Snapped in Cornwall

by Janie Bolitho

  ‘I don’t know. I heard footsteps on the stairs. I suppose Anna’s gone to her room. Can you do anything?’

  ‘Me? Like what?’

  Doreen held out her hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘I don’t know. Talk to them? I don’t want poor Mr Milton to walk back into this. They let him go, you know. I don’t know how they could’ve thought he’d done it. Maggie or no Maggie,’ she added firmly.

  So Doreen, too, was aware of the affair. ‘Where’s Paul?’

  ‘He’s gone into Redruth for something. He didn’t say when he’d be back.’

  Just as Doreen handed her a cup of coffee the kitchen door opened.

  ‘Good heavens. What’s going on? There seems little chance of much privacy in this house.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to intrude,’ Rose replied.

  ‘That’s what the other one said.’

  Rose placed her cup and saucer gently on the table. ‘I’m not sure why you don’t like me, Anna, but it wasn’t you I came to see.’

  ‘No. Dennis again, of course. I’d prefer it if you left.’

  ‘You’re right, it is Dennis and it’s up to him to decide whether or not he wishes to see me. He needs friends at the moment, not histrionics from young girls.’

  Doreen gasped, half in shock, half in pleasure. Good for Mrs Trevelyan, she thought.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Anna managed to say. ‘It isn’t easy at the moment.’

  ‘It isn’t easy for anyone, knowing that there is still a murderer out there. Their grievance may not rest with Gabrielle alone.’

  ‘Oh, really? And how come you’re such a damn expert?’

  ‘I do not claim to be an expert, I’m simply here to offer Dennis assistance because it’s obviously not forthcoming from his future daughter-in-law.’

  ‘Get out.’ Anna hissed the words.

  Rose hesitated, then, feeling Doreen’s hand touch her arm briefly, stood her ground. ‘I’m staying until Mr Milton returns.’

  The door slammed behind Anna, and Rose and Doreen exchanged a look of relief mingled with uncertainty. ‘See what I mean?’ Doreen said. ‘I don’t know what to do, who to let in or anything. Mr Milton left me no instructions.’

  ‘And he’s going to return to find two uninvited women in his house. Doreen, would it be all right if I went through to the lounge? I might as well chat to Maggie.’

  ‘Of course, Mrs Trevelyan.’

  ‘Oh, call me Rose, it’s too much of a mouthful.’

  Doreen was pleased. She would be able to tell her friends she was on first-name terms with a real artist.

  ‘Maggie?’ Rose had opened the door quietly. The woman was seated on the edge of a settee, head bowed. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’

  ‘What a mess it all is. It’s crazy, I can’t keep away from the place. Despite that girl. At least they’ve let Dennis go but from what I’ve heard, it might not be for long. And it’s all my fault. The police suspected me and all I’ve done is to make them think it’s Dennis.’

  ‘How was that?’ Rose joined her on the settee.

  ‘Other guests have confirmed that at one point we were both missing from the room. It’s true, and I told the police. I followed him because I wanted to put him straight, to let him know Gabrielle knew. The looks he was giving me! I thought if she did know and hadn’t made any fuss, she might be willing to let him go.’

  ‘That’s not what you told me, Maggie. You said Gabrielle had invited you to put you at a disadvantage, to let Dennis see what he’d be losing if he went off with you.’

  ‘I know. And that’s true. I’m sure that’s why she did it, but what I just said holds true as well.’

  ‘You really did receive an invitation?’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked surprised.

  ‘You haven’t exactly stuck to the truth, you see.’

  ‘No. I was only trying to protect everyone, including myself.’ She reached for her handbag which was on the floor beside her. ‘Here.’ She handed Rose the deckle-edged card, still in its envelope.

  Rose had not seen one; her invitation had come via the telephone. The printing was done in black sloping letters, only the name of the recipient had been filled in by hand. The address on the envelope was typed. ‘Did you show this to the police?’

  ‘Yes. Once they knew about me and Dennis, and Dennis denied he’d asked me, I had to. They thought I’d gate-crashed.’

  It wasn’t Dennis’s writing. Even though there were only three words from which to judge they were not written by the same person who had written out the cheque she had received. Dennis wrote in large, sprawled characters and there was hardly enough room for him to sign his name on the bottom.

  ‘You said Paul knew. About you and Dennis.’

  ‘If he didn’t know, he must have guessed. He saw us together. We were in a restaurant. Unfortunately we were holding hands at the time. God, you don’t think Paul sent it? Why would he do that?’

  ‘I don’t know. To show his father what he was doing was wrong, maybe?’ But Rose did not think so. She had other ideas. ‘There’s a car. That must be Dennis.’

  ‘Stay with me, will you, while I talk to him?’

  ‘I don’t think that would –’

  ‘Please, Rose.’

  Maggie had become agitated and the appeal in her eyes could not be ignored.

  ‘All right.’

  They heard voices in the hall, one male, one female. Doreen Clarke must also have heard the car and warned her employer.

  ‘Hello.’ Dennis came into the room. His face was expressionless and he looked exhausted.

  ‘Maggie has something to say to you. She asked if I’d stay while she did so.’ Rose then clasped her hands together and closed her mouth. She had done her bit.

  ‘Dennis, I appreciate your telephone call the other night. I understand how you feel.’

  ‘Do you? I doubt that. Your wife hasn’t been killed.’

  ‘No. I meant about me. I just wanted … Jesus, this isn’t easy. I just wanted to say that I never meant to hurt anyone. I didn’t give Gabrielle a thought when it started. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry if I said anything to the police which misled them. I couldn’t telephone, I wanted to say it to your face. Besides, I thought you’d hang up. I accept it’s over, Dennis, and I won’t trouble you again.’

  ‘You came all the way down here just to tell me that?’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t want it to end the way it had.’

  Rose was as surprised as Dennis appeared to be. She had imagined Maggie was going to come out with something a little more earth-shattering. However, it had probably salved her conscience a little.

  ‘And in the process I’ve upset Anna.’ But Maggie did not offer an apology on that count. ‘I’ll go now.’

  Dennis nodded and held the door open for her. From where she was sitting Rose saw Maggie look back once. She thought she might have been crying.

  ‘Rose?’

  ‘I just happened to be here. I came to see if there was anything I could do to help. I didn’t know if they’d kept you at Camborne.’

  ‘No. But they’ve asked me to remain here. It doesn’t matter. Paul’s not back yet?’

  ‘No. Dennis, Anna asked me to leave, but I said I’d prefer to wait and see you. I hope I haven’t added to your problems.’

  ‘Anna has no right to do that. Ignore her. She’s neurotic at times and I think she’s very frightened. Despite what Paul told you the other night, she’s led a sheltered life. This has upset her, and she’s getting in a state about the wedding.’

  ‘It’s still on?’

  Dennis glanced at her sharply. ‘Yes. Of course. Thank you, Rose.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For coming. For taking an interest. I’m very much in need of a friend right now. Paul’s got Anna to consider and my colleagues in London don’t seem to be returning my calls.’

  No, Rose thought. She had seen it before. People felt threatened in such situations. Dennis’s wife had been
murdered, he himself was being considered as a suspect, and he was about to be made redundant. He was probably regarded as a loser and no one wanted that sort of luck to rub off on them. How lucky she had been in her own friends when David died. ‘You’ve got my number. I’d better go now.’ She had forgotten the pretext of the receipt in her bag.

  There was so much to think about. Ought she to tell Jack what she suspected? No, he would be annoyed. Jack. Already she had dropped the Inspector Pearce bit. And tonight she was repaying Barry for the meal he had cooked and the two he had insisted on buying in London. On the second evening he had outwitted her by asking for the bill on the way out to the toilet and paying it upon his return.

  Barry arrived promptly at seven thirty and she poured him a can of beer she had got in especially. ‘Go and sit down while I finish out here,’ she told him. It was dusk; the table lamps were already on and the artificial coals of the gas fire glowed, although there was no need for the fire itself.

  Ten minutes later Rose joined him. ‘I went to see Dennis today.’

  ‘How nice.’

  ‘He doesn’t have anyone else to turn to.’

  ‘He’s got a son, and the girlfriend, and a housekeeper. Three more than I’ve got.’

  ‘Whatever’s the matter with you?’

  ‘You might’ve told me.’

  ‘Told you what?’

  ‘Not only are you hob-nobbing with the Miltons, which doesn’t look too good so soon after Gabrielle’s death, but you’re going out with the bloke who’s running the case.’

  ‘I see.’ Rose stared at her drink. Wherever she turned lately people started having a go at her. ‘My social life is my own affair, Barry. I don’t have to answer to you. And I am not going out with Jack Pearce, as you put it. He took me for a meal because he wanted to discuss a few things.’

  ‘I bet he did.’

  ‘If you’re going to be like this all evening I can’t see there’s much point in your staying.’

  ‘Sorry, Rosie. I just hate it when you get obsessed about things. I feel I’m losing you. I value your friendship, you see, more than you may realise.’

  She understood but said nothing. This was not just about friendship; Barry was jealous. Seeing his familiar face, the hair brushed over his scalp, the glasses already slipping, she wondered if a different kind of relationship was possible. He was attentive and kind and understanding and punctual. Not once in either business or pleasure had he let her down. But look how he was tonight, and how he had been on other occasions. If they were together permanently she suspected he would want to know where she was every minute of the day. No can do, she thought, as a picture of Jack Pearce’s face came into her mind.

  ‘And I’m worried about you, Rose.’

  ‘Worried?’

  ‘When you get your teeth into something, you won’t let go. It’s unhealthy. And’, he added, sitting upright as if the thought had just occurred to him, ‘you could be in danger.’

  Rose frowned. She had told Anna that the murderer had not yet been caught. Barry might be right. And was that why Jack had warned her off? But what did anyone have to fear from her?

  ‘OK. We won’t talk about it any more. Have you had any come-back from the trade fair yet?’

  ‘A couple of orders have trickled in. It takes a while. Don’t forget, I picked up several while we were there.’

  She had forgotten. She had been too busy thinking about other things. ‘How did you know about Jack?’ That subject could not be dropped until her curiosity had been satisfied.

  ‘You were seen.’

  Rose laughed. ‘You make it sound so ominous. You were seen.’ She mimicked his tone. ‘I wasn’t doing anything people can’t know about.’

  ‘They’ll know all right.’

  ‘Right. The food’s almost ready. If you’re going to sulk you can go, if not you can join me. Now act your age and drink that beer. There’s three more cans in the kitchen.’

  He smiled sheepishly. ‘What’ve we got?’

  ‘Bacon, with apple and red cabbage. It’s Polish, I think.’

  ‘And the wine?’

  ‘The Co-op’s finest. But plentiful.’ Rose sighed. The status quo had been restored.

  An hour later it was completely dark and there was a stillness outside. The window was open because the kitchen was over-warm from the oven being on. They both looked up when they heard the first drops of rain hit the glass. They were followed by a clap of thunder which made Rose jump. Lightning illuminated the garden for a split second. The storm had started almost immediately overhead. Sometimes they would last for hours, just rolling round the bay, not affecting other areas. The lights flickered. Rose got up and fetched a couple of night-lights from the drawer, along with a box of matches. They were safer than candles and had originally come with a food warmer she never used. She would not be badly affected if the electricity did go off; both cooker and heating were gas and the water in the immersion heater would stay hot until at least the morning.

  They went through to the sitting-room and stood in the window, watching the violence which was taking place outside. The lights flickered again and went out. At one point Rose thought Barry was about to speak. He touched her shoulder, then changed his mind. She was glad. If he made any sort of romantic declaration their relationship would change.

  ‘Come on, there’s still some more beer. I’ll finish the wine.’

  ‘You’ve had most of the bottle.’

  ‘Oh, don’t you start! Jack …’ but she, too, did not complete what she had been about to say. She had bitten her tongue too late.

  ‘Are you seeing him again?’ Barry asked quietly.

  Only then did it occur to Rose that no mention of a further meeting had taken place. ‘I don’t think so.’ She hid her dismay by pouring out the last of the wine. ‘He might need to ask a few more questions, I suppose.’

  It was an appropriate time for power to be restored. It would probably go again. The fluorescent tube buzzed and lit itself with a twang. The flames from the night-lights seemed paltry by comparison. She blew them out, liking the acrid tang of the wisps of smoke from the burnt wicks.

  ‘See you over the weekend?’ Barry asked as he left.

  ‘Not Saturday. I’m going out with Laura.’

  He shook his head but refrained from commenting, other than to say good-night.

  Rose had said to Barry that the rain was too heavy to last. Her prediction was correct. Puddles lay on the lawn and in the pot-holes of her drive but they reflected a watery sun. She needed some fresh air, to get away and paint in solitude. First she did some overdue housework. Surfaces dusted, carpets vacuumed and the bathroom gleaming, she pinned her hair up, put on a waterproof jacket and loaded what she needed into the back of the Mini. It refused to start.

  ‘Bugger it.’ Rose got out and sprayed the relevant parts of the engine with Damp-Start. When she turned the ignition it whined but refused to kick into life.

  Back inside she rang Laura’s number. There wasn’t an engine that baffled Trevor, on land or at sea.

  ‘Of course he will,’ Laura said. ‘But he won’t be back for two more days. Can you manage? If you need a lift I’ll take you.’

  ‘No. I’ll cope.’ It was a nuisance, but she’d walk somewhere. Trevor would sort it out when he came home. She tried the ignition once more on her way out but it sounded worse, just a slow whirr, then nothing.

  It took about half an hour to walk to Abbey Basin. Rose had decided to get a bus somewhere. The harbour was to her right. She changed her mind: she would sketch that, then have a coffee somewhere in the town. Would Jack be like Barry? she thought, as she began to work. Surely not. With his irregular hours he could not expect anyone else to be at his beck and call. It was hypothetical anyway, he was not going to ring her again.

  When she returned she found there had been three calls in her absence. Two were jobs, the third was from Jack. ‘You’re busy, I’ll catch you some other time,’ was all he said after he
’d given his name.

  Jim Penrose had been allowed to go home but only after he had spent several hours being questioned. Eileen may have thought she was paying him back but she had only made herself look a fool. On the night of Gabrielle’s party, knowing his wife would be working at the house, he had arranged to do a job for a friend in St Erth. He had run into difficulties and it had taken an hour longer than he had estimated. Afterwards, as thanks for his efforts, his friend had bought him a drink. It would be checked, but Jim Penrose could not have been at the Milton place that evening if what he claimed was true.

  ‘Well?’ Eileen sniffed when he returned. ‘I’m surprised they didn’t lock you up.’ She moved across to the cooker and stirred something in a pan.

  ‘Don’t bother cooking on my account. Has anyone ever told you what a bitch you are?’

  Eileen turned to face him, an expression of shock on her face. He was leaning against the fridge, his eyes hard.

  ‘All those years, Eileen, and I’ve never laid a finger on another woman.’

  ‘What about Rita? You can’t deny that.’

  ‘I bought Rita a few drinks. No more than that. Whether you believe me is up to you. I’m sick of making excuses for innocent things. In fact, I’m sick of you. I’m leaving you, Eileen. Oh, don’t worry.’ He raised a hand to stop any protests or recriminations. ‘I’ll make sure you don’t suffer financially.’

  ‘You can’t leave me, Jim,’ she whispered as he walked towards the stairs.

  ‘I can’t stay. Not with a woman who’d do that, who’d try and get the police to believe I’d killed someone.’

  ‘I only meant –’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what you meant, you did it. I’ll never forgive you for that.’

  Eileen did not move. Above her head she heard his heavy tread on the worn carpet, the opening and closing of drawers and cupboards and, finally, the flushing of the toilet cistern. She loved him in her own way. The problem had been that she was never able to understand what he had seen in her. She had never been pretty and Jim was so handsome. She wasn’t even really sure if she had suspected him of seeing other women.

  But for once in her life Eileen Penrose could not think of a single thing to do or say to defuse the situation.