‘So you don’t think Celia was murdered?’ said Ben.
‘Oh, I don’t know. I did wonder – well, you know I did – if somehow it could be linked to my parents, but …’ He trailed to a stop.
‘You know,’ said Peter, stuffing his hands in his pockets and scowling at his best beloved, ‘if you’d told me as soon as you got this letter, and then we’d told Libby straight away about the sisters’ mad ideas, this would have been far less complicated.’
‘I know that now,’ said Harry grumpily.
‘But the further you got in, the worse it got,’ said Ben. ‘I know.’ He unlocked the car. ‘Pile in, people. Let’s get back to the Ship.’
‘So what are you going to do now?’ asked Fran, when she and Libby were squeezed in the back seat between Peter and Harry.
‘Nothing we can do, really,’ said Libby. ‘I don’t want to give up, but I don’t know how we can possibly trace Harry’s granny, and we really have no way of finding anything out about Celia’s death, which we’d already decided, hadn’t we? We can try with Hal’s birth certificate and see if it takes us anywhere, but that will have to wait until we get home tomorrow.’
‘We could try looking it up online,’ said Fran.
‘That will only give us members of the household, and suppose there are more than one?’
‘I’ll dig it out tomorrow night and let you know then,’ said Harry, ‘although I don’t know what good it will do.’
‘Didn’t you ever wonder about your family before?’ asked Fran.
‘Well. of course I did, but only in a – I don’t know – a sort of vague way. Matthew wouldn’t tell me anything, and by the time I met Pete it didn’t seem to matter.’
‘Well, if nothing else happens, I don’t see why we should bother,’ said Peter.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Libby. ‘If nothing else happens?’
‘Like that note. If no one appears to be “after” Hal, as you put it, why should we bother?’
‘I’d quite like to know, now,’ said Harry.
‘Course you would,’ said Libby, patting him on the knee. ‘So would I.’
‘I thought you were going to show me one of these famous chefs tonight, by the way,’ said Harry. ‘Bit late now, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, bugger, I forgot. Oh, well, we’ll have to come over again some time.’
‘Not sure I’m keen on that idea,’ said Peter.
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Harry. ‘It’s a lovely place.’
‘But a bit spoilt now,’ said Peter, ‘you must admit.’
Instead of Libby’s designer chef, they ate that night at the cafe on the beach again.
‘Do we go in to say goodbye to the ladies tomorrow?’ Ben asked as they shared the last of the wine between them.
‘Oh, we have to. Apart from anything else, we have to give thme key back,’ said Libby. ‘However annoying they’ve been, they’ve given us a free week’s holiday.’
The candles on the tables flickered in the slight breeze and light wavered over their faces, showing varying degrees of thoughtfulness.
‘If you can call it that,’ said Peter. ‘Not sure I would.’
‘It’s been interesting,’ said Guy. ‘I’ve never really been involved in one of your cases before.’
‘Yes you have,’ said Fran. ‘You always are.’
‘Only on the sidelines,’ said Guy.
‘Providing support,’ agreed Ben.
‘Well, we’ll go back to normal tomorrow,’ said Libby. ‘Just Fran and me putting the world to rights.’
When they finished dinner, they strolled back to Candle Cove and had a last look round the Beach House.
‘I wonder what really happened here,’ said Libby.
‘You are not going to find out,’ said Harry, linking his arm through hers. ‘I shall let you research my old ancestors just to keep you busy when we get home, but to be honest, I feel a bit like Pete, only don’t tell him.’
‘What?’ asked Libby, amused.
‘I want to get away from the Island,’ said Harry in a theatrical whisper.
‘Look, here are the steps,’ called Guy from the other end of the cove.
‘You’d never know they were there, would you?’ said Peter, as they all came over to inspect the crumbling steps hidden behind a wall of vegetation.
‘Could you actually get up them, though?’ said Ben. ‘They don’t look very safe.’
Harry tried to push through the bushes, but Peter pulled him back.
‘Oh, no you don’t, we’ve had enough trouble without you ending up with a broken leg.’
Harry brushed pieces of wood off his sleeve. ‘Tell you what, I don’t reckon Celia could have got up there, anyway.’
‘Not our problem any more, ducky, you said so,’ said Libby. ‘Come on, let’s go and have a nightcap on our lovely deck.’
The following morning was a bustle of packing and cleaning. Blessed with four men who were adept at looking after houses, Fran and Libby didn’t find themselves with the bulk of the cleaning, although they both ended up doing most of the packing.
‘That’s it,’ said Libby looking round. ‘We’ve finished. Let’s start carrying things up to the cars.’
‘Are we all going in to see the sisters?’ asked Harry, looking nervous.
‘I think we ought to,’ said Fran. ‘Libby and I can go in first, and perhaps they’ll come out to say goodbye to the rest of you.’
But in fact when they reached the top of the steps, Alicia, Amelia, and Honoria were waiting for them.
‘I saw you,’ said Honoria. ‘I was weeding.’
‘Ah,’ said Libby, with a weak smile. ‘Well, here’s the key, and we wanted to say thank you for letting us stay in the house.’
‘It was a pleasure,’ said Alicia. ‘I’m only sorry …’
‘You wouldn’t find out who murdered Celia,’ snapped Amelia.
Before Libby could make an angry retort, Fran stepped smoothly into the breach.
‘We had no access to any of the facts,’ she said. ‘If you don’t think the police did a good enough job, speak to them about it.’ She turned to Alicia. ‘Thank you for allowing Guy and me to stay, too.’
Each of the men bade a polite goodbye and Harry surprised them all by going up to give Alicia a hug. She kissed his cheek and stepped back, wiping her eyes.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘It isn’t …’
‘Important,’ Honoria finished for her, glaring at Amelia. ‘Doesn’t matter. Safe journey.’
Fran and Guy got into one car and Ben, Libby, Peter and Harry got into the other. As they pulled away, Libby turned and saw the three sisters still standing watching them.
‘I wonder what that was all about it?’ she said.
‘I think they’ve been arguing among themselves,’ said Ben.
‘Yeah, I reckon so.’ Harry wriggled into a comfortable position in the back seat and stretched his legs as far as they would go. ‘That Amelia was the problem.’
‘Mad because we wouldn’t find out about her sister, yet unwilling to tell us the truth. In fact, it almost seemed as if she was the one hiding something,’ said Libby.
‘More than the others?’ asked Peter.
‘I think so, although Honoria was less than forthcoming, and we never found out what they were all doing on the mainland in the fifties.’
‘Except for Amelia,’ said Ben. ‘Her husband was a diplomat.’
‘Oh, well.’ Libby shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose we’ll ever see them again, so we might as well forget about them.’
The journey home was uneventful, and to round off the week, when they arrived in Steeple Martin, Fran and Guy broke their own journey to join the others for dinner in the pub.
‘Nice to be back,’ said Harry. ‘I’ve quite missed the old caff.’
‘At least you haven’t got to open up tomorrow,’ said Peter.
‘No, but I’ll have to go in to sort out ordering and make sure everything’s OK. You got to
work, Ben?’
‘I’ll go up to the office. I don’t suppose there’s much for me to do, but I ought to let the tenants know I’m back.’
‘I’ve got to open the shop,’ said Guy. ‘We’re almost into high season, now. You saw how many families were on the Island. That’ll be the same in Nethergate.’
‘Yes, all the ones with pre-school children,’ said Libby. ‘Which reminds me, I haven’t seen Jane and Imogen for ages. How are they?’
‘Fine as far as I know. Jane occasionally walks Imogen down to the ice cream shop, so I see them then,’ said Fran. ‘I haven’t see Terry, though.’
Jane was assistant editor on the local paper, the Nethergate Mercury, and lived with her husband Terry and their daughter in a beautiful Georgian terraced house left to Jane by her aunt.
‘We’ll go and see her this week, shall we?’ suggested Libby. ‘I’ll give her a ring in the morning and find out when she’ll be free.’
‘And I suppose I’d better check with the children and see how they are,’ sighed Fran.
‘Don’t let them bully you,’ laughed Libby. Fran’s daughters were notorious for trying to take advantage of her.
The party broke up.
‘I’ll ring you to see if you’ve found that birth certificate in the morning,’ said Libby to Harry, as they parted outside the pub.
‘OK,’ said Harry. ‘Anything to keep you out of mischief.’
Ben and Libby walked back to Allhallow’s Lane.
‘Don’t let the search for Harry’s parentage take you over, Lib,’ said Ben. ‘Best leave all Isle of Wight business on the Isle of Wight.’
‘I know,’ sighed Libby, ‘but I’ve still got this niggling feeling.’
‘Well, stamp on it,’ said Ben. ‘It was all a bit emotional over there, feelings swirling round like black ink.’
Libby looked at him in surprise. ‘How poetic, Ben!’
‘That’s what it felt like, however beautiful the place was.’ Ben took out his key to open the door of number seventeen. ‘And this is our little oasis of calm.’
Libby giggled. ‘Is that what it is?’ She looked round at the cluttered interior.
‘Complete with alcoholic refreshments,’ said Ben with a grin. ‘Nightcap?’
‘Why not?’ Libby sat down on the sofa and stretched her legs. ‘Funny without Sidney, though, isn’t it?’
‘We’ll pick him up from Mum tomorrow,’ said Ben, pouring whisky. ‘He’ll be even more of a walking stomach after a week at the Manor with her.’
Sidney, a cat known for his appetite and sulky disposition, was a silver tabby with attitude.
‘And I’ll pick up Harry’s birth certificate,’ said Libby, accepting her glass.
‘Oh, dear,’ said Ben.
Chapter Sixteen
Libby went with Ben to the Manor the following morning, to see his mother Hetty and collect Sidney. Leaving Ben in the estate office, she heaved the cat basket out into the car and drove home, where Sidney put his tail between his legs and crawled under the sofa.
‘Be like that, then,’ said Libby. ‘I’m going to see Harry.’
When she tapped on the window of The Pink Geranium five minutes later, Harry had papers and laptop spread all over the big pine table in the window. He looked up and beckoned.
‘Having trouble?’ Libby asked sitting down opposite him.
‘Not really,’ sighed Harry. ‘I just hate paperwork.’
‘I thought Donna took care of all that at home these days?’
Donna, Harry’s erstwhile right-hand woman, had had the temerity to produce a child, not something compatible with working six nights a week in a restaurant, especially when married to a registrar at the local hospital.
‘She can’t order the food, though. Only the regular orders, and I’d run everything down because we were away for the week. Coffee?’
‘Please. Did you find the certificate?’
Harry got up to fetch the coffee pot from its retro seventies housing. ‘Yes. Wasn’t hard. It was in with the passports.’ He put the pot down and handed Libby an envelope.
‘So you were born Harry Price,’ said Libby, spreading the document on the table. ‘Your mother named you.’
‘Father’s not there, though.’
‘No. So at least we know you’re the son of a man.’
Harry looked at her oddly. ‘Yes, dear. And a woman.’
‘You know what I meant. Granny’s illegitimate baby was a boy.’
‘Funny, innit?’ said Harry. ‘Illegitimate. Never used now, is it? I know as many unmarried couples with children as married ones. More if anything.’
‘Much easier just to live together. Look at Ben and me.’
‘But Pete and I are married – partnershipped or whatever – and Guy and Fran are, too. Doesn’t that tell you something?’
‘What?’ said Libby warily. ‘Has Ben been talking to you?’
‘Not about that, no. But we all know he’d like to get married.’
‘Once bitten and all that,’ said Libby. ‘And he also wanted us to go and live at Steeple Farm.’ She shuddered. ‘I’m so glad we didn’t.’
Harry leaned back in his chair and regarded her critically. ‘I still don’t know what you had against that house.’
‘It’s creepy.’
‘None of the people who’ve stayed there have thought that.’
‘No, I know. It’s just me. And we’re not talking about me. Jeanette Price – that’s who we’re talking about.’
Harry shrugged. ‘I don’t know why. She had me put into care, she didn’t want me. And if my father’s name isn’t recorded we can’t go back any further, can we?’
Libby frowned. ‘Hang on – you weren’t adopted.’
‘No.’ Harry sighed again. ‘I told you. I was in children’s homes.’
‘How far back do you remember?’
‘Why? I was always in them. I went to a couple of foster homes, but that didn’t take.’
‘So what’s your earliest memory?’
Harry frowned. ‘What is all this? What are you getting at?’ Then a look of enlightenment passed over his face. ‘Oh, I see! You think she might have kept me for a while?’
‘Well, if you’d been given up for adoption as a baby, you wouldn’t have this sort of birth certificate. You’d have an adopted one.’
‘You think I was taken into care by social services?’
‘Doesn’t that seem likely?’
Harry nodded slowly. ‘So what now?’
Libby put a hand over his. ‘Would you like to see if she’s still alive?’
‘If I’d wanted to I would have done it before now.’
‘No, you wouldn’t. You weren’t even bothered enough to look at this properly when you got it.’
Harry topped up his coffee mug, a stubborn look on his face. Libby took the pot from him and topped up her own.
‘OK. You don’t want to find her. But you said you’d let me look into your ancestors to keep me out of mischief, didn’t you? I could just try and see if she’s around, still. I wouldn’t get in touch with her unless you said so, of course.’
Harry shrugged. ‘All right. But you’ll tell me if you do find her, won’t you?’
‘Of course. And you never know, it might be one of those stories where you were taken against her will.’
Harry closed his eyes. ‘Lib, you can be bleedin’ tactful. Now I’m going to worry about that.’
‘Oh!’ Libby’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, Hal, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’
‘No. You often don’t.’ Harry pushed his mug aside. ‘Sod it. I need more than coffee now. Want a drink?’
Libby looked at her watch. ‘Isn’t it a bit early?’
‘Ten past twelve. No, it isn’t. I’m going to have a beer. What about you?’
‘Red wine, please,’ said Libby guiltily. ‘And I hope no one sees me.’
Harry threw back his head and laughed. ‘If you had a reputation to ruin I’d
understand that.’
After a glass of wine and a sandwich with Harry, Libby returned to Allhallow’s Lane and rang Fran to report.
‘So I’m going to look Jeanette up. You can do it free on a couple of those ancestry sites, can’t you?
‘What exactly are you going to look up?’
‘Oh. I don’t know. Death certificate?’
‘She won’t be that old. Her age is on the certificate, isn’t it?’
Libby looked. ‘No. Just her name – oh, and address. I could look that up on the census form, couldn’t I?’
‘You can try. I expect you’ll try anything you can.’
‘Well, of course. All I really want to know is why anyone would want to know anything about Harry. Why it looked as though he was being threatened.’
But before Libby could settle down with her laptop, there was washing to take out of the machine and hang up, and another load to put on. Sidney, recovered from the ignominy of travel in the cat basket, watched helpfully.
‘That’s the trouble with holidays,’ Libby told him. ‘There’s so much washing at the end of them.’
With a cup of tea as a reward when she’d finished, Libby went back in to the sitting room and opened the laptop. However, looking for Jeanette Price wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d hoped.
When she tried checking the census records she found that the earliest available was for 1911, which didn’t seem likely to be of much use. So all Libby had was a name. And even that could have been false. No age, and the occupation section was given as unemployed.
‘Now where do I go?’ Libby asked aloud.
She realised she didn’t even know where Harry had been taken, or, indeed, any of the names of the homes. He might tell her the name of the last one, but that, if it still existed, wouldn’t give her any details. She rang his mobile.
‘I’m stuck, Hal, so it looks as though I won’t be able to find out anything after all. You might be able to get some info from the home you ran away from, but that’s about it.’
There was a short silence. ‘It was the Aviemore Home in Surrey. Well, outskirts of London, really.’
LS 13 - Murder in a Different Place Page 11