A Bitter Feast

by Deborah Crombie

  And she would be a good mum in the bargain.

  Letting go of her grip on the railing, she rubbed her hands together to warm them. “But thank you for asking.”

  She summoned a smile and turned away, walking with quick, firm steps, back the way she had come.

  The rain must have stopped in the very early hours of the morning, because when Gemma woke and went to the window, the sky was a pure bright blue, unmarred by any cloud. Mist hung over the treetops, muting the beginnings of autumn color, and the hills climbed green into the distance. Gemma sighed.

  “What is it, love?”

  Turning, she saw that Kincaid was awake and had pushed himself up in the bed. She went to sit beside him. “I was just wishing I could keep that picture in my head on days when London is full of traffic and shouting and petrol fumes.”

  “You’re homesick, aren’t you?” he said with a grin.

  “Desperately,” she agreed, laughing. “But I’ve liked it here much better than I thought I would. Aside from the complications.”

  Which, thank God, had turned out much better than they might have, in part due to Kit’s initiative in finding Grace. Last night, Doug had rung Melody from the walking path, and by the time Ivan had carried Grace back to the pub, the ambulance—and Viv—had been on their way to meet them.

  Viv had gone with Grace to hospital in Cheltenham, Booth had taken Bea Abbott into custody, and the rest of them—including a bandaged Mark Cain—had gathered in the pub bar to wait for news of Grace. Ibby and Angelica had made them sandwiches and chips. Then, when the last customer had left, Ibby locked the doors, stoked the fire, and poured them all a generous measure of the bar’s best whisky. All except Kit, that is.

  “Ginger beer for you, kiddo,” Ibby told him regretfully.

  “Give him a sip,” said Kincaid. “He deserves it. And he should learn to recognize good whisky so he won’t be tempted to drink the bad stuff.”

  Kit had taken one little taste, blinked watering eyes, and made a face. “I think I’ll pass on that, thanks,” he said, coughing, but he’d looked pleased to be the hero of the hour.

  When Viv rang at last, she said the scans showed Grace’s ankle to be badly sprained, not broken. As Grace had also been dehydrated and slightly hypothermic, they expected to keep her under observation for a few more hours. Mark had wanted to go to hospital to wait with Viv but had been cautioned against driving, considering the blow to his head.

  It was Ibby who insisted on going to Cheltenham, taking Viv’s van as Booth had warned him that his truck would be impounded by forensics. “We need to have a word, me and Viv,” Ibby had said. “She’s going to be gutted. But this was not her fault, not any of it.”

  With Ibby’s departure, they had all gone their separate ways, but Gemma had sensed a reluctance, as if no one wanted to face the reality of the things Bea Abbott had done.

  “Kids not up?” Kincaid asked, yawning, bringing Gemma back to the present with a start.

  “I thought I heard the thump of little feet. I’d better check.” Addie had put Charlotte to bed with Toby before they’d returned from the pub the night before, so heaven knew what the kids were getting up to this morning. She suspected it was only strict orders from Addie and Ivan that had kept them from coming in and jumping on the bed. “How’s the hand?”

  Kincaid flexed his fingers. “Better. Look. The redness is already fading. Ribs hurt like hell this morning, though.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Gemma rubbed Kincaid’s stubbly cheek, then brushed the hair from his forehead. “You have a bit of a lie-in, love. I’ll bring you a cuppa.”

  But when she returned from the kitchen, he was up and dressed and ready to accompany her down to the village after breakfast. They’d promised Kit that he could say goodbye to Grace before they left for London, but first Gemma wanted a chance to talk to Viv on her own. Kincaid had something he wanted to do as well, so after tea and toast, they walked down the hill together in the bright fresh morning, matching steps, her hand tucked into the crook of his left arm. Gemma was painfully aware of how close she had come to losing him on Friday night.

  They parted at the Old Mill, Gemma cautioning him to wait for her before walking back up to the house. “Just in case you need a push,” she’d added.

  She found Viv sitting in the sun on the bench against the cottage wall, head back, eyes closed. At the sound of Gemma’s footsteps on the gravel, Viv started, then sat back with a sigh of relief. “Oh, it’s you, Gemma.”

  Sitting beside her, Gemma patted her knee. “It’s okay, you know. Bea is going to be thoroughly tied up for the near future. And hopefully a good deal longer.”

  “Have you spoken to Booth?”

  “No, but Duncan did. He’s charged Bea with aggravated assault and the attempted murder of Mark Cain. Whether or not he can bring charges on Fergus’s poisoning and Jack’s murder will depend, at least in part, on the forensics.”

  “Ibby told me they’ve cordoned off her house. He’s gone to Angelica’s for a kip. He can stay with her while he looks for someplace else to live.”

  Gemma had seen that Ibby’s Toyota had already been collected from the pub car park. Booth was moving quickly.

  “I don’t want her coming here,” Viv said with sudden force. “Or coming anywhere near Grace. I’ve packed up her things from the office and left them with the police officer at her house.”

  “What will you do, Viv? Was it an equal partnership?”

  “Yes. Mark’s going to help with the day-to-day business in the short term. Beyond that, I don’t know. I’m not at all sure I can raise the funds to buy Bea out. But this is my home, and Grace’s home. I meant it when I told Fergus that. How ironic if it’s Fergus who causes us to lose it.”

  “Hopefully it won’t come to that. How’s Grace?”

  Viv’s expression softened. “Asleep on the sofa. They put her in a cast boot, which at the moment she thinks is pretty cool. I’ve promised her mac cheese and a Harry Potter marathon when she wakes up.”

  “What about the dog, Bella?” Gemma asked, remembering Kit’s concerns.

  “Mark means to offer to buy her back from Nell Greene’s ex. Grace would love to take her, but I think it’s going to be a while before she’s ready for that responsibility—and according to the doctors she’s going to be in the cast boot for some time.” Viv rubbed her face with both hands. “I still can’t believe it, you know. Bea. If I hadn’t heard her myself . . . And if Grace hadn’t heard her, and hadn’t seen her attack Mark, she might never have believed we were telling the truth about the things Bea did.” She looked up at Gemma, her blue eyes shadowed. “Why? Why did she want to turn my daughter against me? And to turn me against Mark?”

  Gazing out at the tidy pub garden, Gemma thought about it. If Bea had been jealous of Mark, what must she have felt about the threat presented by Fergus? “It seems to me that she couldn’t bear not to be first. In Grace’s affections, and in yours. Maybe, in a twisted way, it was because she loved you.”

  Kincaid met Mark Cain walking up Nell Greene’s drive. A Mercedes he recognized as Dr. Bruce Greene’s was parked in front of the cottage, and the cottage door stood open. Cain had texted Kincaid first thing that morning to say that he was meeting Greene to turn over Nell’s keys.

  “I thought you might come,” Cain said, shaking Kincaid’s hand.

  “How did it go?”

  Cain looked back at the cottage. “He seems a nice enough bloke—quite cut up about Nell, I think. I offered to pay him for Bella, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Said Nell would have wanted her to go with me. He’s meeting with the vicar shortly to organize a memorial service.”

  “I’d better get on, then, if I want to speak to him,” Kincaid said.

  “Yes, well, have a safe journey. How are you getting back to London?”

  “The train, after lunch. Addie and Ivan are taking us to the station in Moreton. We’ll need two cars,” Kincaid added ruefully. “As neither of them drive a
people carrier.”

  “Yes, well,” Cain said again, then blurted out, “I just wanted to thank you. You and your wife, and Viv, and Detective Booth, you saved my life last night.”

  “You can thank Grace, not us. Maybe some regular dog-training sessions are in order,” Kincaid added with a grin. Seeing that Dr. Greene had come out and appeared to be locking the cottage door, he said, “I’d better go,” and they shook again. As Cain turned away, Kincaid saw the neat bandage on the back of his head and thought how lucky the man had been.

  They had all been lucky. Except for Jack Doyle. And Fergus O’Reilly. And Nell Greene. He walked the rest of the way down the drive.

  “Dr. Greene,” he said as the man turned towards him.

  “Mr. Kincaid. Or is it Detective Superintendent Kincaid today?” Greene asked, but he sounded bemused rather than irritated. In chinos and a slightly rumpled cotton shirt, he looked considerably more human than he had in his consultant’s three-piece suit. He also looked as if he hadn’t slept much since yesterday, and had missed a few spots shaving.

  “Merely mister,” Kincaid replied. “Mark Cain told me he was meeting you here this morning.”

  “I’d never seen the place, if you can believe it. Nell visited her aunt occasionally, but in more than twenty years of marriage, I was always too busy to come with her. I wish—” Greene sighed and shook his head. “Well, never mind. Cain told me about Bea Abbott. To think that she was in some way responsible for Nell’s death, even if not deliberately . . . I would say it beggars belief, but somehow I find I’m not all that terribly surprised.” He met Kincaid’s eyes. “I didn’t tell you yesterday—perhaps I should have. Bea Abbott was fifteen years old when she came home from school and found her mother in the shower. Laura was naked. She’d slit her wrists and left the water running.” When Kincaid grimaced, Greene said, “Yes, well, that would have been bad enough. But the worst thing was that Laura had known Bea would be the one to find her. I don’t think Bea Abbott was ever quite right after that. I wonder if I could have somehow intervened. Instead, I walked away from the whole sorry mess. And now Nell is dead.”

  “Dr. Greene, I don’t think you can hold yourself responsible for Bea’s actions. Or for your ex-wife’s death. But there is something I wanted to tell you.” Kincaid gazed out at the rolling hills, fighting the blurring of his vision and the sudden constriction in his throat. After a moment he managed to go on. “Nell was trapped in her car, but she was conscious. I—I waited with her. But by the time help arrived, she had . . .” He took a breath. “It was too late. But I thought you would want to know that she wasn’t in pain. And that she wasn’t alone when she died.”

  He and Gemma walked back up Becky Hill Road together. “All right?” she’d asked when they’d met again at the little roundabout across the river from the mill, and he’d nodded.

  “Yes. I’m only sorry we can’t stay for Nell’s service.”

  “We can send flowers,” Gemma suggested, and with that he had to be content.

  As they climbed, he thought that even with yesterday’s exertions, his ribs were finally improving. When they reached the last tunnel of overarching green before Beck House, he stopped Gemma, turned her towards him, and kissed her very gently.

  “What was that for?” she asked, when he’d reluctantly pulled away.

  “For the weekend that might have been.” Then, as he put his good arm round her and they walked on, he added, “And to remind me not to take anything for granted.”

  When they reached the house, there was an unfamiliar car in the drive. “Guests?” Kincaid wondered aloud.

  But Ivan and Kit came bursting out the front door as if they’d been lying in wait.

  “What do you think, Dad?” asked Kit, nearly hopping with excitement. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”

  “She?”

  “The car, Dad. It’s a Land Rover. A Discovery.”

  “I can see that.” Indeed, he was nearly blinded by the sun winking from gleaming paint the color of a new penny—and of Gemma’s hair. “But—”

  “It takes seven people. That’s five of us and the dogs and luggage—and even the cats in their carriers. Or camping gear.”

  “Camping gear?” said Gemma with a horrified squeak.

  “Kit, it’s very nice, but I don’t see—” Kincaid had begun, when Ivan, who had been standing aside with a Father Christmas smirk, broke in.

  “This is the car I wanted you to see. It belongs to friends who are moving to France and don’t want to take a right-hand-drive car. It’s a year old but the mileage is low, as they’ve been in France a good bit of the time. I thought it would be just the thing for you and the family.”

  “Ivan, you’re too kind, but you know there won’t be much insurance settlement on the Astra and I’m not sure we could—”

  “They’re asking a very reasonable price, as they’ve left selling the car to the last minute.” Ivan quoted him a number that made Kincaid gulp. But he’d been doing some research, and he knew that it was indeed a fair price for the sort of car they needed as a family. When he didn’t immediately object, Ivan moved in for the kill. “Go home, talk to your insurance people and to your bank. You can do the paperwork long distance. Then I’ll drive the car up to town for you.”

  Kincaid looked at Gemma, who had edged closer to the car and was peering in the windows. “I admit it sounds a good deal, but any decision on a family car would have to rest with Gemma.”

  Gemma, who had been begging him to get rid of the Astra for ages. Gemma, who’d been putting money aside every month for a sizable deposit on a new car.

  Running a hand over the shiny copper bonnet, Gemma shot him a grin. “How could I not like it? Can we take it for a test drive?”

  Kit’s whoop of delight split the air.

  Melody woke late—again—and unaccountably exhausted. As she lay there, watching the sunlight play on the guest room ceiling, she thought how little she was looking forward to driving back to London on her own. Gemma and Charlotte would be going on the train with the rest of the family—as would Doug.

  She was not, in fact, looking forward to going back to London at all. It felt as if all the progress she’d made the past few months had been for nothing, and she didn’t know how to start again. A tear leaked and ran down her cheekbone to dampen the pillow.

  “Oh, get over yourself,” she said in disgust, sniffing and pushing herself out of bed with a groan.

  Once downstairs, she found the house again felt strangely deserted. She made a coffee and then wandered through the rooms, looking for signs of human habitation. Doug’s laptop lay closed on the coffee table in the sitting room, beside a pile of newspapers, and the children had left an unfinished puzzle on the window table. She had an odd sense of life suspended.

  At last, she found her mother, sitting at the desk in her study.

  “Where is everyone?” Melody asked, hating the little prickle of anxiety she felt at being left behind.

  “Let’s see.” Addie pushed back her chair and stretched. “Gemma and Duncan have walked down to the village. Your father and Kit are off on some car scheme. And Doug and the children are playing a last game of croquet.” Her expression softening, she added, “I’m going to miss the children, you know. Although I will admit that Toby can be a bit challenging. And that I am looking forward to getting in an hour or two in the garden on my own this afternoon, before we go back to town on Wednesday.”

  Melody almost hated to ask. “Mum, what about Joe?” She’d thought about confronting Joe over the things he hadn’t mentioned about Roz, but decided it would only make things more awkward between them.

  “Ah.” Addie looked out at the garden. “He’s been a bit of an idiot, but I think we’ll manage to get through it. His intentions were in the right place, after all—although I don’t understand why he just didn’t tell us he needed help.”

  “And Roz?”

  “Roz put her keys through the letter box this morning.” Her lips pinche
d, Addie gestured at the account books and the piles of what looked like credit card statements spread out on her desk. “I think Joe borrowing from the business was a drop in the bucket compared to what Roz had been charging for herself on the household accounts. It seems I’ve been a bit of an idiot as well.”

  “Oh, Mum, don’t be silly. You had no reason to think she was dishonest.”

  “Well, the last few days have been full of surprises, haven’t they?” Addie fixed her with the sapphire-blue gaze that always made Melody feel like a butterfly pinned to a corkboard. “Darling, why didn’t you tell us about your boyfriend? Surely you can’t have thought we’d disapprove.”

  “No, it wasn’t that,” Melody protested. “It was just—I don’t really know what I thought. Maybe that he would never quite see me the same way, once he knew I was part of all . . . this.” She waved a hand in a gesture that took in much more than the house.

  Addie shook her head and sighed. “Darling, I think your friends—Gemma and Duncan and especially Doug—have already proved you wrong on that count. You underestimate yourself. We are so proud of you, of everything you are. And you should be, too. You were so brave, that day at St. Pancras, and I don’t think we ever told you.”

  If Melody had felt fragile enough before, now she thought she might come completely undone. “Mum—”

  “One more thing.” Addie came round the desk and gripped her shoulders, gently, saying, “We love you. You’re going to be just fine, I promise.”

  And Melody let her mother hold her as she hadn’t since she was a child.

  She found Doug sitting on the steps at the edge of the top lawn, under the end of the pergola. Mac lay beside him, looking down as well, his bony haunches protruding. They might have been sentinels, human and canine, watching over their charges.

  Sure enough, Melody heard the high-pitched voices of the children, and Polly’s excited bark. When she reached the edge of the lawn, she could see them below, on the croquet lawn.