by Ali Carter
‘I talk to my mother when she’s in the bath but I wouldn’t like my father to come and join in too. That would be odd.’
‘We don’t still do it,’ laughed Toby at the thought. ‘Anyway, sorry for disturbing you but my phone’s completely out of juice and I was wondering if you have a laptop I can use to check my email?’
‘Of course, help yourself, it’s there on my pillow. The battery’s dud so you’ll have to keep it plugged in where it is.’ This being the best excuse I could think of to stop him leaving the room.
Toby stretched backwards and I got a flash of the tight black band on his boxer shorts. I love this style.
‘I just need to make sure there’s nothing urgent from work,’ he said.
I turned to look in the mirror and caught him having another glimpse of my lingerie in the reflection. Part of me was pleased, the other part wishing he’d come across it another way.
Am I silly to be thinking there’s something developing between us? I really fancy Toby but if he fancies me too then why haven’t we got any further? The impossible first move doesn’t get any easier with age. In fact, it becomes harder. The lunge is no longer excusable. Although I wouldn’t mind AT ALL if he lunged at me right now.
The romantic ideal of a sweet sober kiss, the man holding your cheeks in the cusp of his hands, lovingly gazing into your eyes before softly pressing his lips against yours, is far from a British man’s capability. I knew I’d have to go to the Continent if this is what I was after. Right now, I have Toby sitting on my bed and surely, although small, it must be a step in the right direction.
‘Toby,’ I said and he looked up from the screen. ‘I just realised I don’t know much about you.’
‘Where did that come from?’
I dismissed his defensive tone. ‘Well I don’t know where you live or where you grew up and I like to know that about my friends.’
‘You do know where I live. In the West Country. And I grew up in Bath.’
‘Seriously, you grew up in Bath?’
‘Yes, why?’ He seemed a little uptight.
‘It’s just you were saying how much your family like baths. It’s funny that’s all.’
He smiled.
‘All okay with the email?’ I asked, thinking it better to leave off any more personal questions for the time being.
‘Yup, they seem to be coping without me. Mind if I Google a few things?’
‘Not at all. When you’re done you should look up Fontaburn Hall, it really is a magnificent place.’
‘Will do.’
‘I never told you about visiting. Vicky today.’ I’d thought better of keeping it from him. I was now happy to risk my own reputation to get the knowledge I needed.
‘Vicky?’
‘Yeah, the woman who exercises the horses, the one whose husband died.’
‘Don’t tell me, you think that poor lady’s a murderer.’
‘Just let me ask you one thing. Pleeease.’
‘Okay…’
‘What could you put in a glass of water that would kill someone without them knowing it was in there?’
‘Google says…’ he waited for the results to show, ‘drinking too much water can kill you.’
‘Do you know anything?’
‘Arsenic’s the only thing I know of.’
‘Well that’s not it.’
‘Not what?’
‘If Vicky suddenly decided to kill Hailey, with no pre-planning, what could she have found in Archie’s house that would have enabled her to poison a glass of water by Hailey’s bed?’
‘Does the water have to stay clear?’
‘Yes.’
‘In that case my best guess is she could have rubbed the rim with a poisonous plant, but this is an immensely sophisticated way of going about it and you’d have to be an expert botanist.’
‘Arghh, Toby. This shifts the blame to Daniel… he knew all about plants.’
‘Well, investigating Daniel first seems kinder to me than putting all your efforts into poor Vicky.’
I asked Toby what kind of plant it could have been and he reverted to Google again.
‘It says here if you crush the beans of a castor plant you get ricin, which can kill. Ingesting it can make you vomit and therefore it leaves your system but inhaling it causes stomach pain, dehydration and destroys the main internal organs.’
‘Perhaps it wasn’t the glass of water. Maybe Daniel or Vicky put it on her pillow?’
‘If so that would mean Archie would have to have a greenhouse to grow it in and a tall one at that, these plants are huge.’
‘If it was Daniel he could have brought it with him?’
‘But, why would he bring a poisonous plant to the weekend? You said he’d never met Hailey before and, to be honest Susie, the investigators would have found it on her pillow by now.’
‘Yeah, you’re probably right. I don’t want to think Vicky’s guilty but why if she was the cook, would she have been upstairs?’
‘Are you saying you wouldn’t chance your luck of having a nosey around a big house?’
‘Toby! You’re right and if she was caught having a snoop she might well have told Archie she was turning down the beds.’
‘That it?’ asked Toby swivelling the computer towards me. Fontaburn Hall was on the screen.
‘Yeah, that’s it.’
He read out the strap line, ‘Grand sixteenth-century Tudor country house with notable porcelain and ceramic collection,’ and then added, ‘it looks rather spooky in this picture.’
‘I have a good sense for bad spirits and I didn’t see any.’
‘Not all ghosts are bad you know.’ He smiled. ‘Hey, maybe the man in the stripy PJs was actually a ghost.’
‘Can’t be, Archie told me the house was haunted by clergy and I doubt they wear stripy pyjamas.’
‘You think they sleep in their habits?’
‘Probably!’
Toby was typing Fontaburn Hall into Google Maps and now with a bird’s-eye map of the location I could see the village of Fontaburn. It was east of the house and, as I’d approached from the west, not to mention the fact the perimeter wall shielded any view, I had missed it entirely.
‘Looks like there’s a museum in the village,’ I said pointing at the symbol on the screen.
Toby clicked it and up popped a picture of a wattleand-daub building. ‘Local museum tracing the history of the Norland family.’
‘We should visit!’
‘It’s still open, so we could pop down there now?’
‘Do you really want to go?’
‘I know you’re keen. And I’m interested in ancient British families so definitely, let’s go.’
‘Ancient British families?’
‘Yeah, they’ve given us our architectural and social history, it’s always interesting to learn more about them.’
‘Great.’
‘We should invite Lucy too,’ said Toby and my heart sank.
He got up.
‘Just before you leave,’ I said, our conversation of families reminding me of the Geralds, ‘DCI Reynolds told me Primrose suffers from bipolar and is currently off her medicine as they’re trying for a baby.’
‘That was indiscreet of him.’
‘It is, isn’t it, although I think he kind of had to tell me when I accused Primrose of being so anxious about the burglar alarm.’
‘Weren’t you anxious?’
‘I thought it was a false alarm. Primrose was much more worked up than the others, and remember Toby, Stanley was in the same pyjamas as the man I saw in the billiard room.’
‘Well, from a doctor’s point of view, it would be unfair to interrogate Primrose on account of what they know to be bipolar symptoms.’
‘What is bipolar?’
‘It’s not something that leads someone to murder, that’s for sure. And if you’re attempting to draw parallels between Primrose’s symptoms and the events of Saturday night, I’d hold back.’
/> ‘I’m not drawing parallels any more I just want to know what it is.’
Toby bounced back down onto the bed. ‘It’s a mental disability caused by a hormonal imbalance. Its effects include very low self-esteem, which is a psychological state far away from that of a murderer’s.’
‘But she didn’t appear withdrawn at the beginning of the evening, and she’s not exactly unconfident. I reckon something must have happened that changed her state of mind.’
‘You’re drawing parallels, Susie.’
‘But I want to fully understand it.’
‘Well, people with bipolar can be absolutely fine one minute and then out of nowhere they are consumed by an overbearing force that either puts them on a manic high or a chronic low. It can happen anytime anywhere. The trigger is a chemical imbalance within them, not something affecting them from the outside.’
‘How awful.’
‘It is and prescriptive drugs are an effective way of inhibiting these episodes.’
‘Do you think she was definitely off her medication?’
‘I wouldn’t start doubting DCI Reynolds if I were you. No doctor can guarantee bipolar drugs won’t affect a foetus. So, women with bipolar have to decide between staying on their medication and running the risk, coming off it and suffering the consequences, or never having children at all.’
‘So, I guess she was then.’
‘Yes, and the fact DCI Reynolds told you makes me think he was warning you to go easy on her. Off medication it would be far more likely Primrose would take her own life not someone else’s.’
‘Crumbs, that’s serious.’
‘Yeah and confidential. That inspector really does trust you.’ Toby stood up and closed the door behind him.
My reflection in the dressing-table mirror was full of guilt. It upset me that DCI Reynolds had had to compromise his discretion to set me straight and I now knew without evidence I really shouldn’t have said a thing. I stared harder into the mirror and promised to God that I’d try to keep unfounded theories to myself in the future.
It was now time to get dressed and the thought of slipping into my ivory silk underwear, the last new set bought from Hillary’s Honk commission, instantly put me in a better mood.
With a turquoise dress and drop earrings to match I left the room, happy at the thought of another outing with Toby.
‘Oh, hi Susie,’ said Lucy as I entered the kitchen. ‘Sorry I wasn’t there to let High Maintenance out into the field but Jim and me got back much later than I thought we would.’
‘How was the lorry?’
‘We had a right old time trying to get it up to speed on the country lanes. Great fun but it’s a hell of a vibrator. No good for long hauls. Don’t want our racers arriving with numb feet.’
I laughed at the thought.
‘I just saw Toby by the car and he invited me to join you on a trip to a local museum.’
‘We were hoping you’d come?’ I said with a genuine effort to sound convincing.
‘Na, not me Susie. There’s a slim chance I’d go with you to a National Trust property on a Sunday, but not a museum, that’s real boring.’
I was inclined to agree with her (particularly when it comes to a village museum). I’ve often wondered why the curators of the greatest and best museums feel the need to put absolutely every crumb, chip, flake and piece of an archaeological artefact into rows of glass cabinets rather than hold back a bit, give us a few magnificent things on display and save all the loose pieces in the archives for the boffins.
‘We shouldn’t be too long,’ I said rattling my car keys out of my handbag, all ready to insist to Toby that I drive.
‘No problem, I’m going to have a beer with the boys in the stable and Toby’s told me dinner’s in the oven so just give me a shout when you’re back. He’s amazin’ ain’t he?’ Lucy smiled at me. ‘All I have to do is lay the table.’
‘Yeah, he’s great,’ and he’s mine I said to myself. ‘See you in a bit Lucy, thanks for everything. It’s so nice staying with you.’
Aside from my jealousy over Toby, I genuinely meant what I’d just said. The ease and amusement of living with Lucy more than made up for how hard the horses had been to draw and I was surprisingly glad of her company over the last week.
This was not something I was expecting, considering I choose to live alone. A choice which gives me time and space to develop my creativity without interruption from others. I’m always trying to set my mother straight when she expresses her concern that my life must be ‘so lonely poppet’ and I assure her it’s ‘solitary’, definitely not lonely. It isn’t, and never has been, in my nature to need company. But don’t get me wrong, I’m not a loser! I have great friends, I just don’t have a need to be around them all the time.
If Mum really is worried I’m lonely then why didn’t she give me a brother or a sister? The thought she might have wanted to and couldn’t rattled me. As a family we’ve always been completely open about everything and I can’t believe my parents would have hidden any troubles they’d had.
I let out a huff as I left the house. It’s all Toby’s fault for pointing out I’m an only child. He’s got me in a stew and this unsettling self-reflection was making me undermine my parents.
‘I’m driving,’ I said seeing him standing by his car. ‘You’re on holiday and deserve to have a pint or two if we find a pub.’
‘That’s kind but you’ve earnt a celebratory drink having finished your work.’
‘Finished is an overstatement. Anyway, I’m very happy holding off until dinner.’ I smiled at him. ‘Come on, let’s get going!’
The great height of Fontaburn Hall’s flint wall took me by surprise, even though I was seeing it for the second time. I’d driven Toby the long way around to show it off as I don’t think he’d believed me when I said ‘you can’t possibly see over it’. I slipped the car into snail pace as we passed the gates. Toby exclaimed, ‘It looks beautifully kept inside there.’
‘It really is a wonderful place, I wish you could see more of it. But as you now know,’ I said with conceit, ‘that’s an impossibility thanks to Henry VIII.’
‘It’s nice it’s so well kept. I can’t bear it when people born with a silver spoon in their mouth don’t respect their inheritance. It’s all thanks to their ancestors they’ve got what they have.’
‘Big houses and estates are quite a lot to take on though,’ I said, unable to fathom the workload.
‘But that’s what comes with being born into a family who have things. This chap Archie, for example, is just one link in a custodial chain that’s handed a unique legacy down from father to son for hundreds of years. It’s his to take on, not his to give away.’
I liked Toby’s reasoning, however, I countered, ‘You’ve got to have the money to keep it going.’
‘Which is my point exactly,’ he enthused, ‘working hard and taking on the responsibility of the task in hand. Every generation will start with money behind them, but they must manage their assets, put profits in the hands of savvy stockbrokers and cunning solicitors. Not have the pennies burn a hole in their pocket.’
I told him I like heirs who inherit debt and do everything they can to turn things around; he said my outlook was romantic. Which it was but that wasn’t my point.
‘What happens to a house like Fontaburn,’ I asked, ‘if Archie doesn’t have an heir by the time his father dies and he moves out to take up the main family seat?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Toby. ‘I’ve never heard of that happening. Maybe a sibling holds it in lieu of an heir. Or it probably goes to the second son.’
‘What about a daughter?’
‘It could go to them these days, but ancient titled families have strong views on ancestral possessions going down the female line, particularly if a daughter marries and takes her husband’s name.’
We agreed that there was likely much more wrapped up in it than we understood and Toby left it in my hands to find out as h
e put it, ‘on another posh outing’.
‘Ah ha,’ I said as the cricket ground appeared on our right, ‘I’d wondered how close it was to the house.’
‘Lovely pavilion, isn’t it?’
‘That’ll be Archie. He talked to me about the upkeep of it for a bit but I’m afraid I wasn’t really listening.’
‘Cricket’s not as boring as its reputation you know.’
‘Oh, I know that. I actually really like cricket, I just wasn’t very interested in the maintenance of the pavilion.’
‘You like cricket?’ Toby sounded surprised.
‘Yes, I’ve got into it since moving to Sussex. Almost every village has a ground and the nearest one to me is very quaint.’
‘So, you go?’
‘Often, when the sun shines. It gets me away from the studio, which I have to force myself to do sometimes.’
‘Force?’
‘Yeah, it’s important not to overwork a painting and it’s so easy to do unless there’s a good reason to leave the house.’
‘And if there’s not?’
‘Then I have to make myself. I do it by believing my painting can improve on its own if I’m away from it. Silly really, but I tell you what, I jolly well hope my walnut still life has got better while I’m here.’
‘That’s so charming,’ Toby smiled. ‘I hope you’ll let me visit your studio one day.’
‘Of course, I’d love that.’
‘It’s good you don’t mind people seeing your work,’ said Toby.
He went on to tell me an anecdote of an artist he knows who locks his door for fear of people snooping at what he’s up to.
‘I can understand that,’ I said in reply. ‘But my studio doesn’t have a door as I thought it was a good way of getting over this issue. My art is me, it’s the truth and all the more so if I let others in on the whole picture.’
‘You’ve got a brave soul Susie.’
‘I don’t know about that, and anyway letting people in can sometimes be very funny. Not that long ago I painted a barn across the field from where I live and two weeks ago I invited the woman who owns it to come and have a look. It’s an enormous picture, about six feet by four. She stood in front of it, pointed at the bottom quarter and said, “What are you going to put there?” “Nothing! It’s finished!” I replied.’