by Hazel Holt
“What about Trevor—did you ever tell him?”
“No, what would have been the use? He wasn’t one for settling down. Anyway, I heard a few years later that he’d been killed on some sort of military exercise. Very sad; he’d been so full of life.” She sat quietly for a moment, looking down at her clasped hands. “Still, I suppose in some ways it was for the best; it might have been awkward later on.”
“Does Mark look like him?” I asked.
“Not really; just occasionally there’s something.”
“Perhaps that’s why he chose to go into the army.”
“Perhaps. He never wanted to do anything on the farm. Just as well, really. I mean, Fred always treated him as his own, but I think he’s glad Dan will have the farm—well, it’s been in the family for generations; you know how it is . . .”
“How were the boys when you told them?”
“They’d always been very close—Dan looked up to Mark and, of course, by the time they were old enough for us to tell them it wasn’t such a big deal; people’s attitudes had changed. No, they took it very well. I suppose because Dan was so set on farming and Mark wasn’t, that made it easier. No, bless them, they’re still very good friends. But Fred was right; it would have been awkward for them if word had got about. That’s why we fell in with what Annie wanted.”
“How could she have found out?” I asked.
“There was a bit of talk in the village when Fred and I got married so young and then Mark being born so soon after. But I suppose people thought we’d just been careless. But Martha, Annie’s mother, liked ferreting out bits of gossip. That’s probably where Annie got it from.”
“Such a horrible, spiteful thing to do, to hold it over you like that,” I said.
“And, as you say, we weren’t the only ones. It’s an awful thing to say, but there’s quite a lot of people in the village who’ll feel better now she’s gone.” She got up and took the teapot over to the sink. “I’m glad I told you, Sheila. In a funny sort of way it puts it into perspective.”
“I’m glad you did,” I said. “Of course, I’d never mention it to anyone . . .” I got up and moved towards the door. “I’ll see you soon. Take care of yourself.”
The next day I had to take Tris to have his nails clipped. Unlike Foss, who loves attention of any kind, Tris hates going to the vet. From the moment we go through the door he starts whining and insists on sitting on my knee shivering pathetically. There appeared to be only one vet on duty and the waiting room was full, so it looked as if we were in for a long wait. However, the door opened and I was pleased to see Rachel coming in with Phyll’s old Labrador, who sank down heavily at her feet, snuffling occasionally but otherwise unmoved.
I greeted Rachel and bent over to pat him. “Is he all right?”
“Yes, he’s just here for his booster shot. Phyll would have brought him but she and Martin wanted to go to Taunton.”
“He’s still staying with you?” I asked.
“Oh yes. As a matter of fact I was going to ring you and Rosemary to tell you the news. Phyll and Martin are engaged.”
“Good heavens! But they hardly know each other!”
“I know. But actually they more or less fell for each other that time in Madeira. A real coup de foudre, from what I can gather, at least on Phyll’s part, and I believe he felt much the same. But Martin had an ailing wife and Phyll had decided to devote her life to looking after Father, so they parted forever—or so they thought. She was very upset when they came home; she’d never really been in love before, poor lamb. You can imagine the long phone calls telling me all about it! Anyway, when he turned up again in this totally unexpected way and a widower, it wasn’t so much a question of if they’d get together, but when.”
“How extraordinary—like something out of a Victorian novel. The sort of coincidence you think only happens in books, though life is full of them! They certainly seem fond of each other—a real happy ending! How do you feel about it?”
“Oh, I’m delighted for Phyll. She adored Father and this is the first time I’ve seen her really happy since he died.”
“And what do you think about Martin?”
She shrugged. “I really don’t know. He seems genuinely attached to her, which is the important thing. We don’t know much about him but there probably isn’t that much to know, if you see what I mean.”
“What you see is what you get?”
“I think so.”
“I must say I do see what you mean about Phyll being happy. They were telling me about renovating the cottage and she was absolutely bubbling over with excitement, and he was amused but in a fond sort of way.”
“Perhaps fond is the word, but it’s quite a good sort of love, isn’t it, and it isn’t as if either of them is in the first flush of youth. I think he will make her happy and that’s what matters.”
“And how about you? If they move into Annie’s cottage—when Phyll’s altered it to her satisfaction!—you’ll be left alone in that big house.”
“Oh, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. With all the ideas Phyll has about the cottage—not to mention changing her mind about everything half a dozen times—it’ll be the best part of a year before they actually move.”
“And what about the wedding—when will that be?”
“They haven’t decided yet, but fairly soon, I think. There’s no reason for them to wait and it’s going to be quite a simple affair. They’ll speak to Father William about it sometime soon.”
“Well,” I said, “I think that’s simply splendid. Are they telling people, or should I keep it a secret?”
“Oh no, they want everyone to know. In fact, I said I’d organize an engagement party. I do hope you and Rosemary will come.”
“I’d love to, of course,” I said, “and I’m sure Rosemary will too.”
“What an extraordinary thing,” Rosemary said when I told her. “I just hope Phyll knows what she’s doing. After all, what do we know about Martin? I mean, it was odd enough the way he turned out to be Annie’s cousin and turned up here. She’s only known him for a few weeks.”
“And that time in Madeira.”
“A holiday romance!”
“Dr. Gregory liked him—I’m sure that weighed a lot with Phyll.”
“Liking him on holiday’s one thing, but Dr. G never expected him to want to marry his daughter.”
“I think Michael made some inquiries about him when it turned out he inherited everything from Annie. I’m sure if there’d been anything fishy, he’d have discovered it.”
“I suppose so.”
“So will you come to the engagement party?”
“Of course! And I really do hope everything will turn out well for them. It’s just that I’m fond of old Phyll and I think she’s taking a bit of a risk.”
“All marriage is a risk in one way or other. I don’t see why this shouldn’t work out perfectly well.”
“You’re probably right. Goodness, is that the time? I must go—I’ve got to take Mother her prescription. Still, at least I’ll have a hot piece of news for her. Mulling over this will keep her happy for days!”
Chapter Eighteen
Rachel’s engagement party for Phyll and Martin was a great success—lots of people, delicious food and an excited buzz. The only drawback was that the guests (given the presence of the two people involved) hesitated to speculate among themselves on the surprising and fascinating nature of the news, though Anthea did manage to back me into a corner and make her views known.
“It’s all a bit sudden, isn’t it?” she demanded in a rather too-loud voice.
“Well . . . ,” I began.
“He’s only been in the village five minutes and here’s Phyllis Gregory marrying him!”
“Oh, they’d known each other before,” I said. “Her father liked him very much.”
“What do you mean? Dr. Gregory? He’s been dead for years.”
“They knew him in Madeira ages ago,”
I said.“Didn’t you know?” I added provocatively. “Long before either of them knew he was related to Annie. Phyll’s been telling everyone about the amazing coincidence.”
“Coincidence!” Anthea said disapprovingly. She turned and looked at the happy couple.
“He’s not very tall; she’ll have to stop wearing high heels. I always think it looks very odd in a couple if a woman is taller than a man. So, when are they getting married? Or is it going to be one of those long engagements?”
“Oh, quite soon, I think—before Christmas, anyway.”
“What’s the rush?” she asked, obviously disappointed that the bride’s age made the possibility of a shotgun wedding unlikely.
“There doesn’t seem any reason to wait and it’s going to be a simple ceremony, so there won’t be a lot of preparations to make.”
“Well, I must say I think it’s very hard on Rachel, coming all the way down here from Scotland to be with her sister and then having her go off like this.”
“They’ll still be in the village,” I said. “They’re having Annie’s cottage done up—Phyll is full of it!”
“I wouldn’t care to live right in the village like that, and it’s a dismal sort of place. No,” she said dismissively, “I wouldn’t care for that at all.”
However, Anthea’s seemed to be the lone disapproving voice.
“Splendid news,” Captain Prosser said, embarking on his third vol-au-vent. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer couple.”
“Such an amazing coincidence,” Mary Fletcher said. “Meeting again after all those years—quite romantic!”
“And having the cottage,” Jim put in, “they’ve got a ready-made home. Though there must be a lot to do to it.”
“I believe it needs complete modernizing,” I said.
“Well, Annie never spent a penny on it,” Jim said. “Allowed it to get into a very bad state.” It was interesting to see how criticism of Annie was now deemed to be allowable. “It’s going to cost a packet.” He looked around to see if he could be overheard by the happy couple. “I don’t know how well-off Martin is; though, of course, he’ll be selling his house—or is it a flat—in London and, even these days, London prices are pretty high.”
“And I imagine,” Captain Prosser said, lowering his voice, “there’s no shortage of money on her side.”
“I believe Dr. Gregory had private means,” Jim said confidentially, “and so did his wife.”
They all looked at me as someone who had known the family for years.
“They always seemed comfortably off,” I said vaguely. I started to move away. “Do excuse me; I must have a word with Father William.”
He was standing at the far end of the room by the table with the food. “Now,” he said earnestly, “shall I have just one more of these delicious anchovy tartlets, or shall I go straight on to that irresistible chocolate cake?”
“Decisions, decisions!” I said, smiling. “Go for the cake, and then you could fit in a piece of the cherry cheesecake, which is Rachel’s specialty, as well.”
“Of course! Local knowledge, always so useful.”
“So what do you think?” I asked. “Is it going to work?”
“I don’t see why not. They are both of mature years and seem well suited.”
“I suppose so. It’s just that we don’t know much about him.”
“What do we really know about anyone?” He looked at me quizzically. “No doubt he has secrets like the rest of us. If Phyllis is prepared to take him on trust, perhaps we should too.”
“Possibly,” I said doubtfully, “but she’s . . . well, prejudiced in his favor.”
“The eye of love? You may be right, but that may not always be a bad thing. That particular gaze may very well penetrate into places where the casual glance cannot reach. Don’t you agree?”
I laughed. “Metaphysics, even spurious ones, can win any argument. Anyway, when’s the wedding to be? Have they set an actual date?”
“I have to rearrange a few things, but before Christmas, certainly. I gather Phyllis has always wanted to spend Christmas in Vienna, so that is where they will spend their honeymoon.”
“Dear Phyll,” I said affectionately, “a genuine romantic!”
“That is, naturally, top secret information and I’ve only told you now because I know that your implacable curiosity would have wheedled it out of me sooner or later.”
“Of course, not a word! And I’ll feign total surprise when I’m finally told.”
I looked round the room. “Is it my imagination or is the atmosphere quite different now than it was at other gatherings—the Harvest Supper, for example—when Annie was alive? Everyone seems much more relaxed.”
“I think we both know the answer to that.” He cut a thick slice of chocolate cake and placed it carefully on a plate. “Have you made any progress? In general terms, that is.”
“In general terms. I’ve found, as we agreed, that everyone has some sort of secret they would prefer to keep hidden. Mostly minor ones, though there are a couple that might cause more anxiety. I really don’t know. It was such a calculated thing to do.” I paused. “As I say, I don’t know.”
“Come and see me sometime if you think it would help. Come anyway and have a glass of delicious sherry . . .” He picked up a fork and began to eat. “Absolutely divine. I can’t imagine how you could resist it.”
Like Max Beerbohm, I love the seaside out of season when the visitors and day-trippers have gone, the amusement arcades are shuttered, the cheap clothing shops are closed and the beach is empty except for the occasional dog walker. Then the town reverts to its old self, what it was like in my parents’ time. I like it best when there is a brisk wind and there are curling white horses on the sea and the clouds part to let through an occasional gleam of sunshine. The next day was just such a day, so I called Tris, held him still while I fastened his coat (he’s quite an elderly dog now and feels the cold), and got down his lead. Foss, who’d investigated the weather earlier in the day and rejected it, gave us a contemptuous look and took himself upstairs to sleep under the duvet.
I didn’t go down to the harbor, but farther along the seafront, to where the receding tide had left the sort of firm sand that suits Tris’s short legs. I let him off the lead and he ran away, barking at seagulls and investigating the clumps of seaweed, as if the briskness of the day had somehow renewed his youth. I followed more slowly, pausing to look for shells and bits of drift-wood, but beachcombing here usually offers nothing more than empty plastic bottles and other, even less agreeable detritus. As I walked, thinking of William’s offer, I tried to sort out in my mind what exactly I had discovered, trying to fit together some sort of coherent picture from the diverse pieces of information I’d gleaned.
As I’d told William, most of the secrets were of a fairly minor nature. Their revelation might have caused a certain embarrassment to the people involved, but there was nothing that wouldn’t have been a nine days’ wonder in the village. Ellen’s boys might (or might not) have felt uncomfortable if the truth had come out, but—as we’d agreed—in this day and age there was no reason why they should. And, actually, I had no way of knowing if my theory about the Fletchers’ son was true and I had only a vague feeling about the Sanderses’ daughter. Nor did I know if Maurice was in the pay of the developers and had wanted to displace Annie on the committee of the village trust.
The only two people I really did know about who might have been harmed by Annie’s threats were Naomi and Toby. Well, Naomi couldn’t be actually harmed, because the medical scandal she was involved in would surely be known to her present employers. But it would be a real blow to her pride to have it all dragged out into the open.
Which left Toby. Thinking back to our conversation I realized I’d been rather carried away by the feeling of nostalgia from the photos. Toby admitted that there had been dealings with Max Holtby, and, even if there’d been nothing actually illegal, Annie knew enough to make things very difficult for
him. He certainly had the most to lose and that, of course, explained his particular dislike of Annie and his unease in her presence. It must have been like living with a time bomb. And Diana must have been involved. She really hated Annie and, in spite of the danger to Toby, let it show. Toby was weak, but, somehow, I felt that Diana might well have had the resolution to get rid of Annie. Certainly she’d been quite different since Annie had died.
A loud barking made me look for Tris and I saw he was confronting a young golden retriever. As I went towards him a familiar voice behind me called out, “Flora, come here. Come here at once!” I turned round and saw that it was Diana.
“It’s all right, Sheila. She’s quite harmless—only wants to play.”
Tris, having recovered from his surprise, decided that he too would like to play and they raced up and down the beach together, scattering sand in all directions.
“Sorry about that,” Diana said. “She’s a bit excitable.”
We both looked at Flora, who, having totally ignored Diana’s command, at that moment decided to splash about in a rock pool, and emerged dripping. I laughed, then said, “Dogs! But it would be awful to be without one.”
“When Tessa, my old retriever, died, I was so upset that I made a vow I’d never have another one. That lasted a week.”
“I know.”
We stood for a moment watching the dogs. I’d never seen Diana in this mood before. It was almost as if the stiff breeze had blown away her usual supercilious manner.
“Toby told me about your visit,” Diana said.
“Oh yes, the photos.”
“Not just the photos. About that bloody woman.”
“She had some sort of hold over a lot of people,” I said, “if that’s any sort of consolation.”
“But not like the one she had over Toby. She could have ruined him.”
“Well, yes, I suppose so.”
“And didn’t she just love that!” Diana said viciously. “Her mother used to do the washing for his family when times were hard before the war. So she really enjoyed having that sort of power over him. People in the village have long memories.”
