by Ali Carter
Diana was surprising nonchalant about the items that Inspector Grey had taken, until she cried, ‘His diary?’ as if that had been an absurd choice to remove.
‘Yes, the latest one.’
‘They’re welcome to it. He wrote it in the study every evening before bed. Dull as ditchwater I would imagine.’
‘He let you read it?’ I asked, surprised at such unusual openness on the part of Diana.
‘I wouldn’t have wanted to, even if he let me. Poor Alexander wasn’t the most engaging writer. You should have seen some of his early letters to me. He used to go off on a tangent about birds in his garden or the smell of the morning air. Waffling on like a dilettante.’
To me this sounded very romantic; Diana simply did not know how lucky she had been to have found a husband not afraid to open his heart to her. The possibility that you could form a relationship through letters, rather than dreaded telephone calls or text messages, felt to me a perfect way to fall in love.
As for reading a husband’s diary, I told Diana that I doubted I’d be able to resist, nosy as I am.
‘Just you wait, Susie. Marriage isn’t all sweetness and light. Sometimes things are best buried under the carpet. Or, in my husband’s case, written down for no one to read.’
Was this really the only way to have a lasting marriage? Maybe for Alexander and Diana it had been so. I preferred the example set by my parents: get it all out on the table before it goes bad, work through it, and love each other regardless.
For me, being a Catholic, I will adhere to the rule, more popular in previous generations, that once married in the eyes of God it is a sin to break your vows. I don’t doubt that in a large part this is why I’m still single, and still searching for the man I can imagine spending the rest of my life with. It’s a tall order, and sometimes I feel I’m looking for unattainable perfection. If only I were a little more easy-going and capable of revelling in the thrill of the here and now. The noveau riche and famous are particularly good at this. Marriage for them seems to be a whirlwind romance and a huge party with the bride at the centre, all in the knowledge that it can be dissolved if commitment becomes too much; shrugging off the insincerity of ceremonial vows when a higher profile or better-looking option comes along. The fortunate outcome in most cases is that it raises the individual’s public profile, no matter what.
I’ve seen this first-hand. When I was a recent graduate, I moved to London and by chance landed a job as a roving house-sitter among a rich vein of celebrities. Whilst they were residing in their Californian condo or Ibiza party pad I was effectively personal assistant back in the UK, looking after their homes. My efficiency at getting things done within a specified time frame, however short that may have been, combined with an unexpected ability to foresee and dispel a problem before it materialised, led me to the homes of rich pop stars and successful actors. I limited myself to London and I was never out of work. For six years I lived in the lap of impersonal luxury within Zone 1, and watched marriages end, and the newspapers eagerly report who had wronged whom. By the seventh year I had found the merry-go-round of my employers’ bed-hopping and philandering too depressing to be around any longer.
‘Susie,’ said Diana in a warm voice, noticing I was lost in thought. ‘Are you okay? I do hope this whole business isn’t getting too much for you. You must say if it is.’
This was the kind and caring Diana I liked.
‘I’m sorry. I was just thinking about marriage and how many pitfalls there are.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry about that. With your pretty face, you shouldn’t be left on the shelf much longer.’
I think this was supposed to be a compliment.
I ate up the small bit of salad left in my bowl. Diana rang the hand bell and in came Mary.
Without a word she laid down a tray of coffee and dark chocolate truffles and removed our empty plates. She’d hardly left the room when Diana told me, ‘Poor Mary has got herself into a ridiculous state about the staff interviews with Inspector Grey this afternoon. Servants are not equipped for such interrogations; they’re simple souls.’
‘I was nervous when I went to give a statement yesterday. It’s not a nice feeling being interrogated, and you feel as if you are having to prove yourself innocent,’ I said, with empathy.
Diana gave a disgruntled sigh. ‘It was abhorrent that Arthur needed an alibi. That anyone could think he could have murdered his own father is absolutely absurd.’
Diana reached for the chocolate.
‘We must have one of those delicious truffles. They arrived with a bunch of flowers last night from our Lord-Lieutenant.’
‘That was kind of him,’ I said, taking one and putting it straight in my mouth.
‘He’s a she, and it would have been me representing the Queen in our county this year if they hadn’t thought it unfair to hand over an almost full-time job during Alexander’s first year of retirement.’
‘What a great honour in a county so full of respectable people,’ I said.
I passed Diana her cup of coffee with two lumps of sugar and took a sip from mine.
‘Well, it won’t come my way now that Mrs Fishbone’s got it.’
I’d never heard of Mrs Fishbone.
‘She’s just like her name, a bloody irritation when you come across one; and thanks to her taking a stand against Alexander’s planning application for the land he sold we have not spoken in years. It’s not that I like all those common people living on what used to be part of our estate, but it really was unpleasant of her to put up such a protest. What’s more, in losing the battle, she had the audacity to spread a rumour that Alexander was a dishonest man.’
It amused me that although Diana was cross with Mrs Fishbone, she was happy to enjoy the chocolate truffles the Lord-Lieutenant had sent over.
Generally, I thought, Diana seemed surprisingly unfazed by the fact a murder investigation into the death of her husband was busy going on all around her. And now that Alexander was gone, it seemed that she would carry on more or less as she had done before.
Diana said she would be dining with Arthur, and so maybe Nanny and I could eat together again.
Just before I got up to go, knowing Diana would be wanting her afternoon rest soon, I remembered Mrs Hember and the puppy.
I wasn’t sure what Diana’s reaction would be, and so I said cautiously, ‘I forgot to mention earlier, but I found out this morning that Alexander had bought a cocker spaniel puppy to give you as an early Christmas present.’
‘Oh my darling husband! Has Sarah Hember had another litter? We have been waiting an awfully long time. What a tremendous surprise, but how could you possibly know?’
I explained all about the note in Alexander’s study, with Mrs Hember’s number scribbled down, and that I’d decided to call in case it was connected to Alexander’s death.
Diana sounded thrilled. ‘Is the puppy coming today?’
‘No, not yet. Alexander had already paid for him, but Mrs Hember insisted I gave the cash back to you.’ I put the envelope from my bag on the table. ‘She understands you might not want to take him, if you’d rather she found another buyer then I have to let her know within the week.’
I brought my sketchbook out. ‘Here you go, this is vaguely what he looks like.’
‘You are clever, Susie. What a little character, and so full of beans. Tremendous.’
‘If you want, you can keep the drawing. In fact, please do; it’s just a quick sketch I did when I met him.’
‘I’d love to have him, Susie. Thank you.’ She instantly tore it out of the pad without an ounce of care. I tried to keep smiling, which was a bit of a tussle considering I treat all my work with the utmost respect.
‘Can you let Sarah know as soon as possible that I shall be keeping the little darling? You could tell her that Sid will be in touch to collect him once we’ve buried Alexander.’ Diana smiled as she looked at my sketch. ‘What a dear, dear man my husband was. I’ve wanted a replace
ment ever since Harriet went.’
I stood up to go but then noticed she was pulling a handkerchief out of her sleeve and wiping away what I am sure was a tear. Then I heard her say in a small voice, ‘I mind very much that he’s not in the ground, Susie.’
My heart went out to her; maybe Diana had been affected more than I’d thought. ‘I am so sorry for you that the process is taking time.’
The embroidered handkerchief went back up her sleeve with a final sniff and I patted her arm in that reserved English way, knowing a good old blub always makes you feel better.
‘We all need to find peace,’ concluded Diana, ‘and this will only come once we’ve laid him to rest.’ Back out came the hanky. ‘We could only begin to come to terms with Amelia’s death once the funeral had been.’
I was pleased to see that buried beneath Diana’s remarkable stoicism was some emotion. I had so wanted to believe it was in there, and now I knew.
‘I am sure that very soon there will be an explanation.’
‘I hope you’re right Susie,’ she said, pushing her handkerchief up her sleeve once more.
‘Would you like me to spend the afternoon with you?’ I asked, knowing the answer.
‘No thank you. I am going to go for a rest.’
We were back to routine as usual.
I left the Manor feeling determined to get to the bottom of what had happened by the end of the week. My personal investigation needed to step up a gear, I thought. It was time to narrow down the suspects and get my hands on some firm evidence.
Back at Rose Cottage I swapped my loafers for walking boots, put on a Puffa jacket over my winter clothes, stuffed a pencil and sketchbook in my pocket and strode out through the park in the direction of Spire village.
‘Hi Antonia. I’m so sorry I left Henry’s bag behind.’
‘Come in, come in. Aren’t you cold?’
I stepped into the porch and shoved the front door closed behind me. ‘I’m not too bad, thank you. I’m a fast walker, which keeps me nice and warm.’
‘Come into the kitchen, at least for a bit.’
She was still alone.
‘There it is on the table,’ she said, pointing at the bag, and going to stand in front of the wood-burner on her never-ending slim legs. ‘I hadn’t even noticed you’d forgotten it.’
I took my scarf and gloves off.
‘We know,’ said Antonia, ‘that Henry has found it hard to meet like-minded people around Brighton, and so Ben thought returning the bag would be a good opportunity for you two to be in touch. Henry’s a good friend of Ben’s.’ Antonia paused, a blank expression on her face, as if weighing whether to continue: ‘Henry’s possibly not someone to get romantically involved with, if you were thinking along those lines.’ She smiled at me. ‘He is very good-looking but I don’t want you to be hurt.’
Antonia’s warning made me nervous. Had she picked up on the frisson of excitement when I was first introduced to Henry, or was she just helping him make friends in a new place?
‘Doesn’t Henry live in London?’ I asked, giving her an opportunity to clarify her intentions.
‘Yes, but he’s lecturing in Brighton for some time and you might be a good companion for him, for a month or two.’
‘Ah, yes,’ I said, realising there was no way out. Why is it that when you’re single you long for your friends to get a grip and introduce you to an array of suitable men, but as soon as they do, like right now, the whole idea makes you want to paddle away as fast as you can?
It was hot in the kitchen so I removed my coat and perched on the back of the sofa.
Antonia had a confiding look on her face, and I raised my eyebrows slightly in the hope that she would carry on. ‘He married Olivia, an old girlfriend of mine. Ben and I introduced them, and although they seemed happy enough at the start they divorced after eighteen months.’
‘That was swift. I never realised. He didn’t give the impression he’d been married.’
This was a black mark against Henry, though I wasn’t sure at what point he could have dropped in to conversation the fact he’d been married, and actually why should he anyway?
Antonia seemed to intuit how I felt. ‘You never can tell these days, Susie. If you are talking to a single man who has turned forty, you need to be careful as they’ve almost always had a past. And if they haven’t, then that is just as worrying, although for a whole other set of reasons.’
‘Henry’s not forty, is he?’
‘No, he’s not. All I’m saying is that you need to think very hard before you marry someone. I daresay Henry is no worse than other men of his age, when his looks could have allowed him all sorts of high jinks.’
‘Does he have children?’ I asked.
‘No, but you’ve hit the nail on the head as to the weak point of his and Olivia’s union. They never discussed having children, and it came as a shock to Olivia when Henry announced on their honeymoon that he categorically didn’t want any. Poor girl. I completely understand why she left him, although it wasn’t easy for her as she really did love him. In the end, though, I think she loved the idea of having children more.’
I couldn’t believe couples didn’t discuss having children prior to getting married, particularly in this day and age where women have their own careers. Surely it’d be one of the major things you had to agree on before going in to it?
‘And there was also the fact that Olivia thought Henry was deeply complicated, and very needy,’ Antonia added.
I knew it. Henry was a troubled soul.
‘How did Henry cope after they’d separated?’
‘On the surface he returned to the single-and-upfor-anything Henry we’d always known. I do think men are so much better than women at blocking things out. But I take a peep at him sometimes when he doesn’t know I’m looking, and I can’t help thinking his bonhomie and his suaveness is all a bit forced.’
‘What happened to Olivia?’
‘Oh, she married another Harley Street surgeon and popped out two little ones almost immediately. I’m happy for her but Bradley isn’t really our type, and so we see far more of Henry these days. He never mentions Olivia.’
This reference to Bradley was the first snobby comment I’d heard from Antonia, and I felt disappointed in her. It’s such an unattractive trait in upper-class people when they are incapable of, as they would put it, ‘making allowances’, for the middle-class partners of their friends. I liked Antonia and wished she hadn’t said it.
‘Why didn’t Henry want children?’ I asked and immediately regretted joining the ranks of people who think it odd when they meet a childless couple.
‘Some people just don’t, Susie,’ said Antonia, a trifle world-wearily. ‘But in this case Olivia was sure it was because Henry had issues over who his father is. We’ve never heard Henry talk about it, but she told me he thinks he’s not his father’s son.’
‘What does Ben think?’
‘Ben and Henry have known each other all their lives and Henry has never said anything to him. But then, as we all know, men rarely talk about feelings.’
‘I have a friend who is adopted and his parents never told him,’ I said. ‘He only found out by rooting around his medical files once he was eighteen. I think he would’ve been better off not knowing as it’s thrown him a bit off-kilter since and his birth mother doesn’t want to know.’
‘Ben says we mustn’t judge, and that if Henry doesn’t want to talk about it, then neither should we.’
I thought Ben was right and that I’d learnt a bit too much about Henry for the amount of time I’d spent in his company. It’s never healthy knowing too much about someone you’ve only just met, and particularly for someone like me, who has it in my nature to want to get to the bottom of things. I couldn’t make up my mind if my new knowledge made him seem more or less attractive, although it was certainly making me think about him.
I put on my coat and scarf, and remembered to pick up my gloves and the bag, which fel
t very light.
‘You may bump into Ben,’ said Antonia. ‘He took off with Situp. I think he’s struggling with his writing today as his brow looked crinkled, and so he may have gone far. It’s what he does to get through writer’s block.’
I had a final question. ‘You haven’t come across a Mrs Fishbone round here, have you?’
‘Oh god, that woman. She’s frightful.’
‘Diana would agree with you. She was telling me about Alexander’s disagreement with her. I think they fell out years ago over a planning application.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me. When we were landscaping the garden, we marked out an area to put up a Wendy house for Bella, and you wouldn’t believe it but we had to apply for planning permission.’
‘Planning permission for a Wendy house?’ I repeated. This seemed silly.
‘Yes, isn’t it unbelievable? Mrs Fishbone is the one who got in the way. She came down on our application like a ton of bricks, saying it was the wrong height and it was too close to our boundary and it overlooked someone’s property and took their light away, and goodness knows what else. We were going to put in revised plans, but then Ben and I decided that she’d got it in for us and so we were never going to win as she’s our Lord-Lieutenant and carries a lot more clout round here than we do. The local builders we used told us we should slip the planners a golden handshake, but Ben’s far too honest for anything like that. I would have happily done it but I couldn’t go behind his back.’
‘You can get inflatable Wendy houses now,’ I said, not missing an opportunity to solve a problem. ‘I’m sure that would be allowed.’
‘Maybe it would be but as you can see out of the window,’ she pointed towards the garden, ‘we’ve put a sandpit in the place it was going to be. Bella loves building castles, and so I’ve told her that I’m hoping she marries someone with a castle one day.’
I laughed with Antonia at the honesty of what she wanted for her daughter.