Dead Suited

by Jean G. Goodhind

  At first her mother was furious when she found out Rachel had left university. Carl was charm itself when they’d been introduced. He’d told her how he’d found Rachel the perfect job and how they were living together prior to setting up a home.

  ‘In time we’ll get married and have a family, but as I am sure you will agree, it’s early days. We’re a born for each other couple who are really going places, but ultimately I shall be the breadwinner. In the meantime we have to get used to living together, balancing our jobs and our home life. I truly believe that is the only way to ensure a marriage lasts. Don’t you agree Mrs Doherty?’

  Of course she’d agreed. She’d even remarked she wished her and Rachel’s father had experienced a trial marriage before the real thing.

  ‘Him being a police officer, the job always seemed to come first.’

  Carl had been taken aback at mention of her father being a police officer.

  ‘I would have got round to telling you,’ she’d said to him, her stomach churning at the thought of him dumping her just because her mother had opened her mouth.

  ‘As if it makes a difference,’ he’d said. ‘I feel sorry for your mother, waiting around for a man with no set routine.’

  Carl had been so understanding of her mother and so attentive, sympathising with the life she must have led before her marriage had broken up.

  Her mother adored him and had taken her aside before they’d left for London.

  ‘All I wonder is what your father is going to think, especially you leaving university.’

  Rachel had begged her not to tell him about leaving university or about Carl, or about the new job. Her mother had promised not to breathe a word.

  ‘I have to tell him myself.’

  Back in Carl’s presence before leaving, her mother had asked about her job. ‘What exactly do you do, Rachel?’

  Before she’d had a chance to respond, Carl had interjected.

  ‘She’s a city slicker and she loves it. Don’t you, darling?’

  His arm had been around her. She’s felt his fingers tightening on her arm reminding her how important it was to consider her answer.

  ‘Yes. I’m at the heart of everything and really love it,’ she’d said, her face beaming with enthusiasm. The truth stayed hidden inside. The fact was she didn’t much like the job at all. She’d never intended to go into an office, especially a job in a financial institution, but Carl had been insistent.

  ‘I’m disappointed with you,’ he’d said on the journey back to London. ‘You didn’t sound very enthusiastic about your job. You didn’t sound very grateful either. I’m upset, Rach. Very upset.’

  She hated him shortening her name. She’d told him she hated being called Rach and braved the opportunity to tell him so.

  ‘I like being the only one allowed to call you Rach. I am special to you, aren’t I, Rach?’

  She’d given in. She always gave in.

  ‘Are you listening?’

  She jerked her thoughts back from what had happened to what might happen next.

  ‘Your father will be pleased to see how professional you look. As a policeman he’ll also be pleased that we’re heading for a traditional marriage. That’s the basic outline for our meeting. Support me, Rach. Don’t forget to support me.’

  Rachel nodded over the pasta dish he had ordered for her. She hated pasta, but Carl insisted that she only thought she didn’t like it. ‘Your palate is uneducated. With my help you will discover how much you like it. Trust me.’

  She said that of course she trusted him. He wanted her to be something special and for him she would be. She’d even agreed to become proficient at making Italian dishes because he loved them.

  Rachel couldn’t help the queasiness in her stomach. Her mother had fallen for Carl’s charm hook, line and sinker. No matter how much Carl outlined his plans for convincing her father, she couldn’t help fearing that in this case he might be wrong.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The Pump Rooms echoed to the sound of female chatter and tinkling tea cups. A little Vivaldi played by a string quartet competed for air space, but on the whole remained a soft sound in the background.

  After her mother had introduced her, Honey took her place up on the rostrum.

  Once the applause had died down, Honey prepared herself.

  ‘I never wanted to be involved in crime, but was given the chance – railroaded into to some extent – though on the right side of the law. Crime Liaison Officer on behalf of Bath Hotels Association. As you all know, visitors come from all over the world to our lovely city...’

  She went on to talk about crime and its affect on tourism.

  There was a round of applause afterwards. Honey saw her mother casting a jaundiced eye on those who weren’t clapping hard enough. She strode over to the tables of those still engaged in conversation and had a word in their ears.

  After the talk came a cream tea. This was the part Honey really had been looking forward to.

  According to the seating plan, she was seated next to her mother, which wasn’t where she wanted to be.

  On arrival she’d told her mother that the seating plan didn’t fit in with her plans.

  ‘I need to sit next to Grace Pauling. Can you arrange that?’

  Her mother’s hair was ash blonde and cut in a fetching bob. Her outfit was Jaeger; turquoise top trimmed in mink coloured satin, her skirt a darker shade of the same colour. The shoes and handbag matched the mink trim.

  Her mother had been in the act of greeting a titled lady and a few other women who she deemed a bit more noteworthy than the general membership. Her mother had always been a snob. She couldn’t help herself.

  Honey waited for rebuttal or disappointment. What she hadn’t expected was that what she wanted slotted in with her mother’s plans.

  ‘Oh, Hannah, I am so glad you don’t mind swapping. Patricia placed The Right Honourable Esme Tolliver next to Grace Pauling.’ She shook her head despairingly. ‘I don’t know what she was thinking of placing a Right Honourable next to a shopkeeper’s daughter.’

  ‘A tailor, mother. Her father was a tailor.’

  ‘Yes. With a shop.’

  ‘As a hotel owner, does your daughter rank lower than a Right Honourable...?’

  Either her mother didn’t hear or as per usual didn’t perceive the irony in her daughter’s statement. Happy as a lark, she’d immediately set to swapping the name cards. In addition she’d guided the Right Honourable lady to a place at her side on what passed for the head table. Honey was left to find her own way.

  The women at the table had introduced themselves one by one, leaning as close as they dared on account of their hearing not being top notch.

  Grace Pauling had no need to shout or lean close. She was sitting right next to her in her wheel chair wearing a red dress and eye popping jewellery – far too ostentatious for daytime. Honey couldn’t help thinking that if she wasn’t in a wheelchair she’d make a good croupier or anything else in a night club for that matter. She wasn’t bad looking and could be better if she wasn’t wearing so much makeup.

  Honey introduced herself as being Gloria’s daughter. ‘Though we have met before,’ she added.

  ‘You’re not one of my clients are you?’

  Grace’s eyes seemed to light up at the prospect of how many hours she might be billing this woman.

  ‘No. We were both at the press conference outside Tern and Pauling when the prize was presented. I was also in the company of Detective Inspector Doherty viewing the crime scene. You came in there immediately behind Mr Arnold Tern.’

  Grace’s smile froze. Her glittering eyes turned glassy as closed windows with the curtains drawn. She could see out but nobody was allowed to see in.

  Honey attempted to get a response. ‘It was a fantastic window display. Full of drama, don’t you think?’

  She smiled as she said it, her tone as reassuring as it could possibly be.

  Grace’s closed expression dim
inished. Honey deduced that it wouldn’t take much for it to return. Whatever she asked this woman had to be cloaked in niceties. Sweetness and light were the watch words.

  ‘I suppose it was a very good display. Very dramatic.’

  ‘I hear it was designed by one of his girlfriends.’

  ‘You heard wrong,’ Grace snapped. ‘He designed it himself. He knew what he wanted.’

  ‘That’s interesting.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘I understand you knew him very well, though of course that’s understandable seeing as your fathers’ were in business together.’

  ‘Up until my father died.’

  ‘A tragic accident I hear.’

  She waved a hand over her legs. ‘Our family’s prone to them.’

  Honey chose not to enquire about her accident judging that if Grace wanted to impart details she would do it of her own volition.

  ‘Would you like more cakes?’

  The woman sitting on Honey’s left hand side pushed the cake stand her way. Chocolate eclairs, iced fancy cakes, meringues and glazed fruit tarts were set out on each tier of the cake stand.

  Honey had promised herself not to get diverted by food. After all she was here on serious business.

  Her resolve failed. ‘Just a small one.’

  Grace declined both a cake and tea or coffee. Instead she reached for a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon pouring herself a generous glass.

  ‘I recall you at the shop now, though can’t recall you from the prize presentation.’

  The statement came just as Honey was biting into a glazed fruit tart.

  ‘Purely in a civilian capacity. It was pure coincidence that I was asked to judge the window displays.’

  ‘And you liked the highwayman theme.’

  When she came out from draining half her wine glass, Grace was wearing a knowing smirk.

  ‘There’s something romantic about a masked man from that particular period of history when women wore silk dresses and tight corsets..’

  ‘I think you mean sexy and have to agree with you. A highwayman is very sexy. Women like it. We...he...Nigel that is, guessed it would appeal to female judges. Nigel always did know what buttons to push to get what he wanted.’

  ‘Especially women?’

  Grace drained her glass without answering. There was something going on in her eyes that Honey found difficult to read. There was also a strange smile on her face, a lifting of one corner of her lips.

  ‘Oh yes. He knew alright.’

  It crossed Honey’s mind that Grace could easily be one of those scorned women, motivated by a failed love affair to take his life. Obviously she was in no fit state to do so.

  Honey tried another tack. ‘Nigel’s father doesn’t seem unduly upset which seems a little odd for a parent towards their child. Is there any particular reason they weren’t very close?’

  Grace laughed at the same time reaching for the bottle of white wine which she seemed to have claimed for her sole use.

  ‘The thing you have to remember about Nigel and his father is that they are – or rather – were very much alike. The old man might not agree with that, but the proof of the pudding so to speak...’

  Grace took a gulp of her second – or was it third – glass of wine.

  Honey said nothing. This was a time for sitting and listening.

  The wine ably loosened Grace’s tongue.

  ‘They didn’t have the same views about how the business should proceed. I mean, Nigel wanted it modernised and the old man wanted it to stay traditional. Loyal to our esteemed clients, as old Arnold was fond of saying. The fact is that Nigel had upset a few clients. The old man said he was too familiar with them, treating them like human beings and accepting that approach to be reciprocal. Unfortunately for some people a title is all they have in the world.’

  Grace again reached for the wine. There was about a third left.

  ‘Anyone in particular?’

  Grace took a deep breath then a large sip.

  ‘Donald Parquet for a start. He’s had to turn his hand to woodwork and let his stables and outhouses out to a host of would be artisans.’ She chuckled into her drink. ‘People who think they are more skilled than what they are. I would guess that most of them are drawing state benefits at the same time as earning a bit on the side at craft fairs and such like.’

  So! Donald Parquet was on his uppers. He seemed like a nice boy and who could condemn him for trying?

  Honey rested her chin on her hand, her eyes intently studying Grace’s now flushed face.

  ‘Anyone else?’

  ‘Gunther Malham.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘He’s not titled, or not as far as I know. Gunther comes from one of the Scandinavian countries I think. Not sure how he got his money but he’s got a lot of it. He’s also very blonde and good looking. So are his daughters. Nigel seduced them both.’

  ‘Naughty boy.’

  ‘He also seduced the mother.’

  ‘VERY naughty boy. I take it Mr Malham was very pissed off.’

  ‘Very. He swore never to go into the shop again. He also swore he would inform a number of Nigel’s other clients. You see Gunther knows a lot of people, not because he has a title, but because he has a lot of money. People go to him for loans. He gets asked to all the best country house weekends, shooting, hunting and all that. He also keeps an eighty two foot Oyster sailing yacht on the south coast. You can take it that Gunther could cause a lot of trouble with old and new money alike. That was why Nigel decided to update and modernise the business. The only fly in the ointment would be the old man. Nigel didn’t dare tell him the reason they were losing clients, namely that Nigel couldn’t keep his dick in his trousers.’

  The last comment was delivered with a bitter expression, as though Grace was looking inwards and remembering something very vividly.

  Honey nodded. ‘I see.’

  The conversation had delayed her indulging in the remains of the glazed fruit tart, but meaty gossip deserved a just dessert, i.e. something sweet and naughty. She tucked in.

  ‘So he had no choice but to modernise and dare not let the old man know.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Grace drained the bottle. Honey had never seen anyone finish a bottle of wine that quickly. Was Grace going back to work after lunch, she wondered?

  ‘Luckily for Nigel, the old man took ill. One thing after another resulting in pneumonia. I can tell you, it gave Nigel the jitters when the old man insisted on coming home. He brightened up when it became apparent that the old man was still out of it most of the time.’

  ‘From the illness or the drugs?’

  Grace shrugged. ‘No idea. Ask the nurse...what’s her name? Edwina Cayford. The cleaner come nurse.’ Her sneer held enough sarcasm to sink a ferry. ‘Nurse my ass! I don’t know if Nigel had her too; he said not, but that doesn’t mean a thing. Dark or fair, he couldn’t resist.’

  Her voice was subdued, but still some of those at the table heard what she’d said. Decorous bosoms heaved. Wrinkled mouths pursed in disapproval.

  Honey didn’t need to ask whether Grace thought the nurse was inveigling herself into old Mr Tern affections.

  ‘Must want something...an old wrinkled body like that.’ A slow smile cruised across Grace’s lips. ‘Not worth having. Too old. Too past it. But then, the Tern Trust is awash with property and money. She probably knows that.’

  Honey wondered at Grace’s sex life. Regardless of her disability, Honey was sure she had one unless she drank so much wine to dull her urges?

  It wasn’t really her place to ask and Doherty had already questioned Grace about the old man’s intention to change the will. It wouldn’t hurt to play ignorant and ask a few relevant questions.

  ‘I shouldn’t imagine Mr Arnold was too pleased when he found out about his son’s plans. Parents have altered their wills for less.’

  Grace had started another bottle of wine. She’d pushed the cakes away to the far side of the tabl
e. Taking Honey by surprise, she leaned close, a loose smile on her face, her arm snaking around Honey’s shoulders. To anyone who didn’t know them, it might seem as though they were close friends.

  Grace whispered into her ear.

  ‘And good old Arnold was no exception! The old man phoned me the day Nigel learned of winning the prize. He was furious. He told me to visit and that he was going to change his will.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘Yes, but later, a few days after Nigel was discovered hanging from his own gallows.’

  ‘What a turn up,’ said Honey, sitting back in her chair. ‘I wonder who the new beneficiary is.’

  Grace poured another glass from the bottle. Honey noticed it was half finished. She also noticed that Grace hadn’t offered her a drop.

  Grace raised her glass in a toast and beamed at her.

  ‘The daughter of Arnold’s old partner gets the lot! Lock, stock, bank deposits and property. The will’s drawn up. All Mr Arnold has to do is to sign it!’

  ‘And he hasn’t done that yet?’

  ‘No! He bloody well has not!’

  Honey laughed and shook her head. ‘Nigel Tern was most definitely a very naughty boy – into all sorts of things so it seems.’

  Grace frowned and focused her with bleary eyes.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘For instance did you know that the gallows on which Nigel Tern died was built before he’d entered for the window display competition?’

  ‘So what does that prove?’ Grace Pauling’s face gave nothing away, except Honey perceived the throbbing of a nerve close to the woman’s hairline. Grace too was obviously aware of it, touching it before disguising the gesture by running her fingers through her hair. Could have been the effect of the wine of course, or it could be...