No Cure for Death

by Hazel Holt

  I nodded sympathetically.

  “But, as I say, it wasn’t just his work, it was his whole personality, the force of his character. He had this rare gift of clarity of mind. He could go straight to the heart of any problem, whatever it was, he cut through the irrelevancies on the edge of things, he could concentrate on the essence of things.”

  “But not,” I suggested, “in his personal relationships?”

  She gave a wry smile. “I suppose they were irrelevancies to him. All his life people were attracted by his – his charisma and all his life he never took any of that seriously.”

  “His marriage?”

  “He was young when he and Virginia got married, he hadn’t really set his sights on his ultimate goal. The break-up? That hit him very hard, partly pride of course, but mostly because it was betrayal by a colleague, and a colleague who’d already betrayed him over his work. That hit him harder, I think, than his loss of Virginia.”

  “I see.”

  “After Virginia he became more focussed somehow. Coming down here was a conscious step towards concentrating his mind on his next move, a sort of period of calm and quiet to revive his strength before he plunged back into what for him was the real world.”

  “And Joanna Stevenson?”

  “She was nothing,” Nora said impatiently. “There had been others; there would have been others again – it meant nothing to him.”

  “But the baby…”

  “That would have been an inconvenience, even if he hadn’t had this thing about his father and grandfather. He would have provided for it, but if he thought she’d become pregnant to trap him he’d never have forgiven her.”

  “He was a hard man,” I said.

  “He was a dedicated man.”

  “And all the others?” I asked. “The other women, did they go quietly or did they make a fuss?”

  “He was always perfectly honest with them – told them he didn’t want any sort of commitment. They didn’t matter to him. Like I said, irrelevancies.”

  “But they might have had feelings. They may not have taken it as casually as he did. Don’t you think one of them might just have wanted some sort of revenge?”

  She smiled. “You think one of them might have come down here and killed him?”

  “It’s possible surely, or a jealous husband, if one of them was married – as Joanna was.”

  “It’s just possible, I suppose, but I don’t think so. The break was always clean. He chose his – companions carefully.”

  “All except Joanna.”

  “Yes, just for once he didn’t realise quite what he was getting into there.”

  “But you don’t think…?”

  She shook her head. “He always told me about his affairs. He told me about everything…” Her voice broke and there were tears in her eyes.

  “You obviously meant a great deal to him,” I said.

  “Yes, I thought I did.” She broke off. “But I was wrong,” she said.

  I looked at her in surprise. “But I thought…”

  “Oh yes, he cared for me in a way, but not enough – not as I felt about him. I never expected that of course, but I thought he cared enough not to… He was going to America, he told me quite casually. He was going to leave England forever and he didn’t ask me to go with him.”

  She turned her head abruptly and stared out again at the moor land and the sea below. I said nothing; there seemed nothing that I could say. Presently she turned back to me and said quietly, “You see I loved him. It was as simple as that. And he didn’t love me. For years I tried to tell myself that what I felt for him was maternal, sisterly – it was a friendship. And for years I managed to believe it. Being with my father helped. He never knew how I felt – I was very circumspect. John never knew. I had to be careful – I knew if he ever suspected that would have been the end of it for me. That’s why he trusted me, I suppose. He did feel for me what he never felt for all the others, but, when it came to the crunch, when he was going away to start his new life, then, like all the others, I was irrelevant.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “When he…when he died, I couldn’t tell anyone how I felt, how I really felt. People were sorry for me – poor Nora, John had been such a good friend. How could I let anyone know? John was a relatively young man and I’m an old woman, there were twenty years between us. How ridiculous I would have seemed, how pathetic. It’s hard, isn’t it, even in this day and age? If John had been that much older than me no one would have thought it grotesque.”

  “How awful it must have been for you.”

  “Now there’s only a sort of emptiness, and the pain, of course, that’s always there. What’s that thing in Shakespeare – Anthony and Cleopatra I think it is. ‘Young boys and girls are level now with men, and there is nothing left remarkable beneath the visiting moon.’ That’s how I feel.”

  “He was a remarkable man, it’s not surprising you feel as you do.”

  “That’s not quite all.”

  “No?”

  “I do have one other feeling, but it’s a feeling I know I shouldn’t have.”

  “What’s that?”

  She hesitated. “Underneath it all I have this awful feeling of relief.”

  “Relief?”

  “That if I had to lose him, then it’s better this way.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “If he’d gone to America I’d always have felt that he was there, somewhere – somewhere that he’d gone where he’d chosen to be. Without me. As it is, he’s gone, finally and forever and not by his own choice.” She paused and looked at me. “Isn’t that dreadful? Isn’t that an appalling admission?”

  I shook my head. “It’s understandable,” I said. “Perfectly understandable.”

  She was silent as we drove home, sitting quietly like an exhausted child. As I pulled up outside her house she opened her handbag and searched for something.

  “Ah, there it is,” she said. “John’s key. I think I’ll just go and sit in his house for a while; it’s the one place where I can still feel he’s there. Thank you, Sheila – for everything.”

  I watched as she climbed the steps to his front door and stood for a moment, looking down across the bay. Then she went in and closed the door behind her and I drove away.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Are you going to put anything in the Flower Show?” Rosemary asked.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. Ron says the dahlias should be ready and the gaillardias, and he’s been growing some onions he has hopes of. They’re absolutely enormous, and I know they’ll be completely tasteless. I thought we might put the begonias in this year but Ron wouldn’t let me.”

  “I know he’s a very good gardener,” Rosemary said, “but he’s dreadfully bossy!”

  “I have a theory,” I said. “I believe he has a fantasy that he’s the head gardener of a great estate, you know, the irascible old man in books and films who won’t allow the lady of the house to pick a single rose without his say-so. Anyway, I’m not arguing. I just hope he wins something. He’s even more morose when he doesn’t. How about you?”

  “Oh, nothing horticultural – our garden’s a jungle. Jack’s too busy to do much and I’m hopeless. No, I’ve made some greengage jam and some apple and apricot chutney – they can go in. Though I don’t suppose they’ll have much of a chance. Maureen Dawson always gets a first in that class for her sloe and blackberry jelly.”

  The Annual Flower Show signals the end of summer, it’s the last social event of the Taviscombe season, which, in its way, is as rigorously structured as its London counterpart. Everyone always goes so I wasn’t surprised to see Roger there.

  “Hello,” I said as we met in the marquee. “What have you done with Jilly and the children?”

  “Delia wouldn’t come,” he replied. “She said it wasn’t cool – which, given the temperature in here is literally correct, though perhaps not in the sense she meant! Alex was getting bored so Jilly’s taken
him off to find some ice cream. So how about you? Have you won anything?”

  “I haven’t dared to look yet,” I said. “But there is something I meant to ring you about.”

  “Hang on,” Roger said, drawing me to one side, out of the way of enthusiastic gardeners, anxiously peering at the prize cards propped up against the exhibits. “Here’s a relatively quiet spot. Now then, what was it?”

  I hesitated for a moment, not sure quite how much I wanted to say. “I had a word with Nora,” I said, “but I’m afraid it didn’t produce much. Apparently there were other women in John Morrison’s life, but no one serious, and, as far as I could gather, no one in Taviscombe. So I’m afraid it’s a bit of a dead end.”

  “Well,” Roger said, “it was worth a try. We must just concentrate on the suspects we’ve got. Oh, there’s Jilly and Alex waving at me. I think they’ve had enough so I’d better go. Keep your ears open and keep me posted!”

  After he’d gone I stood for a while thinking about Nora and wondering if I should have told Roger more of what I’d learned. But that would have meant betraying a confidence and I couldn’t do that. And, anyway, what else was there to tell him? Nothing relevant to the case surely.

  “What’s so fascinating about those runner beans?” Rosemary said, suddenly appearing at my elbow.

  “What? Oh – I was miles away. I suppose I’d better see how Ron’s onions have done.”

  The onions got a second prize, though the dahlias got a first.

  “Oh dear,” I said, “he’s not going to be pleased, especially since it was Les Richards who got the first for onions. He does the gardens at one of the big hotels and they’re deadly rivals. The dahlias didn’t mean all that much to him, it was the onions he really cared about.”

  “Never mind,” Rosemary said, “come and have a cup of tea and celebrate the amazing fact that my apple and apricot chutney got a highly commended!”

  A few days later I had a call from Nora. She sounded upset.

  “Sheila, can I ask a great favour?”

  “Of course, what is it?”

  “I had a letter from Joanna Stevenson. She said that she’d like to have a look at John’s house and would I mind showing her round.”

  “For goodness sake! She’s quick off the mark!”

  “The thing is,” Nora said, “I know it’s stupid of me, but I really don’t think I could face her alone. Would you very much mind coming over and being with me?”

  “Not stupid in the least,” I said warmly. “Of course I’ll come. When is she coming?”

  “Tomorrow at four o’clock. I don’t think I need offer her tea, do you think?”

  “Certainly not! I’ll be with you at quarter to.”

  When I arrived Nora was very tense. She waved me to a chair but didn’t sit down herself, pacing the room and going to look out of the window every few minutes. I made several attempts at conversation but she replied at random and was obviously distrait, so I gave up and we sat in silence waiting for Joanna. When she did arrive – spot on four o’clock – she was noticeably more pregnant than when I had seen her last, at the funeral. She made heavy weather of the steps leading up to John’s house and when she paused on the front step she didn’t turn and look at the view over the bay, but kept her eyes on the front door, watching while Nora found the key and turned it in the lock. She accepted my presence without comment (“This is my friend Sheila Malory who is with me today”) and seemed only interested in getting into the house.

  “Yes,” she said looking round the sitting room, “it’s barer than I remember – could do with a bit of brightening up.”

  I saw Nora flinch, but she said nothing.

  “What I’d really like to do,” Joanna continued, “is to get moved in before the baby arrives, which will be in eight weeks, if everything goes according to plan. But, of course, I know I have to wait until probate is granted, which is a nuisance.”

  Nora still remained silent.

  “Still,” Joanna said, passing through into the kitchen, “I thought that if I had a good look round I could plan things so that as soon as I do have probate there won’t be any delay in moving in.”

  “You’ve left your husband then?” Nora asked.

  Joanna turned and looked at her, a hard, calculating look. “Yes,” she said, “I have. Not that it’s any business of yours.” She became aware of the hatred and contempt on Nora’s face and said more placatingly, “Of course I know you were by way of being a friend of John’s, but our relationship was, after all, something special. I’m carrying his child – that’s why he made special provision for us in his will. I’m sure he would have wanted us to be here in his house.”

  “There was nothing special about your relationship,” Nora said steadily. “There were several before you and, had he lived, there would have been several after you.”

  Joanna swung round and stared at her.

  “The only difference,” Nora went on “is that you foolishly got pregnant – whether by accident or design I don’t know. The only thing that I do know is that John didn’t want the child.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying,” Joanna said angrily.

  “I expect he wanted you to have an abortion,” Nora went on, “and when you wouldn’t, being the conscientious person that he was, he was prepared to provide for you, in his lifetime, and, after his death, in his will.”

  “No – that’s not true!” Joanna said, but her voice was uncertain. “What do you know about it anyway?”

  Nora smiled, a pitying smile. “I knew everything about John. He was my family and I was his. After you became pregnant he didn’t want anything else to do with you. Did he?”

  Joanna sat down heavily on one of the kitchen chairs. “No,” she said slowly, “no, he didn’t. I couldn’t believe it, all that nonsense about genetics. It was his child, how could he feel that way? I was so angry.” She covered her face with her hands. When she looked up again her face was wet with tears. “He wouldn’t see me or speak to me. I was desperate. I’d told Clive about the affair and about the baby – he was furious, but I didn’t care. I thought John and I would make our lives together, I thought…” She was sobbing now, rocking back and forth.

  Nora just stood there, unmoving and apparently unmoved.

  I went over to Joanna and put my hand on her shoulder. “You mustn’t cry like this,” I said, “it’s bad for the baby…”

  She shook my hand off. “What does that matter now? It’s all so horrible.” She made a great effort and pulled herself together. “I thought – I thought, after he died and I heard about the will, he’d changed his mind. That the baby and I could live here and that would be something…”

  “He didn’t change his mind,” Nora said coldly. “However, it’s your house. You are perfectly at liberty to live here if you choose. Now John has gone it doesn’t greatly matter who lives here.”

  Joanna stared at her. “You were in love with him yourself, weren’t you?”

  “John was my family and I was his,” Nora repeated. “It was not,” she said scornfully, “the sort of love that you mean, not the sort that you could understand.”

  “I loved him,” Joanna said helplessly, “I really did.”

  “But he didn’t love you.”

  “No.” Joanna shook her head slowly. “No, I don’t suppose he did.”

  Nora gave a little nod, almost of satisfaction at having achieved this admission.

  “Right then, I’ll leave you to look round.” She held out the keys. “Here you are – you keep them now.”

  She turned and left the kitchen.

  “Are you all right?” I asked Joanna. She nodded silently and I followed Nora out of the house. She was going into her own house when I caught up with her.

  “Are you all right?” It seemed wrong to be asking Nora the same question I had just asked Joanna, but there was nothing else that I could find to say. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No thank you, Sheila. It w
as good of you to come, but just now I think I’d be better off on my own.”

  “Yes, of course,” I said, “I understand.”

  I went slowly back to my car. When I reached it I looked back. She was still standing in her front porch looking down to the sea. The next few days I thought a lot about Nora. Several times I was on the point of ringing her, but then I decided that, given the circumstances, she’d want to be left alone. I really didn’t know what to think about Joanna Stevenson. The hard, practical attitude that I had found so offensive when she was looking round the house, now seemed to me a protective shield to hide a deeper hurt. She had obviously been in love with John Morrison and his attitude to the baby must have been a devastating blow to her. She said she was angry – that was only natural – but somehow I didn’t think she would have been angry enough to kill him. There was, I felt, more of bewilderment and despair than anger there. She simply didn’t understand what was going on, she was out of her depth. I wondered if she would move into John’s house, or if the prospect of living so near to Nora would have frightened her away. I felt, perhaps, that it might have done. There had been something so stern and forbidding about Nora’s attitude that a self-centred and rather shallow person like Joanna would shy away from. No, I thought she would sell the house and probably move right away from Taviscombe and all its unpleasant memories.

  If Joanna didn’t seem to be a possible murderer – and I was pretty sure she wasn’t – that really only left Clive Stevenson with any sort of motive. And Lorna, of course. We only had her word that John Morrison had been dead when she found him. There was one other possibility, but I pushed it to the back of my mind and went out shopping. I was still brooding about things when Anthea backed me up against a display of Finest Organic Produce to tackle me about the agenda for the Annual General Meeting at Brunswick Lodge.

  “There’s only a few weeks to go now and the thing isn’t even printed, let alone distributed to the members. I knew it was a mistake to let Bruce Dawson draft it. I told you how it would be – he’s let us down before – but the committee would ask him.”