A Death in the Family (5 page)

‘It’s not a good time to be in farming,’ I said sympathetically. ‘How about Matt?’ I asked. ‘Does he want to be a farmer too?’

‘Matt? Good heavens no. He’s reading law at Bristol. We hope he’s going to be a high-flyer and restore the family fortunes. Your Michael’s a solicitor, isn’t he? Does he enjoy it?’

‘On the whole, yes – he’s working for Peter’s old firm so I suppose you could say that
he’s
following in his father’s footsteps too. Mind you, Thea, that’s his wife, who was a solicitor too, gave up when Alice was born.’

‘Oh, have you got a grandchild, how marvellous. I can’t wait for my two to produce offspring. How old is she?’

‘She’s four and a half,’ I said. ‘But very grown up for her age.’ I laughed. ‘Oh dear, I sound like a typical doting grandmother, don’t I? But she is a great joy – I’m very lucky they live so near so that I can watch Alice grow up.’

Pam looked at her watch. ‘Goodness, is that the time? I must get a move on. It’s been great seeing you, Sheila. Do come and see us soon – it’d be good to have a proper chat. Bring Alice to see the cows.’

‘She’d like that, and so would I. I’ll give you a ring.’

As I watched Pam’s tall, sturdy figure moving towards the checkout, I thought about how hard her life must be and about the effort she and Harry were making, against all the odds, to keep the farm
going. Keeping it in the family. And I thought how Bernard’s appearance in Taviscombe, irritating though it was, had made me think much more about families in general and my family, in all its ramifications, in particular.

Every year I intend to put my bulbs in nice and early so that I’ll have something flowering for Christmas, but every year, although, in a fit of enthusiasm, I buy them right at the beginning of September, they hang about in brown paper bags until I can find a moment to do something about them. To be fair, it is quite a business; getting the bulb fibre out, trying to remember where I stored the containers, and eventually covering the kitchen table with sheets of newspaper and finally getting down to it. Not helped, of course, by Foss, always passionately interested in anything unusual taking place in the kitchen. When he discovered that a hyacinth bulb was notionally round and would, propelled by an inquisitive paw, roll right off the table, and that by swishing his tail he could sweep quite large amounts of bulb fibre onto the floor, I decided that enough was enough and put him out. Turning my back on the window where his indignant face was reproaching me, I got to work.

I was just firming the earth on a bowl of jonquils
when, to my annoyance, the phone rang. Somehow I was not surprised to find that it was Bernard.

‘Ah, Sheila. I am proposing to return the photographs to you this evening, together with most of the additional material I have been able to find. I say most because I have not yet been able to make full copies of my notes. Janet, I regret to say, has not been well these last few days and has had to stay indoors.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘I hope it was nothing serious.’

‘Some sort of virus, I believe,’ he said dismissively. ‘Most annoying – I have had to make all the preliminary notes from source myself and now I am having to spend time writing them up. So I will not be able to return the photographs and the other material to you myself. Janet will bring them round to you this evening.’

‘This evening?’

‘About eight o’clock. If,’ he added perfunctorily, ‘that is convenient for you.’

‘Yes,’ I said resignedly, ‘that’ll be all right. If you’re sure she’s quite recovered – I mean, I could collect them from you if she’s still under the weather.’

‘No, Janet is perfectly recovered.’

But when Janet arrived, right on the dot of eight, I thought she looked far from well. Normally pale and washed-out-looking, she looked positively ghost-like.

‘Do come in,’ I said. ‘I’ve got the fire on – you look frozen.’

‘It is quite autumnal,’ she said. ‘This heavy rain and a cold wind.’

I took her coat and sat her down in a chair near the fire.

‘What can I get you, to warm you up?’ I asked. ‘Some herbal tea, or something stronger – a glass of sherry or a gin and tonic?’

‘A cup of tea would be lovely, thank you so much.’ She held out a package. ‘Bernard was very anxious to get the photographs back to you safely. He was most grateful to you for letting him borrow them.’

‘Glad to help,’ I said and put the package down on the table by the window.

Just then Foss, attracted by the sound of voices, came in and made straight for Janet, leaping up onto her lap and settling down apparently for the evening.

‘Goodness,’ I said, ‘you are honoured. He doesn’t usually take to people he doesn’t know. Do put him down if he’s too much for you.’

‘No, no, really,’ she said smiling. ‘I’m delighted. I love cats. I often wish – but it isn’t really possible…’ She bent over and began to stroke Foss, firmly along his backbone, in just the way he likes.

As I made the tea (herbal for Janet and Indian for me) I thought how she was transformed when she smiled, and I thought, with pity, that she probably
didn’t have all that much in her life to smile about. She accepted the tea gratefully and drank it sitting awkwardly so as not to disturb Foss.

‘Bernard said you haven’t been well,’ I said. ‘Are you sure you’re properly recovered?’

‘Oh yes, I’m fine really – a bit weak, but nothing to speak of. Bernard,’ she gave a little nervous laugh, quite different from her smile, ‘Bernard doesn’t like me to be ill.’

I bit back a retort and said, ‘If you’re sure. You really shouldn’t have come out in this weather.’

‘No really, I’m perfectly well.’

There was a brief silence, neither of us quite knowing what to say.

‘When do you go back to Bristol?’ I asked.

‘Next week I think, if Bernard has finished his research.’

‘I expect you’ll be glad to be home,’ I said.

‘Oh yes.’ She seemed about to add something to this brief reply, but apparently thought better of it and sat there, quietly stroking Foss.

‘I can’t remember – my memory is getting really dreadful – you have two children, don’t you?’

‘That’s right. My daughter Christine, and my son Luke.’

‘That’s nice. What do they do?’

‘Christine is married – Jonathan, her husband, is a financial adviser – but she teaches, like Bernard.’

‘Have they any children?’

‘Oh no. Christine has a very absorbing job, she’s
head of department at a sixth form college, and you know what young people are like these days, putting off having a family till they’re in their late thirties. So I suppose,’ she gave the nervous little laugh again, ‘I’ll have to wait for my
grandchildren
.’

‘That’s a shame. Fortunately Thea, that’s Michael’s wife, had always longed for a family. She was a solicitor, and a very good one, but she gave up work when Alice was born. It’s lovely having them so near. I see Alice often and Thea and I are really good friends.’

‘You’re very lucky,’ Janet said wistfully.

‘What about your son, is he married? What does he do?’

‘He runs a small restaurant and, no, he’s not married yet.’

‘Oh well, there’s plenty of time, boys always seem to marry later than girls. How exciting about the restaurant. Whereabouts is it?’

‘In Bristol. Stoke Bishop.’

‘It must be very hard work.’

‘Oh it is, but he’s making a great success of it.’ She spoke with some animation, quite different from when she described her daughter’s life.

‘And you don’t have a job?’ I asked.

‘Oh no.’ She seemed shocked that I should have considered such an idea. ‘No, my job is looking after Bernard – that’s what he always says, and that’s a
full-time
job!’ Again the nervous laugh. ‘Of course, before
I married I was a secretary – actually I was the school secretary at Bernard’s old school, that’s how we met. But I gave up my job when we were married.’

‘To look after Bernard?’

‘That’s right. Though, of course his mother was alive then. She was something of an invalid and needed a lot of care.’

‘I see.’ And I did see. Bernard seizing the opportunity to secure a slave for himself and a nurse for his mother. ‘Do you have any family?’

‘No, both my parents died when I was quite young and I was an only child.’

Poor Janet, a perfect victim ready to hand.

‘Of course, I did do some secretarial work for Bernard at home, especially after he got his headship. There were a lot of things that he preferred not to give to the school secretary.’

‘Yes, I suppose there were.’

‘I’m afraid I haven’t got very good computer skills – Bernard gets quite impatient with me sometimes. He says I must go on a course, and I suppose I will have to, but I do dread it, trying to manage new things, and all the others will be so young and able to cope.’

‘I’m sure you could cope too,’ I said, trying to put back just a little of the self-confidence that Bernard had obviously destroyed. ‘And I expect there’ll be people of all ages.’

Tris, who’d been asleep in his basket in the kitchen and had woken up and found he was
missing something, came bustling into the sitting room. He saw Foss sitting smugly on Janet’s lap and trotted over and sat by her feet. She leant over carefully and stroked him.

‘He’s lovely. You are lucky,’ she said again.

I smiled. ‘They’re great company,’ I said, ‘you can’t be lonely with two demanding animals.’

We chatted for a while about general things and I was surprised at how easy she was when not overshadowed by her horrible husband. It was plain that she had more or less sunk her own personality (whatever it might have been originally) into the sort of subservient shadow he demanded.

The sound of the wind suddenly howling down the chimney startled Tris who leapt to his feet and began to bark. Janet looked at her watch and said, ‘Goodness, is that the time? I must be getting back. Bernard will be wondering what’s become of me.’

‘Oh, don’t go yet,’ I said. ‘It’s only half past nine. Have another cup of tea or something.’

Janet shook her head. ‘No, it’s very kind of you, but I mustn’t, really.’

She lifted Foss carefully and, getting up, put him in the chair she had vacated, giving him a farewell stroke. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ she said. ‘It’s been so nice talking to you and seeing the animals. Such a lovely change…’

She really seemed to have enjoyed herself and I felt a wave of pity for someone who had been deprived of such simple pleasures.

‘I wonder,’ she said hesitantly, ‘I wonder if I might ring for a taxi?’

‘Well, of course,’ I said in some surprise. ‘I hadn’t realised – I thought you’d come by car.’

She shook her head. ‘Bernard doesn’t like me driving the car,’ she said, then, seeing my expression she added, ‘not at night.’

‘There’s no need for a taxi, though,’ I said. ‘I’ll take you back.’

‘Oh no,’ she protested. ‘I couldn’t put you out like that, especially on such a terrible night!’

‘It’s no bother. Just hang on a minute while I change my shoes and get my coat.’

It was certainly a wretched night. The rain was very heavy and although the wind had dropped a little there was still enough to drive it slant-wise across the road making driving unpleasant. Janet, sitting beside me, was silent and I was too busy to talk, having to concentrate on peering through the rain and murk, dazzled by the refracted light of the headlights of the oncoming cars. The road – it was really a lane – leading to the cottage was very narrow and I prayed that we wouldn’t meet any other vehicle since I knew I’d find it almost impossible to reverse in these circumstances.

I was relieved to see the lights of the cottage shining out in the darkness, but as I pulled up onto the grass verge beside the gate I realised that there was so much light because the front door was open.

‘What on earth’s happening?’ I exclaimed as I got
out of the car. ‘Why ever is the door open on a night like this?’

Janet got out more slowly. ‘I don’t know,’ she said nervously. She seemed disinclined to move towards the house.

‘Well, come along then,’ I said rather sharply, ‘we’re getting soaked out here.’

The front door was not fully open but half ajar, almost as if the wind had blown it open. I went inside into the little hall and Janet followed me. I shut the door carefully behind us.

‘Hello,’ I called out. ‘Bernard, are you there?’

There was no reply. Instead silence, silence that had an almost positive quality in spite of the sounds of the wind and rain outside. There were two doors leading into the hall. The door of what I took to be the sitting room was on the left. It, too, was half open so I went in. As well as the main wall lights a lamp on the table was lit. A glowing coal-effect electric fire was also on, giving the room a cosy air. On one side of the fireplace was a low-backed armchair. Because the back was low I could see the head of the person sitting in it. For a moment I didn’t really take in what I was seeing, then I heard Janet beside me cry out and I realised that she too had seen that the person in the armchair had been struck over the head and was not moving, not even at the sound of Janet’s cry.

I moved slowly forward and forced myself to look more closely. Bernard was lying in the chair, his head
lolling backwards. He was obviously dead. I made myself touch the side of his neck as I’d been taught in first aid, but there was no pulse. The blow to the head must have been quite severe, though there was not a lot of blood. I found that I was trembling and I felt very sick, but I knew that I had to pull myself together. I clasped my hands tightly together and, making a great effort, I turned to Janet who was standing very still just inside the door.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said gently. ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do. He’s dead.’

She stayed there in the doorway, putting out her hand to the doorframe as if for support. She was deathly pale and I was afraid she was going to faint so I went towards her. But she just stood there, her lips moving though no sound came from them. I put my arm round her shoulder.

‘Is there anywhere else we can go so that you can sit down?’ I asked.

She made a feeble gesture to the other door leading off the hall and I led her into the kitchen. It was quite a large room, furnished as a typical farmhouse kitchen, which is what summer visitors like. There was a large pine table in the middle of the room with four chairs round it. I helped her into one of the chairs and she sat still as a statue, her face completely blank. I became aware that the kitchen was very cold and, looking around, I saw that the glass panel of the back door had been smashed and that door was open too.

‘Burglars!’ I said, and for one horrible moment I thought that the person who had done all this might be still in the house, but then I remembered the open front door and told myself that whoever it was would have gone.

Janet had made no response and I went over to the sink and poured her a glass of water. It seemed a feeble enough gesture but it appeared to revive her a little.

‘Is he – is he really…? Should we phone an ambulance?’

‘I’m afraid he is dead – though I’ll call an ambulance if you think we should.’

‘I don’t know…I don’t know. What should we do?’

‘I think we ought to call the police.’

‘The police?’ She sounded bewildered.

‘They should be told as soon as possible.’

‘Yes. I suppose…’

She made no move and sat still and silent.

‘Would you like me to do it?’

‘Do it?’ she repeated.

‘Phone the police.’

‘Please.’

‘I suppose there’s a phone in the other room?’ I asked and moved towards the door. ‘Though I suppose I ought not to touch anything. I’ll use my mobile.’ I took it out of my bag and dialled. ‘Oh bother,’ I said, ‘I can’t get a signal in here. I’ll have to go outside.’