by Rebecca Tope
‘That’s what I said. It’s going to be the joke of the Cotswolds when people get to know about it. But he’s only here on a temporary contract. He wants to get a much busier parish, preferably in a city.’
‘And you’d go with him, would you?’
‘If he wanted me to, of course I would. Thea – nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I’d swim the Atlantic to be with him, I’d walk barefoot from here to China, I’d—’
‘Yes, I get the idea,’ said Thea, with a forced laugh. ‘How do you get on with the daughter?’
‘Daisy? I haven’t met her yet.’ A certain vagueness had come into Ariadne’s eyes. ‘But I’m knitting this for her.’ She held up the work – a patterned rectangle that looked rather small to Thea’s inexpert eye. ‘It’s a waistcoat. This is the back.’
‘She’s seven, isn’t she? Have you got her size right?’
Ariadne gazed at the knitting. ‘I did have to guess, but Peter says she’s quite small for her age.’
‘I’m sure she’ll love it. The colours are wonderful.’ There was a rich chestnut brown, combined with a natural white and a shade of yellow reminiscent of Cotswold stone.
‘She’s not his, you know. I mean – her father was an African. She’s not mixed race.’
‘Oh?’ Thea struggled to remember the exact words with which Peter had disclosed the child’s existence. She had certainly assumed she was biologically his. ‘Sounds a bit complicated.’
Ariadne chuckled. ‘What isn’t complicated where families are concerned?’
‘So you haven’t heard about his brother?’ Thea found herself almost hoping she had this modest, if unpleasant, advantage on her friend. It would be a small recompense for the shocked disappointment she was feeling.
‘What – you mean the one that got himself killed on Saturday? Of course I’ve heard. Peter’s dreadfully upset about it. The police have been all over him, wanting to know everything about their history.’ She paused, and Thea watched her friend remember the events of the previous November. ‘You must be feeling a bit sick about that – another murder, I mean,’ she said sympathetically. ‘I know I am. After what happened last year, I never thought I’d have to go through anything like this again.’
‘Neither of us is directly involved this time, though, are we?’
‘The ripples spread wide,’ said Ariadne, sounding as if she was quoting. ‘I gather Phil’s leading the investigation?’
‘Not exactly. He’s still not entirely fit.’
‘Why? What’s wrong with him?’
‘He slipped a disc a few months ago, and hasn’t been working full time since then.’
‘Poor old man. I bet he hates that.’
‘He’s not happy.’ Thea felt trapped in a multitude of betrayals. She had unholy feelings towards Ariadne’s new lover, which meant she was not playing fair by Phil – who had once been the object of Ariadne’s adoration. Maybe we can just swop men, she thought wildly.
‘So – how’s life with you?’ Ariadne asked. The question was posed with a slight rise of the eyebrows and tilt of the head, encouraging, whilst aware that the answer might be painful.
‘For a start, there’s my father: he died last week. We had the funeral on Friday. Everybody else is OK. Jessica’s still doing her probationary training. Phil and I had a week or so in Temple Guiting in June. That’s where he hurt his back.’
‘And unearthed a human skeleton. Yes, I heard about that.’
‘I expect you did,’ Thea sighed.
‘So where next – assuming you’re still going to do this house-sitting stuff.’
‘I am. I’m in the middle of Stow in September for a week, then Hampnett in January for nearly a month. I can’t say I’m looking forward to that.’
‘Blimey! I hope they’re paying well. You could be snowed in. You’ll go mad.’
‘Well, you’ll just have to come and visit me, won’t you? I’m hoping I can find one or two people to stay with me, at least for a bit.’
‘I’ll come if I’m still around,’ Ariadne promised. ‘But I’m not making any firm plans. Peter’s time here finishes at the end of the year.’
‘Oh.’
Thea glanced at her watch, mindful of the dog in the warm car, and lunchtime almost upon them. ‘Listen – I had the idea of going for a look at the hotel where Peter’s brother was staying. I suppose they do lunches for non-residents, don’t they?’
Ariadne pulled a dubious face and looked down at her skimpy clothes. ‘It’s terribly posh. I couldn’t go like this. Besides, they’re sure to want you to book in advance. And the price! It’s the last place I’d think of going, to be honest. Plus, isn’t it a bit ghoulish to want to go there.’ She sucked her lower lip for a moment. ‘You want to get involved, don’t you? Helping the police with their enquiries takes on a whole new meaning with you, Thea Osborne. You missed your vocation, didn’t you.’ There was a sting behind the words that Thea couldn’t fail to detect.
She nodded carelessly. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ With the other woman’s gaze still on her, she forced a laugh. ‘I mean, right about the hotel. I’m not sure about the rest of it.’
‘I’m right about everything. You have no reason to concern yourself with a dead professor, even if you are staying close to where he was killed. Just butt out, for once. Do yourself a favour.’
‘I wish I could,’ she sighed. Then, ‘Did you ever meet him?’
Ariadne shook her head. ‘Peter hardly knew him, really. They’d barely seen each other at all over the past ten years.’
‘Yes, that’s what he told me,’ Thea said carelessly.
Ariadne gave her a sharp look. ‘Did he? Have you been talking to him about it, then?’
Thea took a deep breath. ‘I might as well tell you, I suppose. It was my sister, Emily, who called the police. She was there when he died. She heard the fight that killed him.’
Ariadne’s expression revealed the complicated processes that arose from this disclosure. Bewilderment, disbelief, suspicion and finally fury. ‘Damn you, Thea Osborne,’ she hissed. ‘Why do you have to spoil it all by telling me that?’
‘Well—’ Thea stammered, thoroughly shaken, ‘I—’
‘Shut up,’ Ariadne snapped. ‘Shut up and go away.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
When she thought about it more calmly, in the car, Thea could understand something of Ariadne’s reaction. Anything that might rock her new love affair would be regarded with a defensive rage. But it had still been unexpected and peculiar. Shouldn’t Ariadne have been curious, at least? Perhaps even concerned for Emily and ruefully amused at Thea’s apparent inability to stay clear of violent crime, even by association. Instead, she had thrust her visitor away from her, almost physically, a powerful instinct controlling her. There had been alarm just below the surface and something almost like disgust.
A wave of loneliness swept through her, at the thought that Ariadne might never speak to her again. She had forgotten how appealing the woman was, how insightful and gentle. Seeing her in the throes of a passionate affair had been a delightful surprise, in the few moments before she knew who the other person was. But now it had all turned sour, and she had no idea where to turn next.
She drove back along the A429, turning off to the left along the first of the roads leading to the Slaughters. A right fork took her along the quiet lane that passed Hawkhill and then on to Upper Slaughter. What, she wondered again, had Emily done exactly on Saturday? The distances were all so short, missing a turn that took her north to Upper Slaughter instead of south to the main road would become apparent within a few minutes.
Emily’s account of the time span of her adventure had been hazy. Thea had not questioned her about it, not regarding it as a very important element in the story, but wouldn’t her sister have made a bigger point if it had all happened within five minutes of leaving Hawkhill? Had she really driven round in disorientating circles for half an hour, until almost back where she began?
In an attempt to check the probability of this, Thea herself started to take random turnings, starting with a right that led straight through the middle of Upper Slaughter. Trying to envisage Emily’s efforts to get back to the main road to the south, she waited for another right turn, which took her directly into Lower Slaughter less than a mile away. This in itself was potentially confusing, with the road veering sharply to the left and then right, with a junction where it was just possible that Emily would have gone the wrong way, taking a curving lane back to the small road which Thea had been on ten minutes previously, instead of heading back to the A429.
In the dark, all this would be difficult, even mildly alarming. Not far from the final junction, she passed the gates of the extremely grand Manor Hotel, which stood imposingly at the end of a broad drive. How could she ever have contemplated turning up here in search of lunch? The idea was lunatic. The place was so select and self-confident that there was virtually nothing to indicate its identity. The gates were closed, and it struck her that there might be another entrance from a different road. But there was no mistaking the fact that this was the hotel where the murdered man had been staying. And that meant the site of the slaughter was somewhere between here and the junction – a deduction confirmed by a stretch of yellow police tape across the mouth of a small layby, a few yards from a gateway where Emily must have been trying to turn her car. It was just about a mile from Hawkhill – closer than Thea had expected, or hoped.
But she had the car navigator thing – the TomTom! a voice insisted. Even if she disliked it, wouldn’t Emily have made use of it in the circumstances? If she had, then it would have told her she was going the wrong way. Wouldn’t it? If it knew where she was, and where she wanted to go, what scope could there be for such meanderings in a ragged circle around the two villages?
Perhaps it was the unpleasantness with Ariadne that caused her to reconsider everything that Emily had told her. A nasty hostile little alter ego that whispered doubts about coincidence and odd timings, and made her wonder about her own sister, began to blossom inside her. And if Emily’s story was threaded with evasions and lies, then that suggested she might have been planning to meet Sam Webster all along. She might have been well aware from the start that the dead man was him. Was it remotely thinkable that she had been having an affair with him? Or that there had been some incomprehensible business between them that led to his being murdered by somebody known to her sister? She permitted herself to give these outrageous notions some consideration, only to hit a brick wall at every turn. Emily was too much of a conformist, too obsessed with her status and image, for any such scenario to be worth a moment’s serious attention. And Thea would stake her own status and credibility on the sure and certain knowledge that Emily had not known the dead man was Sam Webster. Her tone during Monday’s phone conversation convinced her of that much at least. Whatever else she might have fibbed about, that single fact was rock solid in Thea’s mind.
She had missed lunch without even noticing, hunger finally sending her into Stow for some hasty food shopping. It was well past two when she got back to Hawkhill and let the dog out of the car for some much needed exercise. Before she had taken a step away from her car, another vehicle followed her into the yard.
It was Phil, peering at her from under the lowered sun visor, his face serious. She was aware of a need to rally herself, to assemble her thoughts and guard her emotions. Her boyfriend suddenly seemed threatening, a source of anxiety and shame. How sad, she thought, forcing herself to smile.
‘Where’ve you been?’ he demanded. ‘I was waiting for you.’
‘Were you?’ She frowned. ‘But you’ve only just got here.’
‘No, I haven’t. I was parked across the road, where I could keep an eye on things. You came from the other direction,’ he added accusingly.
‘So?’
‘So I suspect you’ve been trying to do a bit of detecting for yourself. Where have you been?’
She tried to review her route since leaving the main road. ‘Shopping, actually. I passed this spot twenty minutes ago. You weren’t here then. I’d have noticed.’
He shrugged. ‘Never mind that now.’ He seemed to be making some sort of effort. ‘It’s nice to see you,’ he offered.
‘And you.’
They were like two particularly wooden actors, trying to present themselves as lovers. It wouldn’t have convinced anybody. Even Hepzie seemed to be eyeing them with a degree of scepticism.
‘So what’s been happening?’ he asked her.
‘Well, the Galton man came back last night, very heavy and intimidating. If you hadn’t been here on Sunday he’d have shot the dogs, you know. He said as much. He still wants them destroyed.’
Phil was a lot less alarmed by this than she would have liked. ‘He does have a point. Have you ever seen a sheep after dogs have been at it? It’s sickening. Plus they were his rams – worth hundreds of quid each, probably. It could delay next year’s lambing, and lose him thousands. You can’t blame him for being angry.’
‘No, but he doesn’t have to take it out on innocent animals. Do you know a man called Lister, by the way?’
He paused and then shook his head. ‘Who is he?’
‘Apparently it was him who dobbed us in it. I met him a few minutes after the dogs escaped, and he must have gone straight over to Galton and told him. Nasty little man – I didn’t like him, even at the time.’
‘And the other little matter? Where a man was kicked to death less than a mile away? Have you thought any more about that?’
‘Oh yes. For a start, you never told me how close to this place it was. I’d imagined something miles away. That hotel is this side of Upper Slaughter, and I see the scene of the crime is even closer.’
‘That’s right. Practically within shouting distance, you might say.’
She shuddered. ‘Well, I didn’t hear any shouting. I was in the house with the curtains drawn, minding my own business.’
‘Quite right,’ he approved, his expression slightly warmer.
‘Oh, and guess who I saw this morning.’ Here was safer ground at last, she thought. Knowing he wouldn’t even try to guess, she went on, ‘Ariadne. Your boyhood chum from Cold Aston.’ And then she realised it wasn’t really safer ground at all.
‘She wasn’t my chum when I was a boy. I was nearly twenty when I first met her.’
‘Really? I thought it was younger. Whatever – she’s doing all right for herself these days.’
‘Has she still got those terrible stripes in her hair?’
‘Not at all. It’s completely different now.’ She found she did not want to say any more, the subject of the Reverend Peter Clarke to be avoided at all costs.
‘And was she pleased to see you?’
‘At first, yes. But then – well, we don’t really have anything in common, after all. I didn’t stay very long.’
‘Thea,’ he sighed. ‘You’re being very strange today. I know, of course, that Mary – Ariadne – is seeing Peter Clarke. He’s the murder victim’s brother. We’ve been delving into his life from every angle since Sunday morning. Obviously, he’s a suspect. Apart from anything else, he’s next of kin and stands to inherit a very nice house in Oxford and a healthy bank account.’
She felt cornered, and reacted with all the defensiveness of an irate rat. ‘I didn’t know whether to believe her. It seems such an unlikely relationship. Him a vicar and her a practising pagan. Besides, she’s bigger than him.’
‘You’ve met him?’ The astonishment in his eyes was almost funny.
‘Twice, actually.’
‘Well, I have to admit you work quickly. Does he know about you and Emily being sisters?’
‘Yes.’
‘I suppose it all seems nice and symmetrical to you. I suppose he was all blue-eyed charm and wounded brotherly feelings.’
The scorn in his tone startled her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The man’s a disgrace to hi
s cloth. Ten years ago he was within inches of being defrocked, or whatever they call it, and managed to wangle a stay of execution on condition he buggered off to Africa. The trouble is, the Anglican Church is every bit as rigorous and righteous in Zambia as it is here – more so, if anything. His smarmy ways finally got on their nerves as well, and he was sent packing at the end of last year.’
‘You can’t fire somebody for being smarmy,’ she objected.
‘He’s worse than that. He’s a liar and a cheat. He got involved in a very dodgy adoption agency, finding homes for AIDS orphans, with a lot of money changing hands.’
Thea reran her exchange with Peter, his obvious suffering, his natural friendly manner. It failed totally to gel with what Phil was telling her. ‘No,’ she said. ‘You must have got it wrong. What about his little girl, and his dead wife?’
‘Oh yes, there’s a dead wife all right. The child isn’t his, though. Do you know where she is now?’
Thea shook her head.
‘At boarding school in Cheltenham. At seven years old, in a strange country. Paid for by the long-suffering C of E.’
‘But it’s summer. She can’t be at school now.’
‘Right. But is she with her devoted Daddy? Not a bit of it. She’s parked with his very ancient mother, who probably doesn’t know what’s hit her.’
‘But his mother’s senile! And the child is legally his. He adopted her when he married her mother, who is now dead of AIDS.’
His eyes widened. ‘My God, you did have a long talk with him, didn’t you? You’ve got the whole story out of him. In fact, the mother’s not senile at all, just old. We found her and the child playing a nifty game of ping-pong in the garden when we went to see her.’
Of course, Thea realised, the police would have to speak to Webster’s mother. Peter Clarke’s prevarications about informing her what had happened had been groundless. The falsities in what he had told her were emerging too quickly for her to assimilate. One factor stood above the others. ‘Poor Ariadne!’ she gasped. ‘He’s stringing her along, then? It’s all some sort of horrible act?’