‘Oh, Geoff.’ Her next words were muffled by sobs.
‘Look, are you on your own, Carol?’
‘No; the children are here. I picked them up on Sunday but I haven’t let them go to school this week. I’ve explained what’s happened but I’m not sure they fully understand.’
Geoff thought it would be better if she had an adult with her. Tuesday was a quiet day, he could close the gallery and go himself. But two things suggested that this was not a good idea. She might mistake his intentions or the children might say something to their father about his visit and cause further complications. There was also the chance that he might lose business. You coward, he thought as a more logical idea occurred to him. ‘Why don’t I ring Rose Trevelyan and ask her to come and sit with you for a while.’ Rose would probably curse him for suggesting it but he felt he had to do something.
‘Yes. Would you? Right now I really wish that John was here.’
Geoff was not sure whether John was the husband or the abandoned lover so made no comment. ‘I’ll speak to her right away. If she doesn’t get back to you within a few minutes then you’ll know she’s not in, but I’ll keep trying.’
Rose was at home but her manner was a little brusque when she answered the phone. She listened to Geoff’s proposal, unsure how she felt about it. But it was her innate kindness that prompted her answer. ‘Yes, I’ll go over there right away. Does she need food or anything for the children?’
‘I didn’t think to ask, actually. Do let me know how it goes.’
Guilt, she thought, as she got ready to go out. He’s being solicitous but he doesn’t want to go himself. She rang Carol to say she was on her way.
The car needed petrol. Rose filled the tank at the Co-op then drove to Marazion. There, she bought some chocolate for the children.
Carol opened the door as soon as she heard the engine of the car. Behind her were two small girls, their eyes wide with curiosity. Carol’s hair was unkempt and there was a stain on her blouse but it was her face that startled Rose more. Carol seemed to have aged by about ten years and her eyes were red-rimmed with crying. ‘Come in, and thank you so much for coming. I just didn’t know who to turn to. Sally only wants Mum with her.’ Mum should be with me, she was thinking. I’m the one who needs her now.
Although Carol and Sally did not get on, Rose realised that Carol had loved her niece. Beth, she now saw, looked very much like her cousins. ‘Hello, my name’s Rose,’ she said to the solemn-faced girls. Carol introduced them as Tamsin and Lucy. ‘Are they allowed chocolate?’ Rose whispered. Their mother nodded.
‘Thank you,’ they said in turn as they were handed a small bar each.
‘Why don’t you play in one of your bedrooms,’ Carol suggested as she sat down and indicated for Rose to do the same. They disappeared obediently, unsure as to what was going on, what had happened to their mother and who the stranger was who had brought them chocolate.
‘Shall I make you some coffee?’
Carol looked at Rose with a vacant expression as if she had forgotten why she was there. Suddenly tears filled her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not used to people being nice to me.’
‘I won’t be long.’ Rose got up. She thought the self-pity was a bit over the top. Had Carol no idea how her sister must be feeling?
That Carol was grieving was evident. The kitchen was not exactly a mess but it was far from its previous immaculate state.
Rose felt awkward rummaging around in someone else’s cupboards but Carol looked in need of sustenance. And what about Tamsin and Lucy? Had they been fed? Were they thirsty? A bar of chocolate was hardly a balanced meal.
Having found all that she required she went into the hall. Sounds could be heard from behind a closed door. She knocked quietly then opened it. ‘Are you two hungry?’
‘Have you got some more chocolate?’ This was from Tamsin who, at six, was not about to miss a chance of a bit of exploitation.
‘No, there’s no more. Have you had breakfast?’
It was Lucy who spoke. ‘Yes. Tamsin did us some cereals and made toast in the toaster but she got in a mess with the butter and jam. We’re not allowed to use the grill.’
‘Okay. Would you like a drink then?’
Both girls nodded. Rose had noticed a carton of orange juice in the fridge. She went to pour some wondering what they would have for lunch and if she should offer to stay and make it.
Carol was blowing her nose when Rose carried in the coffee tray. Unlike her own bright ceramic mugs with their hand painted tulips, Carol’s were bone china, white, with a thin gold rim, part of a complete dinner service that was stacked in the cupboard. Rose hoped the girls would not spill their orange juice on the white bedroom carpet. Madness, Rose thought. Who would choose to lay such a colour in a child’s bedroom?
Carol’s hands shook as she picked up her mug. With a sodden tissue she wiped her eyes again. ‘I loved Beth so very much. I don’t think I’ll ever get over this.’
Rose, whose tolerance was usually endless, except where Jack was concerned, found her patience wearing thin. ‘But just imagine how Sally must feel,’ she said as calmly as possible. ‘She is, after all, Beth’s mother.’
‘No. No, she isn’t.’ Carol jerked upright spilling coffee over the arm of the chair. ‘I’m Beth’s mother.’ The outburst seemed to have left her shocked and drained. She slumped back into the seat, her hand to her mouth, aghast at what she had just said.
Rose was too shocked to speak. Could it be true or was this another aspect of Carol’s insecurity, because surely her obsessional traits were proof of insecurity. ‘What do you mean?’ she finally managed to ask.
Those four words had opened the floodgates. Rose listened with incredulity until she recognised the ring of truth. Almost five years of bottled up emotion and guilt came pouring out for had she not abandoned the child she would still be alive. Her guilt must be equal to, if not more than, Sally’s.
No wonder she’s like she is, Rose thought. What a terrible strain to have endured for so long, and now it had ended in tragedy.
The morning had passed but Rose knew she could not simply leave. She had to ensure Carol would not do something stupid and that, after her confession, she was still capable of looking after her two small daughters, daughters who had been very quiet for a long time. She hoped they were behaving themselves rather than taking advantage of the strange situation. Maybe, after lunch, she might manage half a day’s work. The weather wasn’t great but at least it wasn’t raining. ‘I’ll feed the children and make you a sandwich,’ she said, desperate for a few minutes alone to think things over.
‘Can you cook sausages?’ Tamsin asked suspiciously when Rose offered to get them something to eat. ‘Because that’s what we’d like, isn’t it, Lucy?’ Lucy nodded. ‘And beans.’
‘What, no chips?’ Rose smiled when their eyes lit up.
‘Oh, yes, please. Mum gets the frozen ones from Iceland. Shall I show you where we keep them?’
Rose had spotted the freezer but she dutifully followed the children to the kitchen where they took pride in finding the things she needed. They then sat at the kitchen table watching with awe as Rose oven baked and grilled and stirred beans in the pan.
Whilst they were eating, the chips smothered with an amount of tomato sauce she was sure was more than they were normally permitted, she made a cheese salad sandwich and took it in to Carol who sat with her eyes closed.
Thank you, Rose, you’re very kind. I do appreciate what you’ve done for us,’ she said as she took the plate. ‘There’s one thing, you won’t repeat what I’ve told you, will you? I mean to my sister. Naturally she knows the story, apart from who the actual father is.’ Already she was regretting the outburst and seemed to be embarrassed by it, but it was too late to alter the fact it had taken place.
Rose didn’t know how to reply. Was the information relevant to Beth’s murder? It didn’t seem likely but if it was the case she would have to tell Jack. ‘I pro
mise I won’t say a word to your family but it might be necessary to mention it to the police.’
‘Why? Why would the police want to speak to you?’ Panic showed in her face.
‘Because I was a witness.’ Or thought I was, and because I know the officer in charge of the case and he knows me, she added silently. Once Jack learnt she had been at Carol’s place, and he would do, he always discovered her movements, he would demand to know what they had talked about and she would have to tell him.
‘Of course, I’m sorry. I forgot.’
Rose just stopped herself from revealing the truth, that it was not Beth she had seen but an innocent man with a girl who was presumably his daughter, but that would have made matters even worse. No longer being a genuine witness would lessen the leverage she had with the women involved.
Carol managed to eat her sandwich and drink the coffee that came with it. Satisfied that she would be able to cope, Rose decided it was time to leave.
‘On reflection, I’m glad someone finally knows the truth,’ she said as she showed Rose to the door. ‘And thank you again for all you’ve done.’
‘We’ll look after Mummy,’ Tamsin assured her as she and Lucy heard sounds of departure and came to investigate. ‘Daddy says we have to when he’s away. He’s coming home tomorrow. Mummy phoned him, because of Beth. She’s in heaven with Jesus now.’
So Carol had explained as best she was able and in a way which made sense to her children. ‘I’m glad, and I’m sure you’ll be pleased to see him.’
‘Yes, we will. He usually brings us a present,’ Lucy commented hopefully.
Rose tried not to smile at the avarice of the child but doubted he would think of doing so under the circumstances. She left the three of them standing in the doorway and sensed they would pull through eventually, especially as John was now on his way home.
Sally Jones needed to be alone. She had been through so much during the course of a week and the flat seemed to have been full of people ever since last Tuesday ‘Go back home, Mum, I’ll be fine, honestly. And think of the business. With Christmas coming up you’ll lose trade.’ She wished she hadn’t mentioned Christmas. ‘I promise I’ll let you know as soon as we can fix a date for the funeral.’ That would be another milestone to get over; it would, she supposed, also be the final hurdle. She would first have to attend the inquest.
Alice, too, would be pleased to go home. Of course she had come when her daughter needed her but she was wise enough to realise that there were limits to being in close confinement with people you love. Now they both needed time to adjust, to face their grief in their individual ways. She would drive back first thing in the morning.
It was odd that neither of them mentioned Carol although they knew the reason she had only made contact once since hearing the news. Alice knew it would have been kind to see her before she left but she made do with a telephone call, wondering at her inability to love her younger child.
Michael Poole was devastated. At first, numb with shock and disbelief, he doubted he would ever feel anything again. Hours later, alone in his room, the pain had registered and he had cried. His sadness was as much for what he had missed and what might have been as much as it had been for what had happened to Beth.
Detective Inspector Pearce had, at some point, explained that the post mortem showed that Beth had been smothered but that it was highly unlikely she had known what was happening to her. Before that he had asked him if he took sleeping pills.
‘No,’ he had said, believing at the time that he was about to be offered the services of a local doctor if he felt the need for them.
‘Does Sally?’
‘Not to my knowledge. At least, she didn’t when we lived together. Why do you want to know?’
‘Because traces of barbiturate were found in Beth’s blood sample. She was probably unconscious at the time of her death.’
It was some comfort but Michael realised that the question meant they were all still suspects.
That had been on the Sunday evening. On Tuesday morning, feeling a little stronger, he had gone to see Sally but she was too distraught to speak to him. Michael decided he might as well return to work. Alice would let him know when the funeral was to take place but he understood that it might not be for some time. The date would depend upon when, or if, they found Beth’s murderer.
He looked at his watch. It was eleven fifteen. He might just as well leave now. There would be things to attend to at home after a week’s absence.
Downstairs he asked the hotelier for his bill then used the payphone in the hall. His mobile battery was flat and he hadn’t brought the charger because he had imagined only staying a day or so.
‘I’ll be back tomorrow,’ he told his boss, the words of condolence barely registering. What he really wanted to do was to find the murdering bastard who’d robbed him of a daughter and slowly torture him, but what chance did he have when the police didn’t seem to be getting anywhere?
He disconnected the line and found more change then rang the Camborne number and asked to be put through to Inspector Pearce. ‘It’s Michael Poole. I just wanted to check that it’s all right for me to go back to Looe.’
‘Yes, that’s fine, but we need to know where you are in case there are any developments, so if you intend going anywhere, would you let us know?’
‘Of course.’ Any developments. He knew what that meant. They still suspected him even though his alibi was watertight. Why? Because, he assumed, alibis could be arranged, or fixed, or whatever the jargon was.
He packed his small bag, paid his bill and left. He never wanted to see Marazion again.
In typical West Cornwall fashion the weather changed and clouds began to gather. Within minutes the sky was a pearly grey and the first spots of rain began to fall. Rose sighed. So much for her plans for the afternoon. She had intended continuing working on the mine scene which was already pleasing to the eye. It was exactly the sort of oil that sold well in Geoff’s gallery. For some reason she felt in need of company other than her own. She went outside and got back into the car again.
When she reached Penzance she parked, pulled her raincoat from the back seat of the car and walked down the hill to Barry’s shop. Like the man himself, this, too, had received a facelift but that was due to Daphne Hill rather than its owner. Daphne had taken it upon herself to rearrange the stock, thus making more room for browsers, and whilst she was doing so she had cleaned all the shelves.
Barry was spending more time at the print works in Camborne where he oversaw the production of his specialised greetings cards and other stationery. He also spent time with Jenny. Rose was in luck, Barry was at the back of the shop making a stock list when she arrived.
‘Hello Daphne, how’s things?’
‘Fine, thanks, Rose. You?’
‘Could be better. I was hoping to work.’ She looked towards the window where raindrops glistened. ‘Is Barry around?’
‘I am.’ He appeared in the doorway. ‘I heard your voice. How are you, stranger?’
‘I saw you on Sunday, it’s only Tuesday.’ She smiled at his absentmindedness.
Wrong move, he thought, I shouldn’t have mentioned Sunday. And Rose, despite the smile, looked worried. ‘I think this can wait.’ He put the folder he was holding beneath the counter. ‘Fancy a coffee or a drink?’
‘It’s early, even by my standards, but I could do with the latter. Let me get the car then I can drive us down to the Yacht. I can pick it up tomorrow.’
‘I’ll come with you. Will you be all right, Daphne?’
‘Of course I’ll be all right. You’re such a worrier, Barry.’ But she softened her words with a kind smile. ‘Do you want me to lock up?’
Barry looked startled. ‘It’s only half-past two, we’re not going to be that long.’
Daphne grinned at Rose. ‘It would do him good to let his hair down once in a while.’
‘Oh, I think he’s getting there even if it has taken him several decades.�
� Rose liked Daphne who was a sensible, hardworking, down-to-earth woman who had been through a bad time and survived it. She was solidly built and took pride in her appearance – even if she wore more makeup and the costume jewellery than was necessary. She and her husband, Rod, had moved to Cornwall to escape their troubles and had settled in quickly, unlike many who missed the facilities of the towns and cities outside the county. Progress was being made, whether for good or bad, and some of the Penzance shops now stocked things unheard of five years ago in the way of food, but few newcomers appreciated that life was very much slower, that queues formed in shops because conversations took priority over speed. Even Rose, more accepting than the likes of Doreen and Cyril Clarke, was sorry that housing was becoming unaffordable for locals because prices were rocketing and so very many people were on the minimum wage. Let them come, she thought, but let them accept how it is here and not try to bring all they believed they wanted to leave behind with them.
Rose and Barry hurried to the car. The wind was blowing harder, heavier rain would follow. Rose drove the short distance to the seafront where there was unlimited parking. If the wind kept up the car would be grimed with salt by the time she collected it.
The Yacht Inn, like the open air Jubilee Pool opposite, was of art deco design and had been built in the 1930s. The bar area was spacious with a large bay window on the lower level and smaller ones on the upper, through all of which the panorama of the bay could be seen. A rolling swell was surging in on the tide. It looked harmless, unlike the breakers which often smashed against the Promenade wall, but it was this motion which caused the most seasickness.
The usual early afternoon crowd were seated on the high stools at the bar; the landlord of another local pub which shut at half-past two on winter afternoons, a retired garage owner from Buryas Bridge, a court bailiff and an ex-CID officer who had retired through injury. Rose knew and liked them all. She turned and waved to a sprightly and dapper nonagenarian who came in every day for lunch and went home by taxi.
Caught Out in Cornwall Page 17