by Diane Janes
Another song ended, the announcer introduced the next tune, and still he sat in the darkened car. What to do? No point telephoning anyone. There was no law against him sitting out there. Then the headlights came on and almost simultaneously the car moved silently away. She realized then that she couldn’t hear the engine above the noise of the music. He might have turned it on as soon as he got into the car – maybe he had just paused to consult a road map or something. She ought to stop behaving like a bloody fool. She was starting to make a habit of it.
She took the stairs unsteadily. The cat had preceded her and paused to sniff disapprovingly at the spilled wine.
‘Be careful,’ Fran cautioned. ‘Don’t go getting glass in your paws.’
Mrs Snegglington gave her a teach-your-grandmother look and leapt gracefully on to the sofa back. Fran went into the kitchen to fetch a cloth and some old newspaper to wrap the bits of glass inside. Then she knelt on the floor and began to pick out the larger pieces, inching forward with elaborate care until she put her hand down straight on to a curved sliver which bit into the ball of her thumb. As she withdrew her hand, splotches of blood mingled with the spilled wine. She stumbled across to sit on the bottom stair and began to sob.
FOURTEEN
The Harpers lived in a quiet part of Kendal, their small terraced house pretty much indistinguishable from all the others in the road. Christina Harper opened the door herself and invited Fran in, escorting her to sit in one of the lumpy, horsehair-filled armchairs which stood on either side of the fireplace in the seldom-used front parlour, and offering her a cup of tea with the courteous reluctance of a small businessman greeting a visiting tax inspector. The Harpers evidently did not entertain many callers, and after this uncertain welcome, Fran expected the visit to be uphill going, but to her relief, Mrs Harper thawed quickly once the opportunity arose to have a good moan.
‘The whole thing has been a nightmare. We had to get special permission from the coroner to arrange the funeral, because that side of things isn’t done with yet. The inquest won’t bring in a verdict until the police have finished making their enquiries.’
Fran was dying to ask some questions about this, but she sensed that it was better to let Linda’s sister run on.
‘Then we found out there’s death duties to be paid, if you don’t mind – and before I can do that, I have to sort out exactly how much money’s involved. I don’t know when they expect you to do all this. I have a home and two boys to take care of. Their dad takes them out to the football on Saturday afternoons and that’s the only time I get to myself all week. It isn’t as if it’s a cock stride to Ivegill. Just getting there and back on the bus takes up the best part of a day.’ Mrs Harper paused to sip her tea.
‘Isn’t there anyone else who could help you?’ Fran asked. ‘Any other family?’
‘To mind the boys, you mean? Mam’s sister has offered but she’s too old; she can’t cope with them when they get going. They’re not bad lads,’ she added quickly. ‘But you know what lads are like.’
Fran nodded sympathetically. ‘And there’s no one who could help sort out your sister’s affairs?’
‘Not really. Our mam and dad both passed on a couple of years ago and that just leaves me. To tell you the truth, we weren’t even close. There’s a big gap between me and our Lindy. Six years. I was only eleven when she left home.’
Fran did some mental arithmetic. That only made Christina Harper thirty. Motherhood had evidently taken its toll. Linda had actually looked younger than her sister. Linda had also lost any trace of the local accent which they had once presumably shared.
Mrs Harper was still talking. ‘I was surprised when I found out that everything was coming to me. To be honest, I thought she might easily have left her money elsewhere.’
‘Did you think she might have left it to a charity or something?’ Fran fished.
‘Well, it wasn’t something that we ever talked about. To be absolutely honest, we didn’t talk much about anything. We only saw each other two or three times a year, if that. She had her life and I had mine.’
‘But deep down, she must have really cared for you. Otherwise she wouldn’t have left you everything.’
‘Maybe she didn’t have anyone else to leave it to. Mind you,’ the woman added quickly, ‘I’m not saying that I’m not grateful. It will make a lot of difference to us. No more struggling to make ends meet, that’s for sure. We’ll be able to move to a bigger place – maybe something up in Ambleside. I’ve always fancied one of them big houses with a view.’ She stopped abruptly. ‘Oh dear, I sound dreadful, don’t I? Going on about the money. It isn’t that I’m glad she’s dead—’
‘Of course not,’ said Fran. ‘Anyone would be glad to come into a lot of money. It’s only natural. You’re just honest enough to admit it.’
‘Do you know, that’s exactly what the policeman said.’ Mrs Harper looked relieved. When she smiled, the crow’s feet at her eyes were more sharply defined.
Fran seized her moment. ‘Have the police given you any idea of what they think happened?’
‘They’re keeping me informed, or so they say.’ The other woman paused to lower her voice as if sharing a confidence. ‘If you ask me, they don’t really know what happened. Following up all possible leads, the policeman said. We had to say where we were on the night it happened. Well, we were here, like always. Could anyone confirm it? they wanted to know. Well, of course there isn’t anyone who could. I said to them, “I didn’t even know she was staying at the whatever-it’s-called towers. She didn’t keep me informed of her movements”.’
‘They got in touch with me, too,’ Fran said, ‘because I had tried to telephone Linda a couple of times after she went missing.’
‘There you are.’ Christina Harper nodded companionably, as if being a fellow target of police enquiries helped to nurture a growing level of understanding between them. ‘They’ve had a good look through all Lindy’s things. They asked me if I wanted to be present while they did it. Well, I didn’t, to be honest. The thought of strangers rooting through her things – it’s not very nice, is it? And besides which, I didn’t want to go all that way just to stand about like a spare part for however long it took, so I told them they could just get the key off Mrs Roseby who lives in the house opposite. We left a set of keys with her so that folk who needed to could get in and out without me needing to be up and down.’
‘Did the police find anything useful?’
‘Not so far as I know. They came back here after and asked another lot of questions. Had Lindy talked to me about any worries? Was she concerned about her health? Maybe frightened of getting cancer? I said to them, “Well, we’re all frightened of getting that,” but no, she hadn’t mentioned anything about it to me. And nor did I think she was the sort to brood on stuff like that. She never worried about her health, so far as I know. She wasn’t daft.’
They’re clutching at straws, Fran thought. Aloud, she said, ‘So the police do think it could have been suicide?’
‘They’re not ruling it out. That’s what they said to me.’
‘And what do you think?’
‘Well … I don’t know. Our Lindy never seemed like the type to do a thing like that. Anyway,’ Christina glanced pointedly towards the clock, ‘you said in your letter that there was something you wanted to talk about – something about her books and papers?’
Fran went into her carefully rehearsed explanation about Linda’s doing some research which had been of great mutual interest, taking care not to suggest that it contained anything particularly exciting or controversial. ‘She was going to share her findings with the society and obviously any new insights into Robert Barnaby’s life would be valuable – not in a monetary sense, but for future students of his work. It would be terribly sad if the research was lost after all Linda’s hard work.’
The other woman shook her head. ‘I don’t know anything about all that. I wouldn’t know where to start looking, or what it was i
f I fell over it.’
Fran did her best to look sympathetic and appealing at the same time. ‘Linda had spent such a lot of time on this and I just feel that she would have wanted the society to have it.’
Christina hesitated. ‘Our Lindy did love those Robert Barnaby books. She read them over and over again when she was little. I could never get into them myself. I suppose this research she’s done would be a sort of legacy to your society.’
Fran nodded, not daring to say anything.
‘Look, I’ll tell you what. If you really want this stuff and you’re prepared to look for it yourself, I’ll drop a note to Mrs Roseby and tell her to let you into the house, to see if you can find it. You would know what you’re looking for better than me.’
Fran stared in astonishment: this was much better than anything she had hoped for. ‘Don’t you want to be there?’
‘One lot of folk have already gone through everything, so I don’t see what difference another one makes. You know what you’re looking for, which is probably more than they did – and I don’t want to go trekking up there again. Mr Harper and I have already been twice, getting all the financial stuff and emptying out the pantry, and to be frank with you, I’m not even sure I’ll go back again. I might just pay someone else to clear everything once we’ve got the estate sorted out. There’s folk who do that sort of thing. Cart it all off to an auction, like.’
‘This is really very kind of you. Would it be all right if I went up later this week?’ asked Fran, mentally reckoning the earliest possible date she could manage and all the time fearing that Mrs Harper might have second thoughts.
‘I’ll drop Mrs Roseby a note, to let her know to expect you.’
‘And you’re sure there wouldn’t be any problem with the police over my taking things away?’
‘No – they’ve finished nosing around. They’ve been thorough, I’ll give them that. Even wanted to know about Lindy’s ex-husband, poor old David Dexter. I told them, “He won’t be able to help you. He’s been dead for about ten years.” They always do think it might be the ex-husband, don’t they?’
‘What do you think happened?’ Fran prompted.
The woman hesitated, as if she was trying to decide, saying eventually, ‘I think it could have been some maniac who got into her hotel room. Escaped from an asylum, I daresay. Or maybe she did do it herself, after all. She was a funny one, our Lindy. You never really knew what was going on in her mind. We weren’t close, because she wasn’t the sort of person you could get close to – if you know what I mean.’
FIFTEEN
It took several minutes for Fran and Mo to settle themselves at their favourite table in the tea shop on the promenade, arrange their assorted shopping, order afternoon tea, remove their gloves and straighten their hats, and only when they were completely settled did Mo say, ‘Now, have you considered what I said about that chap, Jumbo Fielding, because I can easily introduce you.’
‘Really, Mo, I do wish you would stop playing at matchmaker. As it happens, I saw the man in question, or the man I assume to be him, from your description, entering the offices of Fielding and Fielding this morning and I can see at a glance that he’s not my type at all.’
‘Oh dear,’ Mo said. ‘I thought he would be exactly your type. He’s an absolute scream after a couple of cocktails. You should have seen him imitating Charlie Chaplin at the Willington’s last weekend. Honestly, Fran, you could have a much better social life if you were only prepared to make an effort in the right direction.’
‘You know very well that the sort of party where people start impersonating Charlie Chaplin after a couple of cocktails is my idea of hell.’
‘That’s simply not true and you know it. The trouble is that being married to Michael ironed all the fun out of you.’
‘Please, let’s not talk about Michael.’
‘Very well then. Tell me all about your amateur detective friend. I’m up to the point where he was going back to have another look around the hotel.’
Fran took a few seconds to gaze out over the shallow waters of Morecambe Bay, which were glittering silver and gold in the late afternoon sunshine, before she regaled Mo with Tom’s discoveries at Furnival Towers. After that she related her own encounter with Christina Harper. ‘So the upshot is,’ she concluded, ‘I’m going up to Linda Dexter’s house to have a look for these research papers tomorrow. Do you fancy coming with me?’
‘I’d love to, but I’ve got a prior engagement with my hairdresser. And even if I hadn’t, you wouldn’t want me along, playing gooseberry.’
‘Tom Dod isn’t coming. He has to take his wife and son somewhere.’
‘His son? His wife?’ Mo’s voice had risen, but she quickly lowered it again to say, ‘I thought you said that he was single. Are you sure?’
‘I was mistaken about him being single. If you keep on staring at me like that, instead of watching what you’re doing, you’re going to pour that tea all over the tablecloth.’
Mo drew in a long intake of breath. ‘When did you find this out?’
‘When I rang him and his wife answered the telephone.’
‘Well, well. So he was up to no good after all. Deceitful devil.’
‘There was no deceit involved,’ Fran said. ‘And he wasn’t up to anything. I kept on telling you that there was nothing brewing between us but you wouldn’t listen.’
‘Oh, come on, Fran. You’ve known him all this time and he just never happened to mention that he’s got a wife and son?’
‘Why should he? I don’t know him all that well. I don’t suppose you know the domestic details of everyone you play tennis with. Your trouble is that you think any man who doesn’t have his Happily Married lapel badge on display is up for grabs.’
‘That’s not a very nice thing to say.’
‘You’re right. It’s not. I’m sorry.’
‘This Deathly Dod fellow, though … You spent a couple of hours in the car with him, going to and from that funeral. You found out that he’s a company director in a family firm of wholesale fruiterers—’
‘Because I asked him what he did for a living.’
‘—but not that he was married.’
‘I didn’t ask him that.’
‘I still think it’s a bit fishy that he never mentioned his wife.’
‘It just didn’t come up.’
Mo made a disbelieving noise which Fran chose to ignore. There was a short silence while Mo sliced her Madeira cake into tiny, bite-sized squares, then she said, ‘Do you think he’s still interested in pursuing this theory about what happened to Linda Dexter? Now that you know he’s married.’
‘What difference does his being married make? He’s been married all along.’
‘I just think that … well, he’s suddenly become unavailable …’
‘You’re unavailable too,’ Fran said. ‘Should I assume that means you’re not interested in hearing any more about it?’
‘All right, don’t get snappy.’
‘Actually, he’s still really keen. He’s given me the telephone number of the relatives they’re visiting tomorrow afternoon so that I can get hold of him if I find anything.’
‘Or so that you can ring him without any risk of his wife picking up the telephone,’ said Mo.
Fran ignored the remark. ‘It may be quite a job, going through all her papers.’
‘Are you really going to go through all this woman’s private notes?’
‘Her sister didn’t seem to mind. She’s virtually given me carte blanche to look at whatever I like, though obviously I will only be looking at anything which might relate to her Robert Barnaby research, not private correspondence, diaries, things like that.’
‘Things like that might be significant if you’re wrong about the Robert Barnaby connection providing a motive.’
‘I am not going to snoop about in the poor woman’s diaries, if she had such things.’
They continued to eat their tea against the backdrop
of the bay and no more was said about Linda Dexter or Tom Dod. The sky had turned overcast again, which made the journey home seem less and less appealing. Mo offered to run her all the way, but Fran knew that her friend had another engagement and insisted on taking the 5.20 p.m. bus, which would drop her at the top of the lane.
In spite of the threatening clouds, she thought that she would manage to get home before it began to rain. According to the newspapers, the weather had been improving steadily throughout the month, but that was in London, of course. Up here the weather often had quite different ideas. Better have an early night, she told herself. She needed to be up early in the morning, because she had to cast her vote at the church hall in Haverthwaite before catching the first of the three buses which would take her on the somewhat convoluted journey to Ivegill.
She had forgotten all about the election when agreeing the day of her visit to Linda’s house with Mrs Harper, and casting her vote would be an inconvenience, but she felt that she had to do it for the sake of all those women who had gone to prison and made every kind of sacrifice, just so that she could. Not that she had ever taken much notice of politics before, which made it hard to know who to vote for. Her mother, of course, had been all for Mr Baldwin and his ‘safety first’, but she had more sympathy with Lloyd George’s promise to conquer unemployment. All those men who had fought alongside Geoffrey and Cec, reduced to selling matches in the street or tramping the country looking for work. It was a scandal and something ought to be done. Linda Dexter has been dead for almost five weeks, said a voice in her head: something ought to be done about that too.
She made it to the front door, just as the first spots of rain hit the ground. The day’s post was waiting on the mat (why Ada had not noticed it lying there, she could not imagine) and she carried it into the little parlour on the opposite side of the hall to the sitting room, where she liked to use the big, old-fashioned desk which she had picked up cheaply from the auction rooms. She opened the trio of envelopes, all of which turned out to be bills, and as she put them into the designated pigeon hole, she noticed that the papers from the Barnaby Society meeting were still lying on the desk and began to sort through them in a desultory way, deciding whether she needed to keep everything or could consign some of it to the role of fire-lighting material. When she reached the list of membership updates from John James, Stephen Latchford’s name jumped out at her. He was listed as a recent change of address, with a new abode at Broughton in Furness. Out of curiosity, she checked the membership list to see where he had moved from and found that it was an address near Carlisle, barely ten miles away from Linda Dexter’s home in Ivegill.