The Anna McColl Mysteries Box Set 2

by Penny Kline

  ‘I’m not talking about being a vicar’s wife,’ she said fiercely, ‘or the fact that I denied, even to myself, just how much I disliked it. No, what I mean, the dependency thing, it’s like that in marriage, wouldn’t you say, never an equal partnership. So-called equal partnerships simply lead to endless arguments about who’s caring for who.’

  Livvy, still in her nightie, but minus the dressing gown, was running across the grass. When she caught up with us she was out of breath.

  ‘Look, I wanted you to see, I thought it might help.’ She held out a photograph in a silver frame — the head and shoulders of a man with a handsome but reddish face, greying hair, and thick tufty eyebrows.

  ‘You can tell so much from a face, can’t you?’ she said, almost losing her balance in her excitement. ‘You can’t hide yourself, your face tells the world what you are. I know it sounds sacrilegious but sometimes I thought Tom could have been the new Messiah.’

  Chapter Ten

  ‘We’ll have to sell the house,’ said Erica. ‘It’s not just the upkeep, the council tax is exorbitant. Besides, I need the cash.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not the house.’ She sipped her colourless drink. ‘Just the thought of estate agents, solicitors, all that frightful business.’

  Kicking off her shoes, she crossed to the patio doors and peered into the garden. ‘I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. Sally nipped out to the local shop to buy some bits and pieces.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ I said, wanting to make the most of our time alone together. ‘So she’s feeling better, doesn’t mind going out on her own? Only last time I was here she said she felt too nervous to visit her friend.’

  ‘Mmm?’ Erica seemed to have no interest in what I was saying. ‘Tom paid all the bills,’ she said, running her tongue round the rim of the glass. ‘I expect you’ll think me very old-fashioned, but I preferred it that way. Naturally, I had accounts at several of the large stores, but as far as everyday things were concerned — well, he was so much more organized.’

  ‘You must miss him.’

  ‘You see, I’ve never had a job. You probably find that odd too. We were living in France when James was born. It suited me rather well, even better than it suited Tom, as a matter of fact. In those days …’ She stood up and fetched a bottle of tonic water, adding a dash to her drink. ‘Of course, it’s not easy being an artist these days. I mean, it’s all been done before, hasn’t it. Representational, abstract, conceptual, and now with computer graphics you can just twiddle a few knobs or whatever it is they do and, hey presto, instant art, just like Andy Warhol wanted us all to do!’

  ‘Is that one of your husband’s paintings?’ I asked, pointing at a large expressionist landscape, with solid blocks of colour, more or less representing the sky, the sea, and a headland. I was sure there had been no painting on that particular wall the last time I visited the house, but perhaps I had been too preoccupied to notice.

  ‘He was quite well thought of at one time,’ said Erica, draining her glass. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, would you like to join me?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘No? I often wonder how we’re supposed to live. Animals — I mean, other animals — well, it’s survival of the fittest, isn’t it, but can we really be so different? All this making allowances for people, understanding them, it’s an American idea I always think. They’d raised their standard of living as high as it could go, then realized people still got unhappy so decided they’d better start all those God-awful encounter groups and clinics where some psycho-fool thinks he can see inside other people’s heads.’

  I had no feeling that she was getting at me, it was just the ramblings of someone whose blood was kept permanently topped up with alcohol. But perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps she knew exactly what she was saying and the slurred talk was just a way of opting out of any responsibility for her choice of words.

  ‘We lived near Axbridge,’ she said. ‘Did I tell you that before? Tom was still only in his late thirties and if anything growing a little older had made him even more attractive. Silly to marry such an attractive man. Better to have a mad, passionate affair, then settle down with someone with a pleasant, reliable face.’

  ‘The day your husband died,’ I said, watching her carefully, ready to change the subject if I felt I was causing her unnecessary pain. ‘I believe he received a phone call quite early in the morning.’

  ‘Is that what Sally told you? There’s a phone in the hall.’ She jerked her head towards the door. ‘And another upstairs. Tom answered the downstairs one.’

  ‘You were still in bed?’

  She screwed up her face in a deliberate scowl. ‘And I didn’t listen on the extension if that’s what you were thinking, so there was nothing any of us could tell the police.’

  ‘Your husband seems to have had a lot of friends.’

  ‘Oh, he did,’ she said vaguely, ‘lame ducks and arty types, rather an odd mixture don’t you think? I think he wanted me to join the C of E but somehow I never quite got round to it. Not that you have to actually do anything. Just go to church, I suppose. Perhaps not even that. Sally was nine when it happened so James must have been just fifteen. Doing all those prints — I suppose, looking back, it was the beginning of the end. I thought his painting meant everything. I used to model for him, did I tell you, yes, I’m sure I did. Of course in those days.’ She patted her stomach. ‘They say people only remember the happy times, but I’ve never found that to be the case. Oh, I suppose when we lived in France …’

  ‘I met Clare Kilpatrick,’ I said. Perhaps, in the circumstances, it was not the most tactful thing to say, but she was becoming maudlin and that never did anyone much good. ‘She said your husband had helped her a lot, found her a place to live.’

  ‘Kilpatrick. Doesn’t ring a bell. One of Stephen’s parishioners, is she?’

  ‘She’s got a young baby. A boy called Cain.’

  ‘Cain? Sounds like a garden chair. Oh, Cain, as in the Bible, killed his brother, didn’t he, or was it the other way round?’

  James was standing in the doorway. He had a piece of toast and marmalade in his hand and the marmalade was sliding over his fingers. ‘Sally heard Dad’s end of the call. You know that, Mother, only she couldn’t remember a bloody word, not a single bloody word.’

  So he had been listening outside the door for several minutes.

  ‘Don’t talk like that, darling.’ Erica stretched out an arm and James moved towards her, cramming the remains of the toast into his mouth, then wiping his hand on his T-shirt.

  ‘I thought you’d come to talk to Sally,’ he said, glaring at me. ‘My mother hasn’t been well.’

  Erica’s eyelids drooped. ‘Dr McColl’s only doing her job, James. If she’s going to help Sally she needs to know as much as possible.’

  ‘About Dad’s accident?’ He stressed the word accident. ‘But one thing leads to another and by the time she’s finished the whole bloody family will have been psychoanalysed. Anyway, she’s not here to help us, she’s working for the pigs.’

  Erica laughed, leaning back in her chair and lifting both feet off the ground. ‘You’ll have to excuse my son, Dr McColl. He believes in doing your own thing, and that usually includes being extremely rude.’

  James was standing by the window. He felt in the pocket of his jeans and took out a handful of coins. ‘Col needs paying,’ he said, ‘how much have you got in your bag?’

  ‘Oh, not today, love. I gave my last fiver to Sally.’

  ‘If he’s not paid soon he’ll leave.’

  ‘No, he won’t, he loves coming here.’

  Erica had an amused expression on her face, but James reacted angrily. ‘Oh, don’t talk such rubbish. Why d’you have to make everything into some kind of stupid …’

  ‘Hush, darling, not in front of our visitor.’

  James had left the window and was sitting on the arm of his mother’s chair. I thought about the cassette with it
s dreary numbers about women who led men on, then let them down. Had it been James who sent it, and if so did it have some special significance I had failed to appreciate?

  ‘You want to know about my father?’ he said suddenly. ‘How would you describe him, Mother? Larger than life? He liked to be on the go all the time. Artists are usually introverts.’ He raised his head to look at me, and for once his expression was fairly pleasant. ‘Dad liked plenty of people around. He was a diabetic but he never let that interfere with anything he wanted to do.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose that’s a fair description.’ Erica reached for a decanter and poured out what was left, splashing a fair amount of it on the carpet.

  ‘If you have a lot of friends you’re going to have one or two enemies,’ said James, standing up, listening. ‘Sounds like Sally. Look, why don’t you go and lie down for a bit, Mother. I’ll stay here and make sure she’s OK.’

  Erica held out her arms to be pulled to her feet.

  ‘Will this be your last visit?’ she asked, lurching towards me, then regaining her balance as James leapt forward to help.

  ‘I’m not sure. I shall have to talk to the police, but if Sally’s remembered everything she’s likely to, I hope I won’t have to trouble you much longer.’

  ‘Oh, it’s no trouble,’ said Erica. ‘Apparently Ros Bryce can’t speak highly enough. You’ve certainly made a conquest there.’

  *

  Fay Somers had invited me to dinner. As I drove out to Eastbury I tried to make sense of my latest conversation with Sally. She had seemed nervous, on edge, made a huge effort to convince James she was all right and there was no need for him to stay in the room, then kept glancing towards the closed door, as if she thought someone might be eavesdropping. At one point she had scuttled across the room and yanked it open, but there was no one there.

  She had told me the colour of the car, now she was not so sure. And the smell of perfume — she could have imagined it. If she had to go to court would they make her swear on the Bible? Supposing she had remembered wrong?

  ‘You only have to speak the truth,’ I said. ‘If you’re not sure you can say so.’

  But nothing I said seemed to reassure her. When I told her it was time to stop she looked relieved, then made me promise I would come back in a few days’ time.

  ‘I mean, I might wake up in the night and find something had come back to me.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose that’s always possible.’ I decided it would be unkind to point out that if she did remember anything important she could always phone the CID. She looked so pale and anxious. When I first came to the house she had seemed afraid of me. Now she seemed to see me as an ally, someone who would protect her from the police, give her some moral support.

  As I was leaving, a car drew up and Ros Bryce climbed out, looking grim-faced, then, when she saw who I was, seemed distinctly uncomfortable. Quickly adjusting her expression she walked over to tell me how much better Livvy was feeling.

  ‘It was so kind of you to come all that distance, Anna. I do hope you don’t feel I put any pressure on you. I was thinking, I have an appointment with you next week but do you think Livvy could have it instead?’

  My instinct was to refuse. I had no wish to see Livvy again, whereas Ros was someone I felt I could help. On the other hand, from Ros’s point of view, finding someone who could see Livvy was probably the thing that would help Ros herself the most.

  ‘Yes, all right, if that’s what you want.’

  She hesitated, afraid she had annoyed me. ‘I’ll bring her, if you don’t mind. Otherwise I doubt if she’ll come.’

  ‘Whatever you think best.’ I started winding up the car window. ‘I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with all this, just when you needed some peace and quiet.’

  Turning the corner, I slowed down, and was just in time to see Erica coming out of the house. Were they old friends? I doubted it. They were too different, one who had chosen to anaesthetize herself with alcohol, the other grimly determined to fight on, even though her life too had been turned upside down …

  I drove past the turning to Fay Somers’s road and had to reverse into a side road, then return the way I had come. I had been invited to dinner and it was only after I had accepted the invitation that I had learned that Fay’s landlady had also been invited, as her husband was away on business. Fay thought it would be fun — we three girls — but I was afraid the whole evening might turn out to be a bit of a bore.

  I was late. Before leaving home I had been attempting to fill up the space on an airmail letter to Owen. Martin’s shingles and the fact that Dawn Rivers seemed to be going from bad to worse had covered half a side, but what else could I tell him? Explaining my involvement with the Luckham family was too complicated, quite apart from the fact that Owen resented what he referred to as my ‘suspiciously stormy’ relationship with Superintendent Fry.

  I thought about Howard and how I would have to tell him Sally had changed her mind about the colour of the car. It would have the effect of making him doubt everything she had come up with so far. I would be reminded how there was still no lead on the missing girl, how any day now another girl might be abducted, and how the Assistant Chief Constable had been pinning his hopes on, as he called it, ‘a cure for Sally’s amnesia’. But it wasn’t amnesia. As far as I could tell, she had recalled everything she had taken in at that time. Some children have eidetic imagery — they can see an image of a picture for forty-five seconds after it is taken away from them and report it in detail — but Sally showed no signs of having this ability. Her conflicting accounts of the event could be put down to a generalized fear, or a dread of having to appear in court. Or was it possible — something she always denied vehemently — that she believed her assailant might discover she had provided a good description and lie in wait for her?

  The house where Fay was staying was halfway up a hill. There was nowhere to park so I drove on until I managed to find a side road not exclusively allocated to house-owners with permits, then started walking back.

  I had forgotten the name of Fay’s landlady. Jane? Judy? It turned out to be Jill, a woman in her forties who looked faintly familiar, although it was clear she had never met me before. Perhaps she reminded me of someone else. Fay introduced us, telling each of us a few facts about the other. Anna’s a clinical psychologist. She lives in Cliftonwood and I met her friend, Owen Hughes, when I was back home. Then it was Jill’s turn to be described. Jill runs a day nursery for kids from birth to four years old. There’s a waiting list as long as your arm but they’re restricted by limitations of space and the staff they can afford to pay.

  ‘We get a small grant,’ said Jill, ‘and various charities help, but really it’s something the council should have taken over long ago.’

  ‘Oh, you wouldn’t want that.’ Fay was passing round glasses of icy cold white wine. She was dressed in a rather unflattering skirt that had been gathered in a bunch at the waist, and a brightly coloured shirt with a pattern of fishes and waves. In contrast, Jill’s clothes were in various shades of grey: light grey cotton trousers, held up by a dark grey belt, and a plain grey T-shirt with a V-neck. She was very thin, with tiny breasts and incredibly thin arms. It occurred to me that she could even be anorexic, but if that was the case would she have agreed to eat a meal prepared by Fay?

  ‘Listen,’ Fay was saying. ‘I’m no great shakes as a cook but I can manage a seafood pasta. On the other hand, if anyone’s allergic to squid I can always rustle up some alternative dishes.’

  Jill and I both made the kind of appreciative noises designed to reassure the cook, then Jill started asking about my work.

  ‘There’s three of us,’ I said, ‘but Martin, who’s in charge of the unit, is off sick at present.’

  ‘That must be difficult.’

  ‘Yes, they’ve let us have a replacement, someone called Dawn, but of course it’s hard for the clients who were seeing Martin.’

  ‘Dawn,’ Jill repeated. ‘I knew a psyc
hologist called Dawn Rivers.’

  ‘Yes, that’s the one’ I felt a twinge of guilt.

  Jill blushed, putting up her hand to cover the cheek nearest to me. Had she been one of Dawn’s clients?

  ‘Your husband works for a bank, doesn’t he?’ I said, changing the subject.

  ‘Financial services. He’s on a course, learning how to make even more money for the bank, persuading people to invest in unit trusts.’

  The rest of the house had been very quiet, then a sudden burst of music shattered the silence and Jill sprang up and made for the door.

  ‘Oh, leave them,’ said Fay. ‘When they’ve made their point they’ll turn it down, you’ll see.’

  Jill glanced at me, then sat down again. ‘I’ll slip down later,’ she said, ‘just to make sure they’re in bed. I expect Fay told you I have two boys, Alistair and Neil. I’d have loved a girl, but there you are, can’t have everything.’

  ‘Oh, but they’re sweet boys,’ said Fay.

  The noise had been reduced to a steady beat and a droning voice.

  ‘This nursery you run,’ I asked, ‘I suppose people have to leave quite young babies with you so they can go back to work?’

  ‘Sometimes it can’t be avoided. I try to encourage mothers to stay at home for the first three months, but that’s not always possible, especially since most of our clients are single parents.’

  ‘But not all?’ asked Fay. ‘I thought they’d get first choice and that would just about fill up your list.’

  Jill started to explain how they also took children from families with particular problems, like a mother or father with a serious disability, or a parent in prison, and at that point I interrupted to say I had met Clare Kilpatrick quite recently and she was full of praise for the day nursery.

  ‘You know Clare?’ Had I imagined it, or was there a touch of anxiety in Jill’s voice?

  ‘I’ve only met her once,’ I said. ‘She told me about a man called Tom Luckham and how he had befriended her, helped her to find some accommodation.’