‘Mrs Glass?’ He paused on the threshold, took out his ID card and introduced himself.
Her welcoming smile faded. ‘Oh.’
She took the card and compared the photograph with the reality before taking off her apron and saying, ‘You’d better come in. It’s about Nerine, I suppose.’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘I heard about it on the wireless.’
She moved aside and he stepped into the small, comfortably furnished room, his attention at once drawn to a round table near the window. On it were displayed all three tiers of a beautifully decorated wedding cake, the smallest tier still on a revolving icing stand, familiar to Thanet from Bridget’s attempt at decorative icing. The sheet carefully spread beneath the table to protect the carpet, the bowls with their tell-tale traces of icing, the clutter of icing nozzles and piping bags all told the same story.
Thanet pursed his lips in admiration and moved to take a closer look. The top tier was edged with alternating miniature footballs and bunches of flowers.
‘You did this?’
Mrs Glass nodded, with justifiable pride. ‘I like to keep my hand in.’
‘It’s magnificent! A work of art.’
‘It’s for the granddaughter of a friend of mine. She’s getting married on Saturday.’ She grinned. ‘As you may have gathered, she’s a florist and he’s a footballer. I work in here because I like to have a bit of elbow room when I’m icing, and my kitchen’s so tiny I fall over my own feet if I’m not careful. Though I mustn’t grumble. This place suits me perfectly.’
‘I’ve never been in one of these sheltered housing flats before.’
Clearly anxious to delay discussion of Nerine’s death, Mrs Glass seized on this as an excuse to show him around, and Thanet was given a guided tour of the only bedroom, the minute kitchen and even smaller bathroom. Every room had an alarm cord which would summon help in case of emergency, and the warden apparently did a quick round of her protégés night and morning to check that they were all right.
‘At my age, you can’t imagine the sense of security that gives you.’
By now they were sitting down, the atmosphere was relaxed and Mrs Glass was chatting freely.
‘Have you always lived in this area?’
Gently, Thanet led the old lady through the years, from her impoverished childhood (‘I always longed to be educated, these days I’d have gone to university’) and her entry into domestic service at the age of fourteen, past early marriage and widowhood in the 1914–18 war to her eventual appointment in 1944 as housekeeper to the Linacres.
At this point her eyes grew troubled, her manner hesitant. If only he could help her to keep up the flow of reminiscence, thought Thanet …
‘You never remarried?’ he asked, striking off obliquely.
‘No. I got used to being independent … Look, Inspector, I’ve enjoyed our chat and it’s helped me to relax. I appreciate your taking the trouble, a lot of men wouldn’t have bothered, I’m sure, they’d just have barged in, asked their questions and been off … I’m just trying to say that if you want me to talk about Nerine, I’m ready now.’ And she gave an apprehensive smile.
Thanet was touched. It was a declaration of faith, after all. I trust you not to upset me too much.
‘Thank you,’ he said gently. ‘I appreciate your frankness.’
Her smile was a little bolder now. ‘To be honest, I can’t really see why you want to talk to me at all. It’s so many years since I saw Nerine. Daphne visits me once a month, though, regular as clockwork.’
‘Does she?’ Thanet was surprised, he wasn’t sure why. Mrs Glass, after all, would have been Daphne’s mother-substitute.
‘I understand they were very close, as children.’
Mrs Glass’s eyes glazed reminiscently. ‘They certainly were. Inseparable. Nerine had adored her mother, you see, and Mrs Linacre used to make such a fuss of her … So did her father, for that matter, but then he would have done anything to please Mrs Linacre and later on, after Mrs Linacre died, I did wonder whether he’d only been pretending affection for Nerine to please his wife.’
‘You mean, after his wife’s death he took no interest in Nerine?’
‘That’s right. No interest in either of them, for that matter. In fact, he couldn’t bear the sight of Daphne, blamed her for her mother’s death, I think. He’d worshipped Mrs Linacre and it hit him hard.’
‘How did Nerine react?’
Mrs Glass grimaced. ‘It was pathetic, really. To begin with, she used to follow him around like a little dog, but he just couldn’t be bothered with her and eventually she got the message. She went through a very bad time – well, you can imagine how she must have felt, losing her mother and, to all intents and purposes, her father, both at once. Poor little scrap, I was really worried about her for some time. I could scarcely get her to eat anything, or take any interest in anything – she just used to lie around on the floor, sucking her thumb and gazing into space …’
‘She was lucky to have you. At least there was some continuity in her life.’
‘I suppose so. The trouble was, I had that big house to run and I couldn’t really give her the time and attention she needed … Mr Linacre got a nanny for the baby, of course, but babies need a lot of care and Nerine tended to miss out there, too. And I don’t think the girl really understood what the child was going through. She was good-hearted but not very bright … Anyway, after a while Nerine turned her attention to Daphne, and soon you couldn’t have prised them apart with a shoe-horn. Nerine used to spend all her time with her, played with her, pushed her about in her pram, created a terrible fuss if ever they were separated …
‘I remember when she started school. When the day came, she couldn’t believe that Daphne wasn’t to be allowed to go with her. The scene she created! I honestly thought she was going to scream herself into some kind of fit! We had to call the doctor, to give her a sedative. And every morning it was the same, until in the end her father got really fed up and said it was nothing short of emotional blackmail and if she carried on like this he’d jolly well send her away to boarding school and she wouldn’t see Daphne at all … Well, that did the trick and she gave in. But I’ll never forget her little face looking back over her shoulder at Daphne as she left for school each morning. She looked so lost and bewildered, as if she simply couldn’t understand why she had to be sent away. I honestly think she thought she was being punished for something, and couldn’t understand what.’
‘Didn’t the situation improve when Daphne started school?’
‘Well, to some extent, of course. But Nerine always hated school, never did a stroke of work. Daphne was a very different matter. She absolutely loved it, took to it like a duck to water – well, I think she was bored and lonely after Nerine started, and couldn’t wait to get there.’
‘So how do you think this experience affected Nerine, in the long term?’
Mrs Glass paused, eyes narrowed, thinking. Then she sighed, ‘I think it made her very self-centred. As if the only thing that mattered was to look after number one. And yet, it wasn’t her fault, you see. She didn’t start out like that. Before Daphne was born she was the sweetest, sunniest little girl you could imagine. It was such a shame. Oh dear. I hate talking about her like this, when … I mean, she’s not here to defend herself any more, is she?’
‘I know. Will it make you feel any better if I say that all this is invaluable to me? In order to find out why she died I really need to understand her, as a person …’
‘Is it true, what they’re saying? That she might have … That it was …’
‘That someone might have killed her, you mean? I’m afraid it’s all too likely. Everyone seems to agree that she was the last person to commit suicide, and from what you’ve just been saying …’
‘Oh, I agree,’ Mrs Glass broke in vehemently. ‘Nerine would never have killed herself. Never.’
‘And it’s very difficult to see how it could have been
an accident. She fell from a balcony, you see, and the rail was too high … We haven’t entirely ruled out the possibility, but …’
Mrs Glass was nodding. ‘I see. Oh dear. But I suppose …’
‘What?’
‘Well …’ She was speaking slowly, working it out. ‘I was just thinking that Nerine’s problem was that she was so … engrossed with herself that she was incapable of taking thought for anyone else’s feelings, or even beginning to understand them. She didn’t want to understand them. She was so … insensitive, that way. I remember when she and Daphne were in their teens … Nerine was a beautiful girl, quite exceptionally so, whereas Daphne … Well, I suppose you’ve seen her, haven’t you? I’m fond of Daphne, but she’s no oil painting, is she? Nerine used to have hordes of boyfriends, they used to fall over each other trying to get her to go out with them, whereas Daphne was always ignored, passed over, as if she was invisible or something. And Nerine never seemed to realise how Daphne must have felt about it. I honestly don’t think it ever entered her head to wonder.’
‘How did Daphne react?’
Mrs Glass shrugged. ‘She just seemed to accept it. But I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her, especially when her fiancé was killed in that car crash. A real tragedy that was. He was the first man ever to take an interest in her, and she was on cloud nine from the day they started going out together.’
‘What happened?’
‘Oh, it was awful. Terrible. Even now, after all these years, it upsets me to think about it.’
She wasn’t exaggerating. The memory had clouded her eyes, sharpened the lines in her face. Absentmindedly, she took a handkerchief from the pocket of her dress and began to pick at one corner, tiny, suppressed, agitated movements which mirrored only too clearly both her distress and the struggle to control it.
Thanet said nothing, waited.
‘Daphne met him at work. He’d been commissioned to do a cover for the Spring Catalogue. He was an artist … She kept very quiet about him, but I knew something was up. She was … transformed. Radiant.’ Her eyes flickered towards the wedding cake. ‘Like a bride.’ She pulled a face. ‘I don’t think either Nerine or her father ever even noticed. Anyway, a couple of months later they got engaged. There was a terrible row, when she told her father. I was there. She guessed there’d be trouble and she asked me to be with her, for moral support. I’d been with them twenty-five years by then, and I suppose she thought of me as family. He was furious. Called Jocelyn a jumped-up little fortune hunter. Daphne was so angry … I’d never seen her really stand up to her father before, but she certainly did then. I think, by that stage, they’d both forgotten I was there.
“To be honest with you, Father, I don’t care what you think. You’ve never taken the slightest interest in my welfare, and I have no intention of allowing you to influence such an important decision.”
‘“Never taken the slightest interest in your welfare! I’ve fed you, haven’t I? Clothed you, educated you …”
“Loved me? Ah, I see you can’t answer that one. Oh, I grant that you have maintained me, materially speaking, because it was the done thing to do. But Jocelyn is the first person in my life ever to love me for myself, and nothing, I repeat nothing, will make me give him up.”
“Love you for yourself? Daphne, I don’t want to be unkind, but didn’t you say he was an artist? And therefore a lover of beauty? I hate to say this, but I think you only have to look in the mirror to see that you must be deluding yourself.”
“I won’t listen to this! I told you, Father, I don’t care what you think and I don’t care what you say. I’m going to marry him and that’s that.”
“He can smell money, that’s the trouble. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so interested if he didn’t think you’d get the business when I’m gone.”
“Father, you are fifty-two years old and in perfect health …”
“Now, maybe. But looking to the future …”
“Who’s interested in the future, at our age?”
“I’ll tell you who. Artists. Artists are interested in only one thing, the freedom to paint. And if the future can be manipulated to provide that freedom then believe me, they are very interested indeed.”
“The trouble with you, Father, is that the nursery has been your life for so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to love someone.”
“Oh, no, Daphne. You’re the one who’s forgotten. I lost the person I loved and got you, instead.”’
Mrs Glass shook her head. ‘As soon as the words were out, he knew he’d gone too far. I’ll never forget her face, when he said that. She just stared at him for what seemed like ages. Then she said, “I rather think you’ve just proved my point, Father, don’t you?” And she turned and walked out.’
‘But if they didn’t get on, why did she go to work for him in the first place? She’s obviously a very capable woman, she could easily have found a job elsewhere.’
‘Oh, don’t misunderstand me. Until this row blew up they’d got on well enough. They lived together in the same house, worked in the same place, and they were always perfectly polite to each other. Unnaturally so, I always thought. The thing is, the nursery was Mr Linacre’s life. After his wife died he spent all his time there, and he built it up into a really successful business. They’ve got an international reputation, you know … And I’m sure the reason why he encouraged Daphne to take that Business Studies course and then to work for him was because he wanted her to take over the nursery after he died. There was no one else, you see. It was obvious that Nerine wouldn’t make a businesswoman in a million years. I suppose he’d always hoped Daphne would marry someone who’d be able to help her run the place.’
‘How did Nerine react to the news of Daphne’s engagement?’
‘She just grinned and said, “Well done, little sister. Looks as though you’ll beat me to the altar after all.” She’d been going out with Mr Roland for several months, by then, and I know he was keen to get her to agree to marry him. But at that point there’d been no news of an engagement. I think she was just enjoying having a good time.’
‘So what happened, after the row when she told her father she was going to get married?’ Thanet found himself as eager to hear the next instalment as a soap-opera fan waiting for his daily fix. Except that this, he reminded himself, was real life, these the people with whom Nerine had spent her days.
Mrs Glass shrugged. ‘Things seemed to settle down, after a while. Mr Linacre raised no more objections, to my knowledge – I suppose he could see it was pointless. A couple of months later, Daphne had a perforated appendix. She was desperately ill – nearly died, as a matter of fact – and she was away in hospital for six weeks. Then, the night before she was due to come home …’
She hesitated, fingers once more picking away at the corner of the handkerchief. It was starting to fray, Thanet noticed.
‘Yes?’
‘It was March, I remember, and a wild night, with a strong wind blowing and gusty rain. The coroner thought the weather conditions may have contributed to the accident … Mr Roland was at the house. He’d only come back from Australia a few days before, he’d been out there since just after Christmas. An aunt had died and left him all her money, and he’d had to go out to sort out the estate with her lawyers. When he arrived I let him in and half an hour later Nerine brought him into the kitchen, where I was preparing dinner. There was a … glitter about her that I’d never seen before. “Ah, there you are, Mrs G,” she said. “We’ve got some news for you.” And she held out her left hand. “How d’you like my ring?” she said. It was the biggest diamond I’d ever seen in my life. Mr Roland was smiling all over his face and looking so happy. “It was my grandmother’s,” he said. I couldn’t help feeling glad for him, though I must admit I thought he’d have a difficult time of it, with Nerine for a wife. “So come on, Mrs G,” says Nerine. “Dig a bottle of champagne out of the cellar, and bring it into the drawing room. This is a celebration. Daddy’s like a dog with
two tails.”
‘Well, I couldn’t help remembering how poor Daphne’s news had been received, and feeling glad she wasn’t there to see the contrast, but I did as she said and we were all drinking a toast when there was a knock at the door. It was Jocelyn, carrying a huge bunch of red roses for Daphne’s homecoming. My first thought was, oh dear, how awkward, but I couldn’t shut the door in his face and it was far too windy to leave it open, so I invited him in and was just about to ask if he’d like me to put the flowers in water when Nerine came into the hall. “Who is it, Mrs G?” she says. “Oh, Jocelyn. Come along in and have a glass of champagne. Roland and I are celebrating our engagement.” And she held out her hand, to show the ring.
‘Just then Mr Linacre and Mr Roland burst out laughing, in the drawing room, and Jocelyn … Well, I suppose he couldn’t help remembering how Daphne and he had been treated when they got engaged … He went white, and said, “No thanks. I wouldn’t want to intrude.” And he pushed the flowers into my hands and was gone. Nerine just raised her eyebrows at me, shrugged, and went back into the drawing room. A couple of hundred yards down the road Jocelyn’s car skidded, went out of control and hit a tree. He was killed instantly.’
‘And Daphne?’
Mrs Glass shook her head. ‘She never got over it. Oh, she pulled herself together after a while, but it was a bad time for her. She was only just getting over her illness, and then, on top of Jocelyn’s death, to have to put up not only with the news of Nerine’s engagement and their father’s obvious pleasure at the prospect of having Roland as a son-in-law, but all the preparations for the wedding … It was just too much.’
Element of Doubt Page 14