‘But she might know other members,’ said Ben. ‘It wouldn’t hurt to ask.’
Libby raised her eyebrows at this. Ben wasn’t usually keen to get involved in investigations, although this did touch on his own family.
‘Well, anyway, let’s ask Tim about the current Chess Club and the old landlords. You never know,’ she said, tucking her arm through Ben’s.
The pub was as full as it always was on a Saturday night, and it was some time before Tim had time to answer Libby’s questions.
‘Now that’s funny,’ he said when Libby mentioned the Chess Club. ‘It was old Tony Turner who started that. He was landlord from the early seventies until the mid-nineties. After that, as I expect you remember, they had managers in here because they couldn’t sell it, then we bought it when it went back on the market. Made it a proper free house again. Only way to go with all the micro pubs springing up.’ He sent Ben a darkling look.
‘I’m not opening a pub!’ protested Ben. ‘Only a brewery. You can sell the beer if you like.’
‘Have to see what it’s like first, won’t I?’ Tim grinned slyly. ‘Anyway, yes. The Chess Club still meets here. Upstairs, now we’ve cleared that function room.’
‘Every week?’ asked Libby.
‘More like once a month. I get a phone call asking if it’s free on such and such a day and that’s that.’
‘Who runs it?’
‘That barrister chap who lives up the Nethergate Road, Philip something. Know him?’
‘No,’ said Libby, ‘but someone will. What about this Tony Turner? Where do we find him?’
‘Heaven, love. Or hell, being a landlord. Died years ago.’
‘Oh.’ Libby’s face fell.
‘What is all this, anyway?’ Tim turned away to serve someone in the other bar. ‘Writing a history of the pub?’
‘Trying to find out about someone who lived here a few years ago,’ said Ben. ‘Do you know any of the other members of the Chess Club?’
‘Johnny Darling,’ said Tim. ‘Know him? He’s always in here. I’ll point him out next time he’s in when you are.’
‘I know him,’ said Libby. ‘He’s a friend of Joe’s.’
‘Oh, I know. Builder, isn’t he?’ said Ben.
‘Was,’ said Tim. ‘He’s retired, now.’
‘Will you point out this Philip person, too?’ asked Libby.
‘Always comes in of a Sunday evening, if you’re around tomorrow,’ said Tim.
‘We’re working the bar again tomorrow,’ said Ben. ‘We might get in late.’
‘Oh, he doesn’t stay late,’ said Tim. ‘Still, there’ll be other times.’
‘Trouble is,’ said Libby, as they carried their drinks over to the window, ‘We don’t want to wait until another time, do we?’
As it happened, they didn’t have to wait for long. Cousin Richard took himself for a pre-lunchtime drink on Sunday morning and bounded into the Manor kitchen a little later announcing that he’d been introduced to Philip Jacobs.
‘Who?’ asked Michael and Belinda.
‘The barrister who runs the Chess Club, isn’t it?’ asked Libby.
‘That’s it.’ Richard beamed at her. ‘Tim said you’d been asking. And you’ll never guess what!’
‘What?’ said Ben, obediently.
‘He knew my dad!’
Chapter Twenty-three
There was a short, stunned silence.
‘You mean in London?’ said Belinda eventually.
‘No, no! Here. Philip joined the Chess Club not long after it started, and one of the members brought Dad along several times. He was good, apparently.’
‘Who took him along?’ asked Ben, kicking Libby under the table.
‘Oh, he wasn’t sure about that. But he knew Dad was your dad’s relative. Very interested in the history of the area, he was, according to Philip.’
‘You don’t remember that, do you, Mum?’ Ben turned to Hetty, who was impassively carving a monstrous leg of lamb. She shook her head.
‘Remember the Chess Club, though,’ she said.
‘Do you? Neither you or Dad played, did you?’
‘No, son, I said, didn’t I? I just remember it starting. People weren’t sure it was right for our village. A bit posh, like.’
‘When was it? After I’d left?’
‘Blimey, years after! When Richard’s dad started coming again.’
‘Again?’ said Ben, Richard and Libby together.
Hetty looked surprised. ‘Told you that, too. Well, he used to come when you were a boy, then I reckon him and Greg had a bit of a row and he stopped. Then yer dad asked him down here – I told you – and he came back.’
‘What, though?’ Richard was frowning. ‘What would my dad have that your dad wanted? It was the other way round, surely?’
‘We think he might have wanted Russell to – er – get Nathan off his back,’ said Ben.
‘Didn’t he tell you anything about it, Hetty?’ asked Libby.
‘No, gal. I reckoned it was business, so I kept out of it.’ Hetty pushed the platter of carved lamb into the centre of the table. ‘Help yourselves.’
Conversation became relaxed and somewhat desultory after this, everyone concentrating on Hetty’s magnificent Sunday roast, but when the fruit crumble and cream had been demolished and Hetty banished to her sitting room, the clearing-up began and speculation resumed.
‘So we think,’ said Libby, ‘that what your dad wanted, Ben, was for Russell to take Nathan over, so to speak, to get him off his back?’
‘Of course it was. That was the fobbing off, wasn’t it?’
‘What fobbing off?’ asked Michael, flapping a tea towel in the direction of Hetty’s crystal wine glasses. Belinda rescued them.
‘Yes – what are you talking about?’ added Richard.
‘Sorry, I should have explained,’ said Libby. ‘I went to see an old friend yesterday.’
And she told them about her visit to Sandra and the subsequent revelations.
‘So Duncan Lucas wasn’t Nathan Vine’s nephew,’ said Michael.
‘And was a career criminal,’ said Libby.
‘So how did he get hold of the fake letter?’ asked Michael.
‘That’s what we don’t know,’ said Ben.
‘But Ian – or his London counterparts – will be going through Lucas’s life with a toothcomb,’ said Libby. ‘They’ll find out. And Gideon Law’s, too.’
‘I’m not absolutely sure I know where this Law person fits into the story,’ said Richard. ‘I know you’ve told me, but...’
‘We don’t know, either,’ said Ben. ‘We can only speculate. We know that he was obviously in touch with Lucas as the police found – was it correspondence, Libby? – in his flat, or house, or whatever it was.’
‘And I found him,’ said Bel with a shudder. ‘Or Jeff-dog did.’
‘Quite near the Hoppers’s Huts, actually,’ said Libby. ‘You were asked about it, weren’t you?’
‘Yes, but I’m still in the dark about most of it,’ said Richard. ‘And I really don’t like being this close to murder.’
Libby was tempted to say “Go home, then” but realised a) it sounded rather rude and b) the police probably wouldn’t let him. Instead, she said ‘Do you think this Philip would still be in the pub? Tim said he goes in on Sunday evenings, but we’re being bar staff tonight.’
‘At the theatre?’ asked Michael. ‘I used to love working the Union bar at Uni.’
‘Did you?’ Ben looked interested.
‘No, don’t ask him,’ said Libby. ‘That’s taking advantage.’
‘I could, easily.’ Michael looked at Belinda. She grinned and nodded.
‘We could do it, Ma. Make a change. And you were there last night, weren’t you?’
All eyes turned to Libby and she gave in.
‘All right, but one of us had better come up and show you the till and the stock, and make sure the beer’s OK,’ she said. ‘I made sure there was lem
on in the fridge and -’
‘Stop it, Lib,’ said Ben, laughing. ‘Bel’s done it before, and I’ll go up about a quarter to seven and make sure everything’s OK. Thank you both – very much.’
They decided to pay their usual visit to Peter and Harry before going home, but to call on Tim to find out if Philip Jacobs was expected that evening. He had, in fact, gone home, but told Tim he would see him later “as usual”.
‘So will I tell him you want to see him? Although I think your cousin did that.’ Tim grinned. ‘Seemed Phil knew his dad.’
‘So he said. Coincidence, eh?’ said Ben. ‘No leave it, and we’ll see what happens. He might not want to talk to us.’
Peter and Harry were, as usual on a Sunday afternoon, on the sofa in their living room, Harry’s feet in Peter’s lap.
‘So how are things going, petal?’ Harry asked, waving Libby towards an array of bottles on a side table. ‘No more bodies?’
‘No, but we’ve discovered a few more links in the chain,’ she said holding up a brandy bottle.
‘Not for me,’ said Ben. ‘If we’re committed to the pub tonight...’
‘I thought you were doing the bar?’ said Pater.
‘We were,’ said Libby. ‘Shall I make some tea while you explain, Ben?’
When Ben had finished his explanation of recent events, Libby brought in Harry’s old decoupage tray with an assortment of mugs.
‘Did you hear that, Lib?’ asked Ben. ‘Pete knows Philip Jacobs.’
‘So does Hal,’ said Peter. ‘He’s a regular at the caff.’
‘And Johnny Darling,’ said Harry. ‘He did the flat up before Fran lived there. And put up the spiral staircase.’
‘Why didn’t we think to ask our nearest and dearest?’ said Libby. ‘I made tea for everyone – but I’ll drink them all if you two are on the bottle.’
Peter accepted a mug, but Harry waved it away. ‘I’ve been working, dear heart. Now, explain again why the Chess Club is important? I didn’t entirely follow it all.’
Libby started to explain.
‘OK, I get it – the first person to have the fake lived here for a bit,’ said Harry, ‘and he hounded your dad, Ben.’
‘But we want to know about Uncle Russell,’ said Libby. ‘We’re sure he and Nathan cooked it up between them.’
‘Well, you’re sure,’ said Ben.
‘And the Chess Club helps how?’ persisted Harry.
‘Because Nathan joined, and we think he might have made friends there.’
‘Even if he did, he would hardly tell them about his nefarious goings on, would he?’
‘No, but we might find out a bit more about him.’
‘And Uncle Russell? Doesn’t Richard really know any more about him?’
‘He wasn’t very child-friendly,’ said Ben. ‘I barely remember him, yet Mum says he came to visit when I was a kid, and then again later. Which we didn’t realise.’
‘What, when you were grown up?’ asked Peter.
‘Apparently. That would have been when Nathan was pestering Dad.’
‘So Greg introduced them to each other?’ said Peter.
‘That’s what we think,’ said Libby. ‘But we’ve got no proof.’
‘Do you think Russell belonged to the Chess Club as well?’ said Peter.
‘He didn’t live here, so I doubt it,’ said Libby.
‘But he could have gone along as a guest,’ said Harry. ‘I’d ask if I were you.’
‘We’re going to,’ said Ben. ‘Subtly.’
‘What? With ’er around?’ said Harry, with a witchlike cackle.
‘What about coming to the pub with us this evening?’ said Libby, ignoring this sally. ‘It would be much easier to get into conversation with you there.’
‘What about it?’ Peter asked Harry. ‘Or do you want to stay in and put your feet up?’
‘I spend so much time in the pub it’s almost like being at home anyway,’ said Harry with a theatrical sigh.
‘You go in after work,’ said Peter. ‘And it’s almost always nearly closing time.’
‘Oh, all right. What time?’
‘Eightish?’ said Ben. ‘We don’t want to be too late – it’s Sunday and most people have work tomorrow.’
Harry beamed. ‘Then most people aren’t as sensible as me!’
Libby and Ben went home to Allhallow’s Lane, where Libby fell asleep on the sofa. Ben went up to the theatre at a quarter to seven and made sure the bar was ready for business, then showed Michael and Bel what they needed to know before going back to wake Libby and go to the pub.
‘Blimey,’ said Tim, as they walked in. ‘You again!’
‘We’ve come to meet this Philip person,’ said Libby. ‘Harry and Peter know him, too, so they’ll be in soon.’
‘Suppose he’s with someone?’ said Ben, as they took their drinks to the table by the fireplace.
‘We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?’ said Libby. ‘Look, here’s Hal and Pete.’
It was while Peter was collecting drinks at the bar that Tim announced the arrival of Philip Jacobs in the other bar.
‘Shall I send him in?’ he called.
‘No!’ Libby went pink with embarrassment.
But Peter had made eye contact and was holding a conversation across the bar.
‘Coming in,’ he said returning to the table. ‘He’s on his own, so happy for some company.’
‘He won’t be for long,’ said Harry, sotto voce, as a cheerful looking man, with a tweed jacket stretched over an ample paunch covered with a mustard waistcoat, came to join them.
‘Philip – I don’t think you know Ben Wilde, do you? Or Libby Sarjeant?’ said Peter.
‘Only by reputation,’ said Philip Jacobs, shaking their hands. ‘And I met your father, of course, Ben.’
‘I suppose you would have done,’ said Ben. ‘I’m sorry our paths don’t seem to have crossed.’
‘I don’t do as much in the village as I used to.’ Philip beamed round the table. ‘But I’m a frequent visitor to The Pink Geranium, of course, and this is my local.’
Now it came to the point, Libby couldn’t think what to say. Ben, Peter and Harry all looked at her quizzically. She cleared her throat.
‘Er – do you ever come to the theatre?’ she began weakly.
Not noticing any atmosphere, Philip replied enthusiastically. ‘Oh, yes! I absolutely loved Twelfth Night. How clever of them to use the booth stage – really added something to the performance, don’t you think?’
Relieved, Libby plunged into a discussion of Shakespeare’s plays, and in particular the various productions of Twelfth Night she had had seen, happy to find that Philip shared her opinion of the Globe’s all-male production.
‘And you met Ben’s uncle, too, didn’t you?’ said Peter eventually, when he could get a word in.
‘Oh, yes!’ Philip turned to Ben. ‘I met your cousin this morning. He said he’s staying down here? Like his father used to do.’
‘Er – yes,’ said Ben. ‘How did you meet him?’
‘Your cousin? In here!’
‘No – his father.’
‘Oh, right! He seemed impressed with that. Well, he was brought along to the Chess Club. It was before I was chair, of course, some years ago, now.’
‘Who brought him, can you remember?’ asked Libby, finally plunging in.
‘Oh, yes, of course – a particular friend of mine. Nathan Vine.’
Chapter Twenty-four
Harry gave a little crow and Philip looked surprised.
‘Did you know him, too?’
Ben scowled at Harry. ‘No, but my father did. We wondered if it might have been him.’
‘Oh?’ Philip was now looking slightly puzzled.
‘We think my father introduced them, you see.’
‘Ah! Well, I believe that was the case.’ Philip looked round the table. ‘Another drink, anyone?’
There was a deal of good-mannered jostling for position o
ver the buying of the next round and Ben won.
‘Did you meet Nathan when he moved down here?’ Libby asked when Ben returned to the table.
Philip once more looked surprised. ‘Good Lord, no! In fact it was my suggestion that he came down here.’
‘Your -’Libby was gobsmacked. This was more than she’d bargained – or hoped – for.
‘You knew him before, then,’ said Ben, giving her a headmasterly look.
‘In London, yes.’ Philip nodded. ‘I did my pupillage in London, after university, and we were in the same chambers.’
‘He was a lawyer?’ Peter’s eyes were up to his hairline.
‘He was.’ Philip smiled. ‘Older than me, but we became friends. We shared a love of Shakespeare.’
This time, Libby choked on her lager.
Philip frowned. ‘There’s obviously something about him you want to know?’
‘Well, yes,’ said Harry, ‘although it’s them, not us.’
Ben sighed. ‘I’ll try and explain as Libby’s obviously incapable.’
Libby, still recovering, wiped streaming eyes and glowered at him.
As well as he could, Ben explained the situation and the reason they were trying to find out about Nathan Vine. Philip’s eyes grew rounder and rounder.
‘I wish I’d known!’ he said, when Ben finally wound down. ‘I thought when the Twelfth Night tour was announced how much Nathan would have enjoyed it. But before I tell you any more about him, I can assure you that he most certainly didn’t have a nephew.’
‘Yes, Sandra Farrow said that.’ Libby nodded.
‘Who?’
‘Oh, sorry. She was Sandra Brown back then. Lived next door to Una on Steeple Lane.’
‘Oh, yes, I knew Sandra – and Una.’
‘How long had you been down here, then?’ asked Harry.
‘Oh, I come from Steeple Martin.’ Philip smiled. ‘I went away to university, then to chambers in London, and finally came back to work out of Canterbury. My mother was pretty old, then, so I moved back home to help her, and after she died, I stayed.’
‘That’s amazing,’ said Libby. ‘So what else can you tell us about Nathan? I didn’t know him at all, but I sort of like him at a distance.’
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