by Anne Morice
“Do we know for certain that he had no overpowering motive?”
“Of course we don’t,” Robin said. “Tessa’s losing her pedals. If he didn’t have one, or at any rate one which he considered overpowering, he’d have to be a lunatic, which seems even more improbable.”
“Or else he’s innocent, which Robin for some reason won’t hear of. I just wondered why.”
I had been hoping by this line of attack to provoke him into letting the brake off and now appeared to have partially succeeded, for he said: “I expect you put it down to prejudice, or my wife’s influence and to some extent you’d be right, although perhaps not quite in the way you think.”
“Oh, in what way, then?”
“You’re not obliged to answer her, you know,” Robin said, getting up to refill their glasses.
“I know that, but it can do no harm now and it may save her from wasting her sympathy on someone who doesn’t deserve it.”
“Well, I’m all in favour of that.”
“You see, Tessa, it’s not anything my wife has said that makes me afraid that James may have been driven to do this horrible thing. It’s the memory of her own behaviour two years ago.”
“When your marriage broke up? But you told me that was an amicable arrangement?”
“Oh, do let the man get a word in edgeways, Tessa!”
“Okay. Sorry, Alan.”
“We’re friends, in a detached way, but it wasn’t always so. You don’t live with someone for twenty years and then quietly agree to go your separate ways. Isobel and I had been drifting apart for years before the final break came. The climax was when I told her I was in love with someone else and wanted to marry her. I wanted a divorce.”
“But she refused?”
“Yes, she refused. Her marriage vows were sacred, or so she claimed, but I did not believe that was her reason. I doubt whether she’d have married me in the first place, without trying to make a good Christian out of me, if she’d felt so strongly about it. Anyway, it was no use trying to paint over the cracks after that, so I moved into a place of my own and that’s how it’s been ever since.”
I was tempted to ask whether the other woman had moved in with him, but I think Robin must have seen it coming, for he frowned and shook his head at me, so I changed the question to:
“But you’re back on friendly terms now?”
“To the extent that we were before and would have remained, in any event. Divorce wouldn’t have altered that. She is still the mother of my children and she is still entitled to my advice and support, when she needs them. However, that’s not really the point. I seem to have been led away.”
“It happens to the best of us,” Robin assured him.
“My purpose in telling you about my own experience was to point out that a similar situation might have arisen for James and Rosamund. The bitterness and resentment would very likely have been still more intense in his case, since there were no children.”
“Intense enough to drive him to murder?”
“I’m not saying that it did, only that it’s conceivable. James is not a man to take kindly to being thwarted, and murder, particularly between spouses, had been committed for less than that, as I am sure Robin could tell us.”
“More often than we ever get to hear about, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Although in this case,” I began, but Alan cut in before I could finish.
“Ah, I can guess what you’re going to say. Something about the boot being on the other foot, was it?”
I did not deny it because his question seemed to offer a more promising outcome than the one I had been about to ask and he went on:
“Yes, I’ve heard some talk about Rosamund being the unfaithful one, but I didn’t take it seriously. I could see that some men would find her attractive, but she never struck me as the sort to go in for that sort of thing. Not cold, exactly, but one who had her emotions well under control. Whereas James is the opposite. Full-blooded and vigorous would be one way to describe him. Would you care to hear what I believe to be the true origin of those stories about Rosamund’s infidelity?”
“She is not likely to refuse,” Robin said, “so you had better let me fill your glass.”
“Oh, thanks. Well, I’m sorry to say this, Tessa, but it’s my belief James invented them himself, after her death. I don’t remember any talk of that in her lifetime and I think they’re nothing more nor less than red herrings. You may not agree with me, but I feel sure I’m right.”
“And, if so, it would follow that he killed her, I suppose, but to get back to the point you made earlier, that he might have done so if, like you, he had fallen for someone else and Rosamund wouldn’t divorce him. I had been going to say that I don’t find that argument very convincing. I can imagine that for some people it might be an obstacle which could lead to thoughts of murder. Where the money was short and there were children to consider, for instance. But none of that applied to the McGraths and surely, in this day and age, a man in that position would simply have left his wife and set up an establishment with his new love. They might have hoped that eventually Rosamund would relent and let him go, but even if she didn’t, it wouldn’t be such a calamity, would it? Not a matter of life or death?”
“Perhaps not, in most circumstances, but supposing she was much younger than him and wanted to have children? As you’ve pointed out, unlike me, he had none by his wife, so that could be a big factor.”
“Yes, maybe so.”
“Well, that’s for the prosecution to find out. I’ve only talked about it because you seem to have taken a liking to the chap and want to see him acquitted, and I was hoping to spare you disillusionment.”
“Very considerate of you,” Robin said, “and perhaps Tessa has now plagued you enough. Why not come and have dinner with us? There’s quite a decent Italian place round the corner.”
However, the risk of further plaguing, to accompany the ravioli, may have loomed more threateningly than the prospect of spending a lonely evening in his bachelor quarters, because he soon afterwards left.
“I can’t imagine why you should make such accusations,” I complained. “It seemed to me that he took most of the initiative. Once started, there was no stopping him.”
“I hope you found something of value in it?”
“Quite a lot, and what interested me most was why, having professed to like James, he should go to such trouble to work up a case against him. I know he gave an explanation of sorts, but it wasn’t very convincing.”
“I agree and I think the truth is at once more simple and more complicated.”
“Just the kind of mixture I like. What are the ingredients?”
“Somewhere at the back of his mind there’s probably a nagging feeling that he did James a bad turn by opting out of that trip to Wales. Obviously, it wouldn’t have made any difference if he had gone, but it may now seem like kicking a man who was down, and you know how it is when you feel you’ve played a shabby trick on someone? You start inventing all sorts of reasons why it was their fault and why, anyway, they weren’t worthy of your time and trouble.”
“Yes, I suppose that would explain it.”
“Unfortunately, it does nothing to help your crusade to save an innocent man.”
“I don’t know that he’s innocent, do I? Besides, it’s all grist to the mill, to use one of your own expressions. And that wasn’t the only point of interest either.”
“No?”
“No, another popped up when he was talking about Rosamund. He described her in a way which I never heard anyone do before. He said she was attractive.”
Robin did not look much impressed by this, so I did not mention something else that had been said about Rosamund, though privately resolving, just to keep my hand in, to find some way to follow it up.
NINETEEN
Two of next morning’s papers carried another item of interest to Sowerley readers, the announcement of Andrea Laycock’s engagement to Marc Carrington
.
Elsa sounded very chuffed about it when I telephoned to congratulate her, but she either did not know or wasn’t telling how this reconciliation had come about, so I next applied to Ellen, who was scarcely more informative.
“Since I only have Andrea’s word for what the quarrel was about in the first place, I’m in no position to tell you how they made it up.”
“But Daddy has relented, presumably, and given them his blessing?”
“Must have. At any rate, he’s coming to their engagement party.”
“How do you mean, ‘coming to it’?”
“We’re giving it here. He said it wouldn’t be suitable to have it at their house so soon after step-mama’s death and of course it would never do for the bridegroom’s family to step in. That would be a breach of etiquette, so Andrea asked if we’d lend them the flat for the evening. Most of their friends are in London, anyway, so it makes sense.”
“Bit of a headache for you and Jeremy, though?”
“Oh, it doesn’t bother me; and Jeremy, who’s a chip off the cunning old Roxburgh block, says there’s nothing to stop our papering the house with a few of our own friends and letting Gregory foot the bill for them too, since he’s getting off so lightly.”
“So it’s a slap-up do, is it?”
“About sixty, so far. Marc and Andrea are coming here this evening, to draw up lists. Listen, Tessa, if you’re so quizzy, why don’t you and Robin come too? We can pretend we need Robin’s advice on how to get special parking dispensation.”
“I don’t think it’s quite in his line and, anyway, I know he wouldn’t be able to come. He’s working flat out on something at the moment and doesn’t get home before nine or ten.”
“Okay, come on your own. We can make it look as though you’d just popped in unexpectedly.”
“I might do that. What time?”
“Sevenish. We ought to be through with the organising, by then.”
“Right. See you around seven.”
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything?” I asked, making it look as though I’d just dropped in unexpectedly.
“No, we’ve been discussing plans for their engagement party and now Marc and Jeremy are going to work out which furniture will need to be moved out of here and which of the other rooms it can be stacked in. I must look for a tape measure. You know Tessa, don’t you, Andrea?”
“Of course I do. How are you?”
“Fine, thanks, and glad to have found you here because now you can tell me all about the wedding. Have you fixed the date yet?”
Never one to hang back when there was a chance to talk about herself, Andrea tinkled away without pause for several minutes, prefacing her remarks about who would design her dress, the number of bridesmaids and the hotel where the reception would be held by explaining that none of this splendour was of her own choosing. She would have preferred to slip quietly off to the registry office and cut out all the fuss, but Daddy wouldn’t hear of it. It was he who was insisting on the full ceremonial splash.
This, if she was speaking the truth for once in her life, disposed of one question and another also received an oblique answer not long afterwards when I asked:
“So you’ve lost your ambition to become an actress, I take it? Or do you mean to pick it up again after your marriage, when you’ll be out of your father’s jurisdiction?”
“An actress?” she repeated, in a wondering voice.
“Yes, you seemed to be dead keen on the idea at one time.”
“Did I really? I don’t remember . . . I’m sorry, but you must excuse me . . . I’m suffering from amnesia, you see.”
“That must be annoying for you!”
“Yes, it is. It makes everything so frantically awkward. People keep saying things as though they expect me to understand and half the time I haven’t any idea what they’re talking about.”
“Very confusing, but I expect your memory will come back gradually, if you’re patient with it.”
“No, it won’t,” she said with unusual firmness. “The doctors thought so at first. They thought it would only take a few days, but they were wrong and now they say there’s no hope at all. It’s really scary having this huge gap in your life that you know nothing about.”
“Must be, although I suppose it has certain advantages too?”
“Not that I’ve noticed. Why do you say so?”
“It occurred to me that one says and does a few silly things practically every day of one’s life, so the huge gap at least frees you from wishing some of them undone and unsaid.”
“Oh . . . oh yes, I see what you mean. God, is that the time? Where’s everyone gone? Marc and I are supposed to be at the theatre in twenty minutes.”
“Don’t panic!” Ellen said, coming back into the room, “Marc has everything under control and the taxi is on its way. Although, as a matter of fact, the address he gave them on the telephone was some restaurant in Soho.”
“Oh, did he? How stupid of me! I’m afraid my poor old memory still gets a bit tangled up sometimes. It’s lucky I have someone as efficient as Marc to take care of everything.”
“So that’s the game, is it?” I asked, when Ellen and I had moved on to the kitchen, where she was now dousing escalopes in egg and breadcrumbs with the speed and precision of a machine on a conveyor belt. “I suspected it all along. Have you and Jeremy developed the most enormous appetites, or were you so farsighted and thoughtful as to buy enough for me?”
“It didn’t need thought or foresight. You told me Robin wouldn’t be home before nine or ten, so it was as good as done. Which game are you talking about?”
“Amnesia, as played according to the rules of Andrea Laycock.”
“You mean she’s cheating? I’m not at all surprised, but how can you tell, Tessa? If someone says they don’t remember something, it’s not easy to prove that they do.”
“Sometimes it is and probably the only honest thing she said the whole evening was that her memory still gets tangled up at times. Never a truer word! She got herself into a right old tangle with her opening remark. You reminded her that we’d met before and she agreed, without a second’s hesitation. Admittedly, that was before the loss of memory is supposed to have set in, so she was quite right not to pretend she didn’t recognise me.”
“Okay, so where did she go wrong?”
“Later, when you were out of the room. She claimed to have no recollection at all of wanting to become an actress. Well, the point is, Ellen, that at neither of our two previous meetings did we touch on any other subject. She talked exclusively about herself and the theme was her ambition to break into television. You doubtless remember the first occasion and on the second she explained at length why she had been forced to drop it. So I ask you! How could she have remembered me so clearly and yet retained no recollection whatever of what we had talked about? And I’ll bet you anything she’d begun to realise her mistake towards the end. She looked quite terrified at one moment and that was when she became in such a frantic hurry to get away.”
“Although Marc had already rung for a taxi,” Ellen pointed out.
“I know. Naming an entirely different destination from the one Andrea had mentioned. But then, you see, he’d probably been in a frantic hurry to get away ever since I did my dropping in accidentally bit.”
“Why would that be?”
“Most likely because he still sees me as the ten-year-old babysitting ogre, who thwarted all his Machiavellian gambits to stay up half an hour past his bedtime. He’s no imbecile and he must have seen through Andrea’s little deception. He’s pretending to believe it, though, as a face saver, because he’s so cracked about the girl that he’d stoop to anything rather than lose her. The last thing he wanted was for me to come barging in and rock the boat by catching her out.”
“I expect you’re right, Tessa, but what puzzles me is why she should bother to play the game at all. Is it because she hasn’t the brains to invent some plausible excuse for Marc about the mis
sing three hours, or is it just another attempt to make herself interesting?”
“I’m not sure, but I have a feeling that this time there might be a bit more to it than either of those. She was really jittery this evening. It gave me the impression that she knows something which she is either trying to force herself to forget, or of someone realising she knows it and trying to drag it out of her.”
“About the fire, you mean?”
“About the fire and perhaps about other things as well.”
TWENTY
Rosamund had made a new will only a year before her death, which, in the view of some, augured badly for James, since, apart from a few minor bequests, she had left everything to him.
Five thousand pounds and various items of jewellery went to her cousin Isobel and the local rural preservation society also benefited to the tune of five thousand. However, I regretfully abandoned the idea that Tim and Louise, dedicated though they were to the cause, had conspired to murder her, in order to get their hands on this windfall.
All these bequests, along with the bulk of the estate, were naturally subject to probate, but James had sent Isobel a message through his solicitor, requesting her to go to Orchard House as soon as possible, to sort out Rosamund’s clothes and personal belongings, taking anything she wanted for herself and disposing of the rest as she saw fit. He also wished her to arrange for the house to be put on the market.
Isobel, however, declared herself to be quite unequal to either of these tasks, vowing that nothing would induce her ever to set foot in the place again and, despite some opposition on his part, had prevailed on her semi-detached husband to undertake them for her.
His protest that he would not have the faintest notion how to set about the first of them had been countered by her advising him to appeal to Elsa and Louise and she had telephoned them both, to enlist their help.