‘See if you can find any coffee,’ I say, opening some of the cupboards. ‘Pots and pans, plates, glasses, but no food. I thought I was bad at managing a store cupboard, but Dorothy hits a whole other level.’
I open the fridge, which has an unopened jar of mustard, a part used tin of baked beans and a few mouldy carrots.
‘She’s right about the milk,’ Libby says, peering into the fridge as I hold the door open. ‘I’ll put the kettle on and then I think we should take the opportunity to go exploring.’
‘Exploring?’
‘Yes, we should have a nose in some of the other rooms, while Dorothy and Hugh are occupied, so to speak. You never know what we might find.’
‘You’re worse than me.’
‘I’m a journalist, remember.’
‘Mm, okay. But don’t touch anything, whatever you do.’
‘Did you bring your camera?’
‘Oh, crikey, I don’t believe it. I’ve left it in my bag and my bag is in the dining room. Great, another photo opportunity missed.’
‘Don’t worry, use your powers of observation and memory. You take the room on the left, I’ll go right and we’ll meet back here in two minutes.’
‘Two minutes?’
‘Yes, that’s how long the kettle will take to boil, by which time Dorothy will be expecting our return. We don’t want her to come looking for us, do we?’
The room I go into appears to be a study of sorts. The walls are lined with bookshelves and in the centre of the room is an old-fashioned bureau, made of mahogany or similar, with a green leather blotter on top, providing a writing area. I open a few of the drawers, trying to be as quiet as possible. The drawers are empty, as are the bookshelves. But in one corner of the room is a stack of cardboard boxes, each taped closed with sticky tape and a large wooden tea chest, which appears to be full of documents and magazines.
Assuming my two minutes are up I return to the kitchen to find Libby already there, pouring the hot water into a couple of mugs.
‘Anything?’ I ask her.
‘It’s weird. There’s a sitting room, but the armchairs and settee are covered in sheets, no pictures on the wall, not even a clock. It doesn’t look like anyone plans on relaxing in there today. What about you? Find anything?’
‘No, nothing. Her study is empty, bar a load of boxes. Nothing in the desk drawers, no ornaments, or photos.’
‘You opened the drawers? I thought you said not to touch?’
‘I didn’t, I just opened the drawers. Look, let’s take the drinks through and see if we can sus out what they’ve been talking about.’
I follow Libby through to the dining room and as we approach we hear Dorothy’s voice, high pitched and piercing. ‘No-one will ever believe you,’ she shouts.
I don’t wait for a reply, but push open the door to find Dorothy standing, her arms raised and a vicious expression on her face. Hugh is seated at the far end of the dining table, glaring at Dorothy as though he has been punched.
‘Drinks, anyone?’ Libby says, lightly.
They turn to look at us and I hesitate in the doorway, wondering who will make the next move.
‘We are leaving,’ Hugh says. ‘I will be back, Dorothy. You can bank on that.’
‘Do what you like, it won’t make any difference now,’ she says, walking around Libby and holding the door open.
Once the three of us are back in the car, I turn to Hugh and notice his hands are shaking.
‘What happened between you two?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it. Just take me home, please.’
‘Home? Back to your lodgings, you mean?’
He nods and turns away from me to gaze out of the window, but I have the feeling he is not seeing anything as we drive back to Tamarisk Bay in silence; our visit resulting in more questions than answers.
We drop Hugh back at his lodgings, with a warning glance for Rosetta. We watch him slowly climbing the stairs to his bedroom, his shoulders slumped forward and his head bent. For a man who is no stranger to great feats of bravery, today he looks as though he has lost not just one battle, but the entire war.
A welcome aroma greets me as I push open our front door.
‘How did you know what I’d been dreaming of on the way home?’ I say, walking through to the kitchen.
‘Telepathy. All good partnerships have it, you know,’ Greg says, taking my coat and scarf and gesturing to me to sit. ‘One or two?’
‘Need you ask? Two, of course.’
He slides a plate over to me with two hot crumpets, the butter still melting in a golden puddle in the centre of each one.
‘I knew there was a reason I married you,’ I say, planting a sticky kiss on his lips, after taking my first bite.
‘How is my super sleuth of a wife? Did the plan work? Have you located the elusive Dorothy?’
‘Let me finish these while they’re hot and then I will tell you all. How about Alex, do we have non-dripping taps now?’
‘Taps all present and correct, madam. We owe him some kind of thank you. I did buy him a pint, but he wouldn’t take any money. Maybe we can ask him round for supper one night?’
‘Does he have a girlfriend?’
‘Not as far as I know. Why, you’re not planning to matchmake, are you?’
‘I don’t think he’s Libby’s type and anyway, I have a feeling Libby’s heart is presently set on someone else entirely, but Becca is due home from uni soon, isn’t she?’ I say, smiling. ‘Tell you what, how about we ask Alex and Becca and your mum and dad at the same time. Then we can talk godparenting and see if your dad is happy to still give you a hand decorating with Bean’s room. Didn’t you say he’d offered?’
‘Okay, sounds good. I’ll talk to them. Now, come on, tell me what happened with Hugh, don’t keep me on tenterhooks. I quite like the idea of my wife as an investigator, it’s like having a ready-made television series to catch up with on a nightly basis.’
I push my empty plate aside and get out my notebook.
‘Who would have thought it?’ he says, interrupting.
‘What?’
‘Look at you, making lists, following a system.’
‘What do you mean? I’m excellent at systems, that’s why I’m such a great librarian,’ I say, defensively.
‘It’s a shame you don’t apply it to all aspects of our life, like shopping lists,’ he says, grinning. He is teasing me about last week when I made a list, but went shopping without it and we had no butter for three days.
‘Point taken.’
‘So, we were right, it was Dorothy’s house and Hugh persuaded her to let us in. Then, while the two of them were talking, well, more arguing than talking, Libby and I went exploring.’
‘For exploring I should read being nosey?’
‘Needs must. But what do you think of this? Dorothy’s place was like no-one lived there. There was no food in the cupboards, no food in the fridge. Both the rooms we looked in had stuff packed away in boxes. Why would someone live like that?’
‘They wouldn’t.’
‘So, what do you think it means?’
‘That’s the point, isn’t it? They wouldn’t live like that, unless they are planning not to live there anymore. Unless they are planning to move?’
Chapter 25
When the library van door opens the next morning the last person I expect to see entering is Dorothy. She strides in and presents herself at the counter, glaring directly at me. Her camel coloured coat has a grimy mark on the collar and one of the buttons is hanging by a thread. A brown woollen scarf is wrapped around her neck and she is wearing a brown beret, which makes me think of school uniform.
‘How did he rope you in then?’ she says.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Your so-called friend, Hugh Furness.’
‘Mrs …’ I hesitated.
‘I go by the name of Mrs Madden, but like I said yesterday, you can call me Dorothy. I’m not like some, with their airs an
d graces.’
‘Well, Dorothy, I’m not too sure what it is you think you know, but the relationship between Hugh and me is private.’
‘I’ll bet it is. Your husband knows about him, does he?’
‘I don’t like the tone of your voice, Dorothy. Perhaps you’d like to take a seat for a moment and we can start again. Maybe we could start with ‘Good morning’?’
I pull out the spare chair from behind the counter and offer it to her.
‘I’m happy standing. From the looks of that bump of yours it’s you who needs to take the weight off. So, come on, tell me. Is he paying you?’ Her expression is sneering, her voice acid.
‘As I said, the relationship between Hugh and me is private.’
‘He’s free with his money is our Hugh. You know it’s not even his? That wife of his was the one with the rich family. Handy she went and died on him and left him the lot.’
With all the thoughts running around in my mind, the over-riding one is how to get this unpleasant woman to leave.
‘How about I tell you a few home truths?’ she says. ‘The man you’re working for is a liar.’
For the second time I’m being told not to trust Hugh.
‘I’m pleased you are here, Dorothy,’ I say, deciding to compound the lying that appears to surround this case. ‘I’d like to ask you a few questions, concerning a brooch.’
She glares at me, before a sickly smirk spreads over her face.
‘What brooch would that be?’
‘I think you know the answer to that.’
‘Why don’t you spell it out for me?’
‘You stole a brooch. It was when you were a land girl, during the war.’
‘Ha,’ she pretends to laugh, but the sound is hollow. ‘Now let me think, I’m reckoning you weren’t even born back then, were you?’
‘Hugh has proof. He’s shown it to me.’
‘Proof, eh? Well, you need to be careful, throwing accusations around. Could get yourself into trouble and I’m sure your dad wouldn’t like that now, would he?’
My heart starts to thump uncomfortably fast, as the adrenalin floods through my body.
‘How did you find me, Dorothy? Who told you I worked here?’
‘Oh, you’re not hard to find. You should know all about tracking people down, done a touch of that yourself, haven’t you?’
‘Kenneth,’ I say, sensing some of the pieces of my puzzle slotting into place. Kenneth would have told his sister everything. It would have been no surprise to Dorothy when Libby and I turned up at her house. ‘What happened to the brooch, Dorothy?’
‘Now, I don’t think that’s any business of yours, is it?’
‘I could make it police business though.’
‘So, the young lady is foolish enough to threaten me. Well, think again, you’re a little out of your depth here. Let me guess the story that Hugh has cooked up. I expect he’s told you that I took something so precious from his wife that she carried the sadness to her death bed.’
I can sense my hiccups coming on and start deep breathing to try to control them. Dorothy gives me a quizzical glance. ‘Not going to faint on me, are you?’ She sounds genuinely concerned, any bitterness gone from her voice.
I pour myself some water and sit down, while she remains standing.
‘Why did you get yourself mixed up with all this?’ she says, ‘You could walk away now, pretend you’ve never met either of us.’
I shake my head, wondering what it is she is so desperate to hide. Throughout the time we have been speaking no customers have come into the van. But now the door opens and Ethel Latimer walks in and approaches the counter.
‘I won’t disturb you, I can see you’re busy,’ she says quietly, taking a sideways glance at Dorothy.
‘Did you need to exchange a book?’ I ask her, knowing the answer as there is no book in her hand and no space for one in the small handbag she is carrying.
‘I just wanted to let you know about mum,’ she says, with an emphasis on the final word.
‘I might be a little while here,’ I say, aware that Dorothy is watching us.
At that moment Dorothy puts a hand on my arm, ‘You carry on and speak to your friend. I only came to tell you one thing,’ she says, as I pull my arm away from her.
Before I can respond she walks towards the door.
‘Wait, you haven’t told me anything,’ I say, trying to keep the desperation from my voice.
‘Tell Hugh he won’t be seeing me again. I’m off and this time he’ll never find me,’ she says. Then she opens the door and leaves, before I can say another word.
‘What was all that about?’ Ethel asks me.
‘Believe it or not, that was Dorothy Elm, the woman who slapped your mother-in-law round the face, twenty-five years ago.
‘Goodness, was it? I wish I’d known that while she was standing right here beside me. I’d have given her a piece of my mind and no mistake.’
I take a few more sips of water, trying to reconcile my emotions, which are a mixture of relief and frustration.
‘Are you alright?’ she asks, ‘you’ve gone very pale. She’s upset you hasn’t she? Seems like not much has changed after all these years, she’s still got a nasty streak in her.’
I take some gentle breaths and force my face into a smile to reassure her. ‘What was it you were going to tell me about Freda?’
‘I was wondering whether you had a chance to talk to Phyllis? Remember I told you the two of them have been chatting about the old days.’
‘No, events have kind of overtaken me. Mind you, I’m surprised Phyllis made it over to visit, she’s done something to her ankle. She was hobbling the last time I saw her. I can’t imagine that getting on and off a bus would have been much fun for her.’
‘Well, you know Phyllis better than I do, but I’d say there isn’t much that will stop her once she’s put her mind to something.’
‘Has Freda spoken any more to you? About the incident with Dorothy?’
‘Bits and pieces come out, now and then. She mixes up the past with the present a lot of the time, so it’s difficult to be sure what she’s trying to say.’
‘Was there something specific?’
Ethel nods. That press cutting you left, the one with the photo of the two of them. Well, she keeps it tucked inside the front of her Bible. She’s always kept a Bible beside her bed, not that I’ve ever seen her reading it. But these last few days she keeps taking the article out and points at the photo, stabbing at it with her finger, saying, “lies, it was all lies”.’
An investigator has to focus primarily on the evidence. Supposition and hearsay don’t stand up in court and are no basis for a conviction. Later on that day, when the library van is quiet, I take out my notebook and read through the concrete evidence I have gathered.
Of course, for evidence to be relevant, there has to be proof a crime has been committed. I have proof that Dorothy was wearing a brooch that looks as though it could be valuable, but I only have Hugh’s accusation the brooch belonged to his wife. Everything else: the suggestion that Dorothy is in danger; Kenneth’s strange behaviour; and Freda’s memory of her encounter with Dorothy are all circumstantial bits and pieces that don’t add up to very much.
There is only one route left open to me now and that is to confront Hugh and give him one final opportunity to tell me the whole truth and nothing but.
Chapter 26
Rosetta Summer answers the door at Hugh’s lodgings, welcoming me in with a flamboyant wave of her hand.
‘Oh, it is lovely that you come today. Mr Furness is still in his room, but I make coffee and we can all sit together,’ she says.
Her greeting is heartfelt, but on this occasion I need to have Hugh to myself, to be able to talk freely.
‘Thank you, that sounds very nice. But, could I have a little time with Mr Furness? I have some personal family business to discuss with him.’
‘Of course, of course. You come to see hi
m, not me. I understand,’ she says, her voice deflated, the brightness faded from her face.
‘No, not at all. If Hugh and I could have a few moments to chat, then if you’d like to join us…?’ I hesitate, realising I am issuing an invitation to the poor woman in her own home.
While we are hovering in the hallway I hear footsteps and glance up to see Hugh, slowly descending the staircase.
‘Janie,’ he says, his body language still that of a man who is defeated.
‘I thought we could have a quick chat,’ I say, ‘if you’re feeling well enough?’
‘Oh, I’m just fine,’ he says, his voice belying his words. ‘Mrs Summer, would you mind if the two of us used the sitting room for our conversation?’
‘I will bring you coffee,’ she says, smiling politely and then she turns and walks off to the kitchen.
Hugh and I sit opposite each other, in the velour-covered armchairs that are positioned either side of the fireplace.
‘Hugh, I’ll come straight to the point. You’ve told me a lot about your past, but I think there’s a lot more you haven’t told me.’ I look directly at him, watching for his reaction.
He avoids eye contact for a few moments, gazing down at a piece of white fluff on his dark grey trousers and flicking it onto the floor. Then he looks up at me.
‘You are astute. Yes, I have misled you.’
‘I need much more than that, Hugh, I need to know why you have chosen to mislead me. It’s time for you to explain to me all that happened between you and Dorothy back in 1944.’
Before he can answer there is a knock on the door. I get up to open it and in walks Rosetta, carrying a tray with a pot of coffee, cups and saucers and a plate of freshly baked shortbread. She puts the tray down on the sideboard and leaves the room, without saying a word.
‘I feel guilty, asking Rosetta to stay out of her own sitting room,’ I say.
‘I can tell you all about guilt, my dear,’ Hugh says, bowing his head, his voice thick with emotion.
‘There’s more to the story than you’ve shared with me so far, isn’t there?’
‘I should have realised when I first met you.’
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