‘What did you want to know about The Alexandria?’ asked Libby.
‘Whether it really is being restored,’ said Jane, ‘and whether it will be a performance space, and if so what kind. I know you had something to do with The Oast House Theatre in Steeple Martin. Will it be like that?’
‘It is being restored, but I’m afraid it’s nothing to do with me,’ said Libby. ‘I don’t know what use it will be put to. Could be a restaurant, or something.’
This wasn’t true, but Libby’s knowledge of The Alexandria was highly confidential.
‘Oh.’ Jane searched Libby’s face for a moment, then sighed again and slid off the wall. ‘Thanks, anyway.’
‘Are you new down here?’ asked Libby, picking up her brushes again.
‘Not that new,’ said Jane, squinting out to sea. ‘I’ve been here about a year.’
‘What brought you here? The job?’
‘No.’ Jane perched on the sea wall again. ‘I inherited a house.’
‘Goodness! That was a bit of luck,’ said Libby, ‘although not if you were very fond of the person who died, of course.’
‘Well, I was, but I didn’t know her very well. She ran a boarding house here until the 1970s, then it became too much for her, so she turned it into little flats. She’d been in a care home for some time before she died, but the house was still there.’
‘And you inherited it? Tenants and all?’
‘Two tenants,’ said Jane, ‘yes. They aren’t any trouble, and an agent looks after that side of it. I just live in the top flat. I like it better than Auntie’s ground floor one.’
‘So you moved down and got the job when you got here?’ Libby had given up all pretence of painting now.
‘No, I applied before I moved down. I was lucky. I was already working on another paper in the group and a vacancy became available.’
‘And how do you find it?’
‘All right.’
‘Not so good?’
‘I’m an outsider.’ Jane smiled a little crookedly. ‘Last year I went out on George’s boat because he’d had an operation and needed help, and this year they’ve both let me go out with them whenever I wanted. Apart from them and a couple of people in the office, that’s it.’
‘And now you can’t get a story.’ Libby shook her head. ‘That’s a shame.’
‘Thank you. But you can’t get blood out of a stone –’ here, Jane paused looking horrified. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean that.’
‘Yes, you did,’ said Libby, cheerfully, ‘and quite right too. But really, I’ve nothing to tell you, and neither has Mrs Castle. Even when she did help the police, it was all very hush-hush and no one believed it anyway.’
‘It seems to be quite well known, though. I knew about it because I worked on the paper, but I didn’t cover the story. Was it true?’
Libby looked at her consideringly. ‘If I tell you anything, it’s likely to end up in print, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, God.’ Jane shook her head. ‘You see? People don’t trust me. Even though I’m only a reporter on a tiny provincial weekly.’
‘Who managed to get a front page story this week and something in one of the nationals.’
‘Just because I was on the spot and had my wits about me. It wouldn’t have taken them long to find out, anyway.’
Libby nodded. ‘So you’re feeling a bit hard done by this morning.’
‘I suppose so.’ Jane slid back off the wall and stood up. ‘I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Mrs Sarjeant. I’ll let you get on.’
Libby looked ruefully at the picture. ‘I don’t think I’m going to get on at all,’ she said. ‘How about we go and have a coffee in The Blue Anchor?’
‘Really?’ Jane looked stunned. ‘Why?’
‘Because I’m not going to paint this morning after all and I’ve got to wait for Mrs Castle to come home, so I might as well wait in The Blue Anchor. It would be nice to have company and I’ll buy you a coffee.’
‘Oh.’ Jane looked down at Libby’s paraphernalia. ‘Can I help you carry, then?’
‘That would be kind.’ Libby put away the brushes and covered the painting. ‘I’m parked behind The Sloop.’
Ten minutes later, when they were seated outside The Blue Anchor, Mavis delivered a large mug of coffee for Jane and one of tea for Libby, who lit a cigarette and leaned back comfortably.
‘I always sit out here with George and Bert because they smoke,’ said Jane, pushing the foil ashtray across the table.
‘That’s good of you,’ said Libby. ‘Most of us feel like pariahs.’
‘It’s not good of me.’ Jane shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t have anyone to talk to otherwise.’
Libby squinted through smoke. ‘You’re painting a very sad picture of yourself, you know.’
Jane shrugged. ‘Maybe, but I think people in your age group think anyone under thirty-five is having a whale of a time with loads of friends and places to go. It isn’t true.’
‘No?’
‘Well, look at me. In a town I don’t know, with no friends or family, working in a very small office with no one of my own age. What do I do? Go clubbing on my own? Go to a pub on my own? The most I do is come down here for a drink or a coffee with George and Bert or take myself to The Raj for a treat, to make a change from a take-away.’
‘Golly,’ said Libby. ‘You’re right. I hadn’t thought about it. What about college friends? Old school friends?’
‘Oh, I’ve kept up with some, but they’re scattered all over the country. And my school friends are mostly married with young children now, so we’ve nothing in common.’
Libby stared out to sea for a moment. ‘What about interests? Hobbies?’ she asked finally.
Jane laughed. ‘That’s always the advice on the problem pages, isn’t it? My only hobby is reading – not exactly sociable.’
‘Didn’t you belong to any societies at college?’
Jane shook her head. ‘I told you, there’s nothing I’m really interested in. At uni we worked or went drinking, the same as everybody else.’
Libby looked at her meditatively. ‘Amateur dramatics?’ she said.
‘I know you’re involved with The Oast House Theatre,’ said Jane, ‘but I’m really not that sort.’
‘You mean you’re snobbish about amateur theatre?’
Jane flushed. ‘That wasn’t what I meant.’
‘Oh, yes it was. I’ve seen it too often not to recognise it,’ said Libby, stubbing out her cigarette. ‘But there are amateur companies and amateur companies, you know. You might get a shock. After all, you did come asking me about The Alexandria.’
‘Well … yes. I wondered if it was going to put on amateur performances for the town. We haven’t got a theatre here.’
‘You’ve got the Carlton Pavilion.’
‘It’s not a proper theatre, though, is it?’ said Jane.
‘True, but it does put on live events.’
‘Music, mainly,’ said Jane, her eyes going towards where the Carlton Pavilion sat almost on the sand just below The Swan.
Libby sat up straight and stretched. ‘Well, I was going to invite you over to have a look at us, but I can see you wouldn’t be interested.’
‘Look at you?’
‘Our little theatre,’ said Libby, deliberately injecting a disparaging note into her voice.
Jane looked sheepish. ‘Actually, I’d love to,’ she said.
Libby beamed. ‘I thought you might,’ she said.
Chapter Five
‘SO WHAT HAPPENED?’ LIBBY had left Jane at The Blue Anchor when she saw Fran arrive at Coastguard Cottage.
Fran shrugged. ‘Nothing. Ian showed me some clothes and that was it. No stunning revelations. Just clothes.’ She poured boiling water into a mug. ‘Sure you don’t want one?’
‘No, I’m awash.’
Fran looked up. ‘Yes. So tell me, what were you doing having tea with Jane Maurice?’
Libby told her. ‘She’s OK, really, Fr
an,’ she concluded, ‘just lonely. So I thought if she came over to the theatre she might meet people of her own age.’
‘We haven’t got any young people,’ said Fran.
‘There’s Harry – he’s young.’
‘Not available, though.’
‘And James.’ Libby’s eyes lit up. ‘Ah! Now, James will be just about ready –’
‘Libby, stop it! Don’t start matchmaking. Invite the poor girl by all means, but don’t try and interfere with her life, or James’s, come to that.’
‘OK.’ Libby went into Fran’s sitting room and to the window.
Fran frowned, suspicious of the ready acquiescence. ‘Come on, Lib. What are you planning?’
‘Nothing.’ Libby turned and beamed. ‘Honestly, nothing.’ She came towards Fran and sat down in one of the armchairs. ‘So tell me what Ian said. Has he asked you to investigate anything?’
‘No, of course not.’ Fran was looking uncomfortable, Libby noticed.
‘What did he say, Fran? There’s something isn’t there?’
‘If you must know, he said it was a pity I hadn’t taken up Kent and Coast’s invitation.’
‘Wha-a-a?’ Libby’s eyes widened in astonish-ment.
‘I know.’ Fran shook her head. ‘He seemed to think they could investigate undercover much better than the police could, and if I was on the spot I could – er – report to him.’
‘Spy, you mean? Gosh, what a cheek!’
‘Well, yes. But he also thought I might pick up something, you know, hidden, if I was on the spot rather than remotely.’ Fran sighed. ‘I suppose he’s right in a way.’
‘Are you going to do it?’
‘What, after I sent that poor young man packing?’
‘I’m sure you could get round that. Didn’t you say he told you to get in touch?’
‘I’ll think about it.’ Fran stood up and took her mug back into the kitchen. ‘Did you want some lunch, by the way?’
‘No, thanks, I said I’d meet Ben at the pub.’ Libby stood up and stretched. ‘We’re going to the caff tonight. Would you and Guy like to come too?’
‘I’ll ask him,’ said Fran, blushing faintly. ‘Funny, isn’t it? I still don’t like instigating anything in the relationship.’
‘This isn’t you, it’s me,’ said Libby bluntly. ‘I’ll go and ask him, if you like.’
‘No, don’t be daft. I’ll do it. I’m relieving him in the shop later, anyway.’ Fran went to open the front door. ‘I expect we’ll see you tonight.’
Libby relayed her morning’s doings to Ben back at the pub in Steeple Martin.
‘Are you,’ said Ben, nonchalantly lifting his pint, ‘starting to interfere a bit?’
‘Interfere? Me?’ Libby was outraged.
‘Yes. Interfere you. Ever since I’ve known you–’
‘No I am not,’ Libby cut in. ‘And you didn’t know me well before – before – well, before.’
‘OK, OK, since I’ve known you – intimately–’ Ben leered over the table, ‘you’ve interfered in everything.’
‘I’m surprised you’re still involved, then,’ said Libby huffily.
‘Ah, but it’s interesting,’ he said, reaching over the table for her hand. ‘And think of the opportunities for gossip.’
‘You’re not supposed to gossip about police matters,’ said Libby.
‘And you never do?’
‘Well, only within the intimate circle.’ Libby picked up her glass. ‘You and Pete and Harry.’
‘Oh, that’s all right, then.’ Ben chuckled.
‘Fran and Guy might join us at the caff tonight,’ said Libby.
‘They haven’t been over for some time, have they? I thought maybe we’d upset them.’
‘I think it’s just that Fran wanted to settle into Nethergate and not keep running back to us. She’s got her own life to lead.’
‘You were worried about her moving down there, I seem to remember.’
‘Yes, but I needn’t have. I still see her.’
‘Because you force yourself on her,’ grinned Ben.
‘No, I don’t.’ Libby was indignant. ‘I like painting down there, that’s all. I always have, haven’t I? I’ve been doing pretty peeps for Guy’s shop for years.’
‘Guy’s gallery, you mean,’ said Ben. ‘When it’s paintings, it’s a gallery, when it’s cards it’s a shop.’
‘Whatever.’ Libby shrugged. ‘Anyway, it’s really good that they’re together, even if Fran won’t let him get too close.’
‘Oh?’ Ben raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t they..?’
‘Ben! None of our business.’ Libby smothered a smile. ‘Actually, yes, they do, but only when Fran allows it, I gather.’
‘Well, that’s the same as most couples, isn’t it? I mean, we only –’
‘Ben!’ said Libby again, looking round the bar.
‘I just meant,’ whispered Ben, leaning forward, ‘I can only make love to you if you want it, too.’
‘That makes me sound mean.’
‘Well, not exactly. You always do want it too.’
Libby swallowed. ‘This is not an appropriate conversation for a pub,’ she said in a strangled voice.
‘Then how about carrying it on back at your place?’ Ben stroked his thumb across her wrist and she shivered. ‘Purely in the interests of research, of course.’
‘Of course,’ said Libby, and finished her drink.
Later, when Ben sat on the cane sofa wrapped in the towelling dressing gown he kept in Libby’s bathroom, she poured boiling water into her teapot.
‘What do you know about illegal immigrants?’ she asked, putting out two mugs.
Ben groaned. ‘I knew you were interfering.’
‘I’m not.’ Libby fetched milk from the fridge. ‘I just wondered. Seems there are all sorts of scams for getting them into the country. Like those Chinese at Dover, and the winkle pickers in Morecambe.’
‘Of course there are. It’s always in the news.’
‘But there are whole organisations getting them false papers –’
‘And jobs. I know, Libby. It’s a scandal, but it’s been going on for years. The worst of them are the prostitution gangs.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Libby, coming in with two mugs of tea, made a face. ‘I’ve seen a couple of TV programmes about that.’
‘Well, don’t worry about it. I know the police are trying to get on top of it. The trouble is, we’re in the front line being near the Channel ports.’
‘And being a fruit and veg growing area so we need lots of casual pickers.’ Libby curled up in the armchair with a sigh. ‘I think that’s what our body was.’
‘Our body?’ asked Ben suspiciously.
‘Well, it’s in our area, isn’t it?’
‘But nothing to do with you,’ said Ben, frowning.
‘No, I know, but Fran might have to work on it.’ Libby turned to look out of the window, avoiding Ben’s eyes.
‘Oh, I see. For Fran, read Libby.’
‘No, I wouldn’t be in on it,’ said Libby, looking back at him with suspiciously wide eyes. ‘I think Ian wants Fran to investigate with the television people.’
‘But I thought she’d already said no.’
‘She had. But Ian can be persuasive. And Fran’s got a conscience.’
Ben sighed. ‘And you haven’t.’
‘I just like helping people,’ said Libby, ‘and by the way, I’ve invited that reporter to come over and see what she thinks of the theatre.’
‘Which reporter?’
‘The one who tried to interview me this morning. She’s lonely.’
‘Does she act?’
‘She doesn’t seem to do anything,’ said Libby, and told him Jane’s story. ‘So I thought it might be a kindness to see if she’d like to get involved.’
‘We haven’t got many youngsters here, either,’ said Ben.
‘But there are always more around for panto. She might want to do chorus, or something.’
Ben looked doubtful. ‘We’ll see. When’s she coming over?’
‘I don’t know. When we have the audition, I suppose. I thought I might pop in and see her house some time in the next couple of weeks, just to keep in touch.’
‘You’re sure you haven’t got an ulterior motive?’
‘No, of course not. Why would I have?’ Libby was looking indignant again. ‘She’s just a nice kid, and rather lonely.’
Libby repeated this to Fran and Guy over quesadillas de hongos in The Pink Geranium later that evening.
‘That’s kind of you,’ said Guy. Fran turned down the corners of her mouth. Like Ben, she was suspicious.
‘Oh, for goodness sake,’ said Libby. ‘Can’t I do anything from a purely normal standpoint? Does everyone always think I’m up to no good?’
‘A newspaper reporter does have access to a lot of things you might find useful,’ said Ben.
‘If you were investigating something you weren’t supposed to,’ added Fran.
Libby made a sound suspiciously like a snort. ‘Honestly,’ she said.
‘Speaking of which, Fran,’ said Ben, ‘have you decided to do what Ian asked?’
‘Eh?’ Guy looked startled. ‘Ian? Connell? What’s he been asking?’
‘Don’t worry, Guy, it’s nothing carnal,’ grinned Libby.
‘Libby!’ Fran frowned at her. ‘It’s complicated,’ she said to Guy, and explained.
‘Why don’t you do it?’ he asked. ‘You could ask the Kent and Coast people not to actually put you on the box, but just to use your information.’
‘Would you have to say it was the police’s idea?’ asked Ben.
‘Oh, I don’t think so, or they might get the idea they had a privileged position.’ Fran poked meditatively at a piece of mushroom. ‘I’ll phone that Campbell McLean person and sound him out, then I’ll talk to Ian about how he wants me to play it.’
‘So you’re going to do it, then?’ Libby looked excited.
Fran sighed.
‘Told you she had a conscience,’ Libby said Ben, triumphantly.
Chapter Six
LIBBY HAD TO WAIT until Monday to find out where Jane lived. She called her at the Mercury offices, ostensibly to invite her to the audition for the pantomime. Predictably, Jane protested.
Murder by the Sea - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series Page 4
