‘I think that, on the contrary, people who aren’t born in rural communities but choose to move to one do so because they enjoy isolation,’ Harrison said. ‘They don’t actually want to be part of a community except on their own terms. So they buy somewhere isolated enough from other houses to be able to do their own damned thing.’
‘Interesting point of view,’ Heap said.
‘A correct one too.’
Grace came proffering a bottle of wine to fill up glasses. She grinned that killer grin when she saw Gilchrist and Heap. ‘You made it! Great!’ She looked from Dwight to Harrison. ‘But let me take you away from these reprobates and introduce you to people who can string more than a single sentence together.’ As she pulled them away, filling Gilchrist’s glass as she did so, she murmured: ‘Did Reg make a pass at you?’ Gilchrist shook her head. Grace grinned. ‘The night is young.’
‘Your friend seems quite a character.’
‘A drunk, you mean?’ She leaned in close and lowered her voice. ‘Reg is not my friend. Nobody here is. They are either acquaintances or people round here I need to keep on side so they don’t block whatever little plans I have for my orchard or my lake.’
‘You have plans?’
‘Nothing out of keeping – I’m not going to start breeding kangaroos or anything – though I was tempted to get a giraffe so Reg and Mark could see what a real long-necked creature looks like. Have you noticed, by the way, how long Reg’s neck is? I think with llama owners it works the same way as with dog owners – you know, looking like their dogs.’
‘Let’s hope for Mark’s sake the same doesn’t apply to ostrich owners,’ Heap murmured.
Grace looked at him and burst out laughing. ‘I do like you, Sir Galahad. A protector with a sense of humour.’
Gilchrist expected Heap to blush but, oddly, he didn’t. ‘What are your plans?’
‘Oh, I’d like bees at the bottom of the orchard and a telephone mast for mobile phones in the watercress beds part of my wood because the signal round here is crap and everyone would benefit. A gypsy caravan in the wood, with a wood-burning stove so I can use it in the winter.
‘But you’ve got to jump through hoops round here since the South Downs became a National Park. I mean, I think National Parks are a very, very good thing, but it can be hard for individuals to get permission for minor things, while the local football club, for example, can carve out a football stadium from prime Downs land.’
She put her hand to her mouth. ‘Better not talk too loudly – I’ve invited a couple of case officers from the Parks Authority.’ She gave a little jerk of her head. ‘Over there behind me talking to Cruella de Vil.’
Gilchrist and Hope looked over and saw two tall men, both bearded, flanking a tall woman with long black hair and a lot of make-up and bright red lipstick. She was wearing a figure-hugging black dress that she didn’t quite have the figure for, except for her big breasts spilling out of the top.
Grace grinned. ‘I know – she didn’t get the memo. Never knowingly underdressed, our Kip.’
‘She’s a neighbour?’
‘She’s my American agent here on a visit. Staying at Pelham House over in Lewes.’
‘I’m going to be staying there,’ Gilchrist said, blushing slightly. ‘Just for the duration of this investigation.’
‘Great – that makes us almost neighbours.’
‘Your gypsy caravan in the wood sounds great too,’ Heap said. ‘So you’d stay there in it?’
Grace turned her mouth down. ‘It’s a pipe dream. If I had a partner to share it with I’d spend a lot of time down there. But I don’t. I can’t really picture myself staying down there on my ownsome.’ She grimaced. ‘My life hasn’t exactly turned out as I expected.’
‘So far,’ Heap said quietly. ‘But there’s a lot more to go and many more wonderful things to happen to you, I’m sure.’
Grace leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. ‘My Galahad,’ she murmured.
‘Hey, kid,’ Kip said, suddenly appearing beside Grace. ‘Who knew National Park policies on sheep management could be so interesting.’ Then she vigorously shook her head.
She looked Gilchrist and Heap up and down. ‘You’re not gamekeepers as well, are you?’
‘I’m not sure what those men over there do qualifies as gamekeeping, Kip,’ Grace said. ‘But, actually, these two kind of are. They are the police.’
Kip looked from one to the other.
‘Cops? You’re shitting me.’ She leaned towards them. ‘It’s only for recreational use.’ She brayed a laugh. Gilchrist and Heap smiled politely. Kip nudged Grace. ‘So you’re pals with cops now? Good, good – now you know who to call on the next time one of your creepy boyfriends beats the shit out of you.’
Grace lowered her eyes and flushed a little. ‘I hope that’s all in the past,’ she said quietly.
‘I hope so too, kid. But you and me, we’re programmed to pick the arrogant pricks not the stand-up guys.’ She pointed at Heap. ‘You a stand-up guy?’
‘He’s my Galahad,’ Grace said.
‘Alan Ladd?’ Kip said puzzled. ‘Because of his height?’
‘Sir Galahad – my knight in shining armour.’
Kip couldn’t help her double take. ‘You and him?’
‘Not like that.’ She smiled mischievously at Heap. ‘But only because he’s taken.’
‘That wouldn’t stop me,’ Kip said. She touched Grace’s arm. ‘But I know you got morals.’ She looked at Gilchrist and Heap. ‘Made her stand out like a sore thumb in Hollywood.’
‘All right, enough indiscreet talk about me – you know I’m a very private person. And excuse me for a moment.’ They all watched Grace go back into the kitchen then stood awkwardly together.
‘So you know Nim through your work?’ Kip said.
Gilchrist nodded. ‘A neighbour of hers was murdered and dumped in her lake.’
‘Ugh!’
Reg Dwight barged back in.
‘And why have we never met?’ he said to Kip, peering at her exposed breasts.
‘My good fortune, I guess,’ she said, peeling herself away with a little backward wave of her hand to Gilchrist and Heap.
Dwight looked from one to the other of them. ‘Well, that was brief. Story of my life these days.’ He did have a long thick neck, Gilchrist observed. ‘It occurs to me you must want to question me as one of the last people to see Rabbitt alive.’
Heap gave him a sharp look. ‘Are you one of the last people to see him alive?’
‘I would think so. Seven p.m. Sunday night. He was found a bit later by that plonker, Kermode, I believe.’
‘You know Kermode?’ Gilchrist said, trying quickly to process what Dwight was saying.
‘Everybody knows him and his collection of Nimue Grace’s underwear. He probably wears more of her underwear than she does.’
Gilchrist didn’t feel like exploring that. ‘Kermode told you he’d found Rabbitt? And the time he found him?’
‘Kermode told pretty much everybody,’ Dwight said.
‘He’s popular?’ Gilchrist said.
‘It’s a small community,’ Dwight said. ‘Not the same thing.’ He looked across at Grace in the other room deep in conversation with her agent. He leered. ‘And who wouldn’t want to get into Nimue Grace’s knickers?’
‘Where did you see him at seven?’ Gilchrist said, determined to turn the conversation away from Dwight’s Nimue Grace obsession.
‘Not where I’d expect to find him,’ Dwight said.
‘Which is where?’
‘Did I tell you I was trying to recreate a dinosaur from ostrich DNA?’ Harrison said as he suddenly appeared and put his arm round Dwight.
‘No, no, you didn’t,’ Gilchrist said. ‘Would you excuse us for a moment?’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Come on, Reggie, we’re outstaying our welcome.’
He turned and pulled Dwight away from Gilchrist and Heap. Gilchrist sighed and looked at Heap. ‘Reg,
’ she called after them as she followed them. ‘Mark.’
Harrison turned, swivelling Dwight with him. ‘Oh, you do want to hear about it. Good, because it’s a great story, ostriches being the nearest thing to a T. Rex we have.’
Gilchrist sighed again. ‘I just want Reg to say where, if you would, Reg.’
Dwight shrugged. ‘Here.’
‘This is all looking very serious,’ Nimue Grace said as she swanned up to them with a full glass of sparkling wine held at an alarming angle. Heap reached out and corrected it. ‘My Galahad,’ she mouthed.
‘Your attractive copper here is giving me the third degree,’ Dwight said. ‘I was just telling her I saw Dickhead Rabbitt here at seven p.m. Sunday night.’
‘Here?’ Grace said.
‘Just leaving the place,’ Dwight said with a leer.
‘That’s a lie,’ Grace said indignantly. She looked at Gilchrist. ‘He wasn’t here.’ She looked back at Dwight. ‘More to the point now, if that’s true, what were you doing here to be able to see him?’
Gilchrist looked from one to the other. ‘Why were you here, Reg?’
Dwight shrugged. ‘I’d been having a drink with your neighbour in the stables.’
‘You had a drink with Said Farzi?’ Grace said, looking astonished.
‘He’s a neighbour,’ Dwight said.
‘He’s been making my life a bloody misery, as you well know.’
Dwight shrugged. ‘He’s a neighbour.’
‘Rabbitt wasn’t visiting me,’ Grace said forcefully.
‘Well, some bloke sure as buggery was,’ Dwight mumbled.
‘Nobody was,’ Grace insisted fiercely, before taking a glug from her wine glass.
‘You said Farzi makes your life a misery,’ Gilchrist said to Grace.
Grace looked around. ‘Look, this is meant to be a party. I’m not sure this is the right time to have this conversation.’
She was right, of course. Gilchrist looked at Heap, who had taken out his phone. ‘Could we have your phone number, Reg, to follow this up tomorrow? Yours too, Mark.’
‘Well,’ Dwight said, ‘I’d rather give it to the organ grinder than the monkey, but if you insist.’
Gilchrist saw Heap’s jaw clench but he said nothing.
‘I think, actually, they are both organ grinders,’ Harrison said pleasantly before giving Heap his number. ‘Someone else around here is the monkey.’
That passed Dwight by as he gave his number while Grace glowered at him. Gilchrist turned to her. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right. This is a party and we’ve probably outstayed our welcome.’
Grace was quick to respond. ‘No, no – please stay – if you’re willing – we haven’t had a proper conversation yet.’
Gilchrist nodded. ‘Sure.’ She started towards a stripped wood door in the far wall. ‘Is this the bathroom?’
‘No,’ Grace said, catching up with her and taking her arm to steer her away from the door. ‘That’s the door to the apple cellar. Even if you fancied an apple, navigating the lethal staircase on the other side of that door at this time of night is a very bad idea.’ She pointed towards the foyer behind the front door. ‘Through that door there.’
‘This is turning into quite a party, Bellamy,’ Gilchrist said when she rejoined him. ‘Though no red trousers in evidence.’
‘Indeed. But there is a lot for us to do in the morning.’
Gilchrist looked at Grace heading out into the garden. ‘There may be a lot to do tonight.’
For the next twenty minutes or so, Gilchrist and Heap stayed in the kitchen observing the mix of people. Pretty much all local and comfortably off, they surmised. The exceptions were Cruella de Vil and a loud, theatrical-seeming couple who were throwing darlings around like confetti.
‘I’ve got to find out who they are,’ Gilchrist said. ‘Back in a mo.’
Heap wandered over to the piano in the drawing room. The sheet music on the stand was for a song he vaguely knew called ‘Two Sleepy People’. He examined a chess game in progress on a table beside it. He noticed a pamphlet with the card attached was still on the small table by the sofa. It was the Hassocks blockade pamphlet he’d seen yesterday. He had no idea what the Hassocks blockade was but assumed it was to do with smugglers and revenue men back when. He went through the French windows and out onto the terrace. He inhaled the fragrant smell of the honeysuckle.
‘Heady, isn’t it?’ Nimue Grace was standing in the shadow of a broad-branched poplar, smoking a cigarette. Correction, not simply a cigarette, Heap realized, as he smelt something else, instantly recognisable and definitely heady. Grace put a ‘got me’ expression on her face. ‘Oops,’ she said.
‘We don’t make a fuss these days, Ms Grace, especially in your own home and even more particularly when it’s used for medicinal purposes.’
‘Am I using it for medicinal purposes?’ Grace said.
‘I imagine you’re in shock at the discovery of your neighbour’s murdered body in your lake. But I hope you get it from a reliable source – there’s some skunk out there now that can lead to psychosis.’
‘My Sir Galahad,’ Grace said gently. She proffered the joint.
Heap shook his head. ‘That would be unacceptable,’ he said. He looked around. ‘You’re out here alone at your own party? Am I disturbing you?’
‘Not at all. I’m just not that big on parties,’ Grace said.
‘Then why …?’
Grace tipped back her head and blew a plume of smoke into the air. ‘The winemakers. Plus it’s my birthday and old habits die hard.’
‘Your birthday?’
Grace put her finger to her lips and made a ssssh sound. ‘Our secret, Sir Galahad.’
Heap nodded. ‘It’s a nice party, full of quite interesting people.’
‘Who I hardly know – and quite interesting – how sad is that?’
‘Not sad at all.’
‘You’re quite interesting yourself. Tell me about your Kate – is it Kate? Is she the lurve of your life?’
‘Whatever that means,’ Heap said, uncomfortable.
‘Now don’t go all Prince Charles on me, Bellamy.’
Heap smiled. ‘She’s having a tough time because her mother recently committed suicide. Her funeral is on Thursday.’
‘I’m very sorry to hear that – but shouldn’t you be with her tonight?’
‘I wanted to be but she wanted some space for the evening.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that too,’ Grace said quietly. ‘Did her mother leave a note?’
‘No. But that is more often the case than people realize – we’re misinformed by TV crime shows that assume that if there is no note a death is suspicious.’
‘Did Kate and her mother get on?’
Heap shook his head. ‘She was not a very motherly mother.’
‘Hmm. I hear that. Mine wasn’t either.’
‘Is your mother still alive?’
‘Not to me.’
‘That’s a great shame.’
‘She is what used to be called a paranoid schizophrenic. I’m not sure what they call it now. Bipolar doesn’t cover it. Besides, in Hollywood, bipolar has become the go-to word to excuse bad behaviour.’ She took another drag on the joint, its embers growing bright at the tip. ‘Most women I know have felt liberated when their mothers have died, however close they felt to them. A kind of unconscious oppression lifted. But I don’t know how that would work with a suicide. Especially without any explanation.
‘No closure. No relief. Just questions that can probably never be answered.’ She shook her head. ‘Suicide is the most selfish and the cruellest act anyone can inflict on people who love them, I think. You owe it to them to carry on. To yourself too.’
‘You’ve never had those impulses?’
‘Not even in my darkest moments. Have you?’ Heap shook his head. ‘I’m glad to hear it. I hope that, like me, it’s because you love life too much.’ She gestured around her. ‘Even this pathetic half-life.’<
br />
‘Doesn’t seem at all pathetic to me.’
Grace smiled sadly. ‘You would say that, Sir Galahad.’
‘What’s the Hassocks blockade?’
Grace frowned. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea. Why?’
‘That pamphlet by your sofa.’
‘Is that what it’s called? There’s a local historian who lives in the cottages at the bottom of the drive. He dropped it off. He’s hoping for a quote from me, I suppose. I get that a lot. There’s a poet – self-published – who sends me volume after volume of poetry. All of it not only dedicated to me but inspired by me and about me, he insists.’
‘Is it any good?’ Heap asked. Grace raised one eyebrow. Heap hurried on. ‘I noticed you have a chess game in progress set out over by your piano. You play against yourself?’
‘You’re a chess player, Detective Sergeant?’
‘I used to be.’
‘Excellent. We must play some time. Not that game – that is me as Lasker, trying to beat Steinitz, the first World Champion. But I think I’m going to lose, as Lasker did in the actual match.’
‘You’ve always played chess?’ Gilchrist said.
‘I was taught by a lovely Italian actress on some long, boring shoot and I really took to it.’ She looked at Heap. ‘You’re surprised, aren’t you? Airhead actress playing chess?’
‘I try not to deal in stereotypes, Ms Grace,’ Heap said. ‘And, if I may say, I’ve never thought for one moment you are an airhead. One only had to see you in The Dance of Death at Chichester to see your intelligence shine through.’
She gave him a warm smile. ‘You saw that?’
Heap nodded. ‘I thought you were terrific.’
‘I was too young for the part really.’
‘You pulled off playing older very well, I thought.’
‘Worryingly well – none of the critics even commented on the age disparity between me and a character who has been married twenty-five years.’
‘You were brilliant.’ He smiled slyly. ‘But then remember I always thought Robert Duvall was a good actor too …’
Grace cackled, actually cackled. ‘Sir Galahad – you sod! I can see I’m going to have to watch you – there’s more to you than meets the eye.’ She tilted her head and eyed him fondly. ‘So – you really are a cultivated copper, eh?’
The Lady of the Lake Page 9
