‘I’m very grateful, Mrs Carberry. Thank you.’
She looked at him anxiously, ‘I never led him on, Colonel. Please believe me. I’m telling you the truth about that.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I know you are.’
The Major was counting sheep. He’d been trying to get to sleep for at least an hour while the old girl was busy driving her pigs to market alongside him. He’d prodded her several times, but it never did any good. Damn it, she was like a trooper after a night out on the tiles. Flat on her back, mouth wide open, dead to the world.
He turned over again, tugging hard at the sheets – not that it did any good either. She held on to them like a bulldog.
Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three …
He lost count somewhere in the sixties and had to start all over again.
One, two, three, four, five …
He didn’t know how it was with other people but his sheep were always coming through a gap in a hedge in single file, all following their leader who was obviously the only bright tool in the box. He didn’t see how it would be possible to count them if they were herded together, milling around.
Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen …
The whisky glasses he’d bought from Seek and Find had been a big success. Even Marjorie had approved of them and so far she hadn’t broken one. He’d go back and tell Claudia so, as soon as he got a chance. He wouldn’t say no to another game of hide-and-seek with her.
Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one …
Marjorie’s pigs weren’t the only thing keeping him awake. He couldn’t stop thinking about the murder of Lawrence Deacon. All that blood and violence in an English country garden! You expected it in foreign countries – anywhere south of Calais – but not here, and among the tomatoes, for God’s sake! He’d had a couple of bad nightmares lately and he didn’t fancy having another one. Might be better to stay awake. Not that there was anything to worry about. The police had found the lunatic and got him safely behind bars. Jacob wasn’t going to be coming round to Shangri-La with another spade.
Something still niggled, though. That woman he’d seen in the distance at the Manor. Just a glimpse, nothing more. She’d been there and then she was gone. The Colonel had kept asking questions about her but there’d been nothing to tell him. She’d rung a bell of some kind but that’s all he could say. Damned annoying.
He stopped counting sheep and lay in the dark, eyes wide open, trying to remember. What was it about her? Think, think, think!
It came to him suddenly. He hadn’t recognized her because she’d looked quite different from how she usually looked. And now that he thought more about it, he realized who she was. Worth a mention to the Colonel in the morning, in case he was still interested, though he couldn’t see how it could help.
The old girl was turning over, rolling away from him like a felled oak, which usually signalled the arrival at the market. A few last pigs were driven into the pen and there was blessed silence. The Major closed his eyes and slept.
The Colonel walked across the village green in the direction of The Close. The U-boat binoculars, reduced to their post-war landlocked role in Lupin Cottage, had, he felt sure, tracked him every step of the way.
Sheila Turner’s bungalow came after Journey’s End, The Nook, Tree Tops, and Shangri-La, its dullness relieved by a splendid pink pelargonium growing in a blue pot outside the front door. He knocked quietly and waited for the door to be opened.
‘I wonder if I might come in for a moment, Mrs Turner?’
She stared up at him, very small and very white-faced. Skin and bone, as the Major had remarked. She looked as though the proverbial puff of wind would blow her over.
‘Johnny’s not here. He’s at the Manor, working.’
‘I know. I wanted to speak to you alone.’
‘Oh … I see.’
He followed her into the sitting room with its cheery patterns and bright colours. ‘What did you want to speak to me about, Colonel?’
‘Jacob.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘The man who works in the gardens at the Manor.’
‘But I don’t know anything about him.’
‘He’s being held by the police because they believe he murdered Lawrence Deacon. He could be tried and sent to prison for a crime he didn’t commit.’
‘Well, Johnny had nothing to do with it – if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘I’m not. I know that Johnny didn’t kill Mr Deacon, but he had a lot to do with his murder.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He was the reason. Your reason, Mrs Turner. The Major saw you while he was searching for a plant for his wife. You told me yourself that you’d do anything for your son. Dr and Mrs Harvey had given Johnny a lifeline, working at the Manor, and Lawrence Deacon was deliberately taking it away. You had to stop that happening.’
She rocked on her feet and the Colonel put a hand under her arm.
‘Why don’t you sit down?’
He sat beside her. When she started to speak again, head bent, he could scarcely hear her words.
‘Johnny had been in a dark place ever since his accident … I thought I’d lost him forever, but when he went to work in the Manor gardens he found something to live for. I was so happy for him. I thought everything was going to be all right after all. I had this dream, you see. I was going to buy a car and learn to drive and then I was going to take Johnny anywhere he wanted to go. Just him and me. And when I told him about it, Johnny thought it was a wonderful idea. I hadn’t seen him excited like that since before his accident. We got the road map out and started to look up all the places he’d like to see. We even made a long list of them. It was our secret plan.’
‘It sounds a very good one.’
‘But then Mr Deacon started to say horrible things to Johnny.’
‘What sort of things?’
‘How glad he was that Johnny would never be able to walk again. How pleased he was that he would be a cripple for the rest of his life. He told Johnny that his only son had been killed riding on the back of a motor bike but the driver, who had been his friend, had survived without a scratch. His own life had been wrecked by the loss, he said, but now, he’d be able to watch Johnny suffer, like the boy who’d killed his son should have suffered. It was justice at last, and he was going to enjoy it.’
‘Did Johnny tell you what Mr Deacon had said?’
‘Yes, he told me. And then he went back into his dark place. He wouldn’t talk about Mr Deacon, or about the Manor gardens, or about the books that Mrs Harvey had been lending him, or about our secret plan, or about anything else to me. I’d lost him again and I didn’t know what to do.’
The Colonel said quietly, ‘What happened on the day that Mr Deacon died?’
Her voice sank even lower.
‘I’d taken Johnny to work at the Manor and later I went back to see if I could find Mr Deacon. He was in one of the greenhouses. I begged him not to say such cruel things to Johnny and I told him the dreadful damage he’d done to him. But he didn’t care. Johnny would have to get used to being a cripple, he said. He’d only himself to blame for what had happened and he’d have to pay the price for ever.’
She started to sob. The Colonel gave her his handkerchief. He waited, and after a while she went on.
When she’d left the greenhouse after pleading with Mr Deacon, Jacob had been waiting outside, she said. He had run away when he’d seen her but he had left his spade behind. She’d picked it up and gone back inside. Mr Deacon had been sitting on the stool with his back turned to her. She’d hit him over the head as hard as she could. She didn’t know how many times. She couldn’t remember. She didn’t care. She’d done it for Johnny. She’d never meant Jacob to be blamed. It had all been for Johnny. For Johnny. For Johnny.
The Colonel put his arm around her shoulders.
FIFTEEN
‘I’d never have thought her capable of it, Hugh,’ Naomi said, taking a restorativ
e swig from her glass.
‘Nor would I. But pushing the wheelchair had made her very strong.’
‘I didn’t mean physical strength. I meant guts and nerve. Sheila always seemed such a quiet little thing. Never said boo to a goose.’
‘Deacon threatened her son’s chance of happiness.’
‘So she let him have it with both barrels. Good for her. I might have done it myself if I’d known he was such a bastard. But what happens now?’
‘The Inspector has her confession and Jacob has been released.’
‘I hope Squabb was suitably grateful to you.’
‘Squibb, not Squabb. No, he wasn’t.’
‘No surprises there. But what about Johnny? It doesn’t end very well for him, does it?’
‘Tom and Ruth are coming to the rescue. Tom’s arranged for him to go to a special hostel and Ruth has persuaded him to carry on working at the Manor – for the time being at least. They’re going to keep him under their wing.’
‘You’ll help him, too, won’t you, Hugh?’
‘In any way I can.’
‘What about his poor mother?’
‘I think the courts will treat her as leniently as possible.’
‘Are you sure she did it, Hugh? Why weren’t her fingerprints on the spade as well as Jacob’s?’
‘She wore gloves, Naomi. That’s why. Pushing the wheelchair gave her blisters so she always kept a pair of old cotton gloves in her pocket. She told me that she put them on before she touched the spade.’
‘So, she knew what she was doing. Or rather going to do.’
‘She would have done anything for Johnny.’
They sat in a thoughtful silence on the terrace, watching the sun going down.
‘Well, you solved the mystery in the end, Hugh.’
‘No, I didn’t. Freda Butler provided the essential clues, together with Tanya Carberry who told me what she knew about Deacon, and the Major finally realized that Johnny’s mother was the woman he’d seen at the Manor.’
‘How did he work that out?’
‘He hadn’t recognized her before because she had looked completely different. He’d been used to seeing her bent over the handles of the wheelchair, pushing hard. He hadn’t recognized her out of context and standing upright.’
Another silence.
‘The other half, Naomi?’
‘I wouldn’t say no.’
He re-filled their glasses.
Naomi said, ‘I hear Joyce Reed’s flat is up for sale. I suppose she’ll move somewhere else with all the trophies and carry on pretending that the husband hasn’t dumped her.’
‘How did you know about that?’
‘Come on, Hugh, the whole village knew! And so did you, only you’ve been too nice to say a word. If I could say one to her it would be not to bother any more. She’s much better off without him. Or try being a widow, for a change. I can recommend it. By the way, did you know that Tanya is going off on a cruise?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Wild horses couldn’t drag me near any of those ghastly boats, but apparently she and her late husband had always planned to go on one. She’ll be gone for two months. All the way to Australia and all the way back again. Same people, same food, same everything. Can you imagine anything more boring? Still, maybe she’ll meet a decent man. There’s always the faint chance. And, speaking of chance, Hugh, did you hear the Major has won a holiday?’
Another unknown.
‘No.’
‘First prize in a raffle. That animal shelter thing that Freda Butler was flogging tickets for. He’s won a week for two at a luxury hotel in Barcelona. I thought Marjorie would hate the whole idea and refuse to go with him, but apparently she’s all in favour. Already packing her suitcase. Poor old Major! His one chance of glorious freedom gone down the plughole. Just as well, really. I’m not sure he’d know what to do with it. I see your herbs are coming along nicely, Hugh. I hope you’re making good use of them.’
‘When I remember.’
Naomi squinted at the pig trough. ‘Room for one more, I’d say, now that you’ve tamed the mint. You could try tarragon. It’s jolly good with chicken. Miss Jekyll’s looking happy over there. You’ve been taking good care of her.’
‘I do my best.’
‘How’s Thursday these days?’
‘Not eating properly and getting even thinner. I’m taking him to the vet tomorrow.’
She looked thoughtfully into her glass.
‘Thursday won’t thank you for that, of course, Hugh, but it’s the one thing you can do for him that he can’t do for himself.’
‘I know.’
The vet dealt expertly with Thursday’s spitting, clawing fury. The Colonel listened to his calm summation of the facts and thanked him before he took his cat away. When he let Thursday out of the pet carrier into the Pond Cottage garden he stalked off in a huff.
Susan answered the phone at once.
‘I was hoping it might be you, Father. Have you finished with that local problem?’
‘Yes, it’s been resolved.’
‘Good. Then you’ll be free to come and stay, like you promised?’
He said, ‘I’m extremely sorry, Susan, but I can’t yet.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘I can’t leave Thursday.’
‘Thursday? But I thought you’d be coming on Saturday so you can see more of Marcus.’
‘I’m talking about the cat that lives with me. It’s his name.’
‘That mangy old stray! Why can’t someone else feed him? Or he could go into a cattery.’
‘He’s very ill, Susan. He’s dying. I can’t leave him.’
‘Surely he doesn’t mean more to you than your own grandchildren, Father?’
She was upset and angry and he couldn’t blame her.
‘No. But I’m all he’s got.’
An exasperated intake of breath.
‘Well, how long is he going to take?’
‘I’m afraid the vet doesn’t know precisely.’
It was always hard to judge, the vet had told him. The important thing was not to let things drag on too long. Not to risk Thursday going off to hide up somewhere, as cats like him, big and small, tended to do towards the end. Not to let him suffer unnecessarily alone. The Colonel would know when it was reaching that point and must call him. He’d come over to Pond Cottage straight away.
After finishing the difficult conversation with his daughter-in-law, the Colonel went out into the garden. He found Thursday lying in the shade under the bench by the pond. The old cat was lying stretched out on his side and lifted his head at his approach.
The Colonel sat down and stroked him gently between his ears.
‘Hallo, old fellow. Don’t worry. I won’t be leaving you.’
The Lifeline Page 19