A Grave in the Cotswolds

by Rebecca Tope

  ‘I expect she was just in shock. You know as well as I do – better, if anything – that you can’t judge people by what they say in a moment of crisis.’

  ‘That’s true,’ I conceded. ‘And she did mellow at bit, as we talked. But I still don’t think we can just descend on her unannounced.’

  Thea sighed impatiently. ‘I’ve done it before and it usually works out all right. She’d probably welcome a friendly visit, if we said we’d come to pay our respects.’

  ‘But I’m the chief suspect for her husband’s murder. How can I possibly face her?’

  ‘How would she know that?’

  ‘I imagine everyone knows by now. My reputation is in tatters.’

  ‘All the more reason to do your best to clear your name.’

  ‘I agree. But I can’t face Mrs Maynard. I’m sorry, but there are limits. What in the world should I say to her?’

  ‘Well, all right. But I think it would be fine, when it came to it.’

  I stood my ground. ‘No, Thea, it would not. Especially as she’s probably got a houseful of friends and neighbours already commiserating with her. That would make it even worse. Besides, she’s already angry. I might set her off on a full-blown tantrum.’

  ‘You said that before. You think she really is angry? Not upset?’

  ‘You saw her for yourself.’ I had forgotten until then that Mrs Maynard had visited Thea. ‘What did you think?’

  She thought about it. ‘Well, she was frustrated at being stalled by the police. I got the impression she felt sidelined, as if she expected to be consulted more. And she doesn’t approve of me.’

  I grimaced. ‘Ditto. When she phoned she seemed to find your presence in the village unsettling. She knows a lot about the legality of the house, because she works for the solicitor who looked after Greta’s mother’s affairs.’ I was dredging up as much detail as I could from the phone call. Monday felt a very long time ago.

  ‘Yes – so she probably did know you’d inherited the house. She probably typed up the will that had it in.’

  I thought hard. ‘You know, I think she must have done. She made some sharp little remark about “Mr Nephew”, meaning Charles, implying she knew something about the future of the house. That was quite witty, in a way, the Mr Nephew comment.’

  ‘Do the widows of freshly murdered men often crack jokes?’ Thea asked sharply. ‘I know I didn’t, when my husband died.’

  ‘Sometimes,’ I told her. ‘It’s the shock. It makes some people say terribly inappropriate things. You should hear them at the funerals.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, she strikes me as a hard woman, from what I’ve seen of her.’

  ‘I’m starting to think she’s got some crucial information,’ I said. ‘She could be a direct link in the whole story. She might even know who killed Gavin.’

  ‘She might even have done it herself,’ said Thea. ‘After all, it usually is the spouse.’

  I humoured her, rather against my better judgement. ‘Perhaps she thought she’d get the house, on the grounds of her long friendship with Greta. But when Gavin let Greta know how much he disapproved of her plans for her burial, she changed her mind and left it to me. Which infuriated his wife so much that she murdered him.’

  ‘But it would be just as likely to make him want to kill you. Besides, he obviously had no idea of Greta’s plans for her burial. If he had, he’d have told her the field wasn’t hers in the first place, and she would have to think again.’

  ‘And Judith or Charles Talbot would be the aggrieved parties, whichever scenario you take. They should really have murdered me, as well. Heavens, I’m lucky to be alive.’

  ‘Maybe they will yet, now they know you’re getting the house. It is a nice house,’ she added inconsequentially. We were approaching it, as we spoke, having meandered some distance past it, heading east, and then turned back when the road became narrower and steeper and less appealing altogether.

  ‘Can we go and have another look at it?’ I said on an impulse. ‘Just so I can dream for a few minutes. I’m certain it never will be mine. The conditions are impossible.’

  ‘OK,’ she concurred. ‘But it’s getting rather chilly, and it’ll be dark before long.’

  It was four o’clock, and I knew I would have to find somewhere to sleep very soon. The prospect of returning to the Chipping Campden hotel for a long lonely evening and potentially sleepless night was more grim every time I contemplated it.

  ‘Just for a minute,’ I promised her.

  I hadn’t properly taken in the house on my earlier visit. I’d been far too engaged with the people to notice room sizes or furniture, or the immaculate thatched roof. I was even momentarily puzzled as to how to find it.

  ‘Down here,’ said Thea, turning into a small street on the right.

  ‘Oh yes.’ My confusion of Saturday came back to me. The place was perfectly straightforward on the map, but there were odd turnings and a closed-in feeling, which meant you couldn’t see anything further ahead than a few yards in some places. The house was on our right, bigger than I remembered. I looked up at it. ‘How many bedrooms are there?’

  ‘Four, although one is very tiny. The thatch is nice, isn’t it?’

  ‘Gorgeous. And this little garden must be wonderful in summer. Look at all the roses, and laburnum.’

  ‘Ceanothus, wisteria, clematis, peonies – she certainly liked a lot of colour,’ Thea observed knowledgeably. For the first time in hours, I thought of Karen and how she loved a garden.

  ‘I suppose it’ll sit empty now for ages, while everyone wrangles over it,’ I said wistfully.

  ‘It should by rights stay in the family, don’t you think?’

  ‘Except none of them wants it.’

  ‘The boy does. Jeremy. Nobody listened to him, but he loves it here. There’s a room which is more or less his. He’d been coming here a lot since Mrs Simmonds came back from her commune thingy.’

  ‘Ah yes – the co-housing people. None of whom came to her funeral, even though it’s only been a year and a bit since she left them.’

  ‘I suppose because she left them in a huff – it sounds as if she fell out with them in a big way.’

  I thought about it, again ransacking my poor brain for anything Mrs Simmonds might have said about them when she came to my office. ‘I have got the address,’ I said. ‘She was living there when I met her.’

  ‘They’d be easy to find, anyway. I don’t suppose there are many places that call themselves co-housing communities in Somerset. I could look them up on the Internet.’

  Which made me wonder exactly where Thea intended to stay the night. She’d surely have to head back home before much longer. Somehow I didn’t feel able to ask her, despite the apparent opening she’d given me already.

  ‘You know what,’ she said, as if reading my thoughts, ‘I think I could get in here quite easily, and we could use it as free accommodation tonight. You don’t want to spend money on a hotel again, and I’m in no rush to get back. I’ve got all I need in the car.’ She looked at the long-suffering dog that had trailed after us on our meanderings around the village for the past two hours or so. ‘I’ve even got my new Blackberry.’

  When I worked out how long we’d been walking, I immediately felt tired. And thirsty. But much more strongly, I felt apprehension. ‘The neighbours will see us, and tell somebody,’ I objected. ‘We’d be trespassing.’

  ‘They know I’ve been here. They’ll just assume the family want me to stay on. I don’t think they’ll want to get involved, anyway. They’re too rich and busy to bother with what’s going on here. It’s amazing, you know, how these villages operate nowadays. A lot of the properties are second homes, for one thing, so they’re empty most of the time. The rest are people who’ve moved here from somewhere else, and haven’t established a proper sense of community. It’s the same everywhere – except Blockley. They do seem to do a lot of social stuff in Blockley.’

  ‘And what will they think about me?’


  ‘They won’t think anything.’

  ‘But…but…there’s been a murder half a mile away. They’ll be acutely aware of anything unusual or suspicious. Won’t they be scared, as well?’

  She shook her head firmly. ‘I doubt it. Anyway, I’m not unusual or suspicious. I’m ordinary and familiar, and I’ve got a dog. Trust me, nobody will take the slightest notice of us.’

  ‘So how do we get in? Didn’t you have to give the key to someone?’ The idea was making me more and more nervous, not only because it was almost certainly illegal. ‘If anybody finds out, we’ll be in real trouble.’

  ‘I don’t see why. We won’t do any damage. We can just act dumb if anybody comes.’

  ‘The key?’ I prompted.

  ‘There’s a spare one in a flowerpot round the back. I shouldn’t think anybody knows about it.’

  I sighed with slight relief. At least she wasn’t proposing to break in. But I did not understand exactly why she was making the suggestion in the first place. The idea that she wanted somewhere quiet and private to be alone with me was dismissed as soon as it occurred – she had given no indication of any such notion, and my experience with women was that they seldom regarded me in that sort of light. Karen had been special in that respect, right from the start.

  Thea effortlessly unlocked the front door and ushered me into the house. She reached for the light switch to illuminate the murky hallway, but nothing happened. ‘Drat!’ she exclaimed. ‘I forgot about the electric being turned off.’

  No hot water, no light, no telly, no heating. The list grew longer as I contemplated the lack of power. ‘That’s that, then,’ I said, trying to hide the gladness in my voice.

  ‘Don’t be such a wuss,’ she said. ‘There’s bound to be some candles.’

  ‘It’ll be cold.’

  ‘Not especially. It’s an old house with thick walls. I’ve hardly used any heating since I’ve been here.’

  She was too much for me and I gave in. At least I was indoors, not spending any money, and had a well-charged mobile phone in my pocket, even if I had to walk up a hill before it would work. Things could be worse.

  ‘I’m going to pop over to Chipping Campden before the shops close, and get some food, OK? No need for you to come. Look after Hepzie, will you?’

  She had left her car outside the cottage while we had walked around the village for most of the afternoon. The spaniel and I looked at each other. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘So long as she doesn’t make a fuss.’

  ‘She won’t. She takes to everybody. She has a very independent spirit for a dog.’

  And so it proved. In the thirty-five minutes that Thea was gone, the animal had jumped onto the old leather sofa next to me, and snuggled warmly against my leg. We were both tired, it seemed, and I leant back my head and let everything drift for a bit. A cup of tea would have been perfect, but I supposed we’d have to drink water and nothing more, unless there was some sort of paraffin stove tucked away somewhere.

  Thea returned carrying armloads of shopping. She dumped it in the kitchen, and went out again, returning with our luggage. A tapestry bag, a bulging white plastic carrier bag, my own little holdall and a rucksack all dangled from her at odd angles. She let it all drop onto the floor in front of me. ‘Dog food with dish, dog blanket, overnight stuff for me and plenty of food from a nice little old-fashioned shop I found,’ she enumerated. ‘What have you got?’

  I had forgotten all about my own packing. ‘Toothbrush, pyjamas and a clean shirt,’ I reported.

  ‘Come on – there’s more than that in here.’

  ‘A book. Socks. Phone charger. Camera.’

  ‘Camera?’

  ‘I thought it might come in useful. I meant to bring it on Friday, to get a picture of the grave for my records, and forgot.’

  ‘Doesn’t your phone take photos?’

  ‘If it does, I don’t know how to work it. I’ve never been very good with gadgets,’ I confessed. ‘Maggs does all that sort of thing.’

  ‘For somebody only thirty-seven and three-quarters, you’re quite old-fashioned,’ she commented. ‘You’ll be telling me next you don’t know how to create a website.’

  ‘A what?’ I said.

  ‘Very funny.’

  She was right, of course. I was a genuine unapologetic technophobe. It went with my line of work, my entire take on life and society, in a muddled kind of way. I liked the outdoors, personal contact, long considered conversations. Texting and emailing and superficial connections, such as existed on Facebook and the like, struck me as almost dangerously inhuman. Before taking the job with the funeral director, I had been a nurse. I had touched a lot of suffering flesh, looked into many frightened and pleading eyes and understood, right down to my bones, the stark need everyone had for a real live connection. The wholesale plunge into remote, detached communications via small hand-held machines appalled me as much as closed-circuit cameras did Thea. I just didn’t rant about it the way she did.

  ‘Just like Carl,’ added Thea, after a pause. ‘He didn’t like machines, either.’

  I made no response to that. If she was telling me that I was her kind of man, then I should quite definitely not be staying alone in a house with her for a long March night.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Our first task was to find candles and create some light. The sun would be setting in less than an hour, and the windows of the house were small. Already there were deep shadows spreading out from the corners of the room. Thea knew where to look, and before long we had set up three light sources, although she ordained that we ought not to use them until we had to.

  For food, she laid out a quiche that looked handmade, coleslaw, Pringles crisps, two apples and a bottle of red wine. ‘That should keep us going,’ she said. ‘We won’t have it yet, though – just some water from the tap.’

  It was sufficiently like a camping holiday from my youth to make me feel boyish and irresponsible. I readily forgot why I was there, what was likely to happen next and what Maggs was going to say to me when I eventually returned home. My immediate thoughts were on the evening and night ahead, and the dawning understanding that I was alone in a house with a very beautiful, witty, clever, kind woman. I resisted all thinking along such lines quite firmly, without even pausing to argue with myself. There was no argument to be had. Subject closed. Think about other things.

  I was still very worried about the legality of what we were doing. ‘People will see the candlelight,’ I said. ‘And wonder what’s going on.’

  ‘No, they won’t. And if they do, they’ll just accept it. Honestly, Drew, you worry too much, for no reason. Now then, there’s a stack of board games in the back room. Would you like to play Scrabble? I warn you, I’m fantastically good at it.’ A surprising look of pain crossed her face. ‘I used it to distract me when Carl died. It passed an enormous lot of time.’

  ‘Who did you play with?’

  ‘People on the computer. There are clubs. You can play with anybody, all around the world.’

  ‘Blimey,’ I said. ‘Fancy that. Actually, I’m not very keen on Scrabble, if that’s OK. I don’t mind canasta or gin rummy. I used to play those with my granny.’

  ‘Thanks very much,’ she giggled, ruining my subconscious hope that I could somehow pretend to myself that it was in fact my grandmother here in the house with me. ‘But I don’t think there are any playing cards.’

  ‘We should talk more about Mr Maynard,’ I said, with some hesitation. ‘That’s the important thing.’

  ‘Haven’t we said it all already?’

  ‘We need a plan for tomorrow,’ I insisted. ‘Pity about your computer – we could have looked up that co-housing place.’

  ‘Oh, we still can,’ she chirped. ‘I’ve brought my splendid new gadget with me this time. Jessica gave it me for Christmas.’ She waved a shiny black thing at me that obviously had a thousand useful functions.

  ‘But there’s no signal here.’ I knew only too well the tr
uth of this, since all my troubles had arisen because of it.

  ‘There is if you’re with Vodafone, which this thing is. I’ve been practising with it. It really is amazing. I’ve completely fallen in love with it.’

  ‘Jessica will be impressed.’

  ‘Won’t she!’ she said smugly. She got Google running in moments, and searched for the place where Mrs Simmonds had lived. ‘This must be it,’ she said, reading out the details. I recognised the name of the village.

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘That’ll be it.’

  ‘They’ve got an open day, this weekend, for prospective members. “All welcome. Come and see for yourselves how we live. Organic lunches served. Talks and discussions.” Sounds as if they’re expanding.’

  ‘It must be weird, in a commune,’ I mused. ‘Endless meetings about what kind of light bulbs to use. No wonder poor old Greta couldn’t stand it.’

  ‘Did she say that? Maybe they couldn’t stand her. Maybe they threw her out.’

  ‘It’s odd that she kept this house. You’d think she’d have needed the money to buy into the co-housing group. I would assume they have to contribute quite a bit for their living quarters. She didn’t have a job, did she?’

  ‘No, but she had the rent from this, and maybe some money from her parents. She could have borrowed against the value of this place, as well. Banks were lending to anyone with property at the time she went there.’

  I peered at the computer screen over her shoulder. There were pictures – a big house and a collection of converted farm buildings, with happy smiling people interspersed here and there. ‘Looks too good to be true,’ I remarked.

  ‘We could go,’ she cried. ‘We could go to the open day on Saturday.’

  Objections crowded into my head. The police wouldn’t allow it. It was much too far to drive. We’d be spotted as impostors. ‘Could we?’ I said weakly.

  ‘We could leave early, spend the day there, and be back in time for supper.’

  Were we planning to take up permanent residence here in Broad Campden, then? Was she envisaging three, four, five nights here together? It was like a dream, or a fairytale. Or stark-raving lunacy.