Cotswold Mystery, A

by Rebecca Tope

  ‘Which would explain why she isn’t kept completely under lock and key,’ Jessica nodded. ‘When I first met her, I thought she should be in some sort of home.’

  Thea winced. ‘Where she could never again go and watch birds building their nests,’ she said forcibly. ‘Kept sedated and patronised around the clock.’

  ‘OK,’ Jessica held up a hand. ‘I get the idea.’ She glanced at her book. ‘I was hoping I could have a few minutes to revise a bit. Is that very selfish of me?’ She squinted at her mother doubtfully.

  ‘Haven’t you finished with all that classroom stuff? I thought it was all practical now.’

  ‘It is, but I still have to know it.’ She flourished the book. ‘It isn’t enough just to pass the assessment and then forget it all. I have to keep refreshing my memory.’

  ‘I see,’ muttered Thea. ‘Very commendable. I bet none of the others spend their time off “refreshing their memories”.’

  ‘I don’t care what the others do.’ Jessica sighed. ‘To be honest, I’m worried they might send me back to the classroom after what happened last week. They might think I’m not ready to be let loose on the streets.’

  ‘Does that ever happen? It sounds pretty unlikely to me.’

  ‘I don’t know. And I’m scared to ask.’

  ‘James didn’t say anything, then?’

  ‘Not about the course, no. He did his best to reassure me. All the usual stuff about everybody making mistakes.’

  ‘Which is true, of course.’

  ‘Except—’ Jessica gave up, and let the textbook drop to the floor. ‘Except I can’t imagine ever having the nerve to go to a real incident again. It’s too messy. Nothing happens according to the book. People are impossibly unpredictable. And there’s so much we’re not allowed to do.’ She turned a tormented face to her mother. ‘I have been thinking a bit about what you said earlier on, you know. Some of it might be right. I don’t want to spend my working life torn by ethical dilemmas and seen as the enemy by my own mother.’

  Thea writhed and tried to interrupt, but Jessica forged on. ‘I think I might just give the whole thing up and find something else to do. Maybe law. I could be a solicitor.’

  ‘Where practically everything happens by the book,’ said Thea drily. ‘How dull would that be?’ Her sudden flare of hope that Jess might actually leave the police was quickly doused by concern for the girl’s loss of confidence and sense of purpose.

  ‘The way I feel now, I might prefer dullness to all this – anguish.’

  Thea bit back the easy words of consolation that she instinctively felt like offering. She had not especially wanted Jess to go into the police. Not many mothers would, she suspected. But she had only gradually come to see it as a threat to their relationship. And that was perverse, given that she was the girlfriend of one senior police detective and the sister-in-law of another. With Jessica it was different. The constant danger was an obvious anxiety, but it was more the unsavoury influences that could so easily blunt a young woman’s spirit that Thea feared. Her daughter had been a fairly average teenager. She had not joined political protests or raged about the state of the planet. She had shown little passion about anything, as far as her mother could see. There had been two boyfriends, but both had been labelled ‘annoying’ after a few weeks. Shortly before Carl was killed, Jessica had written from university saying she had enrolled for a short course in Latin, which would run just for a year and count for a handful of points towards her degree. ‘It’s like nothing else I’m doing,’ she’d written. ‘A complete change from Sociology and Economics. I could never have guessed what fun it could be.’

  But when Carl died, she missed too many Latin classes and never took it up again. Thea hadn’t given it another thought, in her own black hole of grief.

  ‘Can you remember why you opted for the police in the first place?’ she asked.

  Jessica shrugged. ‘To please Uncle James, probably.’

  ‘Don’t give me that. James never put any pressure on you. He was always very good about it. None of us knew how delighted he was until after you got accepted. It came from you, and don’t pretend otherwise.’

  ‘Well, I don’t remember why I wanted to do it, now. Something about a challenge, and being a bit different from the rest of the crowd.’ She looked up. ‘I got full marks in the Law module you know. I could be a lawyer instead.’

  ‘It’s entirely up to you,’ said Thea, knowing how irritating she was being.

  ‘Thanks for the support,’ Jessica muttered with a scowl.

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ snapped Thea.

  The tension was not so much broken as diverted by the manic jingling of Thea’s mobile. She rummaged in her bag for it, feeling as if she’d been wrong-footed in some way.

  ‘Hello,’ she said briskly.

  ‘Thea? It’s me. Just to say how good it was to see you today. I’d been missing you.’

  Her response to the soft romance in his voice was far from what Phil might have been expecting. He’s too old for all this, she thought. And so am I. It should be my daughter having mushy phonecalls, not me.

  ‘I’d only been here two days,’ she said. ‘We often go longer than that between seeing each other.’

  ‘True,’ he agreed. ‘But I was anxious about you doing another house-sit. You know how accident prone you can be.’

  ‘Phil, I’m not actually in a very good mood at the moment. That’s the trouble with telephones – they never sense the atmosphere, do they? It’s not your fault, but you’re managing to say all the wrong things.’

  ‘Oh!’

  Yes, yes, I know – honesty hurts. I ought to be able to switch on the sweet nothings at a moment’s notice. She gritted her teeth. Suddenly she seemed to be surrounded by landmines, and with every step her temper grew shorter.

  ‘Sorry, Phil. It isn’t you at all. And yes, it was very nice to see you so unexpectedly. But I’m actually not at all accident prone. I thought we agreed months ago that by its nature, house-sitting involves walking into the unknown. When people go away, they create opportunities for other people to misbehave.’

  ‘Right. And that puts you at risk.’

  ‘And I’ve got a big strong police probationer daughter to watch out for me. And a ferociously intelligent cocker spaniel for good measure.’

  The jokiness must have reassured him. ‘Oh, I don’t know what I’m to do with you,’ he said lightly.

  ‘Don’t do anything,’ she said, not quite knowing what she meant by that. All she knew was that she felt an urge to push him away, at least enough to let in a bit more air and light. She knew that he was starting to think they should set up home together, and that she came over cold whenever she tried to imagine it. And that the conversation about it was drawing inexorably closer with every passing day.

  ‘I really want to take you to lunch one day this week,’ he persisted. ‘At that Churchill Arms place in Paxford, preferably. Jessica would like it,’ he added unfairly.

  ‘That would be lovely,’ she said. ‘Jess leaves on Thursday, though, so you haven’t got many days to choose from.’

  ‘I’ll give it top priority,’ he said firmly. ‘Work permitting,’ he added, as he so often did.

  ‘OK then. We’ll await your pleasure.’

  She terminated the call and looked at her daughter. ‘Phil’s taking us to the Paxford place as soon as he can get away,’ she said. ‘Is that all right?’

  ‘Why are you so horrible to him?’ Jess was staring accusingly at her. ‘He’s a perfectly nice man, and you treat him like dirt.’

  Thea shook her head wearily. ‘Don’t you start,’ she begged. ‘I was only being honest with him. What’s the point of a relationship where you can’t be honest?’

  Jessica rolled her eyes, and leant off the sofa to retrieve her police textbook from the floor.

  The scratchy atmosphere was sustained for another hour, during which Thea mainly stayed in the kitchen, giving Hepzie her supper and sitting at the t
able with a Chat magazine she had found in the living room. It seemed an odd journal for the Montgomerys to have in their house, given that most of the stories in it concerned people famous for going to parties and having a lot of love affairs. It was only halfway through that she understood. A half-page photograph featured the two young celebrities from The Crown the previous evening. The caption was unambiguous:

  Supermodel CLEODIE MASON captured last week at Annabel’s with her new beau ICARUS BINNS.

  Underneath, a small piece of text elaborated further.

  Thea examined the photograph with minimal curiosity. What must it be like, she wondered, to have one’s every move followed by mindless journalists who produced simpering pieces of prose like this? Had they known what they were getting into when they set out to become famous? Did either of them have a scrap of genuine talent to justify the money and attention that they now wallowed in?

  Thinking to smooth things over with Jessica, she took the magazine into the living room. ‘Look what I found,’ she said.

  Jessica had evidently arrived at the same resolution to effect a rapprochement. With a smile, she took the magazine. ‘Oh!’ she chirped. ‘How exciting. Do you think they’re still here, then? In Blockley, I mean? Is this where their Cotswold hideaway is?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Thea. ‘But Ick seemed to know his way around when I saw him on Saturday. And they were obviously staying last night at The Crown.’

  ‘I hope we see them again. I might get to talk to him.’ Jessica’s eyes sparkled and she looked about fourteen. ‘Imagine that. Icarus Binns!’

  ‘It makes me feel horribly old,’ Thea confessed. ‘I’ve honestly never heard of him. Too much Radio Four and BBC2, I suppose.’

  ‘You never were into that sort of thing,’ Jessica said kindly. ‘You always took more interest in the past. Dusty old history, I used to call it.’

  ‘Did you? I never noticed.’

  ‘Only to myself,’ laughed Jessica. ‘I was glad, really. My friend Caz’s mum was a rally driver and never at home. I preferred you to that a thousand times over.’

  ‘That’s good to hear. I think I might have relished a rally driver for a mother, actually.’

  ‘And Fran’s mum was a headcase. She spent most of the time in hospital. Imagine that!’

  ‘I remember her. Poor thing. I used to worry that I’d have to have Fran to live with us.’

  ‘Oh, well,’ Jessica shrugged. ‘You didn’t push the history down my throat, after all. And it was nice when you’d stop the car and point out some crumbling old building where a famous speech was made or a riot happened in 1809. You seemed to have quite a thing about riots. I used to lie awake at night and try to imagine what they were like.’

  ‘Good God! The things one never knows about one’s children.’

  They both laughed, harmony restored.

  At seven, during a discussion about their evening meal, they had a visitor. Thea opened the door warily, to find a man she only half recognised, standing on the doorstep. He ducked his head, in a strange echo of an old-fashioned bow, and said, ‘Good evening. We met briefly this morning, although it was your – daughter, is she? – was the one I spoke to. My name is Thomas Sewell. I was a good friend of Julian’s.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Of course. Would you like to come in?’

  ‘Only if it isn’t a bother. I shouldn’t be troubling you like this, I know. But the young lady did say I might – It’s just – I was so very fond of Julian, and you two saw him – I mean, yesterday – I understand – I was wondering…’

  Thea was slow to grasp the import of what he was saying, but Jessica, appearing behind her, caught on instantly. ‘You mean we saw the body,’ she said. ‘Actually, it was only me.’

  ‘Oh!’ The old man’s face looked loose and grey, his eyes large and heavy in their sockets. Everything about him, from his pendulous belly to the wattles under his chin sagged and dragged downwards. ‘Yes. His body.’ The eyes became wet, the low lip tremulous.

  ‘Come in,’ Thea ordered briskly. ‘Have a cup of tea, or some sherry or something.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He entered the house on shaky legs, and sat down in the first chair he came to. Thea recalled the way he had comported himself on Saturday, his back straight, his gaze direct, and marvelled at such a collapse.

  ‘You must be very upset,’ she said awkwardly. For the first time, she experienced a pang of sorrow for the death of Julian Jolly, a man she had never known or even seen. He had had friends, and family and been loved at least by this old man.

  ‘The police have been asking questions, of course,’ he said, staring at the floor. ‘Anybody they could find who knew Jules, I suppose. I’ve known him for fifty years.’

  Thea exchanged glances with her daughter. It surprised her to think that these two men might have spent all their lives in Blockley. Like most Cotswold villages and small towns, there was a sense of impermanence amongst the residents. The buildings outlasted their occupants by a dramatic margin. They were briefly inhabited by people like Icarus Binns, not used as lifelong homes.

  ‘Oh?’ she said. ‘Were you always here in Blockley?’

  He shook his head, confirming her first assumption. ‘Coincidence, mainly, that we both fetched up here. He spent decades working on the lost villages, and I’m a chartered surveyor. Retired,’ he added with a rueful smile. ‘Our paths crossed, as you might imagine.’

  Jessica was clanking bottles in a drinks cabinet at the further end of the room. ‘I’m sure we’re allowed to use the sherry,’ she said. ‘Aren’t we, Mum?’

  Thea shrugged. ‘Seems a bit rude,’ she said. ‘But if there is some…’

  ‘Ron won’t begrudge it,’ said Thomas Sewell. ‘He’s a generous chap. Good hearted.’

  Jessica poured a single glass of pale sherry and put it on a small table close to Thomas’s elbow. ‘We met Nick,’ she said casually. ‘Julian’s grandson. He came here this morning. You know him, I suppose?’

  ‘Barely. First met him when he was about twelve, if memory serves. Pudgy-faced lad, with jet black hair. His mother’s got a touch of the tarbrush, I fancy. Indian – something like that.’

  Thea saw Jessica tense at this unreconstructed reference to race.

  ‘Doesn’t he – didn’t he, I mean – come here quite often to see his grandad? I rather got that impression.’ Thea smiled, hoping she didn’t sound like another police intervewer.

  Thomas nodded slightly. ‘Might have done. He’s taken up the same line of work, which Jules was glad about.’

  ‘Archaeology?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘And you were working with Julian on a book? Have I got that right, too?’

  The blank look suggested otherwise. ‘Book? Where did you get that idea?’

  ‘I think Mrs Gardner said something to that effect.’

  One or two pennies appeared to drop. ‘We were doing a bit of research,’ he said tightly. ‘That must be it. You don’t want to listen to everything Gladys tells you. I rather assumed you’d have worked that out by this time.’

  ‘He had a big file on Joanna Southcott, according to my daughter, and we saw the plaque further along the street. We’ve been meaning to look her up on the Internet, seeing that she appears to be Blockley’s claim to fame.’

  The old man’s rheumy eyes acquired a momentary gleam of interest. ‘Great woman, badly neglected. But I can’t pretend I’ve ever encouraged Julian’s researches in that direction. A bit too close to whimsy for my liking. Attracts the wrong sort of person altogether.’

  ‘Oh?’

  But Thomas had lapsed back into his grief, reminding Thea of Granny and her inability to stick to the subject in hand. ‘I won’t know how to carry on without Jules,’ he moaned.

  ‘Give yourself time,’ Thea tried to soothe him. ‘It’s all very raw at the moment. More sherry?’

  She chose to interpret the ambivalent nod as acceptance, and signalled to Jessica to refill his glass.
‘Did he have any other family? Besides Nick, I mean?’

  ‘Abroad, mostly. And there’s his mother.’

  Thea thought she had misheard. ‘Mother? Surely…? I mean…’

  ‘She’s in a home in Bristol. Ninety-nine, she is. She and I used to get along famously. Still do, when I can get there for a visit. We go in the Rolls, you see, and take her out for a spin.’

  Thea had forgotten the Rolls. ‘What’s going to happen to it now? The car?’

  ‘It comes to me,’ he said simply. ‘But it won’t be the same without Julian to drive it.’

  For a daft moment, Thea ran a scenario where Thomas had killed his friend for the sake of the car. But it was quashed by his unmistakeable sadness.

  ‘I expect I shouldn’t have come,’ he went on heavily. ‘You must be finding the whole business bewildering.’ He looked at Jessica. ‘But you were kind this morning, and seemed, if I may say so, to have some understanding. It is right that you’re a police officer?’ He squinted at her from beneath bushy eyebrows. ‘They say the police get younger every year.’ He attempted a smile that might have been roguish in happier times.

  Jessica completed the thought for him. ‘You came because you want me to tell you about his injuries? Precisely how he died? Whether he looked peaceful? That sort of thing?’

  ‘That’s right, my dear. I can’t settle, you see, until I know a little bit about how…’ His voice cracked and he dropped his head to hide his loss of control.

  ‘He must have died very quickly,’ Jessica said. ‘It wouldn’t have been completely painless, but very nearly.’

  Thea looked at her daughter in admiration. How careful she had been to omit any actual details of how the murder had been committed. Was this her police training, or an instinctive caution? It seemed to Thea unlikely that there had been any tuition in the management of murder cases in the first months of the course. Jessica was merely being intelligent, which made Thea feel even more proud of her.