The Lazarus Tree

by Robert Richardson

  ‘Well, that’s what’s come bubbling out,’ Maltravers told him. ‘But even assuming there’s a shred of truth in it, I can’t see any way of proving it.’

  ‘Then forget it. Nobody on God’s earth will get that name out of Veronica. Simple as that. Unless you come up with another idea, there’s nothing else we can do. Apart from this churchyard crap ... and I’ll sort out Mildred Thomson.’

  ‘No,’ Maltravers said sharply. ‘Not yet. Alex Kerr suggested it could be her, but there’s nothing at all to prove it.’

  ‘So what the hell do you expect me to do?’ Stephen snapped. ‘Let her carry on corrupting the kid?’

  ‘No, but let me handle it.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Don’t ask.’ Maltravers held up his hand to stop further questions. ‘You’re too involved. I don’t want to say any more at the moment. Just leave it with me for the time being and trust me. All right?’

  When agreement finally came, it was very reluctant. ‘All right ... but how long will it take?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but it could be fairly soon.’

  ‘It better had be.’

  *

  It was a quarter past ten when they returned to Dymlight Cottage, Stephen and Veronica laughing as they stepped out of the car at the conclusion of a story Maltravers had been telling about one of the theatre’s more eccentric characters.

  ‘I fancy a nightcap,’ he announced. ‘Let’s stroll over to the Raven.’

  ‘Not for me,’ Veronica said. ‘I’d better make sure Michelle’s all right. You two go ahead though. Lovely dinner, Gus. Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure. See you shortly.’

  The evening was dank as they walked across the green, pink pub lights on steamed windows glowing like embers in the darkness. Maltravers began another story, finishing it just as they readied the bar. Sally Baker was among about a dozen customers and Stephen sat on the stool next to her as Maltravers ordered their drinks.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Did your visitor find you all right?’

  ‘What visitor? We’ve only just got back. Who was it?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Gus told me he was taking you out,’ she recalled. ‘I don’t know who she was. She just came in here and asked for directions to Dymlight Cottage.’

  ‘She?’ he repeated. ‘When was this?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I hadn’t been here long, so it must have been around half past eight.’ She turned to the woman behind the bar pouring Maltravers’s wine. ‘Julie, what time did that woman come in? The one who wanted to know where Dymlight Cottage was. You spoke to her.’

  The landlady appeared to welcome being asked. ‘Middle of the evening some time.’

  ‘Did you recognise her?’ Stephen queried.

  ‘Never seen her.’ She placed Maltravers’s wine on the bar and began to pull Stephen’s bitter. ‘But she was from these parts sure enough.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Medmelton eyes. You couldn’t miss them.’

  ‘What did she say exactly?’ Stephen pressed. ‘Did she ask for us by name?’

  ‘No ... no, I don’t think so. Just asked where your cottage was.’ The pint was pulled. ‘It struck me later that she ought to know if she came from Medmelton. Two pounds sixteen, please.’

  ‘And one for yourself.’ Maltravers handed her a five-pound note. ‘Can you remember anything else about her? How old was she?’

  ‘Difficult to say. Thirties, perhaps? Attractive as far as I could see, but she was wearing a headscarf and her coat was buttoned up.’ She gave Maltravers his change. ‘There you are. It’s just a shandy for me. Thanks ... oh, yes, there was one thing. She had a birthmark on her face — well, not her face precisely, I could only see the edge of it because it was hidden by the scarf. More on her neck it must have been — you know, that raspberry colour.’

  ‘And she definitely had Medmelton eyes,’ Maltravers repeated.

  ‘I noticed that,’ Sally put in. ‘And they were very striking.’

  The landlady was about to move to another customer when Maltravers stopped her. ‘Can you remember any girl born here who had a birthmark like that? Someone who moved away?’

  She shook her head firmly. ‘No. There was a boy once — what was his name? Tommy something — who had a little one on his chin. But I don’t know of anyone with one like she had. Excuse me.’

  Maltravers picked up his drink and stood slightly away from the bar between Sally Baker and Stephen. ‘How odd. Pity we were out tonight.’

  ‘But who was she?’ Stephen demanded.

  ‘Obviously someone with local connections,’ Maltravers said. ‘Although she might not have been born here and the eyes could be some ancestral throwback.’

  ‘But why did she suddenly turn up looking for Dymlight Cottage?’ Sally demanded.

  Maltravers shrugged. ‘Perhaps it was her family’s home years back and she wanted to visit it.’

  ‘Out of the blue on an October night?’ She sounded highly sceptical.

  ‘Point taken,’ Maltravers acknowledged. He looked casually round the room and several heads turned away from him. ‘What did the rest of the locals make of her?’

  ‘She certainly interested them.’ Sally dropped her voice. ‘The place was fairly full and there was quite a bit of chat after she left. A few family resemblances were put forward, but it was all guesswork. You could hardly see her face and she was only in here a couple of minutes.’

  ‘Well, Michelle would have met her if she went to the cottage,’ Maltravers commented. ‘She should be able to explain. In the meantime, there are enough mysteries round here without looking for any new ones. I’m sticking with my old family homestead theory.’

  He thanked Sally for recommending the Royal Clarence and began talking about their meal, but Stephen remained silent. When Maltravers suggested another drink, he refused and said he wanted to get back.

  ‘All right, if it’s worrying you,’ Maltravers agreed. ‘Let’s see if we can find out what it’s all about. Goodnight, Sally.’

  Conversation dropped perceptibly for a moment as they left with the weight of wary eyes on them; Medmelton was relishing a glut of material for gossip and rumour, but Maltravers wondered how much fear was mixed up in it. As they walked back through the night, concern seeped out of Stephen’s silence.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Maltravers asked quietly.

  ‘I don’t know. I just don’t like it.’ He did not look at him.

  Carrying two glasses of water on a tray, Veronica was in her dressing gown at the foot of the stairs as they walked in.

  ‘Is Michelle asleep?’ Stephen asked sharply.

  ‘Not yet. I’m just going to tell her to turn her light off.’

  ‘Did she say anyone had been here this evening?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘Gus’ll tell you.’

  Veronica looked startled as he pushed past her and hurried upstairs. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘There’s been a stranger in the camp,’ Maltravers explained as he watched Stephen disappear. ‘I don’t think it’s anything, but Stephen’s worried. Sit down for a minute.’

  She put the tray on the bottom step as he moved towards the fireplace. When he looked at her again she was in the shallow rocking chair she always used, frowning questions at him.

  ‘We met Sally Baker in the pub ...’

  The frowns deepened slightly as he told her, but when he finished she appeared indifferent. ‘So what’s he getting in a state about? Nothing’s happened. Michelle’s all right.’

  ‘He didn’t know that until we got back,’ Maltravers pointed out.

  ‘Well, she’s fine,’ Veronica said dismissively. ‘If there’d been anything wrong, I’d have telephoned him at ...’ She broke off as Stephen came downstairs again. ‘Gus has told me. There’s no problem.’ Maltravers noted the glance they exchanged; there was a great deal of distance in it. ‘Did anyone call?’

  Stephen shook his head. ‘She says not, bu
t she was out for about an hour.’

  ‘Then stop panicking.’ Veronica stood up and smiled at Maltravers. ‘Thanks again for a lovely evening, Gus. See you in the morning.’

  ‘For God’s sake, doesn’t anything get to you?’ Stephen’s voice snapped across some knife-edge of tension.

  ‘Yes it does. But I don’t go into a tailspin over it. I don’t come barging in and upsetting my daughter with stupid questions. And I don’t like you doing it!’

  ‘Hold it right there,’ Maltravers interrupted sharply. ‘Before you both start throwing things.’

  ‘I’m not about to throw things,’ Veronica said calmly. ‘I’m going to bed. Goodnight.’ She walked past her husband without looking at him. Maltravers lit a cigarette to leave a space in which the temperature could drop.

  ‘She’s right,’ he remarked. ‘Michelle’s perfectly safe — and if she was out for part of the evening, the woman could just have gone away when she found the house was empty.’

  ‘But what did she want?’ Stephen demanded.

  ‘Who knows? If it was important, she’ll turn up again. I’m beginning to regret taking you out tonight. If we’d been at home, it would all have been sorted out ... Stephen, who do you think it was?’

  He gestured helplessly. ‘I don’t know ... it’s just ... you know what I’m concerned about, Gus! Michelle’s up to something and I don’t know what it is. Total strangers appearing could mean anything.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ Maltravers said soothingly. ‘The trouble is that you and Veronica are poles apart over anything like this. It’s fire and ice country. But look at it logically. If this woman had been up to anything sinister, she’d hardly have walked into a crowded pub where people would remember her, would she? And having found nobody in when she came here, she’ll come back. If she does, you’ll find out what it’s about. If she doesn’t ... all right, you’ve got a mystery, but I can’t see any immediate danger in it.

  ‘Look. I’ll call Sally Baker tomorrow and ask her to make a few casual inquiries — it’s not the sort of thing I can do. She can ask in the stores and around the village if anyone else met this woman. If they did, she might have said more to them. I’ll let you know anything she finds out. OK? In the meantime, stop the nightmare scenarios.’

  Stephen sighed. ‘What the fuck is going on, Gus?’

  ‘I don’t know — and neither do you. But, whatever it is, it won’t be sorted out by you getting neurotic. Go to bed. I’ll wait down here until you’ve finished in the bathroom.’

  Stephen seemed about to agree, but stopped as he walked towards the stairs. ‘There’s another thing, Gus. I’ve been thinking about it all evening. How sure are you about this idea that Michelle’s father could have murdered Gabriel?’

  ‘I’m not sure at all. It’s just plausible if he’s still around.’

  ‘But it would mean he must have found out about what was going on. He’d have to have seen them. Right?’

  ‘Could be,’ Maltravers agreed. ‘That’s how Flyte found out.’

  ‘But not everybody peers around at night through a telescope.’

  ‘No ... so what are you saying?’

  ‘That it could be someone who lives where they can see into the churchyard.’

  ‘That’s possible ... although they could just have been walking past late at night.’ Maltravers’s eyes narrowed. ‘What’s on your mind, Stephen?’

  ‘I can see into the churchyard from our bedroom window.’

  Maltravers laughed. ‘Now you’re getting paranoid. For Christ’s sake, I’m not suspecting you.’

  ‘Neither am I.’ Suddenly he did not seem to want to say any more. ‘Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. Goodnight, Gus. Thanks for dinner.’

  Maltravers nearly called him back as he realised what he meant, then remained downstairs for nearly an hour.

  THIRTEEN

  The taxi driver was frustrated over his fare to Medmelton. Tall, slender redheads with an indefinable presence accentuated by Gucci luggage and black leather boots beneath a man’s-style battleship grey trenchcoat, wide collar turned up and belted tight at the waist, did not appear off the Bristol train at Exeter St David’s that often. He adjusted his rear view mirror so that he could glance at her from time to time; her jewel-green eyes lit an elusively familiar face.

  ‘On holiday?’ he ventured.

  ‘Only for a couple of days,’ she replied. There were maddeningly half-recognisable tones in the voice as well. ‘How far is it to Medmelton?’

  ‘Should take about twenty minutes at this time of day ... you’ve not been here before, then?’

  ‘I haven’t been in Devon since I was a little girl.’

  He was positive he hadn’t seen her locally anyway. As he turned off the A38, he tried to work it out. She was somehow well known — -not so famous as to be unmistakable, but triggering subconscious recognition. If he’d not actually met her, he must have seen her picture somewhere, in the papers or on television ... television. Of course. East Enders? Coronation Street? Emmerdale Farm? Casualty? Bread? He tried to remember if the voice had sounded American, opening up glamorous possibilities of Dallas, Dynasty, The Colbys or Twin Peaks. Even Miami Vice. He had to know and the only way was to ask.

  ‘I’ve seen you, haven’t I? On the TV?’

  She smiled at him through the mirror. ‘Possibly.’

  ‘Thought so. Don’t tell me ... I’ll get it in a minute.’ He frowned in concentration as they crested the hill and dropped towards the village. ‘Have you been in that magazine? Hello?’

  ‘They once did a piece on me.’

  ‘My wife’d know then,’ he said confidently. ‘She reads it every week and ... got it! You’re the girl with Bob Monkhouse on that quiz programme. The one who brings the contestants on. He’s always making jokes about you. What’s he like, incidentally? You know, in private like. I can’t stand him, but the wife thinks he’s marvellous.’

  ‘Bob Monkhouse? He’s ... a very nice guy.’ The assessment was based on a casual chat lasting about two minutes at some long-forgotten party.

  ‘Is he? Well, it’s all an act on the telly, innit? I tell you one thing, though. I know you’re not as dumb as you seem. Not now I’ve met you.’ Momentarily he returned his attention to his job. ‘Where exactly is it you’re going?’

  ‘By the church will be fine.’

  ‘Right you are.’ As the cab stopped, he took a notebook off the front passenger seat. ‘Call it seven quid ... and an autograph? The wife’ll be over the moon when I tell her.’

  ‘Of course.’ Tess accepted the notebook. ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Betty. Betty Dobbs. And mine’s Harry.’

  Tess hesitated for a moment, then wrote, ‘With love to Betty and Harry. Keep watching,’ followed by an over-florid version of her signature and several kisses. She passed the book back, and as she took out her purse to pay him the driver gazed at it as though she had given him the crown jewels.

  ‘We’ll be watching out for you next week,’ he promised.

  ‘You do that.’ Tess handed him the fare and waited while he leapt out and opened the door then took her case from the boot. ‘And I’ll tell Bob Monkhouse he’s got a big fan in Betty.’

  ‘You won’t say what I said about him, will you?’ The driver sounded anxious, as though worried by an imperfect knowledge of the laws of slander.

  ‘I’ll leave that out. Thank you. ’Bye.’

  She waved as he turned round and drove away, clutching a vicarious and completely mistaken touch of glamour from a tacky game show, ignorant of a string of acting credits and two Bafta nominations. Such was fame. Picking up her case, she walked alongside the churchyard wall looking at the Lazarus Tree and recalling Maltravers’s strange stories of what had been happening there. When she reached Dymlight Cottage, the front door was partly open and she stepped straight in.

  ‘Hello,’ she called. ‘Anybody home?’

  Maltravers appeared from the kitchen.
‘Hi. Welcome back to Medmelton. It’s all right, nobody else is here.’ He crossed the room and kissed her. ‘I didn’t say anything about a birthmark. I had to take that on board in a hurry last night.’

  ‘Creative input,’ she told him. ‘I thought it was rather clever. I wanted to make absolutely sure they remembered me.’

  ‘The eyes would have done that. At least you remembered to wear the lens in the right one. Medmelton eyes reversed would certainly have been commented on. Incidentally, do you think anyone saw your car?’

  ‘Possibly, but it was hired anyway. And what are they going to do if they did? Try and trace me through it?’

  ‘Some of them are probably capable of trying, but we needn’t worry about it ... and did you meet Michelle?’

  ‘Of course I did. Why do you ask?’

  ‘She says you didn’t. Claims she was out for part of the evening.’

  ‘Well, she was in when I arrived.’ Tess looked uncomfortable. ‘And I scared her, Gus. I hope you know what you’re doing.’

  ‘We’ll find out.’ He picked up her suitcase. ‘Let’s get you settled in and you can tell me the details.’

  Half an hour later, Tess stared into her tea as they sat at the kitchen table while Maltravers explained what had happened since they spoke on the telephone.

  ‘So assuming Alex Kerr’s right — and it’s a persuasive suggestion — Mildred Thomson could be behind the churchyard games,’ he concluded. ‘Anyway, fill me in on last night.’

  Tess sighed slightly, recalling something that troubled her. ‘It was ... I don’t know. Disturbing. She looked puzzled when she opened the door. There was enough light for her to see my eyes. I’d polished your script a bit. I called her by her name, which obviously startled her, but when I said that what she was doing by the Lazarus Tree was very dangerous, she looked terrified. Then she tried the aggressive teenager bit. Who was I? Where did I come from? She even tried denying knowing what I was talking about, but I slapped her down. What really got to her was when I said I knew about Patrick Gabriel.’