‘So how old was he at that time?’ asked Ben.
‘She didn’t know exactly, but quite a bit older than she was. She was still living with her mum and dad.’
‘Difficult,’ said Libby.
‘Not really. He had a flat in London. He’d been commuting at first, but when he began to “break out” as she put it, he found this flat. Off Vauxhall Bridge Road, in fact,’ said Harry, nodding in the direction of that road.
‘One of the mansion blocks,’ put in Peter, ‘so not squalid.’
‘And then, after a few months, she discovered she was pregnant,’ continued Harry. ‘He was horrified and kept saying it had only been a bit of fun. She told her parents, who supported her decision to keep the baby –’
‘That was quite unusual thirty years ago,’ said Libby.
‘I suppose so. Anyway, she wanted to keep the baby and bring it up herself, but after a while it was too much for her and social services came and took it – me – away.’
‘And where did Matthew come in?’ asked Ben.
‘He turned up out of the blue on her doorstep one day. She says she has no idea how he found her, because she’d moved from her parents’ house, and from the company where she met my father. He said he knew the baby’s – my – grandparents and they wanted to make some sort of contribution to my upkeep.’
‘If that was so, why couldn’t she keep you?’ asked Libby.
‘I’d already been taken away.’
‘Couldn’t she have got you back?’ said Ben.
‘Apparently it was very difficult, and maintaining she had an income from an anonymous donor would be highly suspicious.’ Harry sighed. ‘So that was that.’
‘Well, at least you know his name now,’ said Peter. He nodded at Libby.
‘Really? So …?’
‘Doesn’t help. Keith Franklin.’
‘So, he wasn’t brought up by the Clippings when they went to live in Surrey,’ said Libby.
‘No. And Jeanette has no idea if he was formally adopted or not. In fact, she didn’t know he was adopted until Matthew found her.’
‘What about you, though? How did Matthew track you down?’
‘She doesn’t know. She told him where you’d gone – or at least the Social Services department who’d taken you, but that was all she knew.’
‘So no nearer, then.’ Peter drank the last of his wine.
‘But Matthew kept in touch with her?’ said Libby.
‘Intermittently. And in the early days he helped her out with money. She says he was her fairy godfather, but she knew nothing about him.’
‘We could try Keith Franklin on the birth certificate site,’ said Peter. ‘If we took an educated guess as to his birth year.’
‘There’s an application for access to birth records on the government site,’ said Libby. ‘If you were adopted. Harry wasn’t, so it doesn’t apply to him.’
‘I could have done, though,’ said Harry. ‘Just didn’t see the point. But I don’t think you can do it for someone else.’
‘Anyway, you’d have to know the adoption dates before you could look for the birth date,’ said Peter, ‘and we don’t know either.’
‘So frustrating,’ said Libby, scowling into her drink.
‘Look,’ said Harry, ‘I’ve met my mother, and I know now she didn’t abandon me. I don’t think I really want to know any more about my background. I’ve done my best to forget where I was when Matthew found me, and I’m happy. So shall we forget it?’
Everyone looked at Libby.
‘Of course,’ she said sensing relief all round. ‘As long as you’re allowed to forget it.’
‘What?’ Harry frowned.
‘As long as whoever was watching you on the Island doesn’t come after you again.’
‘I can’t see why they should,’ said Peter.
‘Did anyone see the expression on the sisters’ faces back there?’ asked Libby. ‘Or the way the Clipping woman got everyone out of the way?’
‘There’s something still hidden,’ said Ben, ‘and it’s worrying those people. But it really is their problem, not Harry’s, or ours.’
Libby sighed. ‘I know, and I’d just as soon not have to think about it. We’ve got an End Of The Pier show to work on.’
Harry leaned across the table and gave her a kiss.
‘And if anyone does come after me, who’s the first person I’d turn to?’ he said.
Libby grinned. ‘Chief Inspector Ian Connell, I expect!’
‘Oh, yes, the dishy Inspector,’ said Harry with an answering grin. ‘But don’t worry. This is the end of the matter as far as we’re concerned.’ He raised his glass. ‘Cheers!’
As Libby raised her glass to respond, she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of apprehension. Was it the end?
Chapter Twenty
Life once more settled back into its normal pattern in Steeple Martin and Nethergate. Harry went to see the solicitor, Ronald Deakin, about Matthew’s will, and discovered that he had not only inherited some money, he was also now the proud owner of Ship House and the Beach House. The sisters, Matthew’s cousins, had inherited The Shelf and the remainder of his estate.
‘So what is Harry proposing to do about that?’ asked Fran, as they lay in deck chairs on the beach at Nethergate, where they were supposed to be finalising details of the End Of The Pier Show.
‘He says he’ll settle some of the money on Jeanette, but he doesn’t know what to do about the properties,’ said Libby, squinting against the sparkle of the sun on the wavelets.
‘Doesn’t he think Matthew left them to him for a reason?’
‘They used to stay at the Beach House together,’ said Libby. ‘Perhaps it was a sentimental reason.’
‘In that letter, Matthew said he wouldn’t tell Harry the name of his father, but we know it now. Would it be worth asking the sisters if they know him, now he’s back on the Island?’
‘I don’t think Harry would like that,’ said Libby. ‘And for all we know he’s left the Island again. He’d know by now there was nothing there for him. Harry’s gran left money for him in her will, not her own son.’
‘Does he know that, though? Might he not want to find out?’
Libby bent a searching look on her friend. ‘What are you thinking? Are you having moments of insight again?’
‘I just wondered if Keith Franklin might think the money should have come to him.’
Libby looked doubtful. ‘Why would he? He was properly adopted, we’ve been told. No claim on his real parents at all. Granny only left Harry money because she knew through Matthew that Keith had abandoned him and his mother.’
Fran stared out at the sea. ‘Hmm. There’s still something odd, though.’
‘Probably, but Hal wants to leave it, so we should, too.’ Libby returned to the sheets of paper on her clipboard. ‘Now, did we ask the Alexandria to have the glitter curtain up by Friday?’
‘This isn’t like you,’ said Fran. ‘You’re usually only too happy to be nosing about.’
‘But I don’t want to upset my friend,’ said Libby firmly. ‘And he’s been upset enough already.’
Fran shrugged, and struggled to her feet. ‘Come on, then. Let’s go back and have a cup of tea before we take all this to the theatre.’
Balzac, Fran’s black and white long-haired cat, leapt straight into Libby’s lap as she sat down in the window, butting her chin with his head and purring loudly.
‘I wish Sidney was as friendly as Balzac,’ said Libby.
‘He wouldn’t be Sidney if he was friendly,’ said Fran, bringing mugs in from the kitchen. ‘And I still can’t believe Balzac is as friendly as he is, given how long he was left on his own.’
‘Oh, don’t,’ said Libby with a shudder.
Fran spread the papers from their clipboards out over the table. ‘What have we got to take up there, then?’
‘The proofs of the programme, the publicity shots and the lighting plot,’ said Libby.
> ‘And the music,’ said Fran. ‘For the rest of the orchestra.’
‘I can’t believe they’re paying musicians for us,’ said Libby. ‘Bass, trumpet, and saxophone. Going to sound brilliant.’
‘Are they paying Susannah and David?’ asked Fran.
Libby shook her head. ‘No, we are. I had to, as the others are being paid, but they’re part of our company, not The Alexandria’s.’
‘Well, drink up, and let’s get this stuff down to them. I promised Guy I’d go and help him change the stock around after closing today.’
Libby discharged Balzac onto the window seat beside her, finished her tea, and began to collect up the documents.
Her mobile rang.
‘Lib.’
‘Harry? What’s up?’ Libby’s eyes met Fran’s.
‘I – er –’ she heard him clear his throat. ‘I’ve had a letter.’
‘A letter? Yes?’
‘An anonymous letter.’
‘Oh, Harry! Have you called the police?’
‘Sounds so pathetic.’
‘Remember what we said the other day in London? You’d call Ian?’
‘I didn’t – you did.’
‘Well, do it. Now. Or shall I do it for you?’
‘Um.’
‘Or Fran? She’ll do it, if you like?’
Harry sighed. ‘No, I’ll do it. Has he got a private line at the station?’
‘Yes – hang on, I’ll give it to you.’ Libby looked at her phone wondering how to find a number while she was still on a call, but Fran silently held out her own, showing both Ian’s private numbers. Libby read them out.
‘OK,’ said Harry. ‘I’ll try now. Where are you?’
‘Nethergate. Just going to the Alexandria. I’ll call as soon as I get back.’
‘OK.’ Harry sounded gloomy as he ended the call.
‘Why didn’t you ask him what it said?’ asked Fran as they left Coastguard Cottage.
‘It was obviously not a good letter, and he’ll tell me when I get home. I’ll ring you, of course.’
‘He might not want you to.’
‘Of course he will. It’s got to be about this whole Island business, and you’ve been involved with most of it. We’ll find out soon enough.’
In fact, they found out sooner than Libby had hoped, as her mobile rang again while they were in the manager’s office at the Alexandria.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said to the manager, after glancing down to see who was calling, ‘but I’d better take this.’ She moved away from the desk. ‘Chief Inspector Connell. How can help you?’
Ignoring the manager’s surprise and Fran’s frustration, she moved out of the office.
‘Where are you?’ asked Ian. Libby explained. ‘Your friend Harry’s just called me. He said you knew all about this situation. He sounded a bit confused to me.’
‘I don’t know what’s in this letter,’ said Libby, ‘but I do think, whatever it is, you should take it seriously if it’s a threat.’
Ian sighed. ‘How the bloody hell do you keep getting yourself mixed up in these situations?’
Libby was indignant. ‘It’s not my fault! I don’t go looking for these situations. They just land on me.’
Ian sighed again. ‘I want to talk to Harry, and I’d like you to be there.’
‘Do you want us to come in to the station?’
‘No. It’s Wednesday today, isn’t it? Do you still go to the pub after rehearsal?’
‘Yes,’ said Libby in surprise, ‘but you can’t do a formal interview in the pub.’
‘This won’t be formal. I’ve got to assess the seriousness of the situation before I do anything else. Harry said this started when you were all on the Isle of Wight. Does that mean all your little clan?’
‘Yes.’
‘And will they all be there tonight?’
‘All except Guy. He’s not involved with the show.’
‘What about your lady vicar?’
‘I expect she’ll be there.’
‘Does she know all about this?’
‘Only a bit. We told her about going to the memorial service last Wednesday, and she knew we’d been to the funeral on the Island.’
‘Will Harry talk about it in front of her?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll ask when I get home.’
‘All right. Ring me.’ And Ian ended the call.
Going back into the office, Libby apologised to the curious manager, answered a few more questions and left, a simmering Fran behind her.
‘What did he want?’ she burst out, as soon as they were outside. Libby told her.
‘Guy will come with me whether he’s finished his stock or not,’ said Fran when Libby had finished. ‘He actually had some ideas while we were over there, didn’t he?’
‘And there’s the notebook,’ agreed Libby. ‘He knew more than we did about getting that rescued.’
‘Go on, then. Get back to the village and talk to Hal, then I’ll see you at rehearsal. If you need to talk to me first, ring me.’
‘Of course.’ Libby leant forward and kissed her friend’s cheek. ‘Couldn’t do it without you.’
Libby pulled in to the side of Steeple Martin high street outside The Pink Geranium. Peering inside she could just make out Harry at the back of the restaurant. She switched off the engine and got out of the car. Harry was at the door before she reached it.
‘Do you want tea?’ he asked, leading her to a back table.
‘Just had some at Fran’s,’ said Libby. ‘Ian called me, by the way.’
‘Why?’ Harry frowned. ‘Didn’t he believe me?’
‘Oh, yes,’ soothed Libby. ‘He’s coming to the pub tonight to talk to us all about what we remember on the Island. He wants to assess the situation before deciding on a course of action.’
Harry’s eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘Taking it seriously, then?’
‘Seems to be. What does the letter say?’
Harry pushed a piece of paper towards her using the edge of a knife. ‘Ian said don’t handle it any more than you have to.’
Libby tucked her hands under her thighs and began to read.
“Harry Price, you must keep quiet. Do not interfere where you are not welcome or there will be serious reprisals.”
‘Is that it?’ Libby looked up. Harry nodded. ‘What did it come in? When?’
‘A brown envelope. I kept it.’
‘Postmarked?’
‘By hand.’
‘Oh – golly!’ Libby’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘So he’s here?’
‘Or she.’ Harry nodded.
‘And what do they mean? Keep quiet?’
‘I guess that anything we found out while we were over there we mustn’t talk about. Not that we found out much.’
‘No.
Libby sounded thoughtful. ‘What we didn’t find out was who, if anyone, had murdered Celia.’
Harry heaved a sigh. ‘Honestly, they are batty. How did they think you could do that?’
‘I’ve no idea. But there’s something in their – or Celia’s – past that they don’t want to come out. And when you think about it, that’s the most likely reason she was left to drown. If she was.’
‘And is it connected to Granny and her rape?’
‘Well, don’t forget your father came back to the Island and wanted to meet Matthew. Are we assuming now that it was him Celia went to meet?’
‘In which case he’s a murderer.’ Harry shuddered. ‘Oh, bugger. I really didn’t want to have to think about this again.’
‘I know.’ Libby patted his hand. ‘But I’ll tell you something – I’m much happier now Ian’s involved.’
‘Will he be able to stay involved? Won’t the Island force take over?’
‘You’ve received that letter here. His stamping ground, not theirs. I expect they’ll work together, don’t you?’
‘If they work at it at all, and don’t say it’s all some gay bloke’s imagination.’
&nb
sp; Libby gave him a reproving glare. ‘You know Ian better than that.’
Harry gave her a wobbly smile. ‘I hope so. Thanks, Lib. I’m glad we’ll all be together tonight.’
‘By the way, Ian asked if Patti and Anne would be there. We can adjourn to my place if you don’t want to talk in front of them.’
‘Actually, how about you lot and Ian come to the restaurant. I’ll explain to Anne and Patti none of us are going to the pub. You can tell ʼem afterwards if you like. I expect they’ll go straight back to Anne’s.’
‘Good idea,’ said Libby. ‘Will you call Ian, or shall I?’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Harry bravely. ‘And I’ll see you here just after ten.’
Chapter Twenty-one
It was a solemn-faced group of people who met at The Pink Geranium at a quarter past ten that evening. Patti and Anne had accepted the change to routine and, as predicted, gone back to Anne’s house, and Harry had made sure all the other diners had been out of the building before ten. By the time the theatre group arrived, Detective Chief Inspector Ian Connell was already at the big table in the window, and Harry was setting out glasses.
‘I’ve got the coffee on,’ he said as they came in. ‘Who wants what to drink?’
When they were settled with their choice of beverages, Ian asked Harry to begin.
‘Where, though?’ asked Harry, looking round at the others. ‘Back when I was a child?’
Ian looked startled.
‘No,’ said Libby. ‘We can fill in the background as and when. Just start with the letter from the old ladies.’
So Harry began his tale. Between them, they told Ian about events on the Island in chronological order, backtracking into explanatory side-notes if required. Ian took notes and looked thoughtful.
‘So,’ he said finally, when Harry had shown him the note and the envelope. ‘Someone thinks you have information that is damaging at best, or dangerous at worst.’
The rest of the group looked at each other.
‘That’s about what it comes down to,’ said Peter.
‘And given the reaction to your – investigations – on the Island by the Misses DeLaxley –’ he glanced at his notes, ‘they would seem to have the best motive.’
‘I know.’ Fran frowned. ‘Their whole attitude was completely irrational. One minute wanting to know who killed their sister, the next refusing to tell us anything about the background.’
LS 13 - Murder in a Different Place Page 14