Even on the point of death.
McGregor closed the door behind him and headed for the stairs.
Midway down he stopped, his eyes alighting on a magnificent portrait. The painting was relatively new, but it could have been old. The figure’s appearance was impeccable – dressed in ancient regalia, just like they all were. A fine head of fair hair was his crowning glory – at least beside the actual crown. Strange as it sounded, even to him, facially he was almost the same as the man who had lived five hundred years earlier.
At the top of the stairs he heard further coughing. Soon the young man’s time would come.
A new pretender would rise from obscurity.
19
“Did you always want to be a hairdresser?” Jen asked, enjoying the warm tap water as it flowed through her hair.
The young protégé nodded. “Mum started the business before I was born. She learnt from my grandmother – she owned the shop right here.”
“Wow.”
“It’s always been something of a family tradition,” the girl said, drying some of the excess water from Jen’s hair. “But even if it wasn’t, I’d probably still be doing it. Never really fancied working in the city.”
Jen nodded, taking the time to admire her hair in the mirror as the chair turned round. It looked pitch black as a result of the water.
“I’ve always wondered, what do people do around here for work?”
Anthea shrugged. “Depends, really. In the past most people owned their own shops or businesses; some have survived, some haven’t. A few commute to Hull, Leeds or York. Those who commute further usually have a second home in the week.”
“How about the people of your generation?”
A wry smile. “Those with ambition go to London. Most go to college or university first, though.”
“Did you not fancy it yourself?”
“There was no point, really; I’d already learnt everything to know watching Mum as a teenager. I just wanted to try it first hand, you know?”
Jen nodded and smiled.
“So what about you? The big TV star, you.”
“Hardly,” Jen said coyly. “We’ll see after the haircut.”
Anthea giggled. “It must be so exciting, working in television. Have you done anything famous?”
“Depends what you mean by famous. I’ve worked on news programs. But mainly documentaries: history, that sort of thing. I’ve worked on a few for Discovery.”
Anthea nodded, her eyes still focused on her scissors. Silently Jen was pleased the girl was keeping her concentration.
“Have you ever worked with anyone famous?”
Jen noticed the girl’s excitement was growing. “A few – most of them have been older.”
“You mean like Tony Robinson?”
“Like him, but not him.”
The girl’s smile widened.
“It’s not like people think, though,” Jen said, this time more earnestly. “Most of us work to contract – we’re technically self-employed. It all goes round in cycles. One day you could find yourself working on daytime telly, six months later you could be working for Panorama.”
Anthea was captivated. “Is that why you came to Wootton?”
“The company I work for now filmed here a year ago. Apparently the producer became quite attached to the story…do you mind if I ask you something really personal?”
Anthea stopped mid-cut.
“What was it like? A small village suddenly becoming the centre of attention?”
The girl shrugged. “In a way, it was quite exciting, really. I’d never seen a media circus before.”
Jen nodded. It was the answer of a teenager.
“They asked me to be interviewed, but I said no.”
“How come?”
“Don’t know, really. I guess it was because she was me friend.”
Jen watched her reaction in the mirror. It was obvious that the question had caused the girl to reminisce.
“Were you close?”
Back to reality. “Sorry?”
“You and Debra: were you close?”
Anthea grimaced. “We sort of was, but we wasn’t. You know what I mean?”
“I think so.” In truth Jen had no idea.
“I mean, we were mates; like, you know you have your best mates, then your good mates, then finally just your mates.”
“Yeah.”
“She was like one of the good mates. I mean, we’d talk, but we didn’t always hang out. You know what I mean?”
“Absolutely.” That made complete sense.
“We were distantly related through marriage. I’d been round her house. Stayed over a couple of times.”
“Just the two of you?”
“No – more like six or seven of us.”
Jen nodded, no surprises. “Where are they now – her other friends?”
“Most of them are at college. Others moved on.”
The girl paused, this time for longer. For a moment Jen thought she was going to cry, but she didn’t.
“Was it weird? Not having her about.”
“Being honest, it wasn’t. I think that was because we were leaving school anyway. You know what I mean?”
Until now that thought had never occurred to her. Jen knew from the reports that Debra Harrison had disappeared only three days after finishing her last GCSE exam.
“When did you last see her?”
“You mean before she disappeared?”
What else could she mean? “Yeah.”
“Earlier that same evening.”
“You didn’t notice anything unusual?”
“Not really. We’d just finished our last exam. Or I had. My last exam was business,” Anthea continued. “Debra didn’t do business; she did geography and history.”
The facts at least continued to agree. “What did you do on finishing your exams?”
The girl smiled uncontrollably. “Mum threw us all a party here. I’ve never been so wasted in all me life.”
Jen laughed. “How many of you were here?”
“Just the girls, really – about twelve in all.”
“How about Debra?”
Anthea paused, her mind in deep thought. “She was here – at least she came. I think she went early.”
Finally a potential breakthrough. “Any idea when?”
“She was definitely here till after seven. I know that because Melanie – she’s me best mate – she was really drunk, and we had to put her on the settee out back. See, I remember that because I was sober then – relatively.”
Jen smiled. “What time did you start?”
“Not sure, really. Most of the girls arrived after seven. Most of the girls had been drinking all day.”
Again it was what Jen had expected. She remembered doing the same thing after passing her own GCSEs.
She needed to concentrate on Debra Harrison. “Any idea why Debra left?”
“She wasn’t really much of a drinker – Debra.”
A new thought had occurred. Was the girl sober when she disappeared? Furthermore, was she the kind of girl where a little drink went a long way?
“Was she drunk when she left?”
Anthea shook her head. “No, definitely not. I remember she was talking to me earlier; she’d been working on a project. She said she needed to concentrate. I said, look, calm down, you need to enjoy yourself – come have some fun.”
Jen was confused. “What project? I thought exams were over.”
“They were. This one was different.”
“You mean extracurricular?”
“Sort of. It wasn’t to do with school. She was helping Lovell with something. That’s Dr Lovell. He lives in the village; he used to be our headmaster…but not anymore.”
Jen raised an eyebrow. This was the first she’d heard of any project with Lovell.
“Francis Lovell?”
Anthea nodded.
“Was she good friends with Lovell?”
“N
ot really friends,” Anthea said. “I mean, he’s well over sixty – Lovell.”
“When did he retire?”
“About four year ago, I think – maybe it were five.”
“So he was still the head when you all started?”
“Yeah, that’s right. I think I were in year eight when he retired – just finishing year eight.”
Jen nodded, digesting the information while looking at herself in the mirror. The cut was progressing nicely.
“Did you still interact with him after he retired?”
“At the end of the day, we’re all local, really. We normally bump into each other after a few days.”
“Where does he live?”
In truth, Jen knew the answer already.
“You know that footpath that goes off by the church – near where you’ve been staying?”
Jen nodded.
“Follow that and you come to a lane. Follow the lane and you come to a group of houses…really, really nice houses. That’s where Sir William Catesby and Lord Ratcliffe live. Have you met Lord Ratcliffe?”
“They both came for a drink in the Hog last night.”
The girl smiled. “I’m eighteen in October; then I’ll be able to drink.”
“You mean legally?”
The girl laughed. “Yeah.”
Jen smiled. Anthea Brown was certainly a dark horse.
“How about Luke Rankin? Did you know him?”
The atmosphere changed, as if a switch had been flicked.
“I never liked him. He was weird.”
“In what way?” Jen guessed she knew what was coming.
“He was just strange. Was a right loner. He never used to talk to people.”
“Did you ever go to school with him?”
“No – he were two year older. He used to go to St Joseph’s before we joined. But his mum took him to some other school.”
Again, Jen was pleased that the information agreed with what she already knew.
“Do you think he really did it?”
The question came from nowhere – even to Jen. She instantly regretted asking. She feared that the girl would be overcome with emotion. And that she’d have no way of being able to console her.
“Why commit suicide a week later if you’ve nothing to hide?”
“Did anyone suspect anything before he died?”
Anthea thought about it. “I don’t think so; I can’t really remember.”
“Was it definitely suicide?”
“Yeah – that’s what everyone says.”
The answer was less definite than Jen had expected. “Where was he found?”
“You know the lane that I was talking about?”
“You mean where Lovell lives?”
“Yeah. Well, before the lane, there’s this footpath from the churchyard. If you follow the path all the way, you come to a bridge, which was part of the old railway station. They don’t use that anymore.”
Jen listened carefully, still watching the girl via the mirror. “Did you see it? The body?”
“No. They took it down straight away.”
“What? The police?”
“No – apparently it were Lord Ratcliffe.”
That seemed ridiculous. “Lord Ratcliffe took down the body?”
“I think he had help.”
At least help meant eyewitnesses. “Who made the initial discovery?”
“I think that were Lord Ratcliffe as well.”
“How on earth did he find him?”
“He was out for a walk.”
“A walk?”
Anthea nodded. She picked up the nearest hairdryer and started drying Jen’s hair. “I’ve often seen him walk his dogs around there. He has these great big lovely Alsatians.”
Jen nodded as the force of the hairdryer blew against her scalp.
Colour and volume were returning to her hair.
As she considered the recent information, her heightening suspicion was momentarily dampened. After all, there was nothing particularly extraordinary about a man taking his dogs for a walk along a quiet footpath close to his house.
Anthea switched off the hairdryer and removed the cloak from around Jen’s shoulders.
“Voilà.”
Jen sensed the triumph in the girl’s voice. In truth, it was not misplaced.
It was oh so different, but oh so lovely.
Jen shook her head – almost in disbelief. “I love it.”
The girl was ecstatic. “You’re not just saying that?”
“Seriously, it’s brilliant. Thank you so much.”
Just at that moment the door opened, the ringing of the bell heralding the arrival of a newcomer. Martha had returned, her hands full with carrier bags.
She was clearly unprepared for the sight before her.
“Oh my,” she said, almost dropping her shopping.
“Doesn’t she look gorgeous, Mum?”
Jen posed for the hairdresser. “Kate Hudson eat your heart out! I hope you don’t mind us not waiting.”
“Me, mind?” The woman was lost for words.
Jen smiled at the seventeen-year-old. “Thank you so much,” she said, kissing her on the cheek and hugging her. She placed her bag over her shoulder. “How much did you say that was again?”
“£35.”
“Twenty-five,” Martha interrupted. “It’s twenty-five for VIPs.”
“Well, here’s twenty-five,” Jen said, passing over three notes. “And here is your tip,” she said, giving her another ten.
The girl was even more ecstatic. “Thank you so, so much.”
“No, thank you so, so much.” Jen looked herself over again in the mirror. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt a strange sense of vanity. “I’m really glad I got to meet you.”
Anthea looked at her mother. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, Mum. I’m just going to show Jen where the Rankin kid was found.”
20
The offer was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Anthea led the way out of the hairdresser’s, across the high street and past the Hog. Jen followed a pace or two behind, still struggling to adjust to the feeling of the new hairstyle.
In truth, she was undecided what shocked her the most: how good it looked, or that the same girl who earlier that day she thought would struggle to say boo to a goose was capable of carrying out the job.
For now, she focused on the former. Every opportunity she got, she studied her reflection. Fortunately the high street was abundant in glass, so the opportunities were plentiful. The length was slightly shorter than she was used to – a fraction under shoulder length – but what struck her most was how wavy it was. That and the new colour. It was different enough for her to notice, yet also subtle enough for the average guy not to notice. As she passed the Hog, she walked alongside a row of parked cars. The tinted glass offered the best reflections so far. She grinned to herself as she looked.
Enough already with the vanity.
She followed Anthea past the Hog and then right before reaching the church. The churchyard was deserted, which was usual – particularly on a weekday. There were fresh flowers on some of the graves, a stunning bouquet on one. Flowers grew wildly throughout, the colours ranging from purple to orange, with yellow being by far the most common. The smell of freshly cut grass teased her nostrils, causing her throat to itch slightly. The one thing she hated about summer was hay fever. These days it was a minor nuisance, whereas as a kid it could ruin an entire day.
Thankfully, those days were over.
Today, she could enjoy the scenery.
It was warmer than the day before, and the village was in its prime. The afternoon sun beat down brightly on the stone church tower, casting a long shadow across the churchyard, where numerous trees moved softly in the breeze, the sunlight nestling between the foliage. For the first time Jen became aware of the wildlife, the sound of birds whistling or squawking as they hopped from branch to branch.
It still seemed u
nthinkable such a tragedy could have occurred here.
They took the footpath through the nearby gateway and veered to the right. The path zigzagged, following the natural curvature of the ground as it bisected two hills. The dry mud was comfortable underfoot, while the trees that lined the path took away most of the glare. The temperature had definitely picked up – even since leaving the hairdresser’s. She guessed it was about 27 perhaps even 29 Celsius.
A perfect summer’s day in England.
The path curved away to the left before straightening out. The landscape was more visible now. To Jen’s right, fields and farmland continued as far as the eye could see, while above the horizon the sea was clearly visible, its calm water washing gently against the rocky coast. The location was lonely, but idyllic. The odd farmhouse, occasional villages – perhaps merely hamlets – reminded her that life existed, but for now they were the only signs of civilisation.
To the adopted Londoner, it was like looking at a setting from Wuthering Heights.
A few metres along, the illusion became even greater. On the hill to the left were ruins: white stone, the remains of a former wall.
She had learned the day before that a castle had once existed in the village.
“Who lived there?” Jen asked.
“I think it was the Saxons first. After that I think it was the Normans.”
Jen smiled to herself. Ask a silly question.
“In the Middle Ages it belonged to one of the Plantagenets. We had to do a project on it at school.”
The Plantagenets, she thought to herself. Kings of England 1154–1485, ending with the defeat of Richard III at Bosworth and the beginning of the Tudors.
She knew that there was the odd illegitimate branch of the family as well.
“Anything interesting?”
“Yeah, sort of,” Anthea replied, touching her hair. “Apparently it was destroyed in the Wars of the Roses.”
On hearing that, Jen’s mind wandered back to her experiences of the previous day: firstly in the cloisters, then hearing about Catesby, Ratcliffe and Lovell in the Hog.
She assumed the windows were relevant to the village’s history.
“Who owned it? Was it one of the kings?”
“Just cousins, I think.”
The Plantagenet Vendetta Page 12