by Hazel Holt
“Especially for slights, real or fancied.”
“She liked to play games—you know, hints, double meanings, never quite saying anything, just keeping us on edge all the time.”
I remembered her jibes to him about politicians’ memoirs. “I bet she did,” I said.
“When we were first married and I came here to live, she was all over us; nothing was too much trouble. And when I was laid up with a bad leg that had to have the dressings changed every day, she was in and out the whole time. But, of course, we didn’t know then . . .”
“That was how she gathered her information?” I said.
“It was worse for me, of course, because I was down here most of the time—I’m useless at constituency things, though I did my best—so I was the main target. She really enjoyed that.”
I could just imagine Annie’s delight in taking Diana down a peg. “Yes,” I said, “she’d like that.”
Diana was silent for a moment, apparently concentrating on taking deep breaths of sea air.
Then she said, “I’m so glad she’s dead.”
“A horrible way to die.”
“It was typical—she always had to know best. Well, that time she didn’t and it killed her.” Her voice was hard. “In fact,” she went on, “if she hadn’t died when she did, I do believe I would have killed her myself.”
“You don’t mean that,” I said.
She’d been staring out to sea, but now she turned and looked at me. “What? I don’t know—perhaps, if she’d gone on . . .”
“Toby said he’s giving up at the next general election.”
“He’s been living on the edge for too long. I hated to see him like that. It was never really his thing, you know; he was pushed into it. I’d have done anything . . . Still, it’s all right now.”
The dogs came rushing up; Tris was panting a little and I bent down and put his lead back on. The retriever shook herself briskly, covering us both with sandy water. Diana grabbed her collar.
“Sorry, Sheila,” she said, her words seeming to cover both the wetting and our conversation.
“That’s fine,” I said. “I think I’d better get this one home—he’s not used to such energetic exercise.”
She bent and patted Tris. “He’s a splendid little chap.” Flora, meanwhile, had wrenched herself free and was racing off towards the sea. “I’d better go after her,” she said, “before she tries to swim to Wales! Anyway, I can do with a good walk; it clears the head somehow.” She gave me one of her rare smiles and set off along the beach.
As I was trying to get most of the sand off Tris’s paws before I put him in the car, I looked up and saw that she was racing along, the dog leaping beside her, like a young girl—like her mythical namesake.
“It was a really odd feeling,” I said to Rosemary when I saw her next day, “seeing her like that—natural and not being sarcastic all the time or scoring points.”
“Doesn’t sound like the Diana we know.”
“Though she was really bitter and savage about Annie. I did think—”
“That she might have poisoned her?”
“It would have been easy for her to go across the field (her field) and get in the back way.”
“You think she’s bright enough to have planned something like that?”
“Oh, Diana’s bright enough. But . . . well . . . I’m not so sure now.”
“You don’t think she could have killed anyone because she loves dogs?” Rosemary looked at me quizzically.
“And horses too.” I laughed. “No, there was something about the way she talked about wanting to kill her.”
“That could have been to put you off the scent.”
“It could. As I said, she’s bright enough. No, it was just the way she spoke. Oh, I don’t know. Toby certainly had enough motive to want Annie out of the way and, since he wasn’t around when she died, then it would have to be Diana . . .”
Rosemary looked at me with a slight smile. “Has it ever occurred to you that no one killed Annie Roberts, that it really was an accident?”
“You mean that I’m making a mystery out of nothing?”
“Something like that.”
“But all those people—they all loathed her.”
“Just because a lot of people loathed her, it doesn’t mean that someone killed her.”
“But we know for a fact that she found out their secrets and used them to manipulate people.”
“But you have no proof that anybody actually got rid of her.”
“Well, no . . .”
“Exactly. So let it be.”
“You’re right,” I said reluctantly. “As usual. I’m making too much of things.”
“Well, put it out of your mind and come into Taunton with me to find Mother a new bedspread. There’s nothing in Taviscombe and she won’t consider catalogues, even the really fancy ones, and when we offered to order her one online she nearly had a fit!”
“Does she really need a new bedspread?” I asked.
Rosemary gave a short, mirthless laugh. “When has need ever entered into it! No, she said that she got sick and tired of looking at it when she was in bed ill. I know perfectly well, before I even set out, that whatever I bring will have to go back again. It’s going to be a difficult task, so be prepared to bend your mind to it. But, while we’re there we could reward ourselves with lunch at that rather glamorous new place in the precinct.”
Chapter Nineteen
When I woke up a few days later I felt somehow a lightening of spirits, and then I remembered that I’d agreed with Rosemary to abandon all thoughts of foul play where Annie’s death was concerned. Energized by this feeling, I embarked on the distasteful task of defrosting the ancient freezer in the larder. It was wedged up in the corner and soon I was uncomfortably surrounded by trays of frozen packages, most of which I discovered with shame were well past their use-by dates. The defrosting took ages, even with the help of my hair dryer, and, when I’d finally got the usable things back in again, my back was aching and my hands were frozen.
I’d just put the kettle on for a much-needed cup of tea when the telephone rang; it was Mary Fletcher with a query about the Book.
“Sorry to bother you,” she said, “but I thought I ought to make sure it was all right before it goes off to the printer.”
I assured her (mendaciously) that it was no bother and that I’d ring her back as soon as I’d checked. Then I fed the animals again to placate them for having been banished from the kitchen when I was busy, and resolutely sat down to rest my back with a cup of tea and a slice of coffee sponge before I got out the folders. I found the thing Mary had queried quite quickly, but as I picked up the folders to put them back in my desk, I dropped one and the contents scattered everywhere. As I replaced them I noticed a few old newspaper cuttings that had been caught up behind the minutes of a parish council meeting that I hadn’t bothered to look at before. I was turning them over casually when I came to one that stopped me in my tracks.
It was dated some years before and had been cut out from one of the more sensational Sunday tabloids. The headline read “Where Are They Now?” and below it said “Was this really Justice? These were piffling little sentences on men who ruined the lives of innocent people. Now they’re free to get on with their own lives, unlike their poor victims who still suffer.”
There were three columns, each devoted to some criminal: a hit-and-run driver, a businessman who set up a Christmas Club scam, and a solicitor. The headline for the last one read “Midland Solicitor Jailed for Fraud” and the photograph below it bore the caption “Donald Lee entering the court with his wife, Jennifer.” Below this was the original news item. Donald Lee had been the senior partner in a thriving practice with branches throughout the Midlands, but he had been systematically taking money from his clients’ accounts. They were all elderly people, usually with no near relatives to look out for them. The judge said in his summing-up that this was a particularly despicable crime
since it betrayed the trust of some of the most vulnerable members of society. He was sentenced to three years. The woman in the photo was unmistakably Judith.
I sat for a while, not quite able to take in what I’d just read; then I detached the cutting and put everything else away. Dutifully I phoned Mary and answered her query. Then I phoned Rosemary.
“Are you busy? Can I come round?”
“Yes, do come. I was just making a sandwich for lunch—come and join me. What is it? Has something happened?”
“In a way, but nothing awful. I’ll come right away.”
Rosemary opened the door to me with a question on her lips; then, thinking better of it, she followed me into the kitchen and waited until I’d sat down.
“Now, then,” she said, “whatever is it?”
I took the cutting from my bag and laid it on the table. Rosemary picked it up and read it, put it down and then picked it up and read it again.
“Well!” she said. “Fancy that!”
“I know,” I said. “It knocked me sideways too.”
She got up and went over to the kettle. “No,” she said, “tea is quite inadequate. What we need is a drink.”
She poured two large glasses of wine and put a plate of sandwiches on the table between us.
“Now, then. What an extraordinary thing.”
“It was caught up behind some boring council meeting papers that I never bothered to read. I found it quite by accident. We might never have known; I was going to give the papers back to Martin next week.”
“Poor Judith. It must have been awful for her. All the time he was in prison—and I bet people were horrible to her—and then having to change their name and coming down here and trying to make a new life.”
“And then Annie finds out,” I said, “and uses it . . .”
“To make a slave of her.”
“Yes.”
“Did Judith ever talk about her husband?”
“Desmond? I think she called him Desmond. No, come to think of it, considering how much she did talk, she hardly ever mentioned him. I gather he died quite soon after they came to the village.”
“So he was probably dead when Annie came across that thing in the newspaper?”
I picked up the cutting and checked the date. “He must have done.”
“So she never blackmailed him, only Judith.”
“From the sound of it, I don’t think he was the sort of man you would blackmail. Too devious for an amateur like Annie.”
“So it was only poor little Judith.”
“It looks like it. Mind you,” I said, “that’s assuming Judith hasn’t been putting on an act all these years. For all we know, she might have known what was going on—might even have been part of it.”
We looked at each other. “No way,” Rosemary said. “No one could keep up that sort of woolly- mindedness so long!”
“You’re right; you’d have to be a consummate actress to carry that off, and Judith certainly isn’t that!” I took a sandwich. “Delicious ham—where did you get it?”
“The farm shop. Their stuff’s really good.”
After a moment I said, “What’s so extraordinary is the way she was with Annie. I mean, she acted as if Annie really was her friend.”
“Mm. I think that after a while she persuaded herself to believe it. It was probably easier than facing up to how Annie actually controlled her.”
“Yes, I think you’re right. I imagine Judith always took the easiest way out. I expect that’s how she coped with what her husband did.”
“I wonder what he was like? The husband, I mean. People in the village don’t seem to mention him. Perhaps he was the sort of man who stayed in the background. He’d certainly have a good reason to.”
I picked up the cutting again. “He looks quite innocuous in the photo.” I said.
“So did Crippen!”
I laughed. “But he wasn’t a murderer.” I stopped. “But what about Judith?”
“Oh dear, I thought we’d decided there wasn’t a murder. And Judith—I can’t believe it!”
“But think,” I said. “This is almost the strongest motive we’ve had yet!”
“Oh, come on!”
“Just think what a particularly beastly crime it was—stealing from all those poor old souls! Judith would never have been able to hold her head up again in the village, and being part of the village was her whole life, after he’d gone.”
“I suppose . . .”
“And it would have been so easy for her; she was in and out of Annie’s house the whole time, knew exactly what she was doing practically every minute of the day, so she knew when Annie would be out and for how long, so that she could substitute the poisonous fungi for the safe ones.”
“But she wouldn’t have known about them.”
“She might have done. I bet Annie went on about her expertise all the time.”
Rosemary sighed. “Well, I suppose it’s possible. But, oh dear, I did think we’d drawn a line under the whole thing.”
“But then,” I said, “we didn’t know about this.” I picked up the cutting and looked at it again.
“It’s so extraordinary to have found it like that, just when I was going to give all the stuff back to Martin. It seems almost as if it’s meant—”
“Now, Sheila,” Rosemary said severely, “don’t make it an excuse to start that business all over again.”
I put the cutting down and took another sandwich. “You’re probably right,” I said, “but I can’t help wondering. Did you see, they kept their proper initials—Donald Lee to Desmond Lamb and Jennifer Lee to Judith Lamb. I suppose it made things easier. I wonder what people in the village—”
“Sheila!”
“Oh, all right.”
“So Desmond, Donald, whatever you like to call him, was a crook and Judith—she doesn’t look like a Jennifer, does she?—was being blackmailed by Annie. So what? Why would she suddenly want to kill Annie after all that time. He died years ago and Judith quite liked the idea of being Annie’s best friend.”
“Well . . . yes, I do see what you mean,” I said doubtfully. “But there may have been some sort of quarrel and Annie could have threatened to reveal all!”
“Unlikely. A quarrel would mean Judith standing up to Annie and that’s something she’d never do.”
“True.”
“Right, then, that’s settled. Oh yes, I’ve been longing to tell you—Mother actually liked that bedspread we found.”
“No!”
“Of course, I told her that you chose it. ‘Sheila has very good taste,’ she said!”
We both giggled like schoolgirls.
When I got home I carefully replaced the newspaper cutting behind the council minutes, where I’d found it. Somehow I didn’t want anyone else, carelessly flicking through the papers, to see it. I felt that this thing I’d found out about Judith should remain hidden, as it had been for so many years. I was about to close the folder when I came across an envelope. It was addressed to Annie, but there was nothing in it. Idly I turned it over and there, on the back in Annie’s writing, I saw “Captain Prosser? I don’t think so. Chief Petty Officer—if that!”
Suddenly a great wave of dislike for Annie swept over me. Even this poor, sad little secret hadn’t been hidden from Annie and she’d made use of it.
On an impulse I bundled up all the folders and put them in a carrier bag. Next day I’d take them back to Martin. Once they were out of the house there’d be no temptation to go rummaging about on the off chance of finding anything else. I felt I’d already found out quite enough.
Martin was out but Phyll invited me in.
“Martin’s had to go up to London,” she said excitedly.” He’s had an offer for his flat. Isn’t that marvellous? We thought it would be so difficult to sell, things being as they are. But one of his colleagues has to move down to London from Manchester and he thinks it might be just what he wants. Isn’t that lucky! I mean, we could have been waiti
ng for ages to get it sorted.”
“That’s splendid,” I said. “So how are the wedding plans going? Have you got your dress yet?”
“It was a bit difficult. As you can imagine, at my age I didn’t want anything long and white with a veil—all that—but I do want something special.”
“Of course you do.”
“Well, Rachel drove me over to Bath, to a little boutique there. I’d never heard of it, of course, and it’s fearfully expensive. But, oh, Sheila, they had some beautiful things!”
“So what did you choose?”
“Hang on and I’ll show you!” She jumped up and rushed out of the room, just as Rachel came in.
“Hello,” she said. “I thought I heard voices.”
“I came to leave some stuff for Martin, but Phyll’s gone to get her wedding dress for me to see.”
Rachel smiled. “She’s very excited.”
“She looks sixteen again,” I said. “Just like she was when Miss Brabourne made her captain of hockey—do you remember?”
“Do I not! But, really, it’s lovely to see her so happy.”
Phyll came back bearing a dress on a hanger. “There! Isn’t it gorgeous?”
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” I said. And it was. A silk dress in a soft shade of blue with a draped bodice. “Hold it up against you so that I can see.”
“We thought a long skirt,” Rachel said, “but not full length.”
“Oh, Rache chose it,” Phyll said.
“It’s perfect,” I said, “and that blue brings out the color of your eyes. I’m glad to see that it’s got long sleeves. The church is very cold, especially at this time of the year.”
“Father William said he’ll leave the heat on all night the night before,” Rachel said, “so that should help. Anyway, Sheila, now that you’re here, stay and have a cup of coffee and”—smiling affectionately at Phyll—“she will tell you all about the arrangements for the reception.”
