A Death in the Family (18 page)

Christine, who had let me in, took me around introducing me (‘This is Sheila Prior, my father’s cousin’) to the various people. The names, of course, meant nothing to me, or mine to them, and, burdened in my turn with plate and glass, I stood uncomfortably making the sort of small talk one does on such occasions. It became apparent, as I spoke to various people, that the more bizarre aspect of Bernard’s death had not been made public, since everyone made some reference to the heart attack, expressing surprise (‘Never knew Bernard had a heart condition. Just goes to show…’), but I imagine Christine wouldn’t have wanted anything that might have been regarded as scandalous connected with her father, or, indeed, herself, and I didn’t think that Janet would have had any say in the matter. Escaping from the tedious proceedings for a moment, I went over to the table by the window to put my glass down.

‘Hello, I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m Jonathan Taylor, Christine’s husband.’

I turned and saw the tall man who’d been standing by Christine at the service holding out his hand.

‘How do you do,’ I replied formally, and went on to make some trite remark about it being a sad occasion.

‘Yes, indeed,’ he said in a way that suggested he was used to agreeing with whoever he happened to be speaking to.

‘Christine has organised everything quite splendidly,’ I said. ‘Janet must be very pleased to have it all done so well. It’s always such a difficult time.’

‘Yes indeed,’ he said again, adding after a pause, ‘Christine’s very good at organising things.’

‘She was most efficient down at Taviscombe when her father – died.’ I wasn’t sure how much even Christine’s husband had been allowed to know. ‘Things were quite complicated and she was most helpful.’

He smiled politely but made no comment, possibly because just then Christine came up to us saying, ‘Jonathan, Mr Purvis is going now,’ and led him away.

Gradually the other guests left and, finally, Christine, with admonitions to her mother to leave all the clearing up to the caterers (‘Who will be calling at five’), took her husband away and Janet and I were left alone.

‘Goodness,’ Janet said, ‘I thought they’d never go. Would you like a glass of wine?’

‘No thanks, I’ve got to drive home. A cup of tea would be nice though.’

‘Good idea. Let’s go into the kitchen.’

The kitchen was expensively fitted with dark, solid-looking wooden units which were a bit overpowering, but Janet indicated a pleasant space, near the french doors looking out onto the garden, with a table and four chairs. ‘Do sit down and I’ll put the kettle on.’

I was struck, as I had been before, at the way she could change suddenly from a dispirited, downtrodden victim to a cheerful, lively human being.

‘The service went very well,’ I said. ‘Christine organised everything splendidly.’

‘Yes, she’s been much more herself lately. Just before Bernard died she was very down about something.’

‘Really?’

She brought the tea tray over to the table and sat down.

‘I think it’s Jonathan,’ she said. ‘Her husband. Did you meet him?’

‘Very briefly. We were about to embark on a conversation, I think. He seemed very shy – but then Christine took him away.’

‘That sounds about right,’ Janet said. ‘He is a bit of a cipher; I suppose that’s why Christine married him. Inoffensive and always there – a bit like me and Bernard I suppose.’

I looked at her in surprise and she smiled. ‘Well, I’d have been a
total
fool if I hadn’t worked that one out.’

The kettle was making bubbling noises and she went over and made the tea.

‘If he’s so innocuous,’ I said, ‘then why should Christine be worried about him?’

‘Money. It usually is with Christine. He’s been making some rather foolish investments that have gone wrong. The stupid boy – he thought that if he could show Christine he could make a fair amount of money, then she’d respect him more.’

‘Oh dear. And it’s gone wrong?’

‘Badly wrong, I’m afraid.’

‘How did you find out?’

‘He talks to me sometimes – fellow feeling, I suppose – and he had to tell someone about it. Anyway, he didn’t just lose his investment, he’s also got himself quite badly into debt.’

‘And Christine doesn’t know?’

‘Oh yes, I’m pretty sure she found out, though, of course, she’d never tell me – she couldn’t bear me to know that things weren’t perfect in every aspect of her life.’ She sighed. ‘The trouble is, they’re very over-extended financially. Christine does like to make a show – you know, big house, big car (two cars, actually), expensive social life – that sort of lifestyle.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘I did wonder if she’d approached Bernard for help, but, again, I don’t think she could bear him to know what sort of mess Jonathan had made of things. Bernard never liked him, always thought Christine could have done better for herself, although he rather liked the idea of Jonathan’s family.’

‘His family?’

‘His father was an admiral and his mother belongs to an old county family – Bernard was a terrible snob.’

‘Oh, I see. Poor Jonathan. He looked rather pleasant.’

‘He is. I’m very fond of him. He should have married a nice, quiet girl who would have looked up to him, but, I suppose he was attracted by Christine’s self-assurance, or something.’

‘She’s very good-looking,’ I said. ‘That dark hair and blue eyes are very striking.’

‘Yes. She takes after my father, everyone said he
was a very handsome man.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘I can only just remember him. He was in the army – he was killed when I was five.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. I wondered whether Janet had married Bernard because she was looking for a father figure.
Not
a good idea. ‘So you think,’ I continued, ‘that Christine was worried about money?’

‘I’m pretty sure that was it.’ She suddenly remembered the tea and poured us each a cup. ‘Still,’ she went on, ‘she’ll be all right now.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh yes. Bernard’s will.’

I looked at her enquiringly.

‘Bernard arranged that I should have a small proportion of his pension if he died before me – though I’m sure he imagined he’d outlive me – and he’s left me the house, but everything else goes to Christine. There’s quite a bit: he made some very good investments and he was always very careful with money.’

‘That seems unfair.’

She shrugged. ‘Well, she was the only person he really cared about; I suppose it was to be expected.’

‘Still…’

‘Oh, I don’t mind. I expect the house will fetch quite a lot. Some developer will turn it into flats, there’s plenty of room for that.’

‘So you won’t go on living here?’

She gave a barely perceptible shudder. ‘No. I
couldn’t. Too many unhappy memories, and, anyway, it’s far too big. It was too big for Bernard and me, but, of course, he wouldn’t move – it was part of his image of himself I suppose.’

‘Well, I’m sure you’re right and it will fetch a good price. Where will you live?’

She smiled happily. ‘With Luke and Yves, of course. I can use the money from the house for them to get somewhere really good, a better position for the restaurant. It will be wonderful.’

‘Have you told Christine yet?’

She shook her head. ‘I’ll wait until I have to. Try and catch her in a good mood. Still,’ she went on, an unaccustomed note of defiance in her voice, ‘she can’t stop me. Especially if I’ve got Luke and Yves to back me up. I’ll wait until I’ve sold the house. Though I expect she’ll want to do
that
as well.’

I thought that was highly probable, since I couldn’t imagine Christine would think her mother capable of doing something so important on her own.

‘You could say your solicitor was advising you,’ I suggested.

‘Oh no, he’d be on Christine’s side. He was a friend of Bernard’s and he’s Christine’s godfather. So I certainly won’t let him know what I’m doing. No, I’ll leave it to Luke. He’s very capable, you know,’ she said, her face lighting up as it always did when she spoke of him. ‘You have to be really practical to run a successful restaurant, and Yves is
marvellous at bargaining – the French, you know, always so good with money!’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘I do hope everything turns out splendidly for you and Luke.’

She went on for a bit about his plans for the new restaurant and I was only half-listening, wondering when, if ever, she would refer to the circumstances of Bernard’s death. But, when it was time for me to go, she still hadn’t mentioned it and I felt a certain reluctance to do so given the occasion. I did ask if Bernard had ever expressed any wish about having his ashes scattered somewhere in particular.

‘No,’ she said, ‘he never said anything about things like that – I suppose he thought he’d go on forever. Christine thought it would be nice if they were scattered at his school, but they weren’t very keen about that – not surprising, if you think about it – so I expect it will just be here in the garden. Christine will see to it.’

I was slightly shocked at her tone and attitude until I remembered just what sort of life she had led with Bernard.

‘Well,’ I said, getting up, ‘I must get off. Do let me know how things go.’

She gave me a hug and said, ‘Thank you so much for coming, Sheila – it was so nice to know that I had one friend here. And – well – thank you for everything.’

It was getting dark as I set off and starting to rain and, because of that, the traffic on the M5, bad at
the best of times, was really awful, so that I had to concentrate hard on my driving and couldn’t go over in my mind the incidents of the day. Only when I’d left behind the motorway and the traffic jams in Bridgwater did I have an opportunity to think about what had happened. One phrase stuck in my mind: Janet had called me her friend. But I wasn’t – I was really sorry for her, of course, and interested in her plans in the way that I was interested in the characters and the plot of a soap opera, but it occurred to me that it wouldn’t worry me if I never saw her or heard from her again. No, not really a friend. I would hear from her again, I was pretty sure of that, she would want to ‘keep in touch’. Oh well, I could manage that.

I was really tired when I got to the outskirts of Taviscombe so I got myself some fish and chips (extra fish to propitiate the animals) to save cooking. Later in the evening, when I was able to relax at last, I thought over the events of the day in more detail. As Janet had said it wasn’t surprising that, having made some sort of basic provision for her, Bernard had left everything to Christine. Interesting that Christine was worried about money – though typical, I felt, that the problem should not have been of her own making. I had a moment of sympathy for poor Jonathan, since I could imagine only too well the contempt with which his wife would be treating him after his unfortunate financial dealings. Money problems
would be intolerable to Christine. How lucky, therefore, that she now had the means to put things right and even increase her comfortable lifestyle. Lucky, indeed, that her father died when he did. It was, when you came to think of it, a possible motive for murder.

To clear my head I took up my tray and carried it out to the kitchen. Foss, ever on the lookout for extra rations, followed me, though Tris, surfeited with battered cod, remained supine in front of the electric fire. I scraped the bits of batter from my plate into Foss’s dish and began to wash up my supper things. Money was always a substantial motive for murder, Roger often said so. And I was sure that Christine would have had the resolution to do it. Of course there was the fact that she was her father’s favourite and was said to have been fond of him, but it was just possible her passionate desire to maintain and improve her position might have been sufficient to overcome any qualms she might have about disposing of him.

But there was another fact, and one that made me reluctantly abandon my theory. She had a perfectly good alibi. Luke had telephoned her that night. At home in Bristol, and at a time when it would have been impossible for her to have travelled to Taviscombe to do the deed. There was no reason for Luke, who had no cause to like his sister, to lie for her. So she simply couldn’t have done it. Which was a pity, since she was such an
unpleasant person she would have made an acceptable suspect. For a moment I considered the possibility that Jonathan had been despatched to eliminate his father-in-law, but a moment’s thought made me realise how impossible that would have been. Even if he’d been capable of such a thing (which he palpably wasn’t), there’s no way Christine would have trusted him with something so important. With a sigh I tipped away the washing-up water and abandoned my theories.

The next morning Michael called in on his way to work. The light bulb on the landing had gone and I couldn’t reach it to put in a new one. For years I’ve been meaning to have the light fitting moved, but somehow I’ve never got round to it. I stood on the landing peering anxiously up at Michael as he leant precariously over the banisters to put the new bulb in.

‘Thank you so much, darling,’ I said. ‘I’m so sorry to bother you.’

‘No trouble. Anyway, the bulb up here only goes phut once every couple of years.’

I followed him downstairs and he stopped at the bottom.

‘Ma,’ he said, looking upwards, ‘you really must get some new stair carpet, look at the state of it!’

The carpet certainly was pretty bad, worn thin in places and elsewhere reduced to a sort of loosely looped bouclé.

‘I know it looks awful, but, honestly, there’s no
point in renewing it, Foss will only claw the new one to pieces.’

‘That’s as maybe, but it really isn’t safe. Look, there are actual
holes
in it in places. No, really,’ he said firmly, ‘you must do something about it.’

‘All right, darling, I’ll go to the carpet place today, I promise. Now then, have you got time for a cup of coffee?’

‘No, thanks. I must be off, I’ve got a nine-thirty appointment. Don’t forget about that stair carpet!’

A little later in the morning, when I found Foss at the top of the stairs, busily clawing away, I looked more carefully at the carpet and decided that Michael was right. So I went down to see Mr Davis at the furniture and carpet shop, explaining that I wanted something
very
hard wearing. He pointed me in the direction of various carpet samples and I was busy studying them when Anthea suddenly materialised behind me.

‘Ah, Sheila – so glad I bumped into you, I was going to ring you. We need a steward for Brunswick Lodge next Wednesday. Mary Thomas has got the appointment for her knee replacement at last so we need someone to cover for her. Can you do it?’

I really didn’t feel like standing about all morning at Brunswick Lodge so I decided that only a downright lie would do.

‘I’m so sorry but I can’t manage that.’

‘Oh?’ Anthea is used to people falling in with her plans. ‘Why not?’

‘Um.’ I thought quickly. ‘I’ve got to go to Bristol that day.’

‘Oh well.’ Anything away from Taviscombe is recognised to fall outside Anthea’s jurisdiction. She regarded the carpet samples I’d been looking at with a jaundiced eye. ‘It’s no good buying anything that isn’t pure wool,’ she said. ‘A false economy in the long run.’

‘I just want something that’s resistant to cat’s claws,’ I said hopelessly.

‘Oh, well, if you will insist on filling your house with
animals
,’ she said as she moved away.

I chose something that looked as if it might stand up to a feline assault and went in search of Mr Davis.

‘Right you are, Mrs Malory. I’ll order it right away – shouldn’t take too long to come through. I can’t send Denzil round to measure up until the end of next week. One of our busiest times of the year, everyone wanting things for Christmas.’ He noticed my air of bewilderment (why would people want to celebrate a Christian festival by ordering soft furnishings?). ‘Christmas holidays – friends and family coming to stay.’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘No, the end of next week will be fine.’

‘That’s good then. Denzil will give you a ring about the time.’

I had intended to go home for lunch but I ran into Rosemary who inveigled me into having a sandwich at The Buttery.