[Inspector Peach 12] - Pastures New

by J M Gregson

  ‘He’s serious. He wouldn’t have come over specially to tell me about it if he wasn’t serious,’ said Carol impatiently. ‘We should be discussing what we are going to do about this, not dithering about whether it’s serious.’

  ‘I agree with that. That’s why I called us together for this meeting.’ Jemal Bilic, the husband of Geoffrey Aspin’s elder child, was a striking contrast with Stephen Hawksworth in both appearance and attitude. He was by six years the elder of the two; he exuded confidence and was a formidable presence in any company. His father was Croatian and his mother Turkish. He had been born and reared in Turkey, but he had spent the last fourteen of his thirty-six years in the United Kingdom. With his large brown eyes, dark skin, a beard which was trimmed to little more than stubble and the thin moustache which ran in a thin line around his mouth to join it, he was very handsome. It was a sleek and dangerous beauty, which had captured the woman who was then Carol Aspin when she was on her way out of a failed engagement and at her most impressionable.

  It was his sister-in-law who now spoke up in his support. Louise said, ‘Jemal is right. When Dad spoke to me, he was trying to be sober and sensible, but his pleasure and excitement kept showing, as though he was a teenager who had just discovered love.’ She raised a hand nervously to her short brown hair, though not a strand of her simple cut was out of place; she was nervous because she was about to voice a thought which she sensed wouldn’t meet with the approval of the other three. ‘There’s a part of me says that we should be glad for Dad, that he deserves some pleasure out of life.’ Carol Bilic smiled indulgently: her little sister could be pardoned a certain naivety, but those with more experience of life must put her right on this. ‘We’re not denying his right to pleasure, Louise. But we have our own interests to consider. These affairs aren’t conducted in a vacuum.’

  Steve Hawksworth nodded. He was a naturally quiet man, but he was anxious to make some contribution to what now seemed to be becoming a council of war. ‘What kind of affair is it? How much do we know about this woman? Has anyone met her?’

  His wife glanced at her sister. ‘No. He’s kept her away from us, so far. He told me that he would introduce her to us, once we’d had time to digest the idea.’

  Jemal Bilic frowned. ‘The idea of what? He must be thinking of something long-term, by the way he’s talking. That means we may be talking about him setting up house with a woman we know nothing about. I don’t like unknowns, when we’re trying to take serious decisions. I think I should set about finding more out about this Pamela Williams.’

  They all accepted that he would be able to do that, though none of them had any idea about how he would do it. He was the dominant force in the room, with his dark good looks and his fierce brown eyes and the sheer force of his will. He spoke perfect English, with only the faintest of accents giving its precision an edge of menace. There was a pause before Louise Hawksworth said uncertainly, ‘For all we know, this woman may be someone we’d quite like. Carol and I are naturally resentful, because we still think of our dead mother, but Mum’s been gone for over three years now, and Dad might have twenty years or more to live.’

  Louise realized that she was acting as a counterbalance to her forceful brother-in-law. She did not look at him, did not look at anyone, but stared down at the rich patterned carpet in the centre of the room.

  Carol stared at her for a moment before she said quietly, ‘There’s something in what you say, Louise, of course there is. But there’s a lot more in what Jemal says, as far as I’m concerned. Even if we only had Dad’s interests to consider, I’d find this disturbing. He told me how lonely and desolate he’d been recently. That makes him vulnerable in my book. We may need to look after his interests for him, if he’s not seeing straight. This woman none of us knows may be a gold-digger.’

  Jemal hastened to support his wife. ‘And there are times when it’s right to consider our own interests as well. My father-in-law has been very successful in his business; I’m sure we’re all glad of that, for his sake. But I suggest we’re glad for our sakes too. We have children who are doing well at school, whom we shall probably have to see through university. And you - you have your own problems, Louise.’ He stopped in embarrassment.

  His sister-in-law gave him a wan smile. ‘You mean that I have a Down’s syndrome child as well as a normal one. You needn’t be afraid of voicing that: I’m not ashamed of Michael’s existence!’

  Steve reached across and put his hand on the shoulder beside her flushed face. ‘Jemal wasn’t suggesting that, my love. He was just making the point that we have all made assumptions about your father. About financial support in various areas, if we want to speak bluntly.’

  There was a silence as the idea they had all skirted was suddenly openly voiced. Jemal Bilic looked round at the three anxious faces and saw that they were acknowledging with varying degrees of reluctance that he was right. He said ominously, ‘What I’m saying is that we shall have to keep a careful watch on how this situation develops.’

  * * *

  A bright June day. The long slope of Longridge Fell a study in the various shades of green marking the rich growth of the vegetation on its flanks. The higher mound of Pendle Hill sharp against the intense blue of a sky trumpeting the pleasures of the summer which stretched ahead. And Lucy Blake looking round with a smile at all of this, then sniffing the clean morning air appreciatively as she threw her overnight bag into her blue Vectra car.

  The postman came, and she handed the letters to her mother as she went back into the cottage. Lucy was anxious as usual to down her breakfast and be on her way to see what had turned up in the world of crime on her day off. Agnes Blake had been delighted by the promise of her daughter’s wedding next spring - ‘I knew that Percy would talk some sense into you!’ she’d said - but Lucy didn’t want her to pin down dates.

  Her mother was diverted by the post. She disposed of the junk mail with a few sharp words of dismissal, but the other letter gave her pause for thought. ‘It’s from your Uncle Geoff,’ she said.

  ‘I haven’t heard from the Aspins in years, apart from Christmas cards,’ said Lucy. She had once been great friends with Louise Aspin: their birthdays were within a month of each other, and they had gone through the village primary school together and then on to the comprehensive in Brunton. Geoff wasn’t a real uncle, but the habit of the time had been to call the parents of childhood friends uncle and aunt and the epithets had stuck, even when Geoff Aspin had moved his family away from the village and become a successful man in Brunton.

  ‘I hear he’s been making a fool of himself, your Uncle Geoff,’ said Agnes darkly. ‘Since your Aunty Jill died, he’s been on his own. Men on their own lose their judgement, if you ask me.’

  Lucy grinned. ‘Making a fool of himself in what way?’ she asked innocently. She could make a fair guess from the look of disapproval on her mother’s face.

  ‘Chasing after women. That’s what I heard. Should have more sense at his age. Of course, there may be nothing in it.’ Agnes Blake’s face said that she’d be very disappointed if it turned out that there was indeed nothing in it.

  ‘He was always very kind to me, even when I was a bolshy teenager,’ said Lucy loyally. ‘He was very attached to Aunty Jill and I’m sure he must have been devastated when she died. But he might live a long time yet. Mum. He’s entitled to a little pleasure, surely.’

  Agnes sniffed, a reaction she often exhibited when her child produced reasonable arguments. ‘Sometimes men don’t have the sense they’re born with. Not where women are concerned, anyway.’

  ‘I thought you said Percy Peach had a lot of sense when he made his choice.’

  ‘I didn’t say all men, our Lucy. Just some of them. And when they’ve reached a certain age, they can make themselves look much more foolish than youngsters.’

  ‘I haven’t seen Louise since a school reunion years ago,’ said Lucy thoughtfully. ‘I think she’s got a couple of children now.’ She sensed he
r mother was preparing to draw comparisons with her own spinster state and said hastily, ‘One of them is handicapped, I heard. Down’s syndrome, I think. I should have kept in touch, but there’s always been things to do.’

  The familiar melancholy refrain of lost friendships; the familiar lament for a closeness which it once seemed would never end.

  Her mother was staring in puzzlement at the card she had drawn from the envelope. ‘Well, it looks as though you’re going to renew acquaintance with Louise. This is an invitation for both of us to a celebration of Geoff Aspin’s sixtieth birthday. Posh do, by the looks of it. I shan’t be able to go: I’ve already paid up for our Women’s Institute outing on that day. But you’ll be able to see your friend and catch up on things. I shall be interested to hear what her dad’s been getting up to.’

  ‘I shall report back in detail in due course, Mum. That’s if the grapevine of the village mafia hasn’t already informed you of all the facts.’

  ‘Just you make sure you do that, our Lucy. I don’t get a lot of excitement in my life.’ Agnes brightened visibly. ‘Though now that I’ve got a wedding to look forward to, at last, things might be different.’

  Lucy took the stiff cardboard invitation card with its gold lettering from her mother. ‘Very impressive. Uncle Geoff will have printed this himself, at his own works. And it will be nice to see Louise again. It looks as if it might be quite an exciting evening.’

  Quite how exciting, she could never at that moment have anticipated.

  Six

  Agnes Blake was proved correct in at least one of her assumptions. The celebration of Geoffrey Aspin’s sixtieth birthday turned out to be as she had forecast ‘a posh do’.

  Agnes held to her resolution not to go, but her daughter took the opportunity to buy a stunning dress, have her hair cut in a new style and present herself to be admired in the splendid setting of Marton Towers, the former stately home which was to house the great occasion. Many heads turned to look at the young woman with the striking dark-red hair and the lustrous deep-green eyes, which changed colour intriguingly as she moved into different lights. Lucy Blake told herself primly that it was not pleasant to be the centre of attraction. Yet in the bright sun of high summer she found it difficult to convince herself of that. After a week of hostility from the bad lads of Brunton, it felt good to attract so many admiring glances, as the noise of laughter and conversation rose and the crowd milled on the gravel in front of the old stone of the mansion’s impressive frontage.

  The girl she had known as Louise Aspin and now had to get used to thinking of as Louise Hawksworth was delighted to see her old friend. Lucy was shocked to see how the laughing, mischievous companion of her schooldays had changed and aged. Perhaps Louise sensed her thought, for she said generously how young and pretty the woman who was turning heads around them was looking.

  ‘You’re still a girl to them,’ said Louise, the tilt of her head taking in the chattering crowd around them. ‘Pity I can’t say the same for me. Two children tend to hurry on the years, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I understand the younger one is ...’

  ‘Handicapped, yes.’ Louise Hawksworth came in on the hesitation which was now so familiar to her. ‘Michael is a Down’s syndrome child. He’s a little charmer most of the time, and I wouldn’t be without him. But it changes your life, there’s no denying that. There are no children here today: we decided it wasn’t an occasion for them.’ She looked at the lineless, lightly freckled face in front of her and tried not to be envious of Lucy Blake’s appearance and career. ‘I hear you’re quite a high flier in the police service. CID, isn’t it?’

  Lucy cursed herself for the blush she should long since have grown out of. She grinned the grin which took Louise back to their days in the fourth form. ‘I’m only a Detective Sergeant. But there are prospects of promotion, in the medium term. And in any case, I love the work.’

  ‘And still a free woman, despite all the male attention of our youth. There are some eligible bachelors around here, who are showing every sign of interest. But I don’t need to tell you that. You were always the one who could spot interest in a man from a mile away, even when we were seventeen.’

  ‘Or a woman.’

  They giggled together, remembering the part-time female General Studies teacher who had been brought in to teach them about the religions of the world and then shown a surprising and unwelcome interest in sixth-form female thighs.

  Then Lucy said slightly self-consciously, ‘I’m engaged, actually, Louise.’

  ‘You’re a dark horse, aren’t you? Still playing things close to that delectable chest of yours. If you’d only let me know, he’d have had an invite for today.’

  ‘I doubt whether he’d have come. Though come to think of it, he probably would. We had a murder case here only a few months ago. When the place was under different ownership. When Marton Towers was the private residence of a drug baron who is now safely under lock and key.’ She looked up at the impressive elevation above her, then away towards the location of the former stable block. It was there that a charred body, which had been discovered after a mysterious fire, had turned out to be a murder victim.

  ‘What an exciting life you do lead, Lucy Blake!’ Louise Hawksworth’s tone was wistful as well as ironic. Then for a moment she was back in those old days, before the world closed in upon her, when every day seemed an occasion for laughter and Lucy Blake and she had kept no secrets from each other. ‘So tell me about this mysterious lover of yours. He’s in the job, obviously. That’s what you call it, isn’t it? And I expect he’s tall, dark and handsome. The kind of man we promised ourselves in those green and salad days at the comprehensive.’

  ‘He’s not, actually. He’s not exactly short, fat and ugly, but he’s not got the appearance I’d have envisaged for either of us in the old days. He’s nearly ten years older than me; he’s also divorced, bald, and with the sort of neat black moustache which would once have turned me right off.’

  ‘He must be bloody good between the sheets!’

  ‘Louise Aspin, that is very coarse indeed. And coarseness is a thing I will not tolerate in my girls!’ Lucy mimicked the high-pitched, outraged voice of a long-lost form teacher.

  Louise giggled for a moment like the schoolgirl of those days, then said with a sudden seriousness, ‘I haven’t been that Louise Aspin for a long time now, Lucy. More’s the pity, I think sometimes.’

  Lucy took her arm, moved her a little to one side, sensing that they were about to be called indoors for the meal and separated. ‘Come on, girl, this is no time for regrets or the remembrance of things past. This is a happy occasion! This is your father’s day.’

  For a moment, Louise was tempted to tell her old friend of the darkness which had come between herself and her father. But the crowd began to move beneath the high stone portico of the mansion and the moment passed. She watched her father ten yards ahead of her, shepherding his new woman towards the dining room and laughing happily with those near him, and tried not to think of the mother who had been dead for less than four years.

  * * *

  Pam Williams had always known that this would be a difficult day for her. She was being presented, not to the immediate family, most of whom she had now briefly met, but to a whole range of business and social acquaintances of Geoffrey Aspin. Many of these people had known him for many years. Most of them had also known Jill Aspin, the wife who was now dead, the wife who for so many years had been the happy supporter of the man who was the centre of this occasion. The wife whom all of them remembered with affection, the wife whom a tragic death had inevitably invested with a moral stature which was nearing sainthood.

  Pam was aware as she moved among this smiling, happy, increasingly noisy throng that she was being assessed, being weighed as a possible replacement for the departed Jill and found wanting. She was aware that there was a kind of inescapable ritual involved here, that this was an ordeal which she had to endure, but that did not make it a
ny easier for her. She told herself repeatedly that it was better to get all of this over in one day, that her life would be easier hereafter for this. She took care to say nothing controversial and went on nodding graciously. It was a little like being the queen, she thought, but without the million auxiliary perks which accompanied the progress of that resolutely smiling lady.

  She was introduced to a succession of people who hid their curiosity behind a cheerful frontage. She gave up trying to remember names after the first few minutes. There would be other occasions, other meetings in different environments, when she would get the chance to exchange more meaningful words with those who really mattered among this noisy throng, she told herself. She was glad when the time came for the meal and she could pay attention to and converse with only her immediate neighbours.

  Geoffrey Aspin, on the other hand, was feeling more and more at ease as the warm afternoon drew on. He was among friends, the nervous business of introducing Pam Williams to people had in his view gone well, and it was time to relax and enjoy the celebration of his sixtieth birthday. It was costing enough, so why not extract full pleasure from the day? He looked around: everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Geoffrey raised his glass of champagne to the company in general, downed it in two takes, and beamed his approval of the world.

  It was probably at that point that he had his great idea.

  He revolved it in his mind during the soup and fish courses.

  The more he thought about it, the more it appealed to him. He was sure it would bring applause from the company at large, especially as most of them would have had at least three glasses of wine by then. Perhaps the more cautious faces of his immediate family, around him on the top table, should have warned him off the idea. But Geoffrey Aspin was looking over their heads towards the world beyond them. He gazed out to the friendly faces of his friends, stretching away into the distant recesses of the room, and saw also the sunlight streaming in from that anonymous and it now seemed to him benign world beyond the walls of Marton Towers.