‘Her nosegay. My God.’ Sir Repton held his head in his hands. ‘Sweet Jesus, my nerves are shot to pieces.’
‘Really you two, you’re winding each other up. Parker bumped into the table, that’s all, and you can probably smell his shampoo. He had to have a bath yesterday – my own fault for letting him off the lead near the badger’s sett.’
‘But if he knocked into it, why didn’t the table fall over?’ Venetia said.
‘I don’t know,’ Laura said. ‘It just happened that way.’
Sir Repton leapt up and staggered towards the drinks cupboard. ‘She’s canny, oh but she’s canny. I feel the need of a digestif.’ He pulled the door of the glass-fronted cabinet open and grabbed at a bottle. ‘Will you ladies join me in a cognac?’
‘Yes please,’ Venetia stammered.
Laura replaced the lid of the caddy. ‘I’d love a drop if you’re offering.’ He was a good actor that was for sure.
Chapter six
‘Sepulchral chill, I ask you. Venetia’s worked herself up into complete state over nothing,’ Laura said to Parker, as they went downstairs the next morning. ‘Fancy trying to get into my bed in the middle of the night.’ She tutted. ‘Lucky we found that extra blanket from the cupboard.’ Parker’s toenails clattered on the wooden boards beside her. ‘But this, on the other hand…’ She brandished the small piece of paper she was holding ‘… is much more interesting. I’m afraid we may have to stay another day and see what we can unearth.’
While she and Sir Repton had taken the dogs out the night before, Venetia had taken the lift up to her bedroom. She had seen the slip of paper on the floor when the lift doors had opened.
‘It’s Matilda’s writing, I remember it from Christmas cards,’ she said when Laura came in to say goodnight. ‘I don’t suppose anybody’s been in the lift since she died. It’s rather sad; she obviously suffered from dry skin.’
But Venetia was wrong, it didn’t say E45, it said P45. As Laura walked across the hall, she read it again. Along with needing matches and more granola, Matilda was going to sack someone.
Sir Repton was in the dining room and Laura had sat down beside him when Cheryl appeared, her hair covered by a blue beret and wearing a grey jogging outfit and trainers.
‘Chickens are on go slow according to Lance,’ she said, splattering a small dollop of scrambled egg onto Sir Repton’s plate from the saucepan she was holding. She turned to Laura. ‘Where’s your friend then?’
‘Mrs Hobbs tends not to get up early. But don’t worry, she took the precaution of taking some chocolate biscuits up with her last night,’ Laura said.
‘My Bourbon creams, I wondered where they’d gone.’ Cheryl scooped into the pan and held out the wooden spoon in Laura’s direction. ‘Want some?’
‘I’ll stick with toast, thank you.’
‘So Repton, quiet night was it, no spooky doings?’ Cheryl lifted the spoon to her lips and started eating from it. She put the spoon back in the pan and gave his sagging cheek a friendly pinch. ‘You’re looking pretty chipper.’
‘A minor incident, but I think Rosalind may have been caught off guard by my guests. I did note that a chill descended at about four-thirty.’
‘What a shame.’ Cheryl scratched her neck with one varnished nail.
Sir Repton nudged the lump of egg onto his fork and turned to Laura. ‘It did not affect you I hope?’
‘I slept like a log.’ Laura omitted to tell him about Venetia’s disturbance and buttered her toast. ‘And now I’m feeling full of energy.’ She reached for a pot of marmalade. ‘Have we got a plan for the day?’
‘I’d make yourselves scarce if I was you,’ Cheryl said. ‘Tam told me they’ve got some film thingy going on in the ballroom.’
‘Will that affect us?’ Laura asked.
‘I can’t see why,’ Sir Repton said.
‘I wouldn’t be so sure. You know what happens if you get on the wrong side of Tam, that’s all I’m saying. Now, I can’t stand around here all morning chatting, I’ve got the gym to get to.’ Cheryl slapped her thigh with her free hand and walked to the door. ‘Cellulite doesn’t shift on its own. Leave the plates, I’ll be back later.’
‘But what about…’ Sir Repton attempted to interject but she had shut the door behind her. ‘… lunch?’
‘Standards, Repton, Standards.’ Laura eyed the layer of grey bristling beard on the top of the marmalade. ‘If you can’t get a grip on Cheryl, she will have to be replaced, however onerous it may seem.’ She thought of the P45 as she dug her knife into the jar and flicked a gobbet of mould onto the side of her plate. ‘I mean, would Matilda have put up with this kind of thing?’
Sir Repton shook his head and stared disconsolately at his empty plate.
‘You might have to spread your net wider. Have you thought of trying a London staffing agency?’ Laura was thinking of the letter she had seen on his desk.
Sir Repton shook his head again.
‘Well at least have some more toast,’ Laura said. ‘That amount of egg’s not going to keep you going. That’s the reason you feel the cold so much.’
‘Ah, but they are sick that surfeit with too much.’
Laura was alert for the warning sign. Was guilt kicking in again? ‘Nonsense. What I mean is that woman’s trying to starve you.’
Sir Repton sidestepped the issue. ‘Shall we adjourn to the sitting room and read the morning paper? Cheryl tends to put it out for me there,’ he said. ‘Do you care for the sports section?’
Laura might have taken this the wrong way but she was busy mulling over the scene she had just witnessed. ‘I’m always interested in the racing,’ she said. It wasn’t that Cheryl was actually trying to starve him. It was the hold she seemed to have over him and her lack of respect, tempered with overfamiliarity that was definitely out of order. Laura followed Sir Repton from the dining room. Was it her that Matilda was going to sack? Laura’s suspicion level rose.
They found Cheryl had reinstated the Times, which she had left on the low table in front of the sofas along with a crumpled copy of the Daily Mail. While Sir Repton attempted to get the pages back in order, Laura sat on the window seat and watched as a blacked out 4x4 followed by a pantechnicon wound their way up the drive and parked outside the front door.
‘The wedding planners I presume?’ she said, as Sir Repton handed her the Mail. Two smartly dressed girls in black trouser suits got out of the car, flexed their shoulders and shook out their smooth auburn tresses. Laura watched as one of them started issuing orders to the team of men that emerged from the lorry. ‘You didn’t say they were identical twins.’
Sir Repton followed her gaze. ‘Tam and Pom? Impossible to tell them apart. Delightful pair. Sometimes a little brusque perhaps,’ he continued. ‘But always having new ideas; keeping ahead of the market, they say.’ He sat down on the chair beside her.
‘Is it a partnership you’ve got going with them and your friend Robert Hanley Jones or do they pay you rent for Mount Cod?’ she asked.
‘To a degree a partnership I believe. It was Matilda’s idea originally – she loved a wedding and she understood the business far better than I do. The girls, or one of them anyway, are very clever at handling the books, I leave it all to them. They have created a separate company for me personally. It’s called, “Part of the Union”. Now I think you will have to agree that’s witty,’ Sir Repton chortled weakly.
‘Very droll,’ Laura smiled.
‘It’s only our second season but they tell me that soon the money should start rolling in,’ he continued, as the two girls disappeared around the side of the house, followed by four men carrying long rolls of plain white fabric and a lot of camera equipment.
‘Whatever are they up to now, I wonder?’ Sir Repton said.
‘And where are they going?’
‘To the new entrance I was telling you about.’
‘All that work on the house must have been expensive.’
‘I leave that side
of things to Robert.’ He put on his glasses and turned to the obituary column of the paper. ‘Oh no, not dear Hermione. She once played Blanche DuBois to my Stanley at the Chichester Festival.’ He pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose before returning to the article.
Laura wondered if Venetia was up yet. She was getting bored and the morning was going nowhere fast. ‘Have you ever thought about remarrying?’ It was not quite appropriate but Laura dangled the bait anyway.
Sir Repton folded the paper with a sudden crackle. ‘My dear Laura, I’m sure if the right opportunity were to arise, Matilda would not hold it against me.’ He slid from the chair onto one knee. ‘Will you…?’
‘Please don’t start getting amorous. I’m not in the market for it.’ She felt foolish; it was an impetuous thing to have asked.
‘I didn’t think you were.’ He returned to his chair and resumed the article. ‘No, no, Hermione never got a Bafta, I’m sure of that.’
As Laura flicked through the Mail she heard the sound of banging coming from the direction of the ballroom.
‘They must be making ready for some sort of themed reception party,’ Sir Repton said. ‘It was all dolled out like a Hawaiian Island the other week. I had sand in my shoes for days.’
The noise from the ballroom and the paucity of the journalistic content of the paper was making Laura irritable. ‘Shall we take the dogs out?’ she suggested.
They wandered through the park – Parker and Sybil Thorndike making good their rapprochement as they stopped to compare notes on particular scents – and had stopped to admire a particularly fine horse-chestnut tree, when a lorry carrying a mini-digger came up the drive.
‘Must be something to do with the gardeners,’ Sir Repton said. ‘I never seem to know what’s going on these days.’
‘You should make an effort to find out,’ Laura said.
‘Tam and Pom have everything under control and I have my own little projects to look after; something always needs mending, but my main achievement was having the chapel re-consecrated. I told you didn’t I?’
Laura nodded.
‘When Matilda and I bought Mount Cod, it hadn’t been used in years. We rather forgot about it and Matilda’s faith was of an eclectic nature. She didn’t find the need for sacred space to convene with her particular deity. In the past I was never drawn to the church but recently I have taken to using it myself. I feel the power of prayer may be the way forward with Rosalind.’
‘The elusive ghost.’ Laura heaved a sigh of exasperation. ‘Shall we take a look at it?’
They skirted a mass of thick laurel bushes to the side of the main house and came upon the little building. The architecture was a mish mash of Arts and Crafts meets cottage style. A squat circular brick tower jutted out of the middle of the thatched roof as if added as an afterthought to give the structure a more ecclesiastic ambience but it reminded Laura of something from Grimm’s fairy tales.
‘The girls have made this pathway from the ballroom,’ Sir Repton said, as they scrunched over some newly scattered gravel through which the earth underneath could clearly be seen. He lifted the latch of the oak door and pushed it open.
‘This is new,’ he said, as they stared at a length of pink and green polka dot carpet running down the aisle.
They walked past the pews covered in brightly covered scatter cushions up to the altar. On top of the yellow and purple tartan cloth stood a large, clear Perspex cross and on either side, a pair of golden candlesticks in the shape of minarets.
‘Very interdenominational,’ Laura remarked.
‘Tam and Pom are all for that sort of thing and now every occasion has to be more exotic than the last. Still as long as the money starts coming in I can’t complain. I’ll be able to re-roof the stable block by the end of this season they tell me.’
By the time they had returned to the house, there were more cars parked in the driveway. As they entered the hall, they heard a commotion coming from the direction of the ballroom.
‘Get the old bat out of here,’ a male voice shouted out. ‘She’s totally ruined the shot.’
‘Calm down Danny,’ a girl’s voice answered back. ‘I’m on it.’
One of the double doors swung open revealing Tam – or Pom – with one arm around Venetia’s neck. ‘Come on Granny, let’s get you back where you belong,’ she said, kicking the door shut behind her. ‘Honestly, who let you out in the first place?’ She looked up and saw Sir Repton and Laura. ‘Really Repton,’ she said. ‘You’ve got to keep control of your guests.’ Her eyes blazed. ‘We’re doing a virtual honeymoon at the Niagara Falls in there and the cameraman charges six grand a day.’
‘Oh Laura,’ Venetia cried. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’ She struggled free. ‘I heard noises and thought it might be you. And then I got disorientated.’
‘The back projection’s been specially filmed for this couple.’ The girl thrust Venetia forward.
‘Profuse apologies,’ Sir Repton said, taking Venetia by the arm. ‘What now dear coz? Let me assist you.’
Venetia’s lip twitched. ‘Better late than never.’
‘Hopefully they’ll be able to airbrush her out,’ the girl was saying. ‘But it all costs money and the bridegroom wants it on Facebook by tonight. Just keep her under control in future.’
‘My dear, profuse apologies again.’
‘And Repton…’
‘Yes?’
‘How many times do I have to tell you, the ballroom door must be kept locked. You forgot again when you went away. Last week I found a load of guests using the bathrooms upstairs. It took me hours to round them up.’
‘But I thought you had a set of keys?’
‘I do, but I shouldn’t have to check each time and it would be good if either you or Cheryl could remember. That woman does precious little as it is and you all know the ballroom’s out of bounds.’ The girl disappeared, shutting the door behind her.
Sir Repton turned the key. ‘I’m sure I did lock it,’ he said.
‘She’s rather officious isn’t she?’ Laura took Venetia by the other arm and together they guided her into the sitting room. But the shock of it all was too much for her and she said she’d like to go back to bed again. Laura took her back upstairs. Venetia sat down and picked up a chocolate biscuit from the bedside table. ‘I think I’d like to go back to Wellworth Lawns.’ She let out a little hiccup of distress. ‘Would tomorrow be too soon?’
‘Of course not, dear.’ It was too bad that poor Venetia was so upset. ‘Repton’s simply out of control and this whole ghost thing of his has inflamed your imagination again. It’s only natural for you to be discombobulated.’ Laura puffed up the pillows. ‘Now you stay here and I’ll bring you up something on a tray.’
Cheryl had left them a note saying there was bread and a jar of fish paste in the fridge and could they make themselves sandwiches. As Laura spread the butter, she asked Sir Repton if this was his normal lunchtime fare. He said he found he didn’t need a great deal to eat at his age.
‘You’re right of course,’ Laura said. ‘We have quite unnecessary amounts of food at Wellworth Lawns.’ She took off the crusts, cut the sandwiches into neat little triangles and took some up to Venetia.
‘Do try one,’ she said.
Venetia sniffed them and said she wasn’t hungry, so she took them away with the empty biscuit wrapper. Walking back downstairs Laura felt in agreement with Venetia. What was the point of staying on? The only hints that something untoward had happened – the key to the bathroom door and a note about a P45 – were hardly evidence that the weak-minded Repton or anyone else had anything to do with his wife’s demise.
Laura tried to imagine Sir Repton committing an act of domestic violence, as she and he spent the afternoon out of harm’s way looking round the bog garden that lay beyond the formal gardens. They reached it by means of a winding path lined with Acers and a series of stone statues of dancing nymphs.
‘Matilda said it was her
homage to A Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ Sir Repton explained, patting a nubile cherub on the rear. ‘She created it the year I played Puck at the RSC.’
Two men were working near some bushes on a bank above a small pond. One was manoeuvring the small digger they had seen arriving earlier, the other was standing with a shovel on top of a large mound of earth.
‘Ah, now here is young Kevin.’ Sir Repton waved to the man with the shovel and called out ‘Good morning Kevin.’
The man’s chin jutted forward momentarily before he turned his back to them. ‘He can be a little on the moody side.’ Sir Repton tore at an overhanging leaf to disguise the failed attempt at familiarity. ‘But he has been doing sterling work here for some time now. Matilda had to admonish him on one or two occasions but the great outdoors has transformed his character.’
‘From what?’ Laura asked, disentangling the sleeve of her jumper from a low-hanging branch.
‘Robert took him on after he was released from prison. He’s awfully good that way.’
‘What had he done wrong?’
‘A spot of brawling I believe. They’ll be creating another photo opportunity I’ll be bound. Funny though, I seem to remember a stone bench stood there. They’ve probably had it moved, like the pagoda. I wonder where they’ve put that?’
‘Don’t remind me of benches, Wellworth Lawns is stacked with them. But talking of Wellworth Lawns,’ Laura took the chance to explain her predicament with Venetia. ‘She gets confused if her routine is altered. I’m afraid I must take her back in the morning.’
‘So soon? Alas…’
Laura waited for a quote, but it was not forthcoming and as Sir Repton stared down at his black patent galoshes, she saw a drip land on one of them. She couldn’t be sure if it had come from his eyes or his nose.
They arrived back at the house as the wedding planners and their entourage were leaving and watched as the vehicles snaked their way down the drive and then onto the grass as Lance’s Land Rover, coming in the opposite direction, refused to pull over. Instead of turning into the stable yard, the Land Rover continued up to the front of the house and stopped beside them.
The Haunting of Mount Cod Page 5