Ben laughed. ‘Doesn’t sound like Ian.’
‘No, but I reckon he’s a bit confused at the moment, like the rest of us. Fran’s been blowing hot and cold for weeks, and he doesn’t know where he is.’
‘Not blowing hot and cold about him?’ Ben’s eyes narrowed.
‘No, no. She assured me she’s over that particular aberration.’ Libby gazed into the distance. ‘He is attractive, though.’
‘Hmm,’ said Ben. ‘By the way. Do you remember our conversation about old boyfriends and girlfriends?’
Libby brought her gaze back. ‘About tastes changing and all that?’
‘Yes. Mind you, I’m not sure what this proves, if anything.’ He reached round into the pocket of his jeans and brought out an envelope. ‘Have a look at this.’
Libby opened the envelope and drew out an obviously old black and white photograph.
‘That’s me!’ she gasped. ‘I’ve never seen this before. Where was it taken? Where did you get it?’
‘I took it,’ said Ben.
Libby stared at him with her mouth open. ‘You what?’ she managed eventually.
He laughed. ‘I knew you hadn’t recognised me when we met a few years ago, but when we began to get – well, better acquainted, let’s say – I thought it might click. Never has, though, has it?’
‘But Ben, I’d swear I’d never met you before.’ Libby’s eyes were wide with worry. ‘How could I have forgotten you?’
‘Do you remember Tony Bush and Colin Rabson?’
‘Yes. From the boys’ grammar school.’
‘I was one of their crowd. I fancied you rotten.’
Libby felt herself turning pink. ‘Oh, God, Ben, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you remind me when we first met?’ She looked down at the photograph. ‘I don’t remember anything about this. Where were we?’
‘Colin had borrowed his dad’s car and six of us went to Box Hill for the day.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I guess I made no impression at all.’
‘Neither did the day,’ said Libby. ‘I remember going to Box Hill several times – my father’s boss had a caravan there, of all things, and he used to lend it to us for weekends. And my first proper boyfriend and I used to go there for the day.’ She looked at the picture again. ‘So this proves that tastes change. I didn’t even notice you then, and now I fancy you rotten, too.’
He smiled and took her outstretched hand. ‘Snap.’
‘But what were you doing in London at school? You were born and brought up here.’
‘When do you think this was taken?’
‘I haven’t got a clue.’ Libby looked back at the photograph. ‘I must have been about nineteen, I suppose.’
‘That’s about it. And Tony, Colin and I were students together. Remember I told you I did backstage work in theatres when I was a student?’
‘And this was then?’
‘Tony and Colin said they had a friend who was a drama student and we’d have something in common.’ He laughed. ‘Can’t say we did, though. I don’t think you noticed me.’
‘Perhaps you weren’t as charismatic as you are now?’
‘Charismatic? Moi?’ Ben clasped his hand theatrically to his chest.
Libby looked fondly across the table at the closely cropped grey hair and brilliant blue eyes, all wrapped up in a blue shirt and worn jeans. She experienced the same swooping feeling in her stomach that had characterised her first meetings with Ben, a “teenagerish” reaction, as she put it herself.
‘You know you are,’ she said. ‘And I haven’t got a clue what you see in me.’
‘Stop fishing,’ he said, leaning across the table and recapturing her hand. ‘And don’t look at me like that, or I shall rush you straight back to your bedroom.’
‘Wow,’ said Libby softly.
Chapter Thirty
SITTING IN JANE’S FLAT, Fran heard the slam of a car door through the open window. Looking out, she saw Mike Charteris paying off a taxi before climbing the steps to the front door.
‘Who is it?’ Jane asked in a shaky voice.
Fran pushed down a spurt of irritation. ‘Mike. Do you want to talk to him?’
‘No.’ Jane clutched her hands together until the knuckles grew white.
‘Don’t you want to know what happened last night?’ Fran said gently, going over and laying a hand on Jane’s arm.
‘I know what happened,’ said Jane.
‘We don’t, you know,’ said Fran. ‘All we’ve got is speculation on the part of the police.’
‘Oh, so you’re saying Terry hit himself?’ Jane’s voice rose sharply.
‘No, of course not,’ said Fran, although privately she’d wondered whether that had, in fact, been the case. Mind you, she didn’t know how he would have done it.
‘I want to go back to the hospital,’ said Jane, standing up.
‘I’ve only just brought you home,’ said Fran, barely hiding her exasperation. ‘And I’ve got to get back home.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Jane was immediately contrite. ‘I’m being irrational, aren’t I? I’m just so worried about Terry.’
‘His parents are there now, we saw them,’ said Fran. ‘They’ll let you know as soon as there is anything to know.’ She paused and frowned. ‘But aren’t you worried about the burglar – intruder – or whatever he was? It’s obvious he’s targeting this house. Wouldn’t you be safer moving out for a while?’
‘What about Mrs Finch?’ said Jane. ‘I can’t leave her here alone.’
‘You’re not exactly much good to her up here,’ said Fran. ‘You’d never hear if anyone broke into her flat. And by the way, is there access from her flat to the rest of the house?’
Jane shook her head. ‘No. It’s completely self-contained. The staircase from what’s now Mike’s kitchen was blocked off when Aunt Jess had the house converted.’
Fran was interested. ‘Is it still there?’
Jane shrugged. ‘I suppose so, behind the bricked-up doorways.’
‘Where did it come out in Mrs Finch’s flat?’
Jane frowned. ‘I don’t know. Why are you asking?’
‘Just curious,’ said Fran. ‘Well, if you don’t want to see Mike, do you mind if I pop in and see him?’
‘Why?’ Jane looked frightened.
‘To see if he’s all right, of course.’ Fran now couldn’t hide her vexation. What the hell was wrong with this stupid girl?
‘Oh – oh, of course.’ Jane relaxed. ‘Yes, that’s a good idea.’
‘And shall I ask him about last night?’
‘Yes. Yes.’ Jane nodded furiously.
‘But you don’t want to do it?’ said Fran.
‘No.’
‘Right.’ Fran sighed and stood up again. ‘I’ll get going then, and call in on Mike on the way.’
‘Thank you, Fran.’ Jane stood up and unexpectedly threw her arms round Fran. ‘Thank you so much for everything. I’ve completely wrecked your Sunday.’
‘It wasn’t your fault Guy and I had to spend the morning at the police station,’ said Fran, amused.
‘In a way it was.’ Jane stepped back and looked down at her feet. ‘If I hadn’t come looking for you in the first place –’
‘Oh, nonsense,’ said Fran. ‘Come on, buck up. You can drive yourself to the hospital later on, can’t you? And let us know how he is.’
Five minutes later she was knocking on Mike’s door. He answered promptly, but looking drawn and weary.
‘Hi,’ he said.
‘Just wanted to know how you were,’ said Fran. ‘We – er – we found you last night.’
He nodded, and stopped abruptly, putting a hand to his head. ‘That was silly,’ he said with a humourless laugh. ‘Yes, thanks, I know. They told me at the hospital.’
‘Have you only just got back? I thought they were letting you out earlier today?’
‘Yeah, well, I had to hang around until I was signed off.’ He grimaced. ‘Then I had to get a taxi.’
> ‘Yes, we saw you arrive,’ said Fran. ‘That must have cost a fortune all the way from Canterbury.’
He grunted. ‘Well, thanks for asking, anyway,’ he said. ‘Bit sore, but Terry’s in a bad way.’
‘Not that bad,’ said Fran. ‘I’ve just brought Jane home. Pity we didn’t know you were still there, we could have given you a lift.’
‘Would have been good.’ He gave her a small smile. ‘So he’s not too bad, then?’
‘He’s not too good, either,’ said Fran, ‘but he’s obviously got a very hard head. His ribs took a bit of a battering, too, but I don’t think there are any further breaks.’
‘His ribs?’ Mike frowned. ‘What happened to his ribs?’
‘He slid down the stairs on his front,’ said Fran. ‘Right after we found you.’
‘Ah.’ Mike stared up at the staircase. ‘Hope the police take it all a bit more seriously now.’
‘I think they are,’ said Fran. ‘My friend and I spent the morning at the police station.’
‘Oh? Why?’
‘Giving statements,’ said Fran patiently. Obviously the bang on the head was having an effect. ‘Can you remember what happened last night?’
‘Not much.’ Mike frowned. ‘I’d been to the Swan for dinner as usual, then I went to see a band playing at the Carlton. I came home and the house was in darkness. Then I thought I heard something upstairs. I started going up the stairs – and that’s all I remember.’
‘We found you on the lower landing,’ said Fran. ‘We must have walked right past you on the way up.’ She reached out and patted his arm. ‘I’ll let you rest. Just wanted to make sure you were all right. Anything you need?’
‘No, thanks. Really kind of you.’ Mike’s voice was gruff, and Fran was surprised to see a tinge of pink in his otherwise unnaturally pale face.
‘No problem. I’ll be off then.’ Fran smiled and turned to go.
‘Hang on.’ The gruff voice stopped her. ‘How’s young Jane?’
‘Very shaken,’ said Fran. ‘She’s going back to the hospital later.’
‘Is she all right? What happened to her?’ He looked startled.
‘She’s fine.’ Fran was surprised. ‘She’s just worried about Terry – and the house of course. She thinks she’s a target.’ Jane didn’t seem to think anything of the sort, Fran thought, but best not to say that.
‘Oh.’ Mike relaxed. ‘That’s OK, then. Thanks.’
‘Bye then,’ said Fran, and this time he let her go.
As she drove back to Harbour Street where Guy was cooking a meal for them both, she pondered the odd behaviour of Jane and Mike. Neither had reacted quite the way she had expected, especially Jane. Was she still scared of Mike? It looked like it, yet last week she had reacted perfectly normally in his presence when Fran had been conducting her psychic survey. Perhaps it was simply the fact of being alone in the house with him again. You couldn’t count Mrs Finch, as Fran had pointed out herself.
‘Do you want to ask her to stay with you?’ asked Guy, after he’d provided her with a drink.
‘No,’ said Fran firmly. ‘I don’t want anyone sharing my house.’
‘I’m aware of that,’ said Guy with an amused snort.
Fran blushed. ‘You know what I mean. Besides, she irritates me. Talk about blowing hot and cold.’
‘You’ve been doing a bit of that yourself recently,’ said Guy, returning to the cooker, where he began stirring a large pot.
‘Don’t remind me,’ sighed Fran.
‘So aren’t you feeling anything about this latest attack? Or about Jane? I thought the psychic antennae were twitching again.’
‘They have been, but all I’m getting now is a replay of what happened last night.’
‘And Connell hasn’t asked you to get involved after all.’ Guy turned a smug grin on her. So there, he seemed to be saying. Fran scowled.
‘He will,’ she said.
Ben spent the evening stopping Libby from phoning Fran.
‘Not a good idea,’ he said again. ‘She’ll call if there’s anything to tell.’
‘I don’t even know if Jane’s home,’ fretted Libby.
‘Well, call her, then. Just don’t bother Fran.’ Ben adjusted his towelling robe as he stood up and made for the whisky bottle. ‘Want one?’
Libby picked up the phone and punched in Jane’s number. ‘Straight to voice mail,’ she said after a moment. ‘She’s switched off.’
‘Which means she’s either still at the hospital or she’s sleeping at home and doesn’t want to be disturbed,’ said Ben, handing her a glass. ‘Leave it till tomorrow. Then I’ll be out of your hair and you can do as you like.’
Libby smiled up at him. ‘Don’t I do as I like anyway?’ she said.
‘Most of the time,’ he said, sitting down on the creaky sofa next to her. ‘And sometimes you do what I like, too.’
‘Do I?’
‘I’ll show you,’ said Ben, putting down his glass.
The following morning, as the click of the cat-flap signalled Sidney’s departure after breakfast, Libby called Fran.
‘Sorry, I know it’s early,’ she said, ‘but Ben wouldn’t let me call you last night, and I couldn’t wait to hear what the news is.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Fran. ‘I was awake. But I don’t know what the situation is this morning.’
‘Well, what was it last night?’ persisted Libby.
Fran told her how things had been left the previous evening.
‘It’s odd, though, Lib,’ she finished, ‘but Jane seems to have changed. She seemed really frightened when I brought her home.’
‘I’m not surprised. I’d be frightened if my home was under attack.’
‘Yes, but she was fine last week wasn’t she? And only too keen for us to find out anything we could about her aunt and Simon Madderling. I mean, letting me go all round the house. And now – she’s changed.’
‘I think this second attack would be enough to unnerve anybody,’ said Libby. ‘Weren’t you scared?’
‘Of course,’ said Fran.
‘By the way,’ said Libby, ‘when you told her all about Lena and Rosa’s passport, did you mention the fact that the body on the island was Andrei?’
There was a pause. ‘No,’ said Fran. ‘I didn’t. I just connected up Lena and Rosa for her.’
‘And was she surprised?’
‘Not surprised, exactly. She was when she first saw the passport. But by the time I told her the story she’d had time to put it all together herself. Why?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I just wondered if perhaps Rosa had told her more than she’s letting on.’
‘More about what?’ asked Fran.
‘I don’t know that, either, but Rosa’s disappeared, hasn’t she? Perhaps Jane actually knows who she is and where she went.’
‘Now, why on earth would you think that?’
‘I just think she’s been too innocent about the whole thing,’ said Libby. ‘Everything. She hasn’t really been bothered by any of it, except Terry’s attack.’
‘Attacks plural.’
‘Yes, but you said now she seems really scared. Something’s registered with her.’
‘You were the one saying it would be enough to scare anybody, just now,’ said Fran.
‘I know. But it only just struck me. I think we ought to tell her about Andrei and see what the reaction is.’
‘Who’s we, Tonto?’
‘Oh, all right, me, then.’
‘And what are we expecting?’ said Fran. ‘That she’s going to own up to his murder?’
‘No, of course not. Do you know whether Ian’s got any further on that?’
‘No, but he wouldn’t keep me up to date. And unless he wants to see me again, I can hardly ask him.’
‘Well, I’m going to call Jane and find out how Terry is and see if I can’t slip in a mention of Andrei Gruesome.’
‘Gruzevich,’ said Fran.
‘And him. And I
’ll let you know what happens.’
‘Libby, please don’t start poking around too deeply,’ said Fran.
‘I’m only going to talk to Jane,’ said Libby. ‘What on earth could happen to me?’
Chapter Thirty-one
LIBBY POTTERED AROUND MAKING more tea and some toast, while thinking about her approach to Jane. She wasn’t sure what had made her suspicious, even less what she was suspicious of, she was just certain that Jane was keeping something from them. And that could mean she was keeping something from the police which would help them find out who was behind Terry’s attacks. And maybe even Andrei’s killer.
That brought her up short. Rosa had told Jane a farrago of lies, which didn’t include her Transnistrian lover, so Jane wouldn’t react to his identity after all. Although Fran had told her about the real Rosa and the connection to Lena, so perhaps …
‘You silly bugger,’ she said out loud. ‘Carried away, that’s what you are.’ Regretfully, she abandoned all reflections on Jane’s possible ulterior motives and went upstairs to shower.
Later, she decided it was still a good idea to ask how Jane, and more importantly, Terry, were. There was no reply from her mobile, and the Mercury hadn’t heard from her. Bob, the news editor, expressed horror at this further attack.
‘She hasn’t rung in, no, but then she’s probably got more than enough on her plate,’ he said. ‘Give her our best when you see her, won’t you? And tell her she’s not even to think of coming back until she’s better.’
Deciding that Jane was almost certainly at the hospital, Libby thought it would not come amiss if she were to visit the injured party herself. No flowers this time, she thought, but a card, perhaps. She drove round to the eight-til-late and picked the most appropriate of Ali’s selection, then set course for the Kent and Canterbury hospital.
She managed to find a parking space outside the gates, thus saving several pounds in charges, and set off for the main block.
She was directed to the right ward, where she discovered, to her relief, that Terry was once again not in intensive care, but in a general ward. She was, however, told that he wasn’t allowed any visitors but his parents and his “fiancée”.
‘Is his fiancée in there now?’ asked Libby.
Murder by the Sea - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series Page 23
