LS 13 - Murder in a Different Place

by Lesley Cookman

  Amelia made a sound like steam escaping from a kettle.

  ‘So, have you have you thought of anything, dear?’ asked Alicia, laying a firm hand on her sister’s arm.

  ‘Nothing yet,’ said Fran, ‘but I’m hoping to go back to the Beach House tomorrow, and perhaps you’d let me look at Matthew’s house?’

  ‘Any time,’ said Honoria. ‘Anything to help.’

  ‘Fran wondered,’ said Libby hesitantly, ‘about the people at Matthew’s funeral. Whether we knew any of them.’

  They all saw the look exchanged between Harry and the three sisters. So Fran had been right.

  ‘And did you?’ asked Alicia with a too-bright smile.

  ‘A couple of journalists,’ said Peter, watching them carefully. ‘Who is it you and Harry didn’t want us to recognise?’

  The silence pounded on Libby’s ears. She kept her eyes fixed on Alicia, not wanting to look at Harry.

  Finally, he spoke. ‘I should have known bloody better,’ he said bitterly. ‘I tried to tell them not to get you involved, but they would have it.’

  Libby sat up very straight.

  ‘Oh, you did, did you?’ Her voice would have frozen steam. ‘You, of all people, have encouraged people to use us – me and Fran particularly – while keeping something from us. Why did you bother? What is it we mustn’t know about you? Or Matthew, come to that?’ She stood up and turned to Alicia. ‘I’m very sorry for the loss of your cousin and your sister, but I’m afraid we can’t help any further. We’ll leave in the morning.’

  Alicia leapt up and grasped Libby’s hands. ‘Oh, dear, please don’t take it like that. Harry didn’t want us to ask you in the first place. He was just going to pop over for the funeral and leave it at that. But – oh! We were so distressed.’ She looked round at her sisters, still keeping hold of Libby’s hands. ‘I think we must tell them everything we suspect, now. We can’t protect people beyond the grave.’

  ‘We aren’t,’ said Honoria gruffly.

  ‘Harry, dear, you tell them,’ said Alicia, giving Libby’s hands a pat and then releasing them.

  Harry leant forward in his chair and put his head in his hands. Peter moved closer to him and put an arm round his shoulders.

  ‘Come on, love. Whatever it is, it’s been worrying you since before we came here. Get it off your chest.’

  Harry sat up and looked across at Libby.

  ‘I’m sorry, you old trout. I didn’t want to get you involved, really.’ He looked at Fran. ‘Or you, Fran. But they knew about you, you see. I told you that, didn’t I?’

  Libby nodded and sat down again.

  Harry sighed. ‘You see, when Matthew found me in London, he’d actually been looking for me.’

  ‘Looking for you?’ echoed Peter. ‘He knew you?’

  ‘Not knew me, exactly. Knew of me.’

  ‘How old were you?’ asked Ben.

  Harry’s eyes slid away to the floor. ‘Sixteen.’

  ‘Sixteen? And where did he find you?’ Guy asked in a horrified voice.

  ‘In the gutter.’ Harry’s tone was full of self-loathing.

  Peter stood up. ‘I don’t think Harry should be talking about this so publicly,’ he said. ‘I’m sure the ladies,’ he bowed to the sisters, ‘won’t have heard all the details –’

  ‘No, we haven’t.’ Alicia raised her chin. ‘And we have no wish to distress Harry.’

  ‘It’s all right, Pete.’ Harry reached up to his partner. ‘I’ll just give you the outline. Sit down.’

  Peter sat, and Harry took his hand. ‘Matthew was looking for me because I’d run away from the final home where the authorities had stuck me. And he knew who I was.’

  ‘Who –?’ Libby let the question hang.

  ‘I was the illegitimate son of someone he knew here on the Island.’

  Libby and Fran gasped.

  ‘And you knew?’ Libby turned to Alicia, who shook her head.

  ‘We knew nothing of this until after Matthew died. Harry told us.’

  ‘Wanted to know who. If it had anything to do with Celia.’ Honoria said.

  ‘You weren’t his son?’ asked Ben.

  ‘No.’ Harry half smiled. ‘Matthew wasn’t that way inclined.’

  ‘And we didn’t know that, either,’ said Amelia fretfully. ‘Celia did.’

  ‘He didn’t think you’d understand,’ said Harry. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘So you don’t know whose son you are? Or were?’ said Peter.

  Harry shook his head. ‘Matthew was concerned about me, always had been, apparently. He was one of the few people who knew the truth, that there’d been a baby who’d been – well, he said abandoned. But he said there was no point in me making contact, I’d only be denied. He just wanted to make sure I was all right.’ He shook his head. ‘He felt some sort of responsibility for me, I don’t know why.’

  ‘So why did you go up to speak to the ladies before dinner? What didn’t you want us to know?’ Fran asked, leaning towards him.

  Harry took a deep breath. ‘I’m worried that if someone killed Celia, it’s someone that the ladies know, and probably have known all their lives, and I’m also worried that we might find out that my mother is – well, Celia.’

  Libby frowned. ‘And you didn’t want us knowing because –?’

  ‘I didn’t want you knowing because I didn’t want the ladies to know!’ Harry burst out. ‘I knew if you found out …’

  ‘Celia?’ Amelia’s voice rose in a squeak. ‘Of course it isn’t Celia! We’d have known.’

  ‘She’d have never let you go, dear,’ said Alicia, going to Harry and hugging him. ‘So you were doing it to protect us?’

  ‘Couldn’t have been. Too old,’ said Honoria.

  ‘Between a rock and a hard place, weren’t you, old son?’ said Ben, and the atmosphere lightened.

  ‘I still don’t know why you didn’t tell us everything right at the start,’ said Libby, going round refreshing glasses. ‘None of it’s so terrible, after all.’

  Harry turned haunted eyes on her. ‘Some of it is.’

  Peter patted his arm. ‘You don’t have to –’

  Harry looked down. ‘I want to tell you and Lib. On our own.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Libby murmured, crouching down in front of him.

  ‘Yes.’ Harry gave her the ghost of his old grin.

  ‘Can I get this clear then?’ said Libby, as they all returned to their seats and sipped fresh drinks. ‘We’re still looking for who might have killed Celia – or left her to drown, anyway – in the Beach House. And Harry thinks the reason could be the possible secret of his birth.’

  ‘And of course,’ said Fran thoughtfully, ‘the reason that he himself is in danger now.’

  Chapter Seven

  Ben and Guy offered to see the sisters back up the path after Fran had dropped her bombshell, as no one seemed to know what to say. Harry disappeared into the bedroom he shared with Peter, who followed him.

  Fran got up and topped up her wineglass.

  ‘And I’m pretty sure,’ she said to Libby, ‘that we still haven’t got to the bottom of it. What exactly did he say to the ladies when he went up before dinner?’

  ‘You don’t think they were telling the truth?’ said Libby, reaching for the wine bottle. ‘Any of them?’

  ‘Not the entire truth,’ said Fran. ‘The only part that struck me as true was what I said at the end.’

  ‘About Harry being in danger?’

  Fran nodded. ‘He is, of course. I was picking up on that this morning, not just his own distress.’

  ‘So is he really the son of someone here?’

  ‘Oh, I think that part’s true,’ said Fran. ‘I’m not sure about him wondering if his mother was Celia.’

  ‘No, I didn’t believe that, either.’ Libby stood up. ‘This is a crisis moment. I’m going outside for a cigarette.’

  The two women leant over the railings at the edge of the deck and looked along the little beach to where th
e restaurant spilled its light on to the crab and lobster pots.

  ‘Pretty here,’ said Fran. ‘Sad to think it could be spoiled by murder.’

  ‘If it is murder,’ said Libby. ‘The police didn’t think so.’

  ‘But we think it is, don’t we?’ Fran smiled into the darkness. ‘And so do the sisters. And Harry definitely does.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Libby firmly, ‘he must have a reason. There must be something that’s convincing him, making him scared.’

  ‘He’ll probably tell you and Peter, if not the rest of us.’

  ‘No. He’ll tell us about his childhood, I think, but I don’t think he’ll let on about this. Pete must be going through hell.’

  ‘Could it be a letter?’ Fran said suddenly.

  ‘A letter?’ Libby looked round in surprise. ‘A letter to Harry, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. An anonymous letter.’

  ‘A threatening letter.’

  They stood in silence for a while staring out at the almost invisible sea.

  ‘We won’t know unless he chooses to tell us,’ said Libby eventually. ‘Come on, I can hear the boys coming back.’

  ‘Boys!’ chuckled Fran. ‘And we’re girls, I suppose.’

  ‘Of course we are.’ Libby grinned over her shoulder. ‘I don’t want to grow up, yet, do you?’

  Peter reappeared after Ben and Guy had returned.

  ‘He’s not telling the truth,’ he stated baldly. ‘And I think everything’s been made worse now.’

  ‘Yes.’ Libby nodded and went to fetch a couple more bottles from the kitchen. ‘And we reckon it was a lot of baloney about Celia.’

  ‘He won’t talk about it.’ Peter sat down and pushed the lock of fair hair back from his forehead. ‘And I’ll swear he’s scared.’

  ‘Fran thinks it might be a letter.’ Libby proffered wine.

  ‘To Hal?’ said Peter in surprise. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘It would explain why he won’t talk about it,’ said Guy slowly. ‘If he’s being threatened, perhaps?’

  ‘But what could he say?’ Peter frowned. ‘He could only be threatened if he knew something that would be damaging to someone. And he’s already said, he doesn’t know anyone here. He didn’t even know the sisters.’

  ‘I hate to say it, mate,’ said Ben, fondly patting his cousin’s arm, ‘but how do we know that’s true?’

  Peter sat looking at Ben for a long moment, then shook his head. ‘I don’t know. We don’t.’ He buried his head in his hands. ‘Oh, God, this is awful. I thought I knew him. My Hal.’

  ‘He’s still your Hal.’ Libby went over and sat on the arm of his chair. ‘You always said – you’ve said in the last couple of days – it doesn’t matter what he did before you met him. And you’ve always known he didn’t have a happy childhood.’

  ‘I thought he’d tell me when he was ready.’

  ‘And he probably would. What he didn’t know was that Matthew’s death would stir up all this – nastiness.’

  ‘He’s very distressed, Peter,’ said Fran. ‘And I think he wants to tell you something. Not perhaps all of it, but something.’

  Libby looked across at her friend. ‘He said he wanted to tell me and Pete something earlier.’ She looked down at Peter. ‘He didn’t say anything about that just now?’

  Peter shook his head. ‘No. He just said he didn’t want to talk any more.’

  ‘I’m still wondering why he wanted to go and see the sisters on his own before they came down here,’ said Guy. ‘I know I’m not up in all this detection business, but that did seem a bit suspicious.’ He smiled deprecatingly at his wife.

  ‘You’re right.’ Peter sighed. ‘What the sisters said – well, did you believe it?’

  ‘It was Alicia saying they’d better tell us everything that they suspect and then saying nothing that bothered me,’ said Libby.

  ‘Would Matthew have told Harry about his parentage, do you think?’ asked Ben. ‘You knew Matthew better than we did.’

  ‘Not as well as I thought.’ Peter smiled wryly. ‘I knew there was some sort of relationship with Harry – or had been – when he introduced us, but I knew he was keen to promote our friendship. He was a right old matchmaker.’

  ‘He was looking after Hal,’ said Lib. ‘So if this story of Harry being the son of someone he knew on the Island is true, that someone could want Harry kept quiet. That does make sense.’

  ‘But what about the sisters? They said they didn’t know anything about it until Harry told them,’ said Ben.

  ‘Celia knew,’ said Fran. ‘And I think it’s entirely possible that Alicia knew, too. I don’t think anyone in their right minds would confide in Amelia.’

  ‘So they knew someone had an illegitimate baby but didn’t know who? Or who the baby was?’ said Guy, frowning.

  ‘Well, if the baby had been sent away, no one would,’ said Libby.

  ‘Unless it was someone who knew the mother very well,’ said Fran.

  ‘So a close friend of Matthew’s, then?’ Peter looked up at Libby.

  ‘And possibly of Celia’s. They were close as children, the sisters said.’

  ‘How old was Matthew?’ asked Ben.

  ‘About eighty,’ said Peter. ‘No idea about the sisters, though.’

  ‘Did they say Celia was the youngest? I wonder how much younger than him she was,’ said Fran.

  ‘I don’t think Harry’s the son of someone on the Island,’ said Libby, gazing thoughtfully into her glass. ‘I reckon he’s the grandson.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ said Peter. ‘If it was someone Matthew was close to they’d be nearer to his age. Too old to be Harry’s parent.’

  ‘Not if it was a bloke,’ said Ben.

  Peter nodded. ‘No, I suppose not. All those old actors manage to father children in their sixties, don’t they?’

  ‘So, do we think the sisters and Harry know who it was after all?’ said Fran. ‘If so, there must be a reason they’re keeping quiet.’

  ‘And it isn’t because we know whoever it is,’ said Peter, ‘because we don’t know anyone here.’

  ‘Oh, I give up,’ said Libby. ‘I thought we were going to have a nice quiet time exploring this lovely island and now look what’s happened.’

  ‘It’ll all look better in the morning,’ said Ben. ‘And I bet Harry tells you what’s going on.’

  Peter smiled. ‘He usually does, Libby. He’s even been known to ask your advice, after all.’

  ‘Not always a sensible move,’ said Ben, and dodged the cushion thrown at his head. ‘Come on, who’s for a last nightcap? Then perhaps we can all get some sleep.’

  The following morning, as the sky grew lighter outside the bedroom she and Ben shared, Libby lay awake, worrying about her best friend. Harry was more to her than almost anyone except Ben and her children. Lively, funny and surprisingly sensitive, he was the best sort of friend – a man who loved her for herself with no hidden agenda. And to see him so distressed, behaving so out of character, she found immensely upsetting. And the fact that it must be distressing Peter, Ben’s cousin and therefore family, made it worse. Poor Peter, who had protected Harry in London, then brought him down to Steeple Martin, where he bought a run-down café, which Harry turned into the ultimately successful Pink Geranium restaurant. And finally, they’d made the relationship permanent in a beautiful civil ceremony, one of the things Harry had sought advice about, and a ceremony at which Libby was a combination of “Best Woman” and Maid of Honour. And Harry had asked her to help when a friend of his was the victim of vicious homophobia. He had surprised her, then, with his seriousness and passion.

  She heard a creak on the decking outside. Sliding carefully out of bed, she grabbed her dressing gown and went to the window. Sure enough, Harry was out there, leaning on the railings, looking out over the sea, towards where in the east the sun was appearing in a theatrical blaze of colour. She slid open the window and stepped outside.

  ‘Sleep well, you
old trout?’ Harry didn’t turn round.

  ‘It might not be me,’ said Libby.

  ‘Course it is.’ He turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. ‘Come to give me the third degree?’

  Libby shook her head and went to stand beside him, leaning on the railings and staring at the sea, which had now turned into rumpled satin shot with blue, red, green, and gold.

  ‘I made tea.’ Harry gestured behind him. ‘Want a cup?’

  ‘I’ll get it.’ Libby went into the sitting room and found a pot of tea and two mugs set on a little table. She poured tea, added milk, and took them outside.

  ‘Were you expecting me?’

  Harry shrugged. ‘You or Pete. We won’t wait for Pete. He was spark out.’

  ‘Wait …?’

  ‘You want me to come clean.’

  ‘I’ve been worrying about you half the night.’

  Harry flung an arm round her shoulders. ‘I know you have, petal. You love me really.’

  ‘You’re more yourself this morning.’

  ‘Well, I was worrying about me half the night, too. And I decided I was making things worse. So you’re going to get the full saga, now, unabridged.’

  Libby looked down to where the sea was frothing in milky wavelets over the rocks.

  ‘I shall need to sit down then.’

  Harry pulled two loungers over to the railings. ‘There. Now we can look at the view when it gets too much to look at each other.’ He turned towards the sunrise. ‘That sea looks like an orange fondant, doesn’t it?’

  Libby sat down. ‘Come on, then. Tell Mother.’

  Harry gave her a quick look. ‘That’s part of the problem. I never could.’

  ‘Oh.’ Libby made a face. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I’ll have to tell you what I know from my point of view first. Then what Matthew told me.’ Harry swung his feet up onto his lounger and cradled his mug in both hands. ‘I was brought up in a children’s home. The first one was closed down – for mismanagement, I guess, although I was too young to know. The second one was bigger. They tried to place me with foster parents, but I didn’t know how to behave in a normal family situation. So it was back to the home.’ He paused and sipped his tea. ‘And then this boy arrived who had been out in the big wide world. He hated the home – well, none of us liked it, exactly – and he was determined to get away. So I went with him.’