by Diane Janes
‘Wasn’t she jealous of Penelope?’
‘Well, she pretended not to be, but of course I always reckoned that she was terribly jealous of her. What that girl didn’t have wasn’t worth talking about. She’d had a governess, then went to a private school, had her own pony, all of that sort of thing. Lindy used to call her a stuck-up little cow behind her back, although she was always nice to her face. There wasn’t much difference in their ages either – only a couple of years, and Lindy used to reckon that her father thought more of Penelope than he did of her. Well, it stands to reason, doesn’t it? He’d watched Penelope growing up; she was his little darling. Then Lindy got it into her head that Mam and Dad preferred me to her as well. There were more and more arguments at home, and her father’s influence just made matters worse. He wanted to send her to finishing school in France, but our mam wouldn’t allow it. Putting ideas like that into a girl’s mind! He bought her a car for her nineteenth birthday – a car, if you don’t mind – and when she drove it into summat and smashed it up, he bought her another one. Guilty conscience, you see? Paid her no mind as a child, so he was spoiling her to make up for it. Eventually he set her up in her own little house. A young girl of that age! A little cottagey place on the edge of Bowness, it was, with a housekeeper and a cook. Mam and Dad tried to reason with him but they got nowhere, and I suppose it was a difficult time for him too. His wife had been took bad, you see, and they couldn’t do nothing for her. It was obvious to everyone that she was dying.’ Christina Harper paused for breath.
‘And after his second wife died,’ Fran prompted, ‘did Linda go and live with him then?’
‘No, she never did. Lucky for her, as things turned out … Anyway, she was coming up for twenty-one, and that’s when she met Eddie Traynor.’ Mrs Harper paused again to sip her tea, while Fran resisted the urge to beg her to go on.
‘The funny thing is, Eddie Traynor seemed like a real good ’un at the time. He started seeing our Lindy regularly and there’s no doubt that she changed for the better and calmed down a lot.’
Because she must have thought that she’d finally found someone who really loved her, Fran thought, and it turned her life around.
‘They saw each other for the best part of six months, and our mam was expecting any day for Lindy to come bouncing in, showing off an engagement ring.’
‘But she never did?’
‘No, because Eddie Traynor threw her over for Penelope. We expected Lindy to be distraught, but I think she was so shocked that she just sort of … I don’t know how to explain it. She closed down somehow … the fire went out of her and she went … cold. She never talked about it much, but I remember Lindy once saying that Penelope had always had what should have been hers, right down to the man she would have married.’
‘So Eddie was going to marry Penelope?’
‘He wanted to but her father wanted them to wait. Eddie had just qualified as an engineer. He wasn’t out of the top drawer by any means and he hadn’t a penny to his name, but he had a bright future, so folk said. The trouble was Penelope stood to inherit an absolute pile and a rich daddy is always going to be on the lookout for chancers, isn’t he? So he persuaded the pair of them to wait a while. Until Penelope was of age, at least. You can see his reasoning, right enough. I mean, young Eddie had already broken the heart of one daughter. Maybe, deep down, even Penelope thought it might be as well not to rush into anything. Anyway, it was all fixed up that Penelope would go off to Europe for the best part of a year to study paintings or something of that sort, and her father said that if they still felt the same when she came back, he wouldn’t stand in their way – which in their world meant a nice cash settlement and probably a house thrown in.’
‘So what happened? Did they get married in the end?’
Mrs Harper regarded Fran with the disbelief of a lecturer who has just been confronted with a particularly stupid question from a student at the back who hasn’t been paying attention.
‘No. Because the night before Penelope was supposed to leave for Europe, she and her father were murdered and the house set on fire.’
‘Oh my God.’ The words escaped from Fran’s lips in a horrified whisper.
‘You can imagine what it did to Lindy. She just went in on herself all the more. While they was waiting for the trial and everything, she came over all strange, reckoned the press were watching her every move. She even started to wear a wig because she said people were looking at her in the street and she didn’t want to be recognized. She moved to a bigger house, up a long driveway, and employed a man to guard the gates – well, of course, she could afford to. She got everything, you see: sole survivor. Then she met David Dexter. Whirlwind romance wasn’t in it. They were married within three months. I don’t know what the attraction was for her, but if you ask me, he’d got his eye on her bank balance. He came from Carlisle way and that’s where they bought a house. It was when she got married that she changed her name.’
‘To Dexter.’
‘To Linda. I don’t think she ever did anything formal about it, but she let everyone know that from now on it would be Linda. It never made any difference to us because we’d always called her Lindy anyway.’
‘What was her name before?’
‘Belinda. My Mam liked fancy names. Belinda, Linda, not much difference, is there, but she said she’d never liked it. So Linda it was from then onwards, in public at least. So once she was married, she had different first and second names. I think she reckoned that would make it harder for people to find her.’
‘And the marriage didn’t last?’
‘They parted after about a year. She made quite a bit of money over to him. I said to her there was no need. They hadn’t been together for two minutes and he’d obviously married her for her money, but she just laughed and said it was cheap at the price. Glad to be rid of him, I suppose.’
‘And wasn’t there ever anyone else after him?’
‘Not that I ever heard about. She just used to fool about collecting those children’s books and going off to see where authors used to live and all that stuff. I could never see the point myself, though I daresay all those trips she took were very nice. She didn’t stint herself, our Lindy – always had whatever she wanted. But if I’m honest, I think my George had the right idea about it. He always said she was soft in the head. Hiding herself away, spending her life on kiddies’ books instead of having a proper life like other people. I think it was the shock that changed her. Eddie Traynor – that was the turning point.’
‘And the murder of her father and sister – that must have been a massive shock to her.’
‘Well, it was all wrapped up together, wasn’t it? Didn’t I say? That was Eddie Traynor. He was the one what murdered Penelope and her father. I’m surprised you didn’t know nothing about it. It was all over the newspapers at the time – the Halfpenny Landing murders, they called it.’
NINETEEN
As she rode home in the bus, Fran found that she was able to dredge up hazy memories of the Halfpenny Landing murders. That was what the papers had christened the case, after the name of the house in which the crime had taken place. An ironic sort of name, she thought, considering the value of the lakeside pleasure palace in question. She knew now where she had seen the house in the framed photograph that she had appropriated from Linda’s sitting room. It wasn’t associated with a famous author but with a notorious local murder: a case she had vaguely followed via the newspapers almost fifteen years ago, when she had still been at school.
Here at least lay the solution to the source of Linda Dexter’s wealth and the reason why her sister’s circumstances had been so different to her own … but while resolving one set of questions, it posed a variety of others. As soon as she got home, Fran sat down at her big old desk in the parlour and wrote down as much of her conversation with Mrs Harper as she could remember, then she read it through, making additions and corrections as she went. As she was doing so she heard the faint slam
of a car door through the open window and, having raised her head enough to see out of the window, she uttered a word which her mother would have disapproved of. There was a blue Austin 7 parked at the gate and Stephen Latchford had just got out of it. She abandoned her notebook and pencil on the desk and fled into the kitchen. What luck that Ada had taken an extra half day to visit a sick relative, which meant that there was no one to answer the front door and no need for explanations either.
A moment later there was a brisk rat-tat-tat on the front door knocker. If she ignored it, he would have to go away. She waited in the kitchen and, sure enough, the sound came again. Her heart had begun to hammer in her chest. Stupid, she thought, because he will have to give up and go away in a minute. In the meantime, she would cut herself a sandwich for lunch. She had placed the loaf on the breadboard, positioned the bread knife carefully and began to saw through the crust. It didn’t seem to matter how hard she tried to keep it straight, the knife always went off at an angle. What a good thing that Ada wasn’t there to see her making such a hash of it. It was positively embarrassing that she could not manage the simplest of tasks that good servants took in their stride. She was just contemplating a slice which was twice as thick at the top than at the bottom when she was startled by the sound of the kitchen door opening behind her. She gave a shriek, dropping the knife with a clatter, as she turned to see Stephen Latchford stepping into the kitchen.
‘Did I startle you?’ He smiled as he closed the door behind him. ‘I guessed that you hadn’t heard the door, so I came round the back.’
The shock of finding him in the kitchen with her, coupled with the sheer cheek of it, rendered her temporarily speechless.
‘I knocked twice,’ he said. There was an element of reproof in his tone – as if it were she rather than he who was in the wrong.
‘I must have been in the garden.’ Why on earth was she lying? Why didn’t she just tell him to get out? ‘I’ve only just come back inside. You can’t hear the door out there.’
‘Just as well I thought to come round the back then. You need to get a nice loud bell installed.’
She tried to pull herself together. How did he manage to engineer situations in such a way that she would appear rude to complain of his unorthodox behaviour? ‘You have caught me at rather a bad time again, I’m afraid. I’m just about to have my lunch. A friend is expecting me at two o’clock.’ It sounded so transparent. She didn’t think that he believed in her two o’clock appointment for a moment.
‘Oh, do go ahead. Don’t mind me. I haven’t had anything myself, as it happens.’
She ignored the obvious hint. ‘Did you want anything in particular?’
‘I have brought something to show you. You remember, I called round with it before but you were having a bath.’
Something in the way he was looking at her made her feel deeply uncomfortable. She felt sick. Worse, she felt fearful, not properly in control of the situation. People did not simply walk into one another’s houses upon the slightest of acquaintances. ‘Yes, of course, I remember. But this really isn’t a very good time either. It would be much better if you would telephone and make arrangements in advance of calling in.’
‘One doesn’t usually telephone ahead – after all, most people are not connected to the telephone service. If it’s inconvenient, I daresay I can come back another time.’ The overly chummy tone had been replaced by irritation. He sounded like a haughty maiden aunt managing to retain her temper in the face of a considerable affront. If his presence had not been so upsetting, it might actually have been funny.
‘No, of course,’ said Fran quickly. ‘I’m sure I can spare a few minutes if it’s something that won’t take too long.’ If she looked at whatever this wretched thing was, then there would be no need for him to call again.
After a small show of token reluctance, he withdrew a single printed sheet from the cardboard wallet that he had been carrying under his arm. It was yet another magazine article pertaining to Robert Barnaby’s alleged visit to some rather grand local house. It only took a moment to read it, but as she did so, Fran noted that the paper felt old between her fingers. The possibility loomed in her mind that he had a whole stock of these dreary cuttings which he could drip feed to her one after another to justify repeat visits.
‘That’s most interesting,’ she said when she had finished reading. It wasn’t all that interesting, but what could she say? ‘Thank you for showing it to me.’
He ignored the note of dismissal in her voice and continued to stand in the kitchen. It suddenly seemed like a very small space for two people.
Mrs Snegglington chose that moment to appear. She walked straight up to the visitor and began to rub herself flirtatiously against his trousers. Fran felt like strangling her. The one person she would have liked the cat to completely ignore.
‘What a lovely cat. What’s she called?’
Fran hesitated. She didn’t want him to know that the cat was named after the housekeeper in the Magic Chair stories. Apart from anything else, it made her look childish. ‘It’s Tabby,’ she said.
‘Not very imaginative.’ He tickled the cat behind the ears. ‘Who’s a lovely girl, then.’
Mrs Snegglington jumped on to the kitchen table, looking pleased with herself.
‘Get down … Tabby. You know you’re not allowed up there.’
Mrs Snegglington gave Fran an insolent who-the-hell-is-Tabby look, before strolling imperiously in the direction of the sink.
‘Get down.’ Fran got hold of the animal and plonked her unceremoniously on the floor. The cat headed straight back to her new friend, where she was rewarded with more petting and compliments.
‘Don’t let me stop you getting on with your lunch.’ Stephen-with-a-ph had reverted to the role of an old friend, as if he was completely accustomed to hanging around in her kitchen.
Fran took a deep breath. ‘Mr Latchford, the truth is that I don’t really like people watching me eat. I – I’ve got a bit of a thing about it.’
‘Oh dear, how awful for you.’ The sarcasm was unmistakable. ‘That must make things very difficult for you, when you eat at conferences and so on.’
‘Yes,’ said Fran. ‘Very.’
‘Well, in that case, I’ll be off. I mustn’t delay your lunch when your friend’s expecting you at two.’
‘And … and the other thing is that I’d prefer it if you didn’t let yourself into the house like that again.’ She ignored his hostile expression. ‘I’m not at all comfortable with that. It’s … it’s not the way I was brought up.’ Heavens, how pompous that sounded. Well, she did not care. ‘If you plan to call on me again, it would really be better if you telephoned first, to make sure that it’s a convenient time.’
TWENTY
‘So you think he knew that it was just an excuse to get rid of him?’ asked Mo.
There was something steadying in hearing Mo’s voice on the line. Fran could picture her in her chintzy drawing room, reaching for a cocktail glass. ‘Oh, absolutely. It was totally obvious that I was lying. I’ve told him that the cat’s name is Tabby, by the way. Oh, yes – and that I’ve got a thing about eating in public.’
‘Fran, darling, have you been drinking?’
‘I only wish I had.’
‘So how many times has this chap been round?’
‘Three, but he only got in twice, because the other time I wouldn’t let him in.’
‘Good plan. You shouldn’t let him in at all.’
‘I tried not to, but he let himself in. He came round to the back door and just walked straight into my kitchen.’
‘Goodness, I don’t like the sound of that,’ said Mo. ‘You’re going to have to make a stand.’
‘I tried. He didn’t like it, but he must have got the message by now. Anyway, the thing I really wanted to talk to you about is … do you remember the Halfpenny Landing murders?’
‘Vaguely. Isn’t that the case up at Windermere before the war, where someone bro
ke in at night, murdered the couple who lived there then tried to cover it up by setting fire to the place?’
‘That’s the one. It wasn’t a couple, as such. It was a father and daughter.’
‘Right-ho – so what about it?’
‘Well,’ said Fran, ‘you’re never going to believe this …’
After spending almost half an hour on the telephone with Mo, Fran was about to try Tom’s number when she had second thoughts. Long-distance calls were terribly expensive, but that wasn’t really the reason. Maybe it would be better to drop him a line in the post … not that there was any reason why she shouldn’t speak to his wife, if she happened to answer. It was not as if there was anything improper going on. She wondered whether Tom had discussed the death of Linda Dexter with his wife and, if so, what she thought about it all. She decided that perhaps a note would be the best thing and sat at the big desk to compose it. There was a lot to put in a letter, and eventually she wrote: Dear Tom, I had a very interesting conversation with LD’s sister today. Much to tell you. Please telephone me when convenient.
Fran
She pictured him ripping open the envelope the next day. She could see the lush dark hair and those clever brown eyes. He had a way of narrowing his eyes when he was reading something. He would be wearing his habitual flannels and that greenish brown necktie … The picture became hazy after that. Did he have a study, with a proper desk, or did he open his post at the breakfast table sitting opposite Mrs Dod? The vision faded. She had never visited his home and, in all probability, she never would.
Tom rang her the following evening at nine o’clock.
‘It’s quite a long story,’ she said. ‘Are you all right for time?’
‘I’ve got the rest of the night, if you need it.’ His voice always seemed a shade deeper on the phone, like someone speaking low, confiding something directly into her ear. He must hold the receiver very close to his mouth, she thought. Perhaps so that his wife couldn’t hear him.