Libby jumped off the table. ‘Where is she now?’
‘In Rosie’s talk, I expect. Most of them decided to go to it just for something to do. Daniel Hill tried to go to the pub, but the police wouldn’t let him leave.’
‘Right.’ Libby stared at her feet and chewed her thumb. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better get the afternoon tea and coffee ready and we can lie in wait for Nina when Rosie lets them out.’
‘But we’ve only just had lunch,’ said Fran.
Libby sighed. ‘It’s just a constant round of food and drink, this lark. It breaks things up for them.’
Thus an hour later, when the small sitting room door opened and the guests filed out, Libby and Fran were on hand to offer milk, sugar and biscuits. Rosie and Nina came last. Rosie took a cup from Fran with a grateful smile.
‘Nina?’ Libby offered a cup.
‘Oh, thank you. Is that coffee?’
‘There’s tea if you prefer.’
‘No, coffee, thank you.’ The girl smiled. ‘You know Amanda well, don’t you?’
‘Fairly.’ Libby smiled back.
‘She’s a brilliant tutor. I wish she’d been on the holiday last year.’
‘Who was?’ asked Libby. ‘Apart from the group here, of course.’
‘There were a couple of other writers taking workshops, you know the sort of thing.’
‘I don’t actually,’ said Libby, moving away from the tables and sitting on the arm of a chair. Nina sat down opposite and leant forward.
‘Well, they give you things to do, subjects to write about, exercises. There was a short-story writer – she was really good – and a thriller writer, who wasn’t. Patrick of course, he was doing thrillers, or crime, I suppose you’d say, and a romance writer. There were other delegates of course, but we were all in Patrick’s group and we tended to stay together.’
‘I’m surprised at Daniel Hill being in your group.’
Nina pulled a face. ‘Because he attached himself to Patrick. We told you.’
‘Oh, yes, and Patrick tried to avoid him.’
‘Yes.’ Nina’s head was bent, but Libby was sure she was blushing.
‘Did he have to avoid anyone else?’ she asked gently.
The head came up. ‘Oh, no! that wasn’t –’ she stopped, once more looking confused.
‘That wasn’t what you meant?’ suggested Libby. ‘What was it? That someone else was trying to avoid Patrick?’
Nina swallowed, her eyes sliding away from Libby. ‘Where is he, anyway? They haven’t arrested him, have they?’
‘Why should they?’
‘He hasn’t been here since this morning. Was the murdered woman something to do with him?’
‘Lily hasn’t been here since before lunch, either,’ said Libby, avoiding the question.
Nina stared at her. ‘You know something we don’t. Is that why you’re asking me these things?’
Libby shook her head. ‘I’m just trying to get the feeling of the group, as Fran, Rosie and I weren’t there when you all met.’
‘Rosie?’
‘Sorry, Amanda George. Rosie’s her real name.’
The door from the hall opened and DCI Murray appeared followed by DS Wallingford and DC Sharif.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said Murray. ‘You all agreed to a search of your rooms, which is now being undertaken. I shall ask to speak to you all after each search is completed, but in the meantime if you could stay in the public rooms I’d be grateful.’ He took a deep breath. ‘It’s my sad duty to tell you that the murder victim found this morning was Melanie Joseph, Patrick Joseph’s wife.’
There were gasps and exclamations and Libby’s eyes darted from one to the other of the guests trying to gauge reaction. She realised she wasn’t the only one, Fran, Murray, Wallingford, Sharif and even Rosie were all doing the same thing. But the reactions were in no way surprising, except for Daniel Hill, who looked merely irritated.
‘So,’ continued Murray, ‘obviously I shall want to know if any of you had any connection to Mrs Joseph and when was the last time you saw her, if so.’
‘But we didn’t.’ That was Nick Forrest. ‘None of us knew Patrick apart from the holiday last year. We weren’t friends.’
There was a murmur of assent, but Jennifer held up a hand. ‘I knew them, Chief Inspector. I live in the same village.’
All eyes turned to her. She stood up. ‘Would you like to talk to me now?’ she said. ‘And perhaps, if Patrick would like to see me, I could see him. I’ve known him since he was twelve.’
There was another gasp, as Murray ushered her out of the room, then a buzz of talk.
‘Well,’ said Nina, looking shocked. ‘She never said!’
‘I expect she thought it wouldn’t do to be seen to be on intimate terms with a course leader, especially a famous one.’ Libby looked across at Fran and raised her eyebrows. Fran turned and spoke to Rosie and they both started towards Libby and Nina.
Nina shook her head. ‘Poor Patrick.’ She looked up at Libby. ‘You said “intimate” terms. You didn’t mean – surely not!’
‘No, but Jennifer said she lived in the same village and had known Patrick since he was twelve. That means she’s known him, and probably his family, a very long time. That’s intimate.’
‘I just thought – well, he did – er –’
‘Try it on with you?’ suggested Fran, and Nina looked up at her with shocked, wide eyes.
‘That’s what you meant,’ said Libby. ‘That you tried to avoid Patrick.’
Nina looked as though she would get up and storm out, but suddenly subsided.
‘I don’t know why you’re asking me all these questions,’ she said plaintively. ‘That’s all that happened.’
‘Last year? So why did you come on this weekend?’ asked Rosie.
‘To meet you,’ said Nina. ‘I’ve read all your books, and they’re exactly the sort of books I’d like to write. And after Patrick took up with –’ she stopped and looked at the three of them nervously.
‘Lily Cooper,’ Libby finished for her, ‘you thought you’d be safe.’
‘Yes.’ Nina looked down at the coffee cup she still held in her hand. ‘How do you know all this?’
‘Sheer nosiness,’ said Libby cheerfully. ‘And observation. Rosie knew Patrick a little before, on the writers’ circuit, and knew he was a bit of a lad.’
Fran snorted.
‘And we worked out the rest ourselves, partly because we did know a bit more about it all than you or the other guests did,’ supplied Rosie.
‘And we’ve done it before,’ said Fran, patting Nina’s hand, ‘so if there’s anything you’d like to tell us that you don’t fancy having to tell the police, we’d be happy to help.’
Nina frowned. ‘You’re not – er – whaddyacallem – private detectives?’
‘No, but we have helped the police several times.’ Libby slid off the arm into the chair. ‘Even DCI Murray.’
‘But I didn’t think that really happened, you know, ordinary people helping the police,’ said Nina, puzzled. ‘Only in books.’
Fran and Libby looked at each other. ‘Well, yes,’ they said.
Rosie touched Nina’s shoulder. ‘Honestly, dear, if there’s anything you know, you can tell them. They really can help, you know. They helped me.’
Nina looked up at her. ‘Did they? Then perhaps …’
‘Think about it,’ said Libby. ‘I’d better go and start washing the cups and getting the kitchen ready for tonight. Are you doing any more talks, Rosie?’
‘No, I’m not!’ said Rosie. ‘Half of them hadn’t got their minds on what I was saying anyway. I’m going to sit here for a bit before I go up and change. If I’m allowed into my room, that is.’
Fran and Libby left Nina and Rosie and collected cups and urns.
‘I’m definitely going to buy a trolley,’ said Libby after the third trip to the kitchen.
‘So I should think,’ said Fran, easing her back. �
�What have you got to do for Harry?’
‘Not much. Plates warming in the oven, napkins and cutlery, a few serving dishes, I think. You shouldn’t be helping.’
‘I want to leave Nina with Rosie. I think she’ll be telling her everything. Bit of hero-worship there.’
‘She doesn’t know Rosie like we do,’ said Libby with a giggle. ‘But you can help me with the dishwasher in that case. Hard work, this catering stuff.’
They had just finished reloading the dishwasher with cups and putting the plates into the warming oven of the Aga when Rosie came into the kitchen.
‘Is it too early for a drink?’ she said, sitting at the table. ‘I’ve got quite a bit to tell you.
Chapter Seven
‘I SAID SHE’D TALK to you,’ said Fran, when Libby had provided glasses of a rather nice Sauvignon Blanc.
‘It was a bit difficult. I think she’s been taught it’s rude to gossip or talk about her betters.’
‘Her betters!’ repeated Libby. ‘Good God!’
‘You know what I mean,’ said Rosie, taking a large sip. ‘But you were right, at this holiday last year Patrick made quite a determined play for her, and she said quite candidly that it was only because she was the youngest there. Then she thinks he went on to someone else who obviously rebuffed him, and ended up with Lily Cooper right at the end.’
‘What we thought. And Lily thinks it’s a proper affair?’ said Fran.
‘Nina doesn’t know, but in the emails Lily sent round to the group she was always dropping little hints about “Patrick” as though she knew him really well. Nina felt uncomfortable about it, but she’d got quite friendly with Jennifer and when she heard I was booked for this weekend she decided to brave it.’
‘So nothing we didn’t know so far,’ said Libby. ‘You said there was a lot.’
‘Apparently several people, including Daniel Hill and Nick Forrest tried to get Patrick to look at their manuscripts, and some were more persistent than others. He had read and given a critique on the first – oh, I don’t know – ten pages from everybody before the holiday, so there was quite a lot of muttering and backbiting, I gather, because he refused.’
‘Why would he refuse?’ asked Libby. Rosie and Fran turned incredulous and scornful faces to her.
‘How long do you think it takes to read a manuscript, Libby?’ Rosie asked. ‘And comment on it?’
‘I don’t know. A couple of days?’
‘Much longer. And if the manuscript is awful, either you have to frame a very kind comment, or actually pull it to pieces. Neither of which is what people at conferences want. They want you to love it and offer to pass it to their agent or publisher with a strong recommendation to publish.’
Libby frowned. ‘But don’t you pull things to pieces every week for your classes?’
‘Only short pieces – homework which I’ve set. A proper manuscript evaluation service costs a lot of money, at least five hundred pounds for a full manuscript.’
‘Really?’ Libby gasped. ‘Blimey!’
‘Unless you join the Romantic Novelists’ Association,’ said Fran.
‘Eh?’
‘They have a new writer section and you can get a full report for a very modest fee. And it’s a report from a published member in your particular genre,’ said Rosie. ‘I’m a member, but I rarely do the evaluations as I have enough to do with the classes and getting a book a year to the publishers.’
‘Right, so don’t other writers understand all this?’ asked Libby.
Rosie sighed. ‘You’d be surprised. I’ve lost count of the conferences and talks I’ve given where someone asks exactly the same question time after time. People who are destined to be published learn quickly. Like Fran.’ She gave Fran a quick smile. Fran made a face.
‘OK – so neither Daniel Hill nor Nick Forrest understood this.’
‘No, and they did the unforgivable, which was to try and make Patrick into a friend, instead of a conference speaker.’
‘But he’s here as part of a group of friends.’ Libby frowned.
‘There’s a difference,’ said Rosie. ‘I don’t suppose I can explain it, and the fact that he’s here could be misconstrued by some of them. As far as Nina’s concerned he’s here to sleep with Lily and have a bit of fun.’
‘And Daniel and Nick think because he’s here, he really is a friend and they can renew their onslaughts.’ Fran took a sip of wine. ‘I can see how they might think that.’
‘Well, none of that is a reason to kill Mrs Patrick,’ said Libby.
‘No, but it shows a certain underlying atmosphere in the group. And Nina said that there were a couple of other women who were after Patrick and could be –’ Rosie paused.
‘Women scorned?’ suggested Fran.
‘Exactly. She didn’t say who.’
‘Well, I can’t honestly see any of this helps the murder enquiry,’ said Libby. ‘It’s Mrs Patrick who was killed, not him.’
‘Sounds a little as though Nina’s not above dramatising a bit,’ said Fran. ‘There’s nothing in what she’s told Rosie that couldn’t be found in any group of people, especially a group of potential rivals.’
‘Of course!’ Libby topped up the wine. ‘They are rivals. Resentment against Patrick for being top dog must be there somewhere.’
‘Oh, yes. Daniel Hill in particular apparently felt that he was a much better writer and there must be strings being pulled for Patrick to be such a best-selling author when he, Daniel, couldn’t even get an agent,’ said Rosie.
‘Well, interesting though it all is, it doesn’t get us any further,’ said Fran. ‘I’ve a feeling we ought to just leave it to the police after all, as Libby said.’
‘I just wish Ian was in charge,’ said Libby. ‘We’d at least get some of the low-down.’
‘And he knows that, which is why he stepped back,’ said Fran. ‘Unfortunate that DCI Murray also knows of the connection and will be on his guard.’
Libby sighed. ‘Oh, well. Disappointing, though. I thought Nina was really going to come up with the goods.’
‘Maybe she has and we haven’t spotted it,’ said Rosie. ‘Although it doesn’t seem as though there’s much motive there apart from petty jealousies.’
‘Sexual and authorial,’ agreed Fran. ‘And nothing for poor Mrs Patrick. Oh for heaven’s sake what was her name, Lib? Can’t keep calling her Mrs Patrick.’
‘Melanie. And who was it said she was important in her own right?’
‘Did someone say that?’ Rosie looked surprised. ‘I didn’t hear it.’
‘Maybe I dreamed it. Anyway, no one’s likely to tell us, and we can hardly ask Patrick, if he ever reappears.’ Libby stood up. ‘I’d better start getting things ready for Harry.’
‘I wonder if he will reappear?’ Rosie also stood up and swallowed the rest of her wine.
‘I wonder if he’ll be charged?’ said Fran.
‘Maybe we can ask Jennifer when she comes back.’ Libby was getting plates from a tall cupboard.
‘Hardly,’ said Fran. ‘I think we’ll just have to wait and see. Difficult for us, isn’t it?’
Libby grinned over her shoulder. ‘Dreadful.’
Harry and Peter arrived later laden with dishes and containers.
‘Great fun having a police escort,’ said Peter, pushing back the lock of hair that always fell over his forehead. ‘Where’s Hetty?’
‘Laying up in the dining room,’ said Libby, who had found time to change and tell Ben all they had learnt during the afternoon.
‘So what’s the goss so far?’ said Harry.
‘I assume you mean what’s the state of play with our murder?’
‘Of course. You always have the inside stuff.’
‘Not this time,’ said Libby. ‘DCI Murray’s in charge and they aren’t telling us anything. All we know is the victim is the wife of one of the delegates, Patrick Joseph.’
‘Oh, yes, he was in the pub last night,’ said Harry. ‘He’s the famou
s one.’
‘You might as well tell us what you do know, old trout,’ said Peter, sitting down at the kitchen table, his legs stretched out elegantly in front of him.
Libby repeated the day’s events while Harry pottered around decanting food and Peter opened wine bottles.
‘So, no inside knowledge, then,’ said Harry.
‘No, except we took the sergeant to Mrs Joseph’s room this morning, so we knew right from then that she’d arrived under an alias.’
‘And you don’t even know how she was killed?’ said Peter.
‘No. One or other of us has been keeping an eye or an ear on the news all day, but so far nothing’s leaked out. I’m surprised, because Patrick is quite well known and a frequent broadcaster on the BBC.’
‘What does he write?’ asked Harry.
‘Thrillers, I think. Gory stuff.’
‘He’s had a couple serialised on TV,’ said Peter. ‘Remember Cold Death? That was his.’
‘Oh, I remember!’ Libby was surprised. ‘He wrote that, did he? Very nasty.’
‘Perhaps this is based on an incident in one of his books?’ suggested Harry.
‘Why would it be?’ said Peter.
‘Oh, I don’t know. A mad, obsessed fan, you know – like that film.’
‘That film was also a book first,’ said Peter. ‘I wish I could get you to read more.’
‘Too busy,’ said Harry cheerfully. ‘And when I’m not, I devote myself to you, dear heart.’
Peter patted him on the bottom. ‘So you do.’
‘If I could interrupt this lovefest,’ said Libby, ‘what have I go to do with this food, Hal? And are either of you staying for the evening?’
‘We both are.’ Peter grinned wolfishly. ‘You don’t think we’d let an opportunity like this pass us by, do you?’
‘Go on, petal,’ said Harry, giving her a gentle shove. ‘Go and get the guests tanked up before dinner. I’ll come and announce it when it’s served.’
Libby went to fetch Ben from the office and joined the guests who were milling around the chiffonier. Jennifer was there, looking the same calm person she’d been earlier in the day, although now attired in a lace jacket and velvet skirt. Nina stood close to her, looking nervous.
Murder at the Manor Page 5