‘Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather when he rang. I thought Carys was stony broke. She came to stay with me for her holidays last year, because she couldn’t afford anything better. Or, so she said. Seems she picked up a bob or two from those divorces of hers.’
Libby handed over Gladys’ change. ‘Maybe she just liked visiting Exham?’
‘Or someone in the town, more like,’ Gladys said, with a broad wink.
Max wasn’t at all sure he wanted to meet Annabel Pearson alone. Her nickname, the Merry Widow, was worrying for a man about to get married and already under pressure from his ex-wife. It was great that Libby trusted him, of course.
‘Women,’ he said to Shipley, who was panting hard, sensing the possibility of a walk, or at the very least, a ride in the car. ‘I’ll never understand them.’
On balance, he’d decided, the best thing was to meet Annabel in a public place. Not the beach. Max enjoyed his walks with Libby and the dogs too much to walk there with anyone else.
‘Maybe I’m a romantic old fool, after all, Ships.’
As it turned out, when he’d rung her yesterday, to explain his official links to the police and to ask if they could meet, Annabel had made a better suggestion. ‘I’m taking Jamie, my son, to a session at the climbing wall in Bristol, tomorrow. He loves to climb, and I hate heights, so I’ll be sitting by myself all morning. I’d love to talk to you instead.’
So, at nine o’clock that morning, Max bade a fond farewell to Bear and a disappointed Shipley, for he was sure the spaniel would become hopelessly overexcited in the noise and bustle of the leisure centre.
The centre teemed with children hopping with excitement, while adults fixed their helmets and hooked them up to the equipment.
Annabel sat by the restaurant area, wearing some kind of furry jacket, with a cup of coffee in one hand. She’d piled coats on to a nearby chair, and as Max approached, she cleared them away. ‘I managed to save you a seat. And a coffee. Hope you like latte.’
Max didn’t really. He liked his coffee the old-fashioned way – filtered, as Libby served it, but at least this was warm. He balanced the lifetime cup she’d used on his knee as she said, ‘Jamie has another half-hour here. The session’s limited, so it’s all very safe.’ She pointed to a boy halfway up a ten-foot wall. ‘There he is, loving it. It terrifies me.’
She smiled at Max with dazzling white teeth, her eyes shining as though he was the one person in the world she wanted to talk to above all others.
How do people do that? Max smiled in return, hoping he wasn’t blushing, glad Libby wasn’t there to laugh.
Annabel said, ‘What do you think of that Christmas tree?’ An enormous, tinsel-covered artificial tree reached from the floor to the roof of the cavernous building.
‘Wow,’ Max said.
‘Yes. It puts the bakery in the shade. We put up a few baubles yesterday, to brighten the place up, but it will be closed before Christmas. The new café, though – it’s going to be wonderful.’
Annabel had a sparkle in her eyes. She looked as though she was settling in to Exham more easily than Libby had suggested.
Max managed to collect his thoughts. ‘I wanted to talk to you because you had an anonymous email. Libby and I work with the police, and they asked us to look into these rhymes.’
Annabel’s smile faded. ‘To be honest, I was flattered, at first. I mean, who minds being called the Queen of Hearts? But then, I started to wonder. How did the Rhymer know my email address? Was it someone I know? When I think about it, I feel quite sick. The Rhymer could be creeping around Exham, watching us all secretly.’ She shook her head. ‘And Carys died.’ Her hand trembled a little as she sipped her coffee. ‘I keep checking the doors and windows at home, and looking behind me. To tell you the truth, I’m almost regretting the move to Exham.’
Annabel’s eyes were wide and very blue. Max could see why men liked her and wanted to protect her, and why women were less keen. Fortunately, Annabel wasn’t his type at all. She reminded him of a nervous rabbit. ‘So, you don’t have any idea who might have sent it?’
She shook her head. ‘I gather it’s untraceable.’
‘Have you received any other strange emails?’
She thought for a moment. ‘Just the usual ones telling me to click on a link to win a prize, or that I need to change my bank account number. So far, I haven’t fallen for any of the scams, although they get cleverer all the time, don’t they? My aging mother lives alone, in one of these apartments for elderly people on the seafront in Exham. She prides herself on using a laptop, and I do worry someone might trick her. She thinks everyone is kind and honest.’ She broke off to wave at Jamie, who’d reached the top of the wall and was wind-milling his arms in delight. ‘I wish she’d come and live with Jamie and me, but she’s far too independent. I’d like her company, to be honest. It’s lonely, being a single parent, and Jamie’s growing up fast, with all that means.’
Max offered a sympathetic grin. ‘Long silences, grunts at breakfast, constant fights over smelly trainers. I remember it well, although my son’s grown up now. You moved to Exham recently?’
‘We used to live in Gloucester. My husband Liam was in the army. He died in Afghanistan, but I stayed on in the area. The trouble with the army is, once you’re no longer part of it, all your friends disappear. They don’t mean to, but they move away, posted to other places, and one day, I found I wasn’t just missing Liam, but everyone I used to know, and I was lonely. Married couples didn’t really like to have me around. Competition for the wives.’ Her eyes sparked with a small flash of anger. ‘Some of them don’t trust their husbands around a single woman.’
Max nodded.
She went on, ‘My parents came to Exham ten years ago, before my father died. They’d always wanted to retire to the seaside, and my mother loves it.’
‘But you don’t?’
‘No, it’s too small for me. I hoped to become part of the community, but most people don’t want to know. Or at least…’ She stopped, a tiny smile at the corners of her mouth.
Max said, ‘Libby found the same thing, when she arrived. It took a while for her to find her feet.’
‘When she met you, I imagine?’ Annabel was smiling. Was she flirting?
Max cleared his throat. ‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘Working in the bakery’s a good idea. You’ll meet everyone there.’
‘The local gossips, at least.’ At that moment, her son arrived. She murmured, ‘Please, don’t say anything to Jamie about the emails. I don’t want to worry him.’
Her face had lit up as he arrived, but Jamie stood with folded arms and a glum expression.
‘Well done, darling,’ Annabel enthused.
Jamie shifted from one foot to the other.
‘This is Mr Ramshore. Say hello.’
Jamie looked Max up and down. ‘Hello,’ he grunted. ‘Do you climb?’
‘Afraid not,’ Max admitted.
‘My dad could. He could climb anything. He was in the marines.’
‘Was he?’
The boy nodded. ‘He could take anyone, if he wanted. He was a boxer.’
Annabel interrupted. ‘Jamie, really. Dad wouldn’t want you to talk like that.’
The boy’s lip curled. ‘How do you know?’
‘Jamie!’
Hoping to smooth things over, Max said, ‘What other sports do you do?’
The boy counted on his fingers. ‘Cricket, swimming, rugby – though they don’t play properly at my new school. I was the best half-back in my old team.’ He glared at his mother.
Max said, ‘You miss it?’
‘Exham kids are wimps.’
That attitude wasn’t going to help his mother find friends.
‘Well, I have to be going.’ Max smiled at Annabel.
As he left, he heard Jamie’s voice. ‘So, what did that old man want then?’
Annabel had her hands full with that boy. And Max hadn’t discovered anything about the mysterious emails. He
’d stick to his computer, in future, and leave the personal interviews to Libby.
19
Beef Wellington
‘Ten for dinner.’ Libby stood in the kitchen at Max’s house on Sunday evening. ‘It’s a while since we’ve gathered everyone together like this. It’s been a hectic afternoon, getting everything ready, but I think it’s all done. I’m looking forward to this evening. Especially as Angela’s bringing Owen with her. The only one missing is Reg. He’s back in America.’ She tied her apron tightly over her little black dress. ‘Just as well, I think, as Steve’s coming with Mandy. She had a soft spot for Reg at one time. Not surprising, I have to say. What a man.’
She grinned at Max to make it clear she hadn’t really fallen for the tall, handsome American, despite his shaved head, slow drawl and basketball-player’s physique.
Max was riffling through the cutlery drawer. ‘What’s on the menu? I don’t want to get the table settings wrong. Is there soup to follow the starter? Or, perhaps,’ he affected a cut-glass accent, ‘a tiny amuse-bouche to begin, or a gelato to cleanse the palate between courses?’
‘Are you mocking me?’ Libby threw a tea towel in Max’s direction. ‘I know better than to give our children anything they’d call fancy food – or you, for that matter. In fact, there’s a dip to eat with the pre-dinner drinks, while I panic in the kitchen. Then, it’s tomato and garlic bruschetta, followed by that beef wellington you can smell in the oven, with lots of roast vegetables, including Brussels sprouts, by the way, but you don’t have to eat those. They’re Robert’s favourite vegetable, weirdly. Then, there’s cauliflower wellington for vegetarians. By which I mean just Claire, unless she’s won Joe over?’
‘Not likely. And, what’s for pudding?’
‘You and your sweet tooth. You have to guess. What would you like?’
‘Not bread and butter pudding, I suppose?’
‘No. You can’t have that every day. Guess again.’
Max sidled across the room and flung open the fridge. ‘I knew it. Chocolate mousse.’
‘Mandy would never eat anything else if she could help it. How does all that sound?’
‘Like manna from heaven.’
Angela and Owen were first to arrive, bearing wine and chocolates, and within twenty minutes, the house was filled with the laughter of friends and family.
Libby, her apron consigned to a hook on the back of the kitchen door, wondered if it were possible to feel any happier without actually bursting. Even the Citroen was running again, after Alan had given the battery a boost. He’d shaken his head, sucked his teeth and insisted the car wouldn’t last much longer. It was definitely time for an upgrade. Libby would be sad to see her purple friend go.
Max poured wine. Robert and Sarah avoided the alcohol. ‘We’ve been drinking Beck’s Beer,’ Robert said. Alcohol-free, Libby noted.
She exchanged a glance with Angela, who was watching Sarah, her eyes like saucers. An idea struck Libby. Deciding to keep her mouth shut for the moment, she served the bruschetta and waited.
Soon it was time for the main course.
‘Sarah and Robert, would you like to try this rather special Pinot Noir I’ve brought up from the cellar?’ Max asked. ‘Well, from the rack in the kitchen, anyway.’
Robert and Sarah looked at each other and burst out laughing.
‘You’ve guessed, haven’t you?’ Sarah said.
Libby clasped her hands together as Robert rose to his feet. Surely not – it would be too good to be true.
‘I have an announcement,’ he said, holding his glass of alcohol-free beer. ‘Sarah and I are pregnant.’
Tears started in Libby’s eyes, and she had to bite her lip to steady it. A baby in the family!
On the other side of the table, Claire smiled brightly, but her cheerful expression soon faded, and Joe’s congratulations sounded subdued.
Was there a problem there?
Now wasn’t the time to pry. Instead, Libby toasted her son and his wife, muttering to herself, ‘A granny. I’m going to be a granny.’
She hardly tasted the rest of the meal – not even the chocolate mousse.
As Mandy suggested baby names, each one more ridiculous than the last, ‘What’s wrong with Chardonnay?’ Max brought coffee through from the kitchen to the dining room. As he set the tray down, his phone dinged with a message.
He shook his head. ‘That can wait, whatever it is.’
A second later, Joe’s phone rang. Silence fell on the room. Max and Joe looked at each other, and a cold shiver ran down Libby’s spine.
‘You’d better take it,’ she said.
The colour drained from Joe’s face. He dropped the phone onto the table. ‘That was Ivor. Mum’s in hospital in Bristol.’
As Max arrived at the Bristol hospital early the next morning, and asked for Stella’s room number, a bulky individual with pointy shoes, close-cropped hair, and a physique that had to owe its strength to constant workouts, appeared at his shoulder. This must be Ivor Wrighton, Stella’s latest partner, a man twenty years younger than she was.
Ivor held out his hand, a flashy gold watch catching the early-morning sun that shone, low on the horizon, grazing the Bristol skyline.
‘You must be Max.’ Ivor’s smooth face barely creased. Botox? Or just the flexibility of youth.
Max didn’t really care. They were never going to be best friends. ‘And you’re Ivor.’ They shook hands. That was enough small talk for Max. ‘How is she?’
‘She’ll be OK. Swallowed tablets – not too many, luckily. She’s done it before.’
‘Really?’
She’d self-medicated with whisky in the past, but Max hadn’t known she had a bad relationship with pills.
‘When did you get here? I’d assumed you’d both gone home to Surrey.’
‘I had to get back, see to some business. In fact,’ he grinned at Max in a man-to-man way that set Max’s teeth on edge. ‘We had a bit of a barney, to be honest. Stella wanted me to stay on here, and refused to come back to Surrey. I came back yesterday, after the police phoned me.’
Max had forgotten she was staying on in Bristol with this man.
‘Yes,’ Ivor’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘We’d planned to spend a few days in the area, but I couldn’t stay long. I think this business with the tablets was just a spot of attention-seeking.’
Max was speechless. How could Stella bear to live with this man?
‘I’ll show you the way to her room. It’s a rabbit warren, here.’ Ivor walked ahead of Max through apparently interminable hospital corridors, following signs, and lines painted on the floor leading to one of the medical wards in the private wing of the hospital. Ivor stopped at the entrance to the ward. ‘I’ll leave the two of you alone. Back in half an hour.’
Ivor turned and walked back the way they’d come. As Max stepped into Stella’s room, he caught sight of Ivor stopping to talk to one of the nurses. A pretty blush rose to the young girl’s cheeks.
Grinding his teeth, Max turned back to the private room, and Stella.
Lying in bed, Stella looked her age in spite of the fact that her hair was already neatly combed.
She raised one hand in a weak gesture. ‘Come in,’ she murmured. ‘I’m over the worst.’
A great weariness overwhelmed Max. He wished he could be anywhere else in the world. ‘What did you think you were doing?’
She smiled, her lips trembling as she touched a handkerchief delicately to her eyes. ‘I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I just felt so – alone.’
‘You’d quarrelled with Ivor. He told me.’
‘Dear Max.’ She moved her hand again, the gesture reminding Max of a film he’d seen – black and white, historical, set when ladies swooned and wept. All Stella needed was a fan to complete the picture. ‘I know you can’t understand. Life’s so good for you, with Libby.’
‘But, your quarrel with Ivor wasn’t serious, was it?’
She offered another gentle s
mile. ‘Silly Ivor. He’s a dear, but he’s no replacement for a real man. He couldn’t even be bothered to stay with me here. I’ve been alone in Bristol for days.’ She struggled to sit. ‘Could you just plump up my pillow a little?’
Max complied, keeping his face blank.
‘I’m so sorry, Max. I won’t do anything so stupid again. I was – just so sad.’
Max wished he was in Exham, with Libby, away from all his ex-wife’s dramas. After the bombshell had dropped last night, Claire had driven Joe to see Stella, insisting Max should wait until today. He’d then spent a restless, guilt-fuelled night, imagining this was his fault.
What was it Ivor had said? She’d done it before? Max wished he’d brought Libby along. She’d offered to come, volunteering to stay in the car while he saw his ex-wife, but, like a fool, he’d refused. His ex-wife was his problem, and he should sort it out himself. If only he didn’t feel so hopelessly out of his depth.
‘What brought it on this time?’ he asked.
Stella’s eyes flickered. Surprised he knew this wasn’t the first time she’d taken an overdose?
Max asked, ‘Is it to do with my marriage?’
‘No, Max. It isn’t. How very like you to think everything’s about you. No, it was the email. You see, another one arrived and it was too much for me. Someone’s after me. I can’t spend my life looking behind, cowering at home, wondering if this stalker’s going to hurt me. Who wants to live life like that? I just wanted to end it, once and for all.’ That had to be genuine distress in her eyes, alongside the drama.
Max concentrated on the facts. ‘Another email?’
‘It was different; a silly rhyme, but I’m sure it came from the same person.’
A chill brought the hairs on Max’s neck to attention. ‘You mean, a nursery rhyme?’
‘Goosey Goosey Gander. Do you know it?’
Max dredged his memory.
‘Goosey Goosey Gander
Where shall I wander?
Upstairs and downstairs
And in my lady’s chamber.’
Murder at the Gorge (The Exham-on-Sea Murder Mysteries) Page 11