crack criminal lawyers, trawling through the best legal minds in the country? Finally my nerves got the better of me and on an impulse I flipped through my address book and rang Boffy. Crack criminal lawyer he certainly wasn’t, but he was a solicitor of sorts and he had, after all, been Harry’s best friend and therefore, by rights, one of mine.

  His secretary put me straight through, even though he was apparently in a meeting, and relief flooded through me when I heard his voice, as jocular and hearty as ever.

  ‘Rosie my dear! How the devil are you?’

  I relaxed. ‘Fine, Boffy. How about you?’

  ‘In peak condition, my love, and all the better for hearing your dulcet tones. It’s been far too long! Just because poor old Harry’s left us for happier hunting grounds doesn’t mean you have to be a stranger to your old muckers, you know. Charlotte and I were just talking about you the other day, saying how much we missed you and wouldn’t mind dragging you out for a spot of sups,
so how about it some time, eh?’

  My heart creaked gratefully. ‘I’d really like that, Boffy, I’ve missed you both too.’ I crossed my toes guiltily in my loafers. Only half a lie really, because actually, talking to him now made me realize that on his own he wasn’t such a bad old stick, it was just en masse with the rest of the tribe that he could be so obnoxious.

  ‘So what can I do for you, my dear, or is this just a social call? Jolly nice if it is.’

  ‘I’m afraid it isn’t, strictly. You see, I’m in a spot of bother, Boffy, and I wanted your advice.’

  ‘Ask away, my love, that’s what I’m here for, in loco husbandis, as it were, if you’ll excuse my Latin!’ I could almost hear him puffing up importantly, braces straining on the gut as he no doubt settled back in his chair and prepared to advise the little woman on blocked drains, trouble with the tradesmen, or some such other piffling trifle.

  ‘The police think I murdered Harry.’

  ‘Wh-what?’

  There was a clatter, and I think he actually dropped the phone, but then he was back to me in an instant. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, I’ve never heard anything so absurd!’

  ‘It’s true. They think I deliberately slipped him a dud mushroom and then rubbed my hands in glee as he nose-dived into his soup in front of you at the club.’

  ‘Good Lord, this is preposterous! I’ll tell them so myself, Rosie. This is totally absurd and what’s more it’s extremely distressing! Good heavens, how dare they suggest such a thing! Which Mr Plod at which particular Toytown Yard has come up with this little fairy story then?’

  ‘Well, it’s the lot over in the next county, down at Oxford. They seem to think I had a vested interest in Bertram’s house and that’s why I did it.’

  Boffy snorted. ‘That old mausoleum! You didn’t even want it, did you?’

  ‘Well, quite, but try telling them that. They think I was in league with my lover, you see.’

  ‘Your love – Oh, Rosie, it gets more and more outrageous! Who exactly is in charge of the investigation?’

  ‘A Superintendent Hennessey, but watch it, Boffy, she’s barely human.’

  ‘Hang on, my pet, I’ll get a pen. Superintendent … Hennessey. Okay. Well, don’t you worry, I’ll haul her right over the coals for you, tight knickers and all. Harassing a young widow like that, it’s unreal! They’re so bloody desperate for convictions these days, you see, the police force is in such a hopeless mess they’ll grasp at anything, but this is just farcical, and as Harry’s best friend and your solicitor I shall tell them so in no uncertain terms. A lover indeed, and who, pray, is he supposed to be?’

  ‘It’s too ridiculous, Boffy.’ I sighed. ‘Some check-out boy who used to work at Sainsbury’s. I hardly even knew him.’

  The line went quiet.

  ‘Boffy?’

  ‘What’s his name?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Timothy McWerther. Why?’

  There was no answer. I frowned at the mouthpiece. ‘Boffy? Are you still there?’

  His voice, when it came, seemed to come from far away. ‘Rosie, I’m so sorry, something’s just come up … going to have to fly.’

  ‘Boffy? What’s the matter, d’you know him or something? What’s going on?’

  ‘Of course I don’t know him, but – listen, Rosie, I’ll be frank. I really don’t think I can help you here. I have, after all, got my reputation to think of. Let’s face it, I am a professional man and, well, I’m sorry, but I just don’t think I can get involved.’

  I stared incredulously at the phone. ‘Involved in what? Boffy! Tell me, please, do you know something? Look, I’m desperate. Please, I –’

  There was a click and the line went dead. He’d gone. Slowly I replaced the receiver. I stared at it, stunned for a moment. Involved in what? Was I being awfully thick here? Was this Mr McWerther a notorious gangster, a drug smuggler or something? Had I not been reading the newspapers properly? Was I missing something that was apparently common knowledge? The phone rang again and I snatched it up instantly – thank God for that, he’d obviously had a change of heart.

  ‘Rosie?’ said Martha in a quavering voice. ‘Toby’s school’s just rung. They said there’s been an accident.’

  ‘Oh God,’ I whispered, ‘what sort of an accident?’

  ‘Well, she said it’s not too serious, but a boy’s in the san with concussion.’

  ‘Toby!’ My heart lurched.

  ‘Oh, no, it’s not Toby. They said ’e did it!’

  ‘What? Oh, nonsense, Toby wouldn’t hurt a fly!’

  ‘I know, but try tellin’ them that. Oh, what am I going to do? She sounded ever so cross and she wants me to go up there and I don’t know how to talk to people like that!’

  ‘It’s all right, Martha, don’t worry, I’ll go.’

  With my heart in my mouth I dropped Ivo off with Martha and roared off to Stowbridge House. Oh God, what had he done? Walloped someone with a cricket bat? Felled a small boy with a golf club? My mind flew round in crazy circles like a child manically swirling a sparkler in the dark. One minute I was wondering who the devil Timothy McWerther was and why Boffy had backed off quite so dramatically, and the next, what on earth a quiet, sensitive boy like Toby was doing knocking seven bells out of a child in his first week of term and putting him in the sanatorium? I glanced in the mirror and frantically raked my hand through my unbrushed hair as I swung a dangerous left at some amber lights – Christ, just missed that lorry. Oh God, what was happening to my life! If it would only slow down for just two minutes then I could at least get it into perspective. I felt as if I was on some crazy out-of-control roundabout, unable even to put a foot down.

  When I arrived, the headmaster and his wife had clearly been waiting in the hall because the moment my finger hit the buzzer, the door opened.

  ‘Ah, you must be Miss Garfield, we spoke on the phone.’

  ‘Er yes, that’s right.’ I wasn’t about to admit I wasn’t in charge of Toby’s welfare.

  ‘I’m so sorry to have dragged you up here,’ Mr Archer bore down on me, resplendent in a tweed, three-piece suit. ‘I’m sure it was just an accident, but we did wonder if you might have a little word with Toby –’

  ‘– just to set him on the right track,’ continued his wife, smiling thinly at me through her powder. She took my arm and guided me through the hall and on up the sweeping staircase. ‘So hard to settle in immediately, we do appreciate that, and some boys do get more upset than others, leaving home, the family –’

  ‘– loved ones, creature comforts,’ purred her husband behind her. ‘But all the same, unruly behaviour simply cannot be sanctioned here, and although we don’t want to discipline him too severely, we did wonder if a quiet word from you might do the trick.’

  I was being propelled expertly down an upstairs corridor by this smooth-talking double act now, one on either side.

  ‘Too sad his father’s not around, and I gather Mummy died when he was tiny, so naturally all sorts of behavioural problems there, but if you could just explain that civilized behaviour is encouraged, nay, expected at Stowbridge House, we would appreciate it.’

  They stopped, breathlessly, and flung open a door. There on a bed, at the far end of an empty dormitory, with his Toy Story duvet and his teddy on his pillow, sat a little white-faced boy. His knees in his grey flannel shorts were pale and goose bumped and his mouth was taut.

  ‘Toby!’ I ran to him and put my arms round him. ‘What happened, darling?’ I whispered, sitting beside him and holding him close.

  ‘He took my pictures,’ he gasped, trying not to cry. ‘Called me a wimp for having them by my bed, then he threw them round the room, and look …’ In his hand, tightly clasped, were some photos of Kitty. One of them was crumpled.

  I looked up at the two faces above me. They were smiling but the eyes were grim. ‘It’s his mother,’ I explained.

  ‘So I gather,’ the headmaster purred, ‘but then boys will be boys and it was just a prank, I
’m sure. No real harm came to the photographs but sadly,’ he feigned a whinny of a laugh, ‘I have a ten-year-old boy in the san with concussion and a set of worried parents halfway up the M5, who, by the wonders of modern technology and mobile telecommunications, have already conveyed their displeasure to me and are threatening to withdraw their son forthwith!’ The smooth tone evaded him and he snapped this last word out like a Rottweiler.

  ‘Rosie, I’m not staying here,’ muttered Toby. ‘Take me with you, please. I can’t bear it, please!’

  ‘Ooh now, come come.’ Mrs Archer quickly sat down beside him, no doubt seeing another set of fees evaporate in front of her eyes. ‘We’re not as bad as all that, surely!’ She went to put an arm round him but he flinched so violently she retracted it.

  She looked over his head at me, and as if he was deaf, or not quite normal, murmured, ‘This is all perfectly natural, Miss Garfield, please don’t worry. Boys do take a few weeks to settle in and when temperaments are a little wayward and backgrounds unfortunate, as is the case here …’ She nodded meaningfully at Toby.

  ‘He’s not a case,’ I muttered. ‘Could I use the telephone please? I’d like to ring his father.’

  ‘Certainly, certainly!’

  At the mention of Joss, they were all smarm and obsequiousness again, bowing and scraping as they ushered me from the room. Despite the Uriah Heep act, I saw them exchange a meaningful glance. As I got to the door, I looked back at Toby sitting on his bed.

  ‘Back in a mo,’ I promised.

  He nodded, eyes fearful.

  I was shown downstairs and into a study. As I sat down at the huge leather-topped desk and reached for the telephone, I paused. The dynamic duo hovered in the doorway. I cleared my throat.

  ‘D’you think I might have a moment alone?’

  ‘Of course, of course!’ Hands were thrown up as if they were amazed it hadn’t occurred to them before, and then out they backed, smiling and nodding, closing the door softly behind them. I grimaced. Actually it made very little difference because I was convinced they were either still on the other side, ears pressed firmly to the door, or on another extension. I looked in my diary and with a sinking heart dialled the current hotel in Italy. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be there, he was bound to be at the gallery and I was merely going through the motions to give me time to work out what to do next, when to my surprise Annabel answered.