Adam saw the hope on her face. She didn’t want it to be Daniel. He sighed, about to spoil the moment. ‘Never heard of Dr Crippen?’
34
Painter
Steph Aldred appeared on Adam’s doorstep the next day. Dressed in a multicoloured jacket, dark hair tousled by a sharp spring breeze, she brought a smile to his lips.
‘I’m so sorry to bother you,’ she said. ‘Is it too inconvenient?’
‘Not at all. Come in.’
She stood in the middle of the room, twisting a chunky bracelet round her wrist, refusing coffee or tea, or even to sit down. ‘You surprised me at home,’ she said, ‘and I was rude. You were a policeman and I don’t like people checking up on me.’
‘Not at all unusual.’
Smiling, she examined the room. ‘This is not what I would expect for a police officer. It’s enchanting. And you own the pub as well?’
‘That’s retirement for you. I’m just an amateur painter and pub landlord, now.’
‘That sounds like fun – hard work, though, I should think.’
What had she really come to say? He waited. She’d get there in her own time.
Sure enough, she took a deep breath. ‘You asked me about Greg, and when I last saw him. Oh,’ she held up a hand, as if in self-defence, ‘I didn’t exactly lie to you. But I didn’t tell you everything I knew. I didn’t tell you about that time at school.’
‘I’d like to hear it from your point of view.’
‘It’s hard to remember details, after all this time.’
‘The parts you recall may be different to your friends’ memories. It all adds to the picture.’
Eyes bright with intelligence, Steph considered. ‘You think our stupid escapade may have something to do with Greg’s death?’
‘Who knows? They may be linked – or not. Why don’t you sit down? I want to hear anything you can tell me. Your friend, Imogen, is under suspicion for her husband’s murder and she’s frightened, although she hides it well. You were her friend. Your memories may help.’
She backed into a chair and Adam bustled about with coffee. ‘That school reunion. What a weird evening. It had seemed like a good idea, at first.’
‘Who’s idea?’
Her eyes slid away. ‘It just grew. I met Mrs Hall in Camilton, and we talked about it then. Poor old soul. You’d think she’d had enough of school, at her age, but she never married. Maybe she thinks of us all as her children. Some people have cats, Mrs Hall has old pupils.’ She laughed. ‘That sounds too fanciful for words.’
‘Not necessarily. Go on.’ He handed over a mug of coffee.
‘Once we’d agreed to go ahead, we rounded up everyone we could find. Daniel had moved back – another one of us with a broken marriage – and he was really keen. He kept asking if Imogen would be there.’
She gazed into her coffee mug. ‘We were so pleased to see her, although she left early. A bit overcome, I think, so soon after Greg’s death. Seeing us all there again, Greg’s friends, must have been very difficult.’
She seemed to have dried up. He tried an encouraging nod.
‘Before, I told you I didn’t like Greg.’
‘But?’
‘That wasn’t quite true. We all fancied Greg like mad.’
‘Greg, not Daniel?’
She shook her head. ‘We hardly knew Daniel was there in those days. He sort of lurked in the background, watching. Something to do with being a painter, perhaps? Looking on, rather than joining in. Oh,’ she grinned. ‘You’re a painter, too.’
‘Not in Daniel’s league, I’m afraid.’
‘He’s talented, isn’t he? But, in those days, we all wanted Greg.’
‘All the girls liked him?’
She nodded. ‘And he knew it. He went out with all of us, one by one. More than just “going out”, really.’ Her eyes stayed fixed on the window. ‘If you see what I mean.’
‘You mean, he took advantage of the girls?’
‘If they let him. His friends called him “The Ram”.’
‘Which girls?’ Adam asked, his voice gentle.
‘Not me. He didn’t take much notice of me.’ Was that resentment in her voice? ‘Toni first. They were together for nearly a year, and then they broke up, and he was with Kate for a while, but all the time, it was Imogen he really liked. You could tell. He was always beside her. She was different from the rest of us. Very tall, very self-contained, with all that beautiful hair. She looked like a Greek goddess,’
Would Imogen recognise that description?
‘The thing is…’ Steph said. ‘When Toni left school, she took a year out before university. She moved away from Camilton and out of Somerset altogether. I didn’t really notice, because we no longer saw each other – only Kate and Toni kept in touch – but when we were at the reunion, we talked about our children. None of us had a very good record with husbands, but we all had children – except for Imogen.’
Adam sat up, listening hard.
‘I have my daughter, Rose, and Toni has Stephen, who’s a policeman. Imogen went home early, and we dragged out our old photos. They were in our handbags – nobody wanted to show them off while Imogen was there. There’s nothing worse than other people’s children if you don’t have one of your own.’
Adam didn’t have children. Did she know?
‘You can imagine us, can’t you, lining up the photos on a table, all thinking our own kids were the best looking.’ She laughed. ‘There was one of Stephen with some friends. And, one of those friends, a bit older than Stephen, looked just like Greg. He had the same sort of crinkly hair and broad shoulders.’ She paused.
Adam held his breath. She was about to say something dramatic.
‘It turned out that boy was Kate’s son. And he was just the right age to be born the year we left school.’
‘You mean…’
‘I think Greg got Kate pregnant.’
The silence stretched out. Adam thought hard.
What of Imogen? She had no child, but her husband did. She didn’t see the photos – maybe she didn’t know. Or perhaps his child was the reason for their quarrel and the end of their marriage?
Or was Steph leading Adam up the garden path? Deflecting suspicion from herself, or from another friend?
So many questions to answer.
‘My darling Adam.’ Maria’s head appeared round the doorway. ‘Let me in. You’re late for—’ She broke off. ‘Steph? What are you doing here?’ It took her a moment to recover. ‘Steph, darling, I didn’t know you two were friends. Adam, you should have told me. Steph is a dear friend.’ She clasped the smaller woman to her bosom. ‘Steph is our newest addition to the orchestra. She plays the flute. Oh, you will love our concert.’
Steph untangled herself and backed towards the door. ‘I’ll see myself out.’
Maria narrowed her eyes. ‘Adam, is Steph Aldred one of your girlfriends?’
‘I’m too old for girlfriends.’ He forced a smile. No need to be testy. ‘Tell me. What can I help you with today?’
‘But surely you can’t have forgotten? We have a meeting of the Concert Committee. The concert is just two days away. And you are late for the meeting. Mrs Bishop sent me to find you.’
Emily and Imogen were waiting in the office, while Harley lay curled contentedly in his basket under the receptionist’s desk.
Maria’s plans for the concert had expanded. It promised to be the biggest social event of the year.
Emily kept the worst of her nonsense within bounds, steering the conversation successfully from caviar and champagne to cheese and wine, ‘People will come for the Mozart, not the food.’ And to see where the mysterious murder took place.
They spent an hour running through plans. Tickets were selling like hot cakes and most of the village would be there. It would be an evening to remember.
Maria left, kissing everyone on both cheeks. Emily returned to her duties and Adam suggested a walk with Imogen and Harley. The dog lifted one ear, jumped up an
d bounded to the door.
Imogen clipped on the animal’s lead and they set off for the village.
Adam’s anger overflowed. ‘When will you be honest with me?’
‘Sorry? What?’ His fierceness seemed to startle her.
‘Why didn’t you tell me about Greg’s son? Surely, you knew about him?’
‘Oh.’
‘Is that all you can say? Oh? You knew, didn’t you?’
Her eyes opened in shock – or a display of innocence? He wasn’t about to be fooled.
‘Your dead husband fathered a child by one of your friends, and you didn’t bother to mention it?’
‘Well, I…’
‘We’re supposed to be partners, but you’re keeping me in the dark. Don’t you see how guilty you look? Greg and Kate had a son together, and you didn’t bother to tell me? What am I supposed to think?’
Imogen had turned her face away.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t think Greg’s son had anything to do with his death.’
‘You didn’t? Well, sooner or later, DCI Andrews is going to find out, and then he’ll have a great big motive that will convince him to charge you with murder. And I wouldn’t blame him.’
They rounded the corner to the scene of Alfie Croft’s bicycle crash. So many accidents, so many loose ends. Adam’s head swam a little.
Imogen had turned deathly pale.
‘Tell me about it.’
‘I didn’t know about the boy for years. I can’t have children, you see.’ She shrugged. ‘I had all the tests. I really wanted a family. I was ready to start IVF, but Greg wouldn’t do it. We fought about it all the time. Then, one day, he told me he didn’t need more children, because he already had one.’
The bleakness in her voice chilled Adam.
She choked on a sob. ‘Greg really wasn’t a very nice person.’
He offered a handkerchief. She blew her nose.
‘Nobody carries handkerchiefs.’
‘I’m old-school.’
She offered a watery smile.
‘Did you know Kate was the mother?’ Adam asked.
‘Oh, yes. Greg enjoyed telling me that. He said he would have married her, but he was too young to be a father. So he married me instead.’
Adam said, ‘Do you know, I think your husband deserved everything he got. I’m just surprised no one killed him sooner.’
‘I thought about it, once or twice. You know, in a sort of dreamy way. What would it be like to get rid of him? But we rubbed along together most of the time. He could be fun, when he wanted to. And I’d married him of my own free will. No one forced me to.’
‘Although he wasn’t your real choice?’
‘How did you guess?’ She sniffed. ‘It was Daniel I wanted. I always liked Daniel, but he didn’t take much notice of me at school. It was different when he came to paint the garden. At least, at first – then he just… disappeared. When Greg asked me out, I was flattered. The other girls were jealous.’ She offered Adam his handkerchief, now screwed into a damp ball.
‘No thanks. It’s a present.’
‘Another present? You already gave me Harley. What can I give you in return?’
‘Honesty?’
She laughed, almost back to normal. ‘Full disclosure, then. When Daniel was painting the garden, we grew close. I was engaged to Greg, but I would have left him in a moment if Daniel asked me to. Instead, he disappeared, overnight, without even saying goodbye.’ She dabbed at her eyes again. ‘He broke my heart. All I could do was pretend I didn’t care, and marry Greg. I’ve sometimes suspected Greg knew how I felt – that I was in love with Daniel. My father said Daniel was a loser, but he liked Greg.’
‘Any idea why?’
She took a moment to answer. ‘They had so much in common with their various business interests. They liked secrets – knowing things that I didn’t, putting one over on me.’ She picked leaves from a nearby Daphne bush, shredding them between her fingers. ‘I couldn’t wait to marry and move away from home, permanently. My mother was already dead and Dad had his series of women.’ The colour had come back in her cheeks. ‘I can see why the police would think it, but I really didn’t kill Greg. Or anyone else.’
‘Who do you think did, then?’
There was a long pause. ‘I don’t know. I mean – I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but I’m almost sure it was one of us. From school. I just don’t know who.’
Adam gave her a long look. ‘When you say you don’t want to jump to conclusions, do you mean you have an idea?’
‘Just that – an idea. And I think I know how to find out for sure.’
Adam took her arm and turned her to face him. ‘Imogen, don’t put yourself in harm’s way. There’s a murderer out there.’
‘It’s OK. I can look after myself. Now, let’s give Harley a proper run.’
35
Bottle
Harley was still full of energy, so instead of going indoors, Imogen took him into the garden. It had turned, unexpectedly, into a beautiful afternoon, with clear skies, hardly any breeze, and a warm sun. Imogen took a short path that wound behind a row of apple trees. The blossom had gone, and tiny fruits were beginning to set.
‘Summer’s coming, Harley.’ She let him off the lead to run while she tugged weeds from a bed of peonies. The blooms would burst soon, with a glorious few days of exquisite blowsiness, followed by months of inaction. The laziest plants in the garden, her father had called them, and the most beautiful.
Oswald arrived, standing like a ghost beside her. ‘I’ve done what you asked, ma’am,’ he said, with a peculiar gesture halfway between a salute and a tug of his forelock. Imogen often thought he should have lived a hundred years ago. ‘I planted a few nasturtiums and jasmine by the orangery. They’ll grow fast, cover the place in months, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘I saw, thank you. And, it’s the wrong time of year to plant trees, but maybe a few larger bushes?’ To hide it further from gawping guests and put off, a little longer, the inevitable decision about the building’s future.
‘Yes, ma’am. Then, come the winter, we’ll put in some proper broad leaved specimens. Make a little woodland round here.’
‘That would be nice.’
Something nagged at the back of Imogen’s mind, but the thought was misty. Was it something she’d heard, or seen?
She thought about the reunion. That ghastly evening had brought the ill-fated picnic into glaring focus – the same people there, the teenage friendships with their underlying tensions, the unbearable outcome…
Her heart raced. There was something wrong – something that didn’t fit. Other people’s memories of that day didn’t add up. If only her mind would clear she’d grasp it.
Oswald cleared his throat.
The misty thought evaporated. ‘Sorry. I was miles away. What do you need?’
‘I wanted to tell you I cleaned up the orangery yesterday.’
‘What do you mean?’ She didn’t need this other image – the sight of Greg’s dead body – in her head. She wanted to remember him from the early years of their marriage, when she’d thought they were happy.
Oswald leaned on his spade. ‘After… you know. Your husband, rest his soul.’ He coughed and started again. ‘Once the police took their tape away, we left the place alone. Gave me the shivers, to be honest. But I went in, thinking it was time to tidy up.’ He cleared his throat.
Bless the man, he’d gone in to check there were no signs of Greg’s death left to upset her.
‘I found a couple of empty bottles that hadn’t been there before.’
‘Bottles? How did they get there?’
He pulled the spade from the ground and stabbed at a deep-rooted weed. ‘Someone went there after the police left. Hotel guests, I suppose.’
‘Guests shouldn’t be coming to the orangery. It’s fenced off.’
‘Easy enough to climb over a bit of fence.’
True enough. Children did
it every summer, scrumping apples from farms.
‘When did it happen?’ She hadn’t been able to face the orangery.
‘Ah, now you’re asking.’ Oswald screwed his face up until his eyes threatened to disappear altogether and scratched the back of his head. ‘No, sorry, Miss Imogen. One day’s like another to me. Could have been any time.’
‘Was there much damage?’
‘Nothing deliberate, I reckon; a couple of empty beer bottles and some broken glass in the plant pots. Boys from the village larking about, if you ask me.’ He sucked his teeth. ‘Those young lads – no respect.’
‘Mm.’ She hadn’t seen young lads around lately. A shiver crawled up Imogen’s spine. ‘I expect you’re right, it was lads from the village on a night out. Keep a lookout, will you, Oswald? We don’t want it to become a habit.’
Oswald attacked the dandelions while Imogen headed for the orangery. I bet those bottles appeared the night the earring arrived. Who had left them: lads on a night out, a member of the hotel staff or someone from her past?
Harley sat at her feet. The sun warmed her back; rosemary and lavender scented the air in the garden. Absently, she rubbed Harley’s chest until he fell asleep, snoring gently. Still, she sat, thinking, piecing together clues. There were so many; too many. If only she could see clearly.
She had no idea how long she sat, thinking, until the pieces of the jigsaw began to fall into place.
Harley opened one eye as she stood. ‘I wonder if I’m right, Harley. At least, I know how to find out.’
The dog licked her outstretched fingers.
‘The concert at the weekend. That’s when I’ll know.’
36
Concert
The day of Maria’s concert dawned at last. The preparations were complete, chairs set out on the hotel lawn, a dais for the orchestra erected and covered against the rain, refreshments under preparation.
Emily had whirled through the hotel like a dervish yesterday, checking arrangements.
A Village Murder Page 17