‘Not too draughty for you here?’ she inquired. ‘I like to take every opportunity to sit outside when there’s some sun about.’
‘Don’t blame you, when you’ve such a beautiful garden,’ Kite said. It was no empty compliment. Unlike the house, the garden was immaculate. Kite enjoyed pottering in his own when he had the chance. He was reminded that he’d intended putting out his bedding plants today. He hoped Sheila would remember and make a start – and not mistake the petunias for the nemesia, or let the cat scratch them up, or accidentally water them with weedkiller, or anything else his dearly beloved but accident-prone wife was only too apt to do.
The terrace looked out over a long, quiet lawn flanked by a stone-flagged path and a wide herbaceous border, beyond which could be seen the playing fields and the main school buildings. ‘Very peaceful,’ remarked Mayo, no gardener himself but knowing what he liked.
‘It is, isn’t it? I do most of it myself and I can’t bear the thought of leaving it to someone else’s tender mercies when we go. My husband’s retiring at the end of the school year.’
‘Perhaps the new head or his wife will enjoy gardening as much as you do.’
She smiled ruefully. ‘Depends on who gets the job – he hasn’t been appointed yet. There was to have been a governors’ meeting on Monday. We hoped it would’ve been decided then but of course it’s been cancelled. We really can’t make proper plans until we’re sure. We’re going to live near Antibes.’ A shadow crossed her face but was quickly dispelled as she went on in her easy, talkative way, ‘Well, Richard loves it there, we’ll make other friends, no doubt everything will turn out for the best. He had a slight heart attack, you see, and though he’s fit enough now, it was a warning to take things more easily, they said. Running a school like this can be rather hectic at times.’
Gina Holden had been a surprise. An energetic woman with a bright, alert face, an engagingly tip-tilted nose and short curly hair, she was much younger than Mayo had expected, mid-thirties, but still younger than he’d assumed the wife of a man presently retiring would be. Perhaps, though, she wasn’t, if he was retiring through illness.
They drank their coffee and ate some delicious crunchy biscuits which Mayo welcomed in view of having missed breakfast. There was a few minutes’ pleasant chat about holidays in the south of France and the differences in climate and gardening out there, which brought him neatly round to the flower arrangements in the church. He complimented Mrs Holden on them, bringing a pleased look to her face, and asked what time she had arrived to do them.
She replied that it had been nearly five o’clock. ‘I was running late. We’d had a sort of open day for parents and prospective parents – really to show them what use we’re making of modern technology, computers and so on, and a lot of the parents were so interested they just wouldn’t go. I’d forgotten until yesterday morning that it was my turn to do the flowers – I’ve a memory like a sieve! I tried to swap turns with someone else but everyone seemed to have something they couldn’t put off. Mrs Oliver would’ve done them, I suppose, but she always gets landed with things other people mess up, poor thing, so I didn’t ask her.’
‘Was the church door locked when you arrived?’ Mayo asked, when he could get a word in edgeways. She nodded. ‘And you locked it again when you left?’
‘Yes, I picked the key up from the Rectory and I’m sure I locked it because I was carrying some sheet music Jon Reece had left in church earlier and wanted for choir practice here – he stands in for the church organist occasionally – and it was difficult to stop it slipping while I locked the door.’
‘How long would you say you were in the church?’
‘Nearly an hour, including clearing up. Throwing out the old flowers on the altar – plus the ones from the windowsills and the ends of the pews from the wedding last week. Such a pity ... they were so pretty. But they don’t last, of course.’
‘So no one could have been in the church without you being aware of it?’
‘Oh, absolutely not.’ She stared at him. ‘Goodness, you don’t mean you thought someone might have been – well, hiding?’
Mayo sighed. ‘No, Mrs Holden, it doesn’t seem likely from what you’ve said.’
Whoever had killed Willard must have waited until he had unlocked the door and then followed him into church, though nobody so far had admitted to having seen who it was – and in view of the number of people in and around Parson’s Place at six o’clock Mayo was beginning to think this nothing short of miraculous. He returned to something Mrs Holden had been saying earlier that had reminded him of one of the entries in Willard’s diary. ‘You mentioned a school governors’ meeting –’
‘To decide on the next Head, that’s right. It’ll probably be one of the masters here, Jon Reece or David Illingworth. I suppose you know David’s engaged – practically engaged – to Laura Willard? I imagine that’s why you’re here,’ she finished abruptly, her smile vanishing, ‘to ask about Laura – and her father.’
‘Partly, yes. He used to be headmaster here, I gather?’
‘Before my husband. I don’t know what I can tell you about him, though. He was a school governor but I didn’t know him well, not in the same way as I know Laura. Richard had more to do with him. He’ll be able to tell you what you want to know when he gets back from his walk, I dare say, which should be any time now. Since his illness, he’s been advised to take a moderate amount of exercise each day.’
‘Let’s talk about Miss Willard then, for a start. She’s a particular friend of yours?’
‘Oh yes. We see each other most days with her working here. We’ve become very close ... poor Laura, what a frightful shock. But ...’ She hesitated. ‘Well, I’m sorry it had to happen this way, but let’s face it, at least she’ll be free now – no more of this stupid business of not approving of David as a husband just because he’s been divorced. Her father would much rather she’d married Jon Reece, you know, which was stupid really, because anyone with one eye could see they were neither of them really interested.’ There was a momentary silence while she watched Kite as he took all this down in his large, sprawling hand. ‘It’s Jon without the “h”. Jonathan actually. And Reece as in fleece.’
‘Oh, sorry.’ Kite smiled his thanks and made the alteration.
‘And she – Miss Willard – went along with this?’ Mayo asked.
‘Sounds unbelievable, this day and age, doesn’t it? But you see, it had happened once before – Laura’d met someone her father didn’t find acceptable and he managed to interfere so that in the end she called it off. Her father was right, as it happened. The chap turned out to be a real rotten egg. But still it was a hideous and unforgivable thing to do, and I suppose it shook Laura’s faith in her own judgement. She’s rather easily – well, she always believes the best of anyone. Not like her father. He used to make me absolutely furious,’ she said, leaning over her chair and tugging at a harmless daisy which had seeded itself in a crack in the paving until at last it conceded defeat. Rubbing her grubby fingers on her trousers, she looked up and added soberly, ‘All the same, I think you should probably forget what I’ve just said. I’ve made him sound like a monster and he wasn’t really –’
‘Merely a clergyman of the old school, with very fixed ideas,’ came an amused voice from behind her chair.
Gina Holden swung round, the expression on her face one of relief when she saw who it was. ‘Richard, you made me jump! Thank heavens it’s only you – one day I might learn to keep my opinions to myself.’
‘Or make sure the wrong person isn’t listening first, Gina my love.’ The man who’d walked unseen across the grass behind them smiled and dropped a kiss on her head, released the dog from its lead and shooed it off. A large unruly retriever-type dog answering to the name of Rory, it galloped off kitchenwards, where loud slurping noises presently indicated it had found its water bowl. Gina Holden had immediately jumped up and while introducing Mayo and his sergeant, pulled a chair round fo
r her husband, poured and sugared coffee for him. ‘You’ve had a long walk, darling. Not overdone it, have you?’
It seemed to Mayo she was a little too anxious, a trifle over-demonstrative, and apparently Holden thought so, too, from the way in which he good-temperedly waved away her solicitous inquiries. ‘Do sit down, Gina, and don’t fuss.’
The Headmaster had a quiet but authoritative way of speaking. He was a man of medium height and slight build, with a witty, mobile face and two wings of grey hair either side of a bald one, whom Mayo guessed to be nearly twenty years older than his wife. He gave the impression of being a man with a tolerant outlook on life, a calmly efficient headmaster, but underlying that he seemed tired, with a deep inner exhaustion that was more than the physical results of an over-long walk. As though Antibes, with its long, lazy, sun-soaked days beckoned.
The dog came back, flopped heavily beside its master and rested its slobbering chops on Mayo’s shoe. Holden gently moved the dog’s head with his foot, stirred his coffee and said, ‘We were all very shocked to hear about poor Willard. I suppose it’s certain – that he was killed, I mean? After all, he wasn’t well, and an old man like that, it was always on the cards ...’
‘The post-mortem this morning proved otherwise.’ Deep cyanotic congestion of the lungs and other organs had been found, and led to the conclusion that Cecil Willard had died by asphyxiation in conditions consistent with some soft object having obstructed the nose and mouth. Mayo told his listeners in plainer language what the result was, omitting to say what the means had been. There was a silence. Gina Holden looked horrified, her husband grave and thoughtful. ‘So at the moment we’re concentrating on finding out what everyone in the village was doing yesterday.’
‘And that includes us, here?’ Holden said. ‘Well, we were having an open day and all the staff were here until late afternoon – except for Gina, who had to rush off to do her thing with the church flowers –’
‘I’ve told them about that, Richard.’
‘– and Illingworth, who’s at a conference near Brighton.’
‘No, he’s not,’ his wife said. ‘He should be back here by now. Miriam Thorne rang him first thing this morning and told him what had happened and he was going to set off immediately.’ When Mayo told her they had already seen Illingworth, she seemed pleased. ‘That’s good. Laura’s going to need all the support she can get.’
Holden frowned. ‘I can’t see the course organizers being overjoyed about that. It was very much over-subscribed and they weren’t too happy about him opting out of the Friday night session.’
‘Oh, surely, in a case like this –’ his wife was beginning, when at that moment the doorbell extension sounded. Hastily excusing herself to answer it, she crossed the lawn, the dog leaping and bounding in front of her. Her husband’s eyes followed her graceful stride.
Mayo said, ‘Will you give me the names of your staff, Mr Holden? All of them, I think, although for the moment we’re only concerned with those who were here yesterday.’
‘Not the boys, I hope?’
‘Not unless I have to – nor the parents who were here either, at this stage.’
If the investigation warranted it, they would certainly have to be questioned, but for now he was restricting any interviewing to those members of the staff who were present yesterday.
Holden gave the requisite names, which included most of the masters, Miriam Thorne and the matron, and some of the wives who were helping out on this occasion by superintending the serving of tea and sandwiches provided by the kitchen staff, all of whom lived in the village. Holden smiled as he confirmed what Miriam Thorne had told Mayo. ‘That’s right, we do try to be flexible about duties here.’
From the house came the sound of a piano. It was Rachmaninov, the melodic theme from his second piano concerto, played competently but, to Mayo’s ears, with more verve than sensitivity. They listened in silence for a minute or two, until Holden remarked that if Mayo wished to talk to the staff, he was welcome to do so. ‘That sounds like one of them now – Jon Reece, our geography master. It’s rather a nice piano Gina has and she lets him use it whenever he wants.’ He smiled slightly. ‘Women seem to fall over themselves to do things for Jon.’
‘Which has to be useful for a headmaster,’ remarked Mayo. It was a gift some men seemed to have, he’d noticed – headmasters and clergyman in particular – of having a string of excellent and willing women at their beck and call.
‘Headmaster? Hm. I suppose Gina’s been telling you he’s a candidate. It’s very much on her mind at the moment. It is unsettling ... ought really to have been decided some time since, there’s been far too much shilly-shallying. We had several very worthy applicants but we’ve now got it down to a short list of two from our own staff and I think, unless this unfortunate business delays things further – Willard was one of our governors, you know – we should settle it fairly quickly.’
‘It would help if I could build up a picture of what the dead man was like. From the general opinion so far, I’ve gathered that he wasn’t much liked. What did you think, Mr Holden?’
Holden said thoughtfully, ‘It’s true that he was a difficult man to get on with in many ways, more so since his stroke, but that can’t be a complete judgement. He was an exceptional teacher and he inspired great loyalty in the boys he taught, so he couldn’t have been all bad.’
Sebastian Oliver had also been coached by Willard and had apparently felt the same, Mayo reflected.
‘His problem was that he tended to judge everyone by his own high standards – and as his faith, it always seemed to me, sprang from reason rather than the heart, he gave the impression of coldness. He told me that he entered the Church because he’d always been intended for it by his clergyman father. But I fancy he believed what he often preached – that he saw Christian principles as the only rational extension of a thoughtful and disciplined life. He was a parish priest only briefly. Teaching history, research, publishing the occasional monograph was much more congenial to him.’
‘As far as appointing the new Headmaster, which candidate did Mr Willard favour, Mr Holden?’
‘Oh come, you can’t expect me to know that!’
‘Or to tell me if you did?’
Holden smiled slightly. ‘As a matter of fact, it’s been a difficult decision for everyone. Neither one stands out above the other. David Illingworth, our senior science master, has a brilliant academic record, he held a research fellowship at Cambridge before he came here and I’ve no doubts about his administrative capabilities. The boys respect him but I sometimes wonder if they don’t stand rather too much in awe of him. He’s not inclined to suffer fools gladly. Perhaps he’ll mellow when he marries Laura. Whereas Jon Reece ... He’s very popular with the boys, especially with the younger ones, and he’s been here longer. Teaches geography and sometimes takes games, but he’s willing to involve himself with a lot of after-school activities as well. Full of enthusiasm and drive. So, it’s wide open. The choice is very important to me, as you might guess. I’ve worked as Head of this school for eight years and it’s been my life. I had hoped for longer, but ...’ He shrugged philosophically, though it was evidently a subject painful to him. ‘Uplands House isn’t yet in the top league but its reputation is growing and I need to know it’s in the right hands when I go.’
Mayo had the impression that he was struggling too hard to be honest and impartial, trying not to show where his own sympathies lay. ‘Is Mr Reece married?’ he asked.
‘No. My wife says there was talk of him and Laura at one time, but if so it never came to anything,’ Holden said absently, still following his own train of thought as he went on, ‘I’ll be frank with you – I shall heave a sigh of relief when this is all over. I dislike very much the rivalry and lobbying that’s been going on. Two factions have developed, both within the school and the governing body and frankly, I haven’t enough energy to spare for coping with it.’
The music had stopped. He stood
up. ‘Would you like to talk to Reece now?’
They were bending together over the piano as the three men entered the house, Gina Holden laughing at something Jon Reece had said. Very tall and athletically loose-limbed, looking extremely healthy, wearing tracksuit and trainers, he swung round on the piano stool as they came in and Holden introduced them. Mayo found himself towered over, his hand gripped until it felt numb. When it was free he waved it at as much to get the circulation going again as to invite Reece to reseat himself.
The geography master’s fair hair was slightly damp and there came from him a faintly sweaty odour, as though he’d recently been undertaking some form of violent exercise. He responded to the questions put to him in a manner that was likeable and open. He had a lock of hair which fell boyishly over his eye.
When told they were trying to establish where everyone was between 6.0 and 6.30 the previous day and asked what time he had been free of his obligations he replied with a grin that he’d scarpered thankfully as soon as the last parent had departed, which would be at about – ‘What, ten to six?’ he asked, looking at Holden for confirmation.
‘Quarter to. We left the main building together and I came straight back here to wait for Gina.’
‘That’s right, we did. Then I went straight back to my flat, intending to have a quick shower and a drink before supper duty at half past six. I don’t live in the main building,’ he explained, ‘I’m lucky enough to have a flat over the old stables.’
‘Good, that takes care of times then, for both of you,’ Mayo said. ‘Mr Reece, as you’ll appreciate, we’re interested in anybody Mr Willard happened to know. Have much to do with him, did you?’
‘I suppose I knew him fairly well, yes. We actually taught at the same school for a short spell, years ago.’
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