He was just thinking of opening a tin of corned beef when there was a tap on the back door and Moira came in, bearing a tray covered with a cloth.
‘You thought I’d forgotten you, no doubt,’ she said apologetically. ‘It took longer than I expected.’
She set the tray down and pulled off the cloth to reveal a large domed dish cover. Removing this with a flourish, she exposed a pie dish with a golden crust rising above it. Alongside was a Pyrex dish under whose lid could be seen potatoes, peas and carrots. An elegant trifle with a cherry on top sat alongside.
‘I’ll just put the dishes in the oven to keep warm and the trifle in the fridge, while I lay the table for you.’
The efficient woman busied herself with her culinary operations, and soon she had him seated at the table with a large plate carrying the steak pie and vegetables.
‘It’s not my birthday, Moira!’ he protested. ‘Why are you spoiling me tonight?’
She placed pepper and salt before him. ‘I knew you would be on your own, so I thought I’d make something special for you. It’s easier for me to cook things at home, as I’ve got all my gadgets to hand. It’s no distance to carry it up.’
He looked down at the substantial pie, which gave off a mouth-watering aroma. ‘Won’t you sit down and help me eat this? It looks marvellous!’
She shook her head. ‘I ate earlier, thanks. You just enjoy it, then I’ll make coffee, clear up and leave you in peace.’
‘Only if you stay and have a drink with me afterwards, then!’ he demanded. ‘There’s a nice bottle of Mateus Rosé in the cupboard – or gin and tonic if you prefer it.’
‘Would you like a glass of wine with your meal?’ she asked and without waiting for a reply she jumped up and got the familiar round, flat bottle and two glasses. Pouring one for Richard, she half filled another and sat quietly on the other side of the table, watching him devour her cooking with satisfaction.
Between mouthfuls and sips of wine, he told her of the latest developments in the Brecon case. Then, as he finished the last morsels of pie, he toasted her with a raised glass.
‘That was great, Moira. You’re very kind to me!’
She blushed slightly. ‘You’ve been so kind to me, you and Dr Bray. Taking me on has made such a difference to me. I feel alive again after losing my husband.’
She got up to fetch his trifle and then put the kettle on the Aga to make coffee. When she sat down again, he had refilled both their glasses with the pink wine.
‘I don’t drink much. I’ll be giggling after this,’ she said archly as they again raised their glasses to each other.
They talked about matters other than the business as they waited for the kettle to boil. Moira told him of the factory explosion that had taken her husband from her and the several years of numb despair that followed. Thankfully, her parents were still alive and living in Chepstow, where she was brought up.
‘I don’t think I could have survived without their support,’ she said sadly. ‘But I feel much more alive now that I have Garth House and you nice people to look after every day.’
As she went to make coffee, Richard wondered if one glass of wine was making her open up like this, as normally she was very reticent about her own affairs.
‘Let’s sit in comfort in the staffroom,’ he suggested, picking up the glasses and half-empty bottle. ‘The springs are gone in some of the chairs, but they’re softer than these in the kitchen.’
Moira brought the coffee on a tray, and they sat in the twilight coming through the window that faced up the valley, until she switched on an old table lamp with a faded silk shade that Richard still remembered from the days when he stayed with Aunt Gladys.
Emboldened by a glass or two of wine, Moira cautiously probed into Angela’s background, as even Siân’s talents at worming out gossip had left some blanks.
‘Dr Bray’s gone home to her parents,’ she said. ‘I gather it’s some sort of big farm?’
‘Her father breeds horses and her mother breeds golden retrievers, as I understand. There’s a younger sister as well, but I haven’t heard that she breeds anything!’ he added whimsically.
‘Sounds a very grand family, real Home Counties stuff!’
Richard nodded as he finished his coffee. ‘Her father was a top civil servant, I gather, until he retired at the end of the war and took to horses.’
He leaned across the low table between them and topped up her wine glass. ‘May as well finish this, it won’t keep,’ he said. Moira looked a little apprehensive but made no protest. She was always a neat woman, petite and shapely, but this evening she seemed to have taken more trouble than usual with her appearance. Her glossy black hair shone in the lamplight and she seemed to be more carefully made up. When she took off the white apron she wore for serving the food, Richard saw that she wore a smart blue linen dress, tightly cinched at the waist, with a flared skirt. He had always had an appreciative eye for an attractive woman and thought that Jimmy was quite right when he had commented on the trio in Garth House.
Moira ventured again to bring the conversation around to personalities. ‘I’m surprised that Dr Bray isn’t married, though Siân mentioned that she had been engaged.’
Richard didn’t want to break any of Angela’s confidences – not that he knew all that much himself, though he suspected that Siân knew as much, if not more, than he did.
‘She was, until just before she moved here. Her fiancé was a senior detective in Scotland Yard, but it seems it didn’t work out.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Just as my own marriage didn’t work out, I’m afraid.’
Moira’s brown eyes widened. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, doctor! I had heard that you had been married, but I didn’t want to pry.’ She added this with a pang of conscience at being mildly untruthful.
Richard grinned at her. ‘There’s no secret about it. It was one of those impulsive wartime things. She was five years younger than me. I met her in the military hospital in Colombo, where she was a civilian-attached radiographer.’
‘Did you get married in Ceylon?’ asked Moira, seeing in her mind a romantic wedding under a tropical sun, with a handsome major in uniform and a bride with frangipani flowers in her hair.
‘Yes, then the bloody Yanks dropped their atom bomb and I was posted to Malaya when the Japs surrendered. Miriam was left behind for a year, which was a bad start. Then she came to Singapore, but never really liked it.’
He forbore to explain that she had found solace in frequent affairs with a number of expatriates in the Colony, which led to a separation and eventually divorce. Moira couldn’t think of anything useful to say, so she took refuge in sipping her wine, while she wondered if Miriam had been that much younger than Richard.
Thinking that he had better change the subject, he asked if she knew whether Siân had a boyfriend. ‘I suppose I can still call it that at twenty-four,’ he said. ‘I always think it sounds a bit odd applied to mature people.’
Moira smiled, feeling a happiness that Richard sensed, for he beamed back at her. Perhaps it was the Mateus Rosé, he thought.
‘Yes, I think there’s a gap in the English language,’ she agreed. ‘There needs to be something between boyfriend and fiancé. Perhaps we can invent a word!’ She giggled, not something that she normally did.
‘So is Siân courting, as we used to call it?’ he asked again.
‘She did mention a boy in her biochemistry course in Cardiff, but I don’t know if it’s at all serious. She’s so keen to get on in the world that I doubt she wants to settle down yet.’
They talked on easily for another hour, finishing the wine, though Richard drank the lion’s share. As it got dark outside the window, Moira’s sense of decorum seemed to overcome her desire to stay in this lovely man’s company and she rose from her chair, feeling slightly unsteady.
‘I must go. Whatever would the neighbours think if they knew I was sitting drinking with you in an empty house, doctor?’
He got up and opened the doo
r for her. ‘The only neighbour for quarter of a mile is you, Moira!’ he said cheerfully. ‘And frankly, I don’t give a damn what they think.’
Promising to fetch her tray and dishes in the morning, she was about to say goodnight when Richard went to the hallstand and took Angela’s raincoat and draped it over Moira’s shoulders.
‘It’s dark and chilly out there,’ he said. ‘I’m going to walk you home to see you safe.’
Going down the drive, he put her arm under his, partly because she was tottering a little on her high heels, but also because he wanted a little feminine contact. She kept it there for all the four hundred yards along the main road until they reached her gate, where she released him.
‘Thanks for a lovely meal, Moira – and your company, it’s made my evening,’ he said.
‘Thank you for everything, Dr Pryor, it was lovely. Even for getting me a little tipsy – I feel quite naughty!’
Before he could decide to say anything he might regret, she turned and clipped up the short path to her front door.
They called their goodnights and she vanished to the sound of a yapping welcome from her Yorkie. Richard turned to walk back home and sighed heavily. He enjoyed the company of women, especially such an attractive one as Moira.
‘Perhaps I should have given her a goodnight kiss,’ he murmured to himself. ‘Though she is my cook and secretary. It would complicate matters, wouldn’t it, Richard my lad?’
ELEVEN
The journey to Gloucester from Tintern was just under an hour, and on a fine morning it was a pleasant drive along the north bank of the River Severn. The tide was in and once again promising himself to come down to see the Severn Bore one of these days, Richard Pryor felt contented to be back in Britain after fourteen years in Asia.
The barrister’s chambers were near the Shire Hall, in which the Assize Courts were situated. This impressive porticoed building was in Westgate Street, in the centre of the city. The huge cathedral loomed not far away, and after cruising around to find a parking space Richard Pryor walked back and was directed to the lawyer’s hideout in a tall, narrow Victorian building.
The usual vertical list of resident barristers was discreetly displayed in the porch, and Mr Leonard Atkinson was fourth from the top in pecking order of seniority. This was the name that the solicitor had given him, and when he enquired in the clerk’s office on the ground floor a ginger-headed girl led him upstairs to a spacious room replete with the usual fittings of a lawyer’s domain. A large mahogany desk, heavy buttoned-leather chairs and several walls lined with legal books were the setting for the conference. The other four delegates were already present, and the man behind the desk rose to greet Richard.
‘I’m Leonard Atkinson, doctor. I’m happy and relieved to meet you!’
He introduced the others, the first being a dark-haired girl, his pupil in chambers, whose main function seemed to be to sit and listen and hand out coffee from a tray on a side table.
‘Mr Lovesey, our instructing solicitor, you’ve already met in Stow.’ He turned to the remaining person with the air of a ringmaster introducing a new circus act.
‘And this is our new leader, Mr Nathan Prideaux QC, from the Middle Temple.’
The leading counsel was a striking, almost eccentric figure.
Younger than Richard had anticipated, he was a large, almost overpowering figure, dressed in a black jacket and striped grey trousers. A white silk handkerchief flopped out of his breast pocket and a cravat-like grey tie hung around a stiff wing collar.
He had a craggy face with thick bushy eyebrows of a steel-grey colour similar to the cascade of hair that was swept back from his forehead to reach the back of his neck. Richard felt that he was a real showman, but no doubt this aspect of his character was matched by a considerable intellect. His coroner friend in Monmouth, whose brother was also a barrister, had informed him that Nathan Prideaux was one of the most sought-after defence advocates in London – and certainly one of the most expensive.
Prideaux rose to shake his hand across the desk.
‘We are very relieved to hear that you may have something we can use, doctor,’ he said in a sonorous voice that would have readily guaranteed him an alternative occupation as an archbishop.
Richard sat down and pulled his papers from his old case, which he laid against the leg of his chair. The group got down to business without delay, with Prideaux leading the discussion.
‘Dr Pryor, we went through most of the non-medical aspects of this sad case before you arrived, so it’s your contribution that we now need to explore.’
He put on a pair of gold-rimmed pince-nez, which Richard felt was another affectation in line with his flamboyant appearance. Sliding a large file across the desk, Prideaux opened it at a green tab.
‘Perhaps I should briefly remind you of the relevant background of the alleged crime. Our client, Samuel Parker, is a respected veterinary surgeon who for some twenty years has practised in Eastbury. His wife Mary unfortunately developed a cancer of the pancreas early last year and, to put it bluntly, had been dying for the past few months.’
‘Her regular medical attendant, Dr Rogers, has given a statement in which he says he did not expect her to live for more than another month,’ offered the other barrister, Leonard Atkinson. ‘He also said that he wouldn’t have been surprised to hear of her death at any time.’
The solicitor joined in the discussion, with his more local knowledge.
‘Dr Rogers has been their GP for many years and is a solid old-fashioned practitioner with plenty of common sense,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately, he was away at the material time and his locum, Austin Harrap-Johnson, came as a result of Parker’s urgent telephone call. Having heard him at the magistrates’ committal proceedings, I have to say that he sounds an officious and self-important young gentleman, out to make a name for himself.’
Nathan Prideaux peered at George Lovesey over his pince-nez and took up his résumé. ‘Be that as it may, the sister of the dead woman immediately and stridently accused her brother-in-law of doing away with her sister and repeated this to Dr Harrap-Johnson, telling him of the recent injection mark on Mrs Parker’s arm and the Pentothal and potassium chloride bottles in the animal surgery. Whereas perhaps Dr Rogers might have calmed her down and defused the situation, it seems that young Dr Harrap-Johnson seized on the accusation and promptly telephoned the coroner’s officer, telling him that he was unwilling to sign a death certificate.’
Richard nodded and felt that he ought to say something. ‘Once that had been done, it would have been very difficult to draw back. After the coroner is informed, it’s virtually impossible to un-inform him!’
‘Quite so,’ agreed the Queen’s Counsel. ‘The coroner, a Mr Edwin Randall, had little option but to accept the case and ordered a post-mortem examination, ostensibly to allay any further suspicion. It was done next afternoon at the public mortuary in Stratford. The pathologist was a retired fellow, regularly employed by the coroner for routine cases.’
Richard nodded and shuffled among the papers that the solicitor had given him on his visit to Stow.
‘I’ve read his report. He declined to give a cause of death until further investigations were carried out. Because she was on frequent doses of morphine, he wanted to have an analysis in case of some overdosage. That’s fair enough. I would have done the same if I couldn’t find any immediate cause of death.’
Prideaux’s sharp blue eyes fixed on the pathologist. ‘If the GP said she could have died at any time, would you need any immediate cause of death, doctor?’
Pryor considered this for a moment. ‘Well, maybe the pathologist didn’t know what the regular GP thought, as he was away and the statement you have from him was long after the event. Given that this locum doctor was so gung-ho about it and that the sister was yelling murder, he might well have been cautious. In really advanced cancer, of course people can die at any time, but often one can find a definite terminal event, like a pulmonary em
bolism or a haemorrhage.’
The QC nodded and continued his monologue. ‘By this time, the sister, this pharmacist Sheila Lupin, was voicing her suspicions in the village, and she actually went to see Edwin Randall, the coroner, to demand a full investigation and inquest.’
George Lovesey was nodding his head like a mechanical doll. ‘I know the coroner well; he’s a solicitor in another practice in Stow. He felt a little pressurized by this, and to be on the safe side he had a quiet word with the local police superintendent and they agreed that the safest course would be to ask for a second post-mortem by a Home Office pathologist.’
Richard turned over another page in his own folder.
‘That would be Angus Smythe, from the Radcliffe Infirmary in Oxford,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen him at forensic meetings. He must be nearing retirement by now.’
‘He came up to Stratford two days after the first post-mortem and examined the body again, taking a number of samples. Again he declined to give a definitive cause of death until the results of various tests were available. However, while they were still in the mortuary there, he did say to the first pathologist in the presence of the coroner’s officer that if nothing further materialized, he said he saw no reason why the cancer could not have been the cause of death.’
Leonard Atkinson, the ‘junior’ counsel, though he must have been at least fifty years of age, also felt he must contribute something to earn his conference fee. ‘But a week later, when the results from the laboratory were available, Angus Smythe sent a report to the coroner and the police, saying that he was now of the opinion that the immediate cause of death was potassium poisoning.’
Nathan Prideaux gestured at his empty coffee cup and the silent young lady refilled it from the tall pot on her tray.
‘From then on, it was all downhill!’ he boomed. ‘Samuel Parker was interviewed several times by the police and two weeks later, after they had sought the advice of the Director of Public Prosecutions, he was arrested and charged with murder.’
According to the Evidence rpm-2 Page 11