“He probably did it in a fit of anger, probably didn’t really mean to,” Geoffrey said, in a softer voice.
“He is bad, bad, bad. Gran said he was no good.”
“And we think he wanted to do away with you too, Jamie, with poisoned chocolates. I’m sorry.”
“But why? ’Cos I’m slow?”
“No, because he was afraid you’d tell people your story and they’d know what happened.”
“He said people would say I was mad if I told the story. I was scared of staying in that place forever. I didn’t understand about anything, even Gran being killed not asleep, because I’m slow. I am stupid.” Jamie’s cry of despair sent him to his knees where Rosie joined him and wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek on his head.
“You are not stupid, Jamie, you just think the best of everyone, and not everyone is good, you have to understand that. Get up, old chap!” It came out rougher than he intended. Emotional scenes stretched his boundaries and he could only tolerate so much.
“How do you know he wanted to kill me? What’s that about the chocolates?” Jamie stood over him now, his body rigid, his stare intense.
“Because the chocolates were sent to you. But Alan took them and ate them. They had something called poison in them, something that made Alan die.”
“You mean Alan died for me?”
“Instead of you. But it was not your fault. Roy was the one who put the poison in the chocolates, and Alan was the one who stole them.”
“You mean all these bad things they did made bad things happen to them.”
“Yes.” Close enough.
“Is something bad going to happen to Roy? He killed my Gran, and she was kind to him. She took us in when our mums and dads went away and left us. She was very good. He should have something very bad happen to him.”
“Something bad already did, Jamie. Roy is dead too.”
“Did you kill him for me?”
“Good God no, I don’t go around killing people! Someone else did it. The police don’t know why. Do you know?”
“No.”
“Did he ever talk about anybody?”
“Just some blokes that were after him. Something about a job.”
“No names?”
“No, can’t remember any names.”
They sat for a while; Jamie’s breath still ragged as he lowered himself into a chair and closed his eyes. Rosie knelt next to him.
“Gran’s in heaven, I know that. But I don’t think Roy is good enough for heaven. And he shouldn’t be bothering Gran there, either. And not Alan, neither. Those two should be put somewhere together. I don’t really want them to go to the bad place, though.” Jamie still had his eyes closed; his voice sounded eerie, far away.
“There’s a sort of in between place, you know,” Geoffrey said, inwardly squirming at his own hypocrisy. He didn’t believe in all that mumbo-jumbo.
“Yes, that’s where Roy and Alan would be. Not one thing. And not the other.”
“Rosie, why don’t you both go back upstairs. Jamie’s got a lot to think about.” Audrey’s voice sounded small and tired.
* * *
Jamie cried into his pillow for a bit while Rosie sat on his bed not knowing what to say. He finished snuffling and blew his nose with a big honking sound.
“Ugh,” Rosie said, “that’s a horrid noise.”
“Sorry. Lots of stuff to get out.”
“Ugh,” Rosie said again. “You’re not supposed to say things like that.”
“Sorry.”
“Listen, Jamie. You’re my brother now. Or will be after the parents talk to old Chatterton and get all the boring papers done.”
“Can we get married as well?”
“Married! No, you can’t marry your sister.” Rosie felt panicky. Surely he didn’t have those kinds of feelings. Does he?
“Oh. I wanted us to get married because that way we could be together always.” He pouted.
“But we’re brother and sister now, so that means we’ll always be in the same family. Always,” Rosie said.
Jamie took a breath and blew his nose again, quietly this time. “Well, I suppose that’s better, really. Married people sometimes fight. I heard them all the time in the other flats at Gran’s.”
“Sometimes brothers and sisters fight, but that doesn’t mean they don’t love each other.”
“People fight a lot, don’t they?”
“Yes, I’m afraid they do, Jamie. But nice people who care for each other make up and go on being good friends.” Should have been a Sunday school teacher.
“We’ll be nice and good friends, won’t we, Rosie?”
“Of course. You’d better go to sleep now. Goodnight.” Sweet child.
“G’night.”
That was a relief. He hadn’t a clue about marriage. Didn’t even understand about going to bed with people, thank God. Do people like him get those kinds of feelings?
Rosie had thought she loved Robin, but he’d tried to force himself on her the evening before she broke the engagement. She’d hated that, realizing that she didn’t have those kinds of feelings for him and had been disgusted by his touching her in intimate places. He’d been irresistible at first, the way he scoffed at society’s rules. Life in a girls’ school had been so narrow, so utterly boring. He’d been absolutely beastly when she told him they were finished. Daddy’s spoiled little Lady Muck, he’d called her. It was clear now that he’d coveted the family connection, even as he’d mocked it. She’d been not quite eighteen. She felt older and wiser now—nineteen next month.
She’d been thinking about sex a lot lately, wondering what it would be like, so maybe she was going to have those feelings soon. One of the girls at school had teased her for being “a good girl,” always even tempered and never in trouble, never talking about boys and necking. She didn’t know anything about the real Rosie. She often felt out of sorts, but almost never showed it. It was especially important to be agreeable at home.
There were undercurrents in this family, tensions and a hint of secrets never aired. It was all about that little Fiona, she supposed, unless there were other secrets she didn’t know about. How could one small child have caused so many problems? She’d only been one or so. It’s not as if there had been that much time to get used to her. Some parents love too much sometimes.
Mummy hadn’t loved her all that much. She couldn’t ever remember her reading a book with her or having a cuddle. That had been Nanny’s job. Poor old Nanny who’d been shipped off to another family when Rosie went away to school. They hadn’t told her. She’d come home for half term and found Nanny gone. She wasn’t even allowed to write, and she definitely wasn’t allowed to cry. Why was that? Did they blame her for Fiona’s death? But they kept her for Rosie. Or had Mummy been jealous because Rosie had loved Nanny and Daddy best? She’d kissed and hugged Nanny goodbye the day Daddy drove her back to school. She still remembered the reproachful letter from Mummy, even though she’d crumpled it up and thrown it away immediately. She’d forgotten to go up to her room to say goodbye. It hadn’t seemed to matter at the time. Anyway, if Daddy could find his way to the front door, surely Mummy could have.
It always seemed best to keep things smooth. She hated seeing Daddy’s lips tighten when his eyes squinted with hurt, and she kept well away from Mummy when she was having one of her migraines. She noticed the way they sometimes looked at each other, though. They were still in love, even after all that dead-baby business. Poor Daddy, though, he seemed to feel he should treat Mummy as if she’d break in half at the slightest provocation. That kind of life must be nerve-wracking.
Life was boring, though. She was boring. Who on earth would want to fall in love with such a boring girl?
* * *
Geoffrey watched the moonlight play with the lace curtains. They’d forgotten to do the blackout and turn off the little lamp in the corner. He was head of civil defense in these parts and could square it with his own people, but he’d catch
hell if any of Ronnie’s chaps caught it. He’d get up in a little while and draw the heavy damask curtains. He hated the smell of those things. They got taken out for a good airing and beating each spring, but mustiness soon permeated them again.
When would this bloody war end? He’d watched a dogfight from the Barton cliffs in September. The little crowd of spectators cheered when one of the Hun planes went down first, then moaned in despair when an R.A.F. chap took a dive. There was no more cheering after that, just the stillness of mute despondency. Youngsters on both sides, all of them heroes. What a waste of young lives.
The light patterned Audrey’s closed face, now ghostly, now angelic. She opened her eyes, startling him with a soft kiss on his shoulder. He turned into her and brought her under him as he caressed her and loved her. He always felt she might break if he weren’t gentle enough, tender enough.
Later he said, “Audrey.”
“What, darling?”
“I’ve made Jamie assistant gardener.”
“That’s nice, dear.”
Always languid after lovemaking, she didn’t sound all that interested. She blew hot and cold, her thoughts unfathomable. Had he ever truly known her?
18
Geoffrey eased his estate car next to the hedge that hemmed the Chief Constable’s front garden. Ronnie hadn’t wanted to meet at his office. More cloak and dagger stuff? The front door opened almost at once, closely framing Ronnie’s wife; she must have heard the car door slam. Unattractive woman. Hairdo like a toilet brush and she always wore shapeless frocks and sensible shoes. Got a face like one of those American presidents on Mount Rushmore he’d seen in a magazine once, all craggy and visionary. Since she hadn’t a nation to lead, she focused her considerable energies on the household. No wonder Ronnie had done so well—he wouldn’t have dared do otherwise.
“Good morning, Sir Geoffrey.” And that was it, save a curt nod and a retreating back that seemed to infer he should follow it. She didn’t approve of him, he wasn’t sure why.
“Morning, Geoffrey. Do take a pew, old chap.” Oh God, Ronnie is in one of his hearty moods.
The door closed behind them with a finality that seemed to preclude any offer of hospitality.
“Geoffrey, I’m directed—at the highest levels, you understand—to recruit a few liaisons to act as eyes and ears in case of invasion.”
“So, they think we’re that badly off, do they?” Of course he knew the situation, but Ronnie didn’t know of Geoffrey’s meetings and liaisons with the Whitehall faceless. So many secrets.
“Afraid so. The shindig last summer just about knocked the R.A.F. for a loop, you know. Lost a third of them. Those poor chaps rarely lasted more than a couple of weeks flying regular missions. They’re beginning to build back up, but it’s slow. Stands to reason. I think the training’s getting a bit rudimentary, though. Not enough time, you see.”
“What a bloody mess. I’ll do whatever you need, Ronnie. Glad to do my bit, you know.” A sad business, throwing these lads to the wolves. They were only boys, boys who believed themselves invincible, believed they’d beat the odds. Pitiful.
“Good of you. We’ll go into the details later.” He puffed out his chest. “You’ll report directly to me, of course.”
“Who else did you get?”
“Can’t say. There’ll be no contact with the others. Unless we need a bit of sabotage done, of course. We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it. Not a word, mind. Not even to Audrey. What she doesn’t know, she can’t tell. Those blighters stop at nothing when they want information.”
“God Almighty! Hate to think about it in those terms.”
Ronnie stood in front of the unlit fireplace now, rocking back and forth on his heels, enjoying himself immensely. He couldn’t quite hide that little half smile under his clipped moustache. Hasn’t anyone told him it was just like Hitler’s moustache? Except Ronnie’s was a muddy sandy color, whereas Hitler’s looked pitch black in the pictures.
“Yes, well. There you are. And how’re your wardens doing? Staying on top of things?”
“Yes, in fact, I got a telling off from one of them the other day. Left my bedroom curtains open and I still had a lamp on. Bit embarrassing. Not a very good example, am I? I wanted to laugh actually. He had such a difficult time coming out with it. But he was respectful, and I apologized, promised not to do it again.”
“Heh, heh, caught you with your pants down, did he?”
“Considering I was in bed, you could say that.” Music hall humor, Ronnie, you’re showing yourself up.
“Oh sorry, didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Quite all right.” Silly ass.
Ronnie went on to tell Geoffrey what else they’d discovered about Roy Beck’s death. A search of Roy’s room had turned up some burglary tools, and though there had been a rash of burglaries in the area, they found no sign of any loot. They did find a stockpile of cash, together with a note on his table, in his handwriting, asking for another thousand pounds. Clearly a blackmail note he hadn’t delivered yet. They had an idea now who could have done it. The Dutch chap they’d been watching worked at Blexton—Bernhardt Visser. Falway had taken a quiet look at his bank account and found one withdrawal for five hundred pounds. Roy Beck didn’t have a bank account; he’d just pried up a loose floorboard. His man at Blexton hadn’t noticed anything. Useless, worse than useless, always complaining about the inmates. Not up to the job.
“Is Bernhardt Visser that chap Rosie found wandering on our estate?”
“Most likely, and perhaps Roy Beck found out what he was up to. But we have to keep watching, can’t tip our hand yet. The fellow’s probably a Nazi invasion liaison and we need to know who his contacts are.”
“We haven’t asked Jamie about Visser,” said Geoffrey.
“I doubt he can tell us anything useful. Too simple to catch on to anything important.” That easy dismissal irritated Geoffrey.
“You’d be surprised what Jamie comes out with sometimes. I’ve taken quite a liking to him. Fine young man, actually. I’m making him my ward. He’s had a sad life, and we want to make sure he’ll always be taken care of.”
“That’s very good of you.”
“He’s good for all of us … Any sign of those women?”
“Nothing. Dead ends. We talked to Dr. Gibson. We’re not going to bother exhuming the grandmother’s body, by the way. Since her killer’s dead there doesn’t seem to be much point. We’re sure he set fire to the flat, though. There were signs of charred newspapers and deep scorching outside her bedroom window. Ground-floor flat, you know.”
“Rotten cad!”
“Quite.”
* * *
Geoffrey found Jamie in the greenhouse. He watched him for a while as he thinned out seedlings, a frown creasing his whole face. He looked distressed.
“Hello, Jamie.”
“Oh, hello, Sir Geoffrey. I’m pinching the little plants out so the others have room to grow.”
“I see you are. You look upset.”
“I hate this part. It seems so cruel. They could all grow. It’s not fair.”
“I see what you mean.” The Nazis would thin out the Jamies of this world. “Jamie, I want to ask you about Bernhardt.”
“What about Bernhardt, sir?” Jamie frowned.
“Did Roy ever talk about him?”
“Well, not really. I told him what I saw Bernhardt do once, and he seemed very pleased about it.”
Geoffrey went still. “What did you see him do?”
“Who?”
“Bernhardt.”
Jamie told him about the door in the ceiling and the stairs that came down. And how he hadn’t been seen by Bernhardt but had told Roy about it. Geoffrey allowed himself an unworthy frisson of triumph. Now see who has nothing important to say, Ronnie!
“Jamie, I don’t want you to go far away from the house. I think Bernhardt may be bad, like Roy. I’ll tell Rosie to be careful too.”
The boy see
med to crumple a little, crushed by yet another disappointing revelation. People who thought they were better than him, had told him as much, turned out to be bad. Geoffrey hoped Jamie would never sink into world-weariness, would never lose his shining freshness.
“Keep up the good work, Jamie. I’ll see you at dinner. I have to ring someone up.”
19
Stanton drove them along the Ornamental Drive in the Bentley with a stately solemnity Audrey found amusing. The dear old duck took his position at the Manor with an earnestness the rest of the staff often found irksome. He had to be careful, of course, because the road was crowded with pedestrians, and they weren’t looking out for cars because only a lucky few had petrol to spare. The rhododendrons were at their peak—their enormous heads seemed jammed into the branches like bridesmaids’ posies. Stanton would drop them off at a good picnic place and run an errand for Geoffrey before coming back for them.
“I thought this was supposed to be a forest,” said Jamie. “Some trees are here, but not a lot.”
“I know it’s called the New Forest, Jamie, but it’s part forest and part moorland. Moorland is open space where the animals like to graze. Graze means feed.” She was getting used to anticipating misunderstandings.
“What animals?”
“There are many wild ponies, and they eat grass. And in some places where there are lots of oak trees, people can let their pigs out to eat the acorns. Which are the seeds that fall from the oak trees. And, of course, there are rabbits and other small creatures.”
“What’s creatures? I never heard that word for things in a forest, only for girls who walked around our streets at night. I could see them from my window. ‘Nasty, dirty creatures,’ Gran used to call them. Roy seemed to like them all right.”
Audrey didn’t dare look at Rosie, and the back of Stanton’s neck had acquired a reddish tinge. She examined her fingernails and said, “Creature is another word for animal. There are deer and foxes and badgers, but we probably won’t see any of those. They’re too shy.”
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