by JJ Marsh
To her surprise, the receptionist at James’s practice knew who she was, required no explanation and found her a slot on Tuesday. Tuesday! After the funeral and before the wedding. She rang off, elated and guilty in equal parts, and mildly puzzled as to why James’s schedule was not overbooked as normal. Perhaps she just got lucky. She raised her face to the window and allowed herself a deep sigh. Tuesday. She would just have to manage until then. Now to continue with the domestic goddess routine.
“Susie?”
The landlady twisted to look over her shoulder while pouring a pint in the public bar.
“Hello, Beatrice, didn’t see you in there. You all right? Where’s Matthew?”
“He’ll be here in a bit. We’ve got a half a dozen people joining us tonight. Could I order a couple of bottles of Prosecco?”
“Course. I’ll bring them round with an ice bucket and glasses. Give me half a tick.”
Beatrice was practising imaginary responses to James when Susie bunted the door open with her hip and carried a silver bucket into the room, with champagne flutes between each finger.
“Two bottles of the standard dry and six glasses. Shout if you need more. How’s Matthew doing? Must have been a terrible shock for him.”
“Thank you, Susie, you’re very kind. Well, he’s struggling, to be honest. Like many people, he blames himself, but in his case, he actually found the body. Most unpleasant.”
Susie held up a hand. “No details, please. I’m even avoiding the newspapers this week. I tell you, I’ve had enough. It’s the only topic of conversation in the bar.”
Beatrice rubbed her eyes. “Of course it is. That’s one of the reasons Matthew has stayed home. He despises idle speculation. And just when I thought he was coming out of the tunnel, the police turned up.”
“The police! What did they want?”
“To ask some questions. The coroner...” Beatrice remembered she was not at work and in a village this small, information was currency.
Too late. Susie had caught a whiff of a rumour. “They got the coroner involved? Why on earth would they do that? From what I heard, Vaughan drank himself to death. Something the whole village has been predicting for years.”
“Not sure. They only spoke to Matthew,” Beatrice lied. “Probably just turning stones. It’s just police procedure.”
Susie set the glasses on beer mats and went over to poke the fire. With her back to Beatrice, she said, “You of all people should know how it works. You reckon they’ll want to talk to us? Last place he was seen that Friday night was here, before he staggered off across the green.”
“Susie, as I’ve told everyone I’ve met this week, this is not your fault. It’s possible the police will want to talk to you to establish a pattern of Vaughan’s behaviour, but there is no reason whatsoever you should be a suspect. All of us feel guilty, but how much responsibility can any of his neighbours be expected to take?”
A log popped in the fire and Susie replaced the fireguard. She heaved herself up from her knees with a groan. “You’re right. I said the same to Gordon. We’re publicans, not nannies, I said. Are you coming to the funeral?”
“Of course. I have to support Matthew. If I’m honest, Vaughan was not one of my favourite people, but he was definitely one of Matthew’s. I imagine there’ll be quite a turnout, what with locals and the literati.”
“Yeah.” Susie’s intonation fell flat. “So I’ll be making sandwiches all morning and cleaning up all afternoon while they get maudlin and sentimental. Here, you wouldn’t fancy giving me a hand with waitressing, would you? The week before Christmas is always chock-a-block and with a funeral on top I could use an extra pair of hands.”
“All right. At least it will give me something to do. Is Francesca not coming?”
Susie turned back to the fire, picked up the poker and rearranged the logs. “I appreciate that, thank you. No, we’ve not seen her for months. The gallery is doing great business at this time of year, so it makes sense for her to stay put and sell as much as she can. She’ll be here over Christmas, of course. By the way, she calls herself Frankie now.” She looked back at Beatrice and rolled her eyes.
The door burst open. A small person rushed into the room, red of nose and cheek and wearing a duffle-coat. He spotted Beatrice and like a heat-seeking missile, cannoned into her midriff, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing hard.
“Oof! Have a care for my old bones,” she said, squeezing him back. “Where’s your mum?”
Luke looked behind him. “Talking to that lady from the garden centre. Guess what I got in my spelling test today?”
“Rhinoceros.”
“Not what words, what marks?”
“Was it marks out of ten? Then I’d say you got seven and a half.”
“Nope. Ten! Me and Samantha Lake got full marks and Mr Howard says we should both enter the spelling bee at the end of term.”
“I think that’s a very good idea. Who’s Mr Howard? I thought Ms Shaw was your teacher. Would you like a glass of juice?”
“Yes, please.”
Susie ducked behind the bar and lifted up two bottles. “We’ve got orange or pineapple. Which would you like?”
“Orange, please.” Luke unbuttoned his coat and rolled it into a ball. “He’s our substitute teacher. Ms Shaw’s off sick. Where’s Grandpa?”
The door opened again and Matthew’s daughters walked in. Tanya broke into a big smile on seeing Beatrice, but her sister looked far less enthusiastic. Beatrice assessed Marianne as she came forward to greet them. She’d put on a good deal of weight since the summer, but it actually suited her. Beatrice opened her arms for a hug.
“Hello, stranger. I’ve missed you.”
Marianne’s expression was relieved and she embraced Beatrice warmly. “I missed you too. Is Dad not joining us?”
“He’ll be along in a bit. He just needed a little more time. This whole Vaughan Mason business has knocked him for sticks, you know.”
Marianne opened her mouth to respond but shut it again as the landlady approached with Luke’s juice. She placed it in front of Beatrice and dropped her voice, even though Luke was in animated discussion with Tanya over the nutritional value of a packet of Frazzles.
“He’s not the only one. Heather Shaw has taken compassionate leave. She and Vaughan, you know...”
Beatrice frowned. “I thought that was all over after that row at Halloween?”
“Bonfire Night, you mean. They were always on and off...”
“Shall I open the fizz?” Tanya interrupted, reaching for a bottle. “Luke, I said no. You’ve had a snack already and we’ll be having dinner soon.” The landlady took the hint and retreated behind the bar.
“Can’t stand gossips,” Marianne muttered.
“Course you can’t,” said Tanya. “Because most of the time they’re talking about you. Pass me those glasses in case this spills.”
“At least I give people something to talk about. Here.”
Tanya shot her sister a mock-fierce glare but the banter was teasing and good-natured. Relief suffused Beatrice as she handed over Luke’s juice.
The cork popped and Tanya hurried to get the bubbles into one of the flutes, then looked up with a huge beam.
“The happy couple! Talk about timing!” She thrust the bottle at Marianne and rushed over for a three-way hug with Adrian and Will. “You look right gorgeous, both of you! This is going to be wedding of the year, I reckon. Come on, I just opened the Prosecco.”
The first contact between Marianne and Will was likely to be awkward. How would he break the ice when it was he who had pursued the incarceration of the man she loved?
Beatrice decided to give them some space. “Luke, you didn’t answer my question. Can you, in fact, spell the word rhinoceros?”
With wonderful intuition, Tanya picked up her cue. “He’s pretty good at big words, but that one is at least ten letters. What do you think, Lukey?” She continued pouring Prosecco as Beatrice observed the
Dance of the Buried Hatchet from the corner of her eye.
“R-H-I-N-O-C-E-R-O-S,” spelled Luke, with an air of invincibility.
Everyone applauded his success, just as Catinca and Matthew walked into the room. Catinca gave a deep bow, as if the applause were intended for them.
Scanning Matthew’s face for signs of his mood occupied Beatrice’s attention fully, so it was only after he’d flashed a warm reassuring grin and gone to greet the bridal couple that she noticed what Catinca was wearing. A man’s tweed jacket with rolled-up sleeves over a white shirt and Fair-Isle tank-top with a baggy pair of plus-fours and on her feet, as always, a pair of Converse trainers. She looked like an extra from Oliver Twist and at the same time, quite fabulous.
Prosecco and presents distributed, introductions made and conversation buzzing, their party seemed to fill the small Snug Bar. Those who looked in, searching for a seat, soon withdrew and left the noisy group to themselves. Initially shy, Luke soon found a way to attract Will’s attention by challenging him to spell difficult words. Beatrice was pleased to see Marianne join in, making an effort to recognise Will’s place in the family group. This left Matthew and Adrian chatting in a corner, which was no bad thing. Catinca and Tanya, as Beatrice had predicted, bonded instantly and were already laughing at some Catinca classic comment.
This was her family now. All she had to do was keep it together.
Chapter Five
Thanks to great maturity and hard-learnt lessons of the past, Beatrice had opted for a cup of herbal tea as a nightcap. She and Matthew rehashed the events of the evening, judging it to be a positive occasion all round and anticipating more of the same in the week ahead. His mood was expansive and optimistic, the best he’d been for days. She chose not to mention her anxiety or her urgent need to see James. This was not all about her.
Matthew reiterated for the fourth time how pleased he was that Will and Marianne were getting along. She agreed, again, and once her yawns got the better of her, retired to bed while he stayed up with a glass of Macallan. Her last thought before sleep was, three more days. Three more days until she could talk to James. Three more days until she could get her head cleaned.
As a result of her relative sobriety – a minority in their party, it had to be said – she was awake and alert before six in the morning. She lay in the dark and considered the day ahead. Choose outfit for funeral. Break news to Matthew about London trip on Tuesday. Organise trains and ask Dawn if I can stay over. Call Tanya to see if she can keep an eye on Matthew. Warn Adrian about weather forecast. Check if florist has sourced sufficient gypsophila for bridesmaids’ bouquets. Call bakery about the cake decorations.
“Beatrice?”
She jumped. “You gave me the frights! I didn’t know you were awake.”
“You should have realised. For one thing, I wasn’t snoring. Anyway, I’ve been awake for a while, thinking.” Matthew’s voice had a portentous tone.
“Yes, that’s often what wakes me too. Was it about Vaughan?”
He didn’t respond for a moment. Beatrice sat up in bed but instinct warned her against turning on the bedside lamp. Some things are easier voiced in the dark.
He shifted his back up against his pillows and reached for her hand. “Look here, I know you were not his greatest fan. I accept that. However, he meant a great deal to me. And even had he been nothing more than a drunk I passed in the pub occasionally, I would not want to see anyone suffer such a fate.”
“Nor would I. But accidents do happen, especially to the heedless. It’s very sad, but you should not feel a personal accountability.”
“Hmm.”
Beatrice waited. She could almost hear him marshalling his thoughts.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “Something bothers me about what the police said. Poisoning as an intentional act. Vaughan was not suicidal, that much I can say. He may have had a death wish, insomuch as he indulged his pleasures to an irresponsible degree, but he had no intention of meeting the Grim Reaper halfway. He used to joke with us, when Mungo and I hinted at moderation, that ‘the old bastard will have to bring his scythe and drag me off the golf course’. Nor can I see him foraging for mushrooms when he had everything delivered from Waitrose.”
“What are you saying?”
He sighed deeply and released her hand. The dry sound of skin on skin told her he was rubbing his face. She waited.
“I am not unaware of the irony in this. For years, I have tried to deflect your attention from solving crimes and looked forward to the time when your investigative days were in the past. But this is different. I should like to ask a personal favour. I wonder if you could poke around a bit, ask a few questions and see if you can discover any evidence that someone deliberately introduced a toxic substance into Vaughan’s system? You see, I have the feeling the police are far too likely to write this off as an accident.”
Moments passed in silence as they both absorbed the impact of his words.
Beatrice patted blindly around her bedside table until she located her water glass. She took several gulps. “Do you seriously think anyone in this village would want to poison our famous resident?”
“Hand on heart, yes, I do. Famous he might be, but popular he was not. Vaughan made a lot of people very angry, some even bitter. He could be arrogant, aggressive, snobbish and a boor. He hurt a lot of people. It would only take one to shut him up permanently.”
“For someone you call a friend, you have an unromantic view of the man.”
“That’s because I knew the real Vaughan. The rest was showmanship. What do you say, Old Thing? Do you think you could help? I know about the whole ‘I have no official jurisdiction’ business but that’s never stopped you before.”
Beatrice leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder. “To be honest, my love, this might be exactly what I need.”
When she entered the kitchen after her shower, Matthew was making pancakes. Her all-time favourite breakfast and a sure sign he wanted to butter her up. She seized the moment to announce her London trip.
“And if James can squeeze me in just when I need to talk to someone, I really have to go. I know it seems selfish, the day after your friend’s funeral, but this has been building for some time and...”
“If you need to see him, you must go. In point of fact, the timing is perfect. Mungo and I intend to spend Tuesday morning at the golf course and lunch at The Boat as our own private farewell. After that, we plan to offer our house-clearing services to Midge’s family. I’ll be busy all afternoon, I imagine. Ideal day for you to take a day trip to London.” Matthew placed a pile of fat little pancakes in front of her. “Here. Ricotta and buttermilk.”
“Ooh, these are fluffy. Thank you. Rather than a day trip, I think I will stay overnight, even if Adrian and Will aren’t there. It’s a chance to catch up with Dawn and...”
“...get your London fix. I understand. So long as you’re applying your mind to this Vaughan situation, I feel I’ve done right by him. I owe the man that.”
Beatrice decorated her pancake with a Jackson Pollock splatter of maple syrup and inhaled the scent of freshly brewed coffee. “I’ve already started. While I was in the shower, I compiled a list of anyone who might see Vaughan as an enemy.”
Matthew sat opposite and scattered sugar and lemon juice onto his plate, his expression preoccupied.
“You might want to add a pancake to that,” Beatrice suggested. “What do you know about his relationship with Heather Shaw?”
He looked at his empty plate, shook his head and forked two of his concoctions from the pile. “Not much more than you. They were an item for a while, big row a few months ago and it was all off. You recall that screaming match on Bonfire Night. Very embarrassing for all who were present.”
They ate in silence for several moments, listening to the piano concerto from the CD player and the clatter of magpies in the garden. A small shape passed the kitchen door and settled on the mat. Beatrice watched it for a minute,
tucking into her second pancake, her mind elsewhere.
“So Vaughan had a casual relationship with the local schoolteacher for a couple of years then ended it rather brutally in public. Or am I misremembering?”
Matthew laid down his cutlery and rubbed his face. “No, you remember right. Midge, I mean Vaughan, was a total swine that night. Heather would have had every reason to wish him harm. As would her son, Gabriel. If I’d been in his shoes, I’d have knocked the old bugger’s block off for talking to Heather like that.”
Beatrice opened the fridge and poured herself a glass of orange juice. She raised it to Matthew but he shook his head, patting his stomach in explanation.
“Tell me about Gabriel,” she said.
“Nice lad. Polite, well-mannered, respectful and truly committed to his work. Forestry Commission. Never heard anyone wax so lyrical about trees. He had quite a passion for Tanya at one stage. He’s very handsome so I thought she’d be thrilled, but as usual, Tanya wanted nothing to do with a nice single man. And he’s also a hunter. Deer, foxes, rabbits and badgers, to keep the population under control. You can see why that partnership would never work.”
“Oh dear. That’s a pity. Was his animosity to Vaughan in general or only after the acrimonious spilt?”
“They didn’t like each other at all. You see, that Bonfire Night wasn’t the first time Vaughan and Heather had fallen out. One might call theirs a volatile relationship and much of it played out in public. Vaughan could be verbally ... crude.”
“Yes, I remember,” Beatrice replied, with a flare of irritation at Matthew’s diffident defence of a vulgar, unreconstructed bully.
They ate without speaking for several seconds and Beatrice acknowledged her judgemental tone. She had asked for information. Her job was to listen and filter witness facts from witness emotion. The picture would only get muddier if she dragged her own prejudices into the mix. The only way in which she was relevant was as a non-suspect. She had certainly not poisoned Vaughan Mason, even though she had wished the man gone from the face of the earth on more than one occasion.