‘It’s wrong,’ Radhika said. ‘So wrong. Also, they took Vivian into a police station. Why did they do that?’
‘I honestly don’t know. I hope we’ll find out today. They can’t keep her for long without charging her. That’s the kind of stuff I don’t really understand.’
‘I don’t know what to think. How can we know who did this? Vivian could not have done it? Such foolishness. They were fine friends. Vivian is kind.’
Alex shook her head. She just didn’t know.
‘That’s Dr T coming out,’ Radhika said and hurried from the room.
Only minutes passed before Tony came in and shut the door behind him.
‘You look awful,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you sleep?’
He shook his head, no.
‘Why didn’t you call me? We could have talked.’
‘I didn’t want to wake you up.’ He looked away. ‘But I wanted you with me. I should have made more of asking you to come.’
‘We were both tired,’ Alex said. She went to take his arm and get him to sit down but he pulled her against him and just stood there, holding her tight, his chin on top of her head. She kissed his neck.
‘I can’t get it out of my head, Alex. Bill Lamb said I might have saved a life if I’d stopped and I might have. I might have stopped her from going through the fear and the pain – and there was a lot of both.’
‘I know. If it was Pamela by the road, and she didn’t want to be seen because she was meeting someone …’
‘We don’t know she was on her way to meet someone.’
‘Darn it, Tony.’ She moved away from him. ‘You didn’t kill Pamela Gibbon. And if she was the one hiding in the bushes then she didn’t want to be found.’
He sat down abruptly and dropped his hands between his knees.
‘You said we could work as a team. I’ve accepted the offer so pull yourself together. Bill Lamb hates you. Don’t ask me why. He doesn’t think much of me either. So what? You and I know what happened the night we went up there and now we’re going to work on finding out who did that ghastly thing and why. The motive has to be brought out. But if you walk around looking as if you’re guilty of something, it won’t help us much, will it?’
Smacking his hands down on the arms of the chintz chair, Tony pushed to his feet. He took her by the back of the neck and kissed her – hard. ‘You’re in charge, Ms Duggins, but only until I can look at this with a clear head.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘And that’s going to happen fast. I’ve got every right to ask how many sets of my fingerprints they found. By my count it would have to show I went down and up that ladder at least twice. When … to get back the torch they now say is missing, and then when I went down while we were up there together. I only went down once. And there’s no reason why I would kill Pamela.’
‘Great. Your patients are making a racket in there.’
Tony grinned at her. ‘See you later.’ He stopped on the way to the door and turned back. ‘I forgot I had some early visitors. Harriet came over in a taxi.’
‘What’s wrong with Oliver?’
‘They came to adopt—’ he frowned and took an index card from the pocket of his white coat – ‘Maxwell Aloysius Brady. Otherwise known as the scruffy, one-eyed orange cat you helped me put back together.’
How could she object? She’d already insisted she couldn’t take another pet. Her eyes stung but she concentrated on the backs of her hands. ‘I hope Oliver isn’t too put out.’
‘We’ll see,’ Tony said, his hand on the door. ‘Any ideas on what we do next?’
‘Yes, I’ll tell you about it later. You’d better get going.’
‘You’re not planning to do something without telling me first, are you?’
‘That’s something else we should discuss later, Tony. I try not to do anything stupid, but I don’t ask permission for whatever I decide to do.’
FOURTEEN
The Vines, home to the Stroud family for three generations, stood in large grounds at the edge of Folly-on-Weir. A short approach from the main road took visitors to iron front gates that rose in a curve between mellow, honey-colored stone gateposts. Those passing on the road to or from Underhill, the small village just over a ridge that kept it’s less than splendid buildings out of sight of Folly, could see only the chimneys and multi-angled stone roofs of the Stroud mansion.
Once the afternoon crowd at the Black Dog had dwindled and she’d taken care of overseeing some additional orders put in by the kitchen, walking seemed the best means for Alex to get to The Vines. That way she might get in with little fuss through a small, green pedestrian door set in the wall between one gatepost and an immaculately clipped hedge. Green iron fencing topped with unfriendly-looking spikes surrounded the entire expanse of the estate.
If she had driven she would have had to use the intercom and ask if she could pass the gates. That idea didn’t daunt her, but the possibility of being turned away by a disembodied voice certainly did.
As a small girl she had peeked through those gates, but she’d never been invited inside, not even when she and Harry were on friendly terms as teenagers.
The walk from the Dog had done her good. She’d shaken off the unsettling feelings her encounter with Tony had left behind. Yes, she’d been overly snippy, but some things needed to be understood, the sooner the better.
Through the wide open door beside the gates, Alex could see a large landscaper’s lorry, its tailgate down and a riding lawn mower already loaded. Two men stacked overflowing rubbish bins and tools aboard. They nodded when they saw her.
Gravel crunched like exploding glass as she walked to the front door. This was a beautiful house made of yellow Cotswold stone that had only improved from years of wear in the often harsh weather.
This was why Harry went out of his way to please his parents. With an older brother who had followed in the major’s footsteps and become an army officer, Harry couldn’t afford to tick off his parents, not if he wanted a share of all this when the older generation popped their clogs.
She climbed well-worn front steps and stood, staring at the door and wavering about going ahead with her hasty plan. If he knew what she was doing, Tony would be furious, but it was better for her to do this alone, not that she was too hopeful of finding Harry at home. The silver Maserati wasn’t around and its owner might be in London, but the major was at the Dog and that might mean there would be a chance to talk to Mrs Stroud alone. Alex didn’t know the woman and rarely saw her unless she was driving through Folly in an indigo-colored Morgan Plus Four with a mohair roof, a large hat shielding her face. The vehicle didn’t fit the woman who seemed a quiet soul and might not be as prickly as the rest of her family, which could be useful.
Alex gave one clanging rap with an overlarge but plain brass knocker. Immediately she stepped a respectful distance away from the front door. She might have grown up the daughter of a single mother who lived in a dowdy but immaculate Underhill cottage, but Lily had been a stickler for good manners.
Sonorous barks met her knock. It took minutes longer for the door to be opened by a blond and permed woman with an apron over her brown jumper and skirt. Gladys something from Underhill. Alex recognized her. She came into the Black Dog with her husband. Gladys Lymer, that was it, and her husband was Frank.
An elderly golden Lab fussed forward to sniff Alex and she rubbed his velvety head.
The two women smiled at one another. ‘Hello, Alex,’ Gladys said. ‘What a surprise.’ She grimaced at the sound of the lorry engine roaring to life and waited for it to drive away. The gates swung closed again.
‘Yes. I’ve never been here before.’ It took her years to realize why Harry never invited her home. ‘I was hoping to talk to Harry, or one of his parents.’ Poor bastard children of questionable means wouldn’t have been welcomed by his family.
‘Come in.’ Gladys waved her inside. ‘Harry lives in the back wing but I know he’s out. Mrs Stroud’s in the conservatory. She’ll be glad of the
company. A visitor is a rare thing. Come on, Batman. Let’s find your mum.’
‘Batman?’ Alex said. ‘Is there a Superman, too?’
‘Don’t tempt me,’ Gladys chuckled. ‘The major remembers his army days fondly. I’m thinking he had a batman then, too. I expect he wishes he still did, but this old fellow has to do.’
‘Quite a house,’ Alex said, following Gladys with Batman at her side. Doors stood open to rooms furnished with antiques, and these appeared to be the real thing. Soft old rugs in muted colors broke up acres of grey slate-tiled floors. The latter rang under the heels of Alex’s shoes.
The deeper they went into the house, the more overpowering a slightly sick sensation became. Her brow felt cold and slick. She should have thought this through more. Her idea had been to surprise Harry, although she had known she was more likely to talk to Mrs Stroud – or no one at all. She had thought she knew what to say, what to ask, but now she wasn’t so sure.
And the flip of her stomach meant she had not quite got over being persona non grata when she was a child.
‘Through here,’ Gladys said, leading the way into a smaller conservatory than Alex had expected. She doubted it could be more stunning, regardless of size. A misting system kept the air moist and smelling of peat and fertilizers and floral fragrance. There was plenty of color where hothouse blooms thrived happily among ferns and plants Alex didn’t recognize.
‘You’ve got a visitor, Mrs S,’ Gladys announced. ‘Alex Duggins from the Black Dog.’
An unexpectedly strong voice said, ‘Good heavens. A visitor, you say?’ Just like that.
Alex cringed. She should have thought to remind Gladys to let Mrs Stroud know Alex was asking to see her, before bringing her back. ‘Good afternoon,’ she said, following the voice to shelves where peat seed pots were packed tightly together. ‘It’s beautiful out here. Forgive me for dropping in unannounced. I was hoping to have a word with Harry.’
Of medium height, slim in a wiry way, Mrs Stroud straightened up and faced her. Brown curly hair, cut short, suited her oval face well enough. Her eyes were hazel and sharp, made more arresting by shadow and a liberal coat of mascara. She also wore bright red lipstick which was all puzzling since Alex had only seen the woman in the street, and at a distance, but she had no recollection of noticing heavy make-up.
‘I didn’t think you were a friend of Harry’s,’ she said. ‘He’s not in but he lives upstairs over there. Above the garages. We kept horses there, too, when the boys were young.’ With the point of a trowel aimed upward through the glass dome of the conservatory, she indicated a wing that looked as if it might be older than the rest of the house.
At a little past four, the light was already going out of the day. The wind lashed through tall trees. Alex wanted to leave.
‘How silly of me,’ she said. Her mouth and throat were dry. ‘We’ve known each other since we were children. Folly is a small place so I doubt there are many strangers. But I should have expected him to be in the City at this time.’
‘He isn’t. I’m Venetia, by the way. Would you like tea?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘In that case you can take Bat off and get him fed, then go on home,’ Venetia told Gladys. ‘We’ll be quite happy out here.’
As soon as Gladys had left, Venetia peeled off gardening gloves, revealing well-manicured hands, and threw them and a trowel on a bench. ‘Did the police send you?’ she said without looking at Alex. ‘If they did, speak up and tell me why.’ This time she stared into Alex’s face.
If the unflinching stare was meant to intimidate, it did its job. A watery sensation assailed Alex’s legs. ‘Why would you think the police sent me? They don’t have civilians run errands for them, do they?’
‘You’re pretty close with the detectives, aren’t you? That’s what I heard. Do you think Harry had anything to do with that woman’s death? He didn’t, you know, even if they have sent Vivian Seabrook home.’
‘I didn’t know Vivian was back, or not back, come to that. And I’m not close with any detectives.’
‘That’s not what the major said.’
The major? Now she thought about it, Alex didn’t remember hearing if the man even had a first name.
‘Doesn’t matter. Harry had an appointment in Bourton-on-the-Water. From what he said he should be back soon.’
‘What sort of meeting?’ Alex said without thinking. She really ought to go.
Venetia gave another stare.
‘I’m taking up your time. I should have called first.’
‘I have all the time in the world. You got plenty of money from your marriage. Why did you come back here and buy a pub of all things? I should have thought you’d want to forget how it was when you grew up in Underhill. You could go anywhere you like now, there are lots of places where no one would know you.’
Alex wondered how quickly she could get out of the house. ‘I’m doing what I like. Living where I really like living, too. And I still paint.’
‘Are you any good at it?’
This was all wrong. ‘Sometimes. Like most artists. You’re really involved with your plants and your garden. They’re beautiful.’
‘What d’you want with Harry?’
This was a corner of her own making, Alex thought. ‘I … I think it’s really unfair that people have made unfounded assumptions about him and I want to tell him so. I was out walking and decided to stop on a whim.’ That seemed quite brilliant and might pull some useful nugget out.
Venetia took in a loud breath through her nose. ‘We’re talking twaddle,’ she announced, tipping back her head and giving a full-throated laugh. ‘Filling in the spaces. But then, we’re strangers, aren’t we? Harry never brings women here. Sometimes I wonder if he’s gay, but then, he doesn’t bring men here, either.’
‘I think I should go,’ Alex said.
‘Everyone thinks I don’t know anything that goes on. Funny really. I probably know more than most of you put together. I’m used to research so I like ferreting things out. I took a first at Oxford, you know. I read anthropology.’
‘Congratulations.’
‘Yes, well, I do know what you’re up to. Never mind, I owe it to Harry to make sure he gets to talk with you. It would be wrong for me not to make sure that happens. You can wait for him in his flat – he just has the upper floor. Not that it isn’t as big as most houses. Come along.’
Alex didn’t want to ‘come along’ anywhere with Venetia Stroud.
‘Did you know our other son is in the army?’ Venetia said with a fond smile. She took off the smock she wore over an elegant gray dress and jacket and pulled black pumps from beneath a bench. With her rubber gardening shoes kicked off and in their place the black shoes with several inch heels, she was suddenly much taller than Alex. An elegant woman with presence who seemed to have shed the first impression she had given Alex like a snake shed its skin. ‘Older than Harry, of course. But not much. Stuart is a major already and doing frightfully well. We have high hopes for his progress.’
‘I had heard Harry has an older brother although I never met him. How nice.’
‘Are you interested in Harry?’ Venetia looked her up and down.
Alex smiled politely. ‘I like Harry. He was always nice to me.’
‘That’s not what I asked.’
‘It’s the best I can do.’
‘Right.’ Venetia took Alex’s elbow in strong fingers and guided her out of the conservatory, back into the hall where she released her arm so suddenly that Alex stumbled and caught herself against the wall.
‘Sorry about that.’ Venetia held Alex’s arm through a number of corridors and finally up a flight of stairs to the second story. A billiard room felt out of place in the open area at the top of the stairs. Venetia continued to propel Alex ahead of her to a green baize door that opened into a short corridor.
‘This is Harry,’ Venetia said, her fingers growing even tighter. ‘Plenty of privacy and he is a private man.’
A dark wooden door faced them at the end of the corridor and Harry’s mother had no compunction about letting herself in. She closed the door behind them.
‘Really, Venetia, I’d rather come back another day. I’ll call Harry and make an appointment.’ Only she had no intention of coming back. Next time she’d arrange to meet him on neutral ground – if there was a next time.
‘Rubbish. He can’t be much longer. Come into his little library – his favorite room. You’ll be comfortable there.’
Harry’s fifties modern décor was a shock after the rest of the house. They passed a kitchen that was any chef’s dream. Walls had been removed to allow for an open plan look where smooth upholstery and chrome legs abounded. A glass dining table reflected a hanging light fixture that swooped and resembled a flight of bronze birds.
Red, gray, black and lime green were undoubtedly the work of interior designers.
‘This is it,’ Venetia said, indicating a book-lined room beyond a ceiling-high door.
To the left, a stairwell led down to a front door with panels of glass on either side where slender contemporary nudes reminiscent of Erte figures stood tall but hung their heads, the better for their sleek, sharp bobs to slide forward and hide their faces.
‘Sherry?’ Venetia asked, already pouring a glass when Alex followed her into the library. ‘So nice and comforting as a day draws in. Sit down. That thing that looks like a green hand is actually very comfortable to sit in. I do have to get on. Going up to Town. Ballet – I do love it.’
As soon as she was sure this woman had left, Alex would get out as fast as she could. She gave Venetia a bright smile. ‘You’re very kind, thank you.’ She sat in the green hand chair and accepted the glass of sherry.
Venetia fluttered her hands in a completely out of character manner. ‘Everything’s tickety-boo, then?’
Alex didn’t think she’d ever actually heard someone use the arcane phrase, other than in a period production. ‘Absolutely fine,’ she said and watched the woman click away over black marble tiles.
Out Comes the Evil Page 9