Guilt in the Cotswolds (12 page)

It was almost a crisis, in those moments. The day, which had been cool and cloudy thus far, suddenly brightened, and the sun burst forth, turning the stonework of the house to a rich honey colour. The previous owner, who had died naturally, if somewhat younger than expected, had created a future for Drew that he had little choice but to follow. She had exerted control from beyond the grave, which Thea had felt, even at the time, to be unsettling. However generously meant, it had been an almost aggressive thing to do.

‘I’m not entirely sure,’ she said, with more honesty than tact. ‘I can’t quite imagine it yet.’

‘Neither can I. It’s so different from Somerset. But look at it.’ He swept a wide arm to embrace the fields and woods on every side. There were bumps and dips in the landscape, concealing the waterways and many of the buildings. The very emptiness could be seen as a rare asset on a crowded island. There was nothing ugly or threatening about it. The little rivers behaved themselves perfectly, finding no reason to burst through living rooms or gardens when there was so little new building to frustrate them.

‘It’s lovely,’ Thea agreed. ‘I suppose I wonder whether we can hope to live up to it. I mean – everything’s so
tidy
.’

‘Superficially, perhaps. But there’s just as much cruelty and pain and anxiety here as anywhere else. You’ve discovered that for yourself, surely.’

‘True. I’ve met plenty of real people, along with the millionaires and celebrities. There are farms with cattle and sheep, as well as horses. There are even some children,’ she smiled. ‘We have to remember the children.’

‘We do,’ he said, with only a faint hint of the earlier sharpness at any suggestion that he might forget Stephanie and Tim.

‘But … to really settle and make our lives here. Could we make it work?’

‘Absolutely we could, if that’s what we put our minds
to. People would come and visit. We can join some of those clubs and things in Blockley.’ He shook himself. ‘Come on. Let’s go in.’

He found a key to the front door in his jacket pocket, which impressed Thea. ‘You remembered to bring the key!’ she said admiringly.

‘Why wouldn’t I? This is top of my list of things to do this weekend.’

She punched him lightly on the shoulder. ‘Before taking me to bed?’

‘Not
before
, exactly, but of greater importance in my business life. Obviously.’ He gave her a direct look, which said
Let’s not play games
.

The house smelt dusty and stale. It was chilly and their footsteps echoed in the hallway. Although there were still a few pieces of furniture, they were not enough to give a soft absorbing effect. The main room was missing its carpet, because Drew had agreed to let a member of the family have it. He felt bad at inheriting the house over the nephews and nieces who had assumed it would come to them. Thea went upstairs, hoping to remind herself of just what it provided. There were four bedrooms, though one was very small, and a single bathroom. ‘The kids can have a room each,’ she called down. ‘And we can just about squeeze a visitor in, if they don’t want to stay too long.’

‘It’s not really typical of the area, is it?’ he said. ‘Only one bathroom, and the kitchen hasn’t been updated for about forty years.’

‘There are plenty of places like this,’ she told him. ‘The Chedworth house, for a start. I’ve looked after some extremely unfashionable homes in my time. It’s not all glass and chrome and white walls, even in the Cotswolds.’

‘Thank goodness for that.’

‘Mm.’ She came downstairs again, and prowled through the living room and kitchen. Hepzie followed her, sniffing in corners. ‘She can smell mice,’ Thea said. ‘I can hardly remember being here, you know. I mean – I remember the funeral in the field, and
you
. I suppose that’s the thing. All I could think of was you, and what fun you were to talk to.’

‘It is a nice house,’ he said, with a hint of melancholy. ‘A bit dark at the back, maybe.’

‘We could make it lovely. We could make
anywhere
lovely, between us. We’ll have enough money, once I sell my place. The funerals might take off tremendously.’

He pulled a face, baring his teeth in a kind of anxious wince. ‘That’s the trouble. I’m really not sure they will. There aren’t enough old people living here any more. They’ve sold up and gone to be closer to their children. They’ve moved out of the villages and into new developments in Cirencester and Cheltenham. They’re not committed to the land, like they are in Somerset and Dorset – and even that’s changing. I depend on people who want to spend eternity in the open air, under trees they’ve always loved.’

‘Oh dear.’ She gave it some hard thinking. ‘I’ve met
quite a few old people, actually. Isn’t that what we were just saying? Tucked away in unreconstructed cottages, surrounded by empty properties with security lights and alarm systems. I bet there are thousands of them.’

A loud male voice interrupted them, causing Hepzie to bark and rush to the front door. ‘Who’s there?’ came the voice. ‘What’s going on here?’

The door was open and a man stood on the threshold. The light behind him made it difficult to see detail, but he appeared to be of average size and to be carrying a stick.

‘Hello, there,’ said Drew with exaggerated affability. ‘Do come in.’

The man made no move, apart from flinching away from the spaniel, which was greeting him with little jumps. Where she would normally stand up and paw at a person’s knees, she was plainly too intimidated by this person to risk it.

‘Are you a neighbour?’ Thea asked him, as sweetly as she could. She and Drew were going to extract all possible fun from this encounter.

‘Umph. Across the way. Shipley’s the name.’ He peered down the hallway. ‘Bought this, have you?’

Drew laughed. ‘Surely you’re aware of the story? Mrs Simmonds left the house to me when she died. I’m Drew Slocombe, and this is Thea Osborne. We intend to come and live here with two children.’

‘And a dog,’ said Thea, patting Hepzie with lavish affection.

‘Good, good,’ said Mr Shipley. ‘Well, I’m sorry to intrude. We’re a close community here, you see. Keeping an eye on things for each other.’

Rubbish
, thought Thea. Any claim to a genuine community in many of these silent little villages was sheer self-delusion. A few exceptions came to mind – Blockley and Temple Guiting, especially – but in others, there was almost no social interaction that she had discerned.

‘Very considerate of you,’ said Drew. ‘And now you’ll know us another time, won’t you?’

‘You’re an undertaker, is that right?’ the man went on, with a narrow look. He was perhaps sixty, dressed in the usual Cotswold uniform of expensive jacket and sturdy boots.

‘I am. You’ll probably know that I have permission to establish a natural burial ground in a field just outside the village. On the road to Blockley.’

‘You buried Greta there,’ Mr Shipley nodded. ‘You’ll be keeping a hearse hereabouts, I suppose?’

‘Indeed. But the details are yet to be decided. I have no wish to cause any upset or annoyance.’

‘Umph,’ said the man again. ‘It’s not going to go down well, I warn you.’

‘You think it’ll lower the property values,’ said Drew with a laugh.

Thea was less forgiving. ‘You realise that Broad Campden has a proud history for arts and crafts, of course,’ she said. ‘It seems to me that simple natural funerals are exactly the sort of thing that would fit with
the village. It’ll add character and meaning to the place. You should be
grateful
.’

‘That was all a long time ago. It has a very different atmosphere these days.’

‘Then it’s time we rescued it,’ said Thea with asperity. ‘Gave it back some of its former glory.’

Drew made a sound, part caution, part admiration. She was quite impressed with herself. Mr Shipley had clearly had enough. He retreated through the door, with a little wave of his stick, and was gone.

‘Is that really what you think?’ Drew asked.

‘I suppose it must be. I came over all missionary and evangelist, for a minute.’

‘I noticed. I remember when I was like that.’ Again, the faint whiff of melancholy accompanied his words. ‘But it’ll be such a struggle,’ he sighed.

‘We
like
a struggle. It’ll be our thing, together. We can build on what you’ve learnt at Staverton, and add a lot of new bits and pieces. We’ll hit the headlines and convert everybody in Gloucestershire.’

‘I loved the way you told him he ought to be grateful.’

‘There you are, then. Have faith, Drew. We can’t go back on it now.’

He pulled her to him and wrapped her in a warm hug that lasted so long that Hepzie yapped in protest at being left out.

On the face of it, they agreed, there was no reason to stay any longer in Chedworth. They could simply
drive away, leaving the house key under a flowerpot and a note to say Thea would waive her fee, under the circumstances. Drew would write to Millie, with a formal confirmation that he was expecting to hear from her if she chose to use him for her father’s funeral, and certainly he would meet her again at some future date, when her grandmother died. The Teasdale nephew was an irrelevance; the death of Richard Wilshire a nasty little mystery that they would be forced to forget.

The A429 was beginning to feel like an old friend. ‘We could turn left where it says Yanworth,’ Drew suggested, ‘and approach the village from the north.’

‘Let’s not,’ Thea demurred. ‘That would take us past the barn again, wouldn’t it? We don’t want to do that.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I suppose we don’t.’

‘You don’t sound very sure.’

‘Something might come to mind. I mean – some detail we’ve forgotten.’

‘A detail that would prove it was murder, not suicide?’ she challenged. ‘Is that what we want?’

He sighed. ‘Sorry. You’re right.’

So they carried on, following the same road a few more miles, with a substantial stone wall running alongside for much of the way. ‘Must have been a grand estate at one time,’ he remarked.

‘Probably still is. It’s in excellent repair.’

They swooped downhill, past the big pub at the bottom and then up again to their turning. ‘We’re getting good at this,’ said Thea. ‘Even from a different direction.’

But the way through Chedworth was still surprisingly long and meandering. There were so many small turn-offs where an unwary driver might venture. The village stopped and started again, the sense of being hemmed in and overlooked quite strong in places. At the top, it was still a muddle of sharp angles and cockeyed levels. ‘This is nothing like any other place I’ve been,’ Thea marvelled. ‘How is it possible?’

‘We can spend our lives walking every footpath, perusing every plaque in every church, sampling every pub,’ he said dreamily.

She laughed at the prospect. At that moment it felt perfectly feasible. ‘I can’t wait,’ she said.

Then they were back at the Wilshire house, where Drew’s car was waiting. But it had a companion. Beside it sat a large new Nissan four-wheel drive, with tinted windows. As Thea awkwardly parked her own car behind it, a woman got out.

‘Recognise her?’ Thea whispered.

‘No,’ said Drew blankly. ‘Who is she?’

‘The most famous face in British soap opera. I wonder what the hell she wants.’

The woman known to her friends as Judith, and to the nation as Jayjay, came towards them. ‘At last!’ she said furiously. ‘I’ve been sitting here for
hours
.’

‘I thought you were working all weekend,’ said Thea. ‘That’s what Millie said.’

‘They changed the schedule. The weather’s not right. Besides, I’m too upset to work.’

‘So, what can we do for you?’ Drew asked.

‘Who’s this?’ asked the actress rudely.

‘Drew Slocombe,’ said Drew, holding out his hand. ‘I’ve come up for the weekend. It was all thanks to me that Thea got this job in the first place.’

‘He’s
dead
,’ Judith burst out, ignoring his proffered hand. ‘And
you
found him.’ She stared intently from face to face. ‘Why do you look so
normal
?’

‘Come in,’ said Thea. ‘Let’s talk properly.’

She led the way up to the front door, feeling a fraud at behaving like a hostess in a house that was in no way
hers. Hepzie ran ahead, showing no such qualms.

They went into the living room and stood awkwardly for a minute. ‘Shall I make coffee?’ Thea asked tiredly.

‘I never drink coffee,’ said Judith scathingly, as if this was the most obvious fact imaginable.

‘Tea, then.’

‘Why are you here?’ Drew interrupted. ‘What’s it all about? We’re packing up and going in a little while. We saw Millie this morning. She’s got the dogs back, but she thinks they can go to your house.’

‘Your
mansion
,’ Thea corrected. ‘With permanent staff who won’t object to taking care of two sheepdogs.’

‘I’d love to have them. I’m very fond of them. And they’re all that’s left of Richard.’ Without warning, the floodgates opened and with tears coursing down her face, she also poured out a torrent of words. ‘Listen, will you. Richard was the sweetest man. So natural and normal, not at all fazed by the media and all that stuff that follows me everywhere I go. I can’t
believe
I’ll never see him again.’

Drew and Thea met each other’s eyes, full of helpless questions. Neither said anything. Judith clasped her hands together and walked the length of the room and back. It occurred to Thea that this was the sort of thing an actor learnt to do as a matter of routine. Ordinary people almost never behaved in such a way.

‘Listen,’ Judith said again. ‘You
saw
him – lying there in that barn. How did he look? How exactly did he die? I know it sounds ghoulish, but I
have
to know.’

‘It’s not ghoulish,’ said Drew. ‘It’s quite natural to want to know the whole story. But we probably can’t give you all the answers. There were no signs of suffering. He hadn’t moved at all after he landed. So it must have been quick.’ He reached out a hand to her, which she flinched sideways to avoid. Her face was a picture of misery, the corners of her mouth drooping and bags appearing under her eyes. All suggestion of acting abruptly vanished.

‘Poor Ricky!’ she choked. ‘The poor man. He must have fallen off the edge by accident. He would never have done it on purpose. That’s what they think, isn’t it? I bet he saw a cat or something up there and went to rescue it. He was quite an awkward person, you know. His balance wasn’t very good.’

‘An accident,’ echoed Thea slowly. That possibility had apparently not occurred to anybody. ‘You think that’s likely?’

‘I don’t know. I just can’t believe he did it deliberately. He had such a lot to live for. He was making plans for retirement, travelling and so forth. He talked to me about it, because Millie was never interested. I really loved the way he talked. Millie says he was quite unfriendly with most people, always looking for a reason to take offence, but he was fine with me. He said I was a breath of fresh air.’ Thea made a mental comparison between this agonised performance and the monosyllabic sidekick who had come to the house with Millie on Friday morning. It was disorientating.

‘I’m sure you did each other a lot of good,’ said Thea stiltedly.

‘We did,’ said Judith, her eyes shining. ‘It was a beautiful friendship. And Millie was pleased that we got along so well. She laughed at us, but she liked it really.’

‘It all sounds very … rewarding. An escape from all the celebrity stuff.’

Judith gave a little shiver. ‘I hate it, you know. There’s never any end to it. People think it’s the best thing that can happen, landing a part like this, but it’s murder, honestly. My life isn’t my own. It’s like being wrapped in silver foil all the time – all people see is the shiny celebrity and nothing of the person inside.’ The demeanour had changed again. Now the young woman was being bravely confiding, setting right the general assumptions surrounding her way of life. The tears had dried completely, Thea noted.

‘The money must be good, though,’ she said. Then she caught a look from Drew, which made her cringe inwardly.
Thick-skinned
, she remembered. That’s what he’d called her. He appeared to be thinking it again. And yet it was a perfectly reasonable comment, as far as she could see.

‘The money is amazing,’ said Judith with a sigh. ‘I should probably have said
gold
foil. I’m a walking lump of gold. And you know what? It doesn’t help. You still have to
live
. You have to get up, and eat and talk and
do
things. And you can’t trust people when they say
they like you. They mostly want to sell you things, or get you to invest in their stupid projects. It’s ridiculous, when you think about it.’ She leant against the back of a chair, her head drooping. ‘I can’t see how I can go on without Rick. He kept me grounded. He never demanded anything from me, never wanted anything to do with my working life. He would never come to the clubs with me, never met all the other actors and that. We had our own special little world, away from all that rubbish. I’d be hooked on drugs by now without him. That’s what’ll happen now. I know it will.’ The first words of this speech had felt quite genuine to Thea, but the rapid decline into self-pitying melodrama made her doubt her own impressions.

‘Sit down and I’ll make tea,’ said Drew, cutting through the little scene. ‘Then we’ll have to start getting ready to go. I have to be home by six.’

‘Home?’

‘I live in Somerset.’

‘You’re both going?’ Judith looked around the room. ‘Just walking away, leaving everything in a mess here?’

The living room wasn’t the least bit messy, thought Thea resentfully. But upstairs was. Upstairs there were heaps of clothes, open drawers, boxes of papers and piles of books. ‘I haven’t been asked to stay,’ she defended. ‘I think Millie’s going to have to deal with it from here on.’

‘Or the cousin,’ said Drew, from the doorway.

‘Who?’ Judith looked blank.

‘You tell her,’ said Drew to Thea, and disappeared into the kitchen.

‘He was at the home this morning. He’s called Teasdale. He was visiting Mrs Wilshire.’

‘Whose cousin is he? I’ve never heard of him.’

‘He’s Richard’s first cousin – the son of Rita’s sister. He’s quite old. Lived in Saudi Arabia or somewhere until recently. He’s very jolly. The woman in charge at the home thinks he’s wonderful. They were going to tell the old lady about her son, together. They’ll have done it by now.’

‘She didn’t know? Where was Millie? What’s she playing at?’

‘She’d gone by then. They didn’t let her see her gran because she was playing bridge.’ Thea felt uneasy about conveying any further information. She had a strong sense of walking on thin ice, beneath which lay murky relationships. Judith and Richard; Richard and Millie; Millie and her celebrity friend – the triangle was all too obviously fraught with dark emotions. Questions began to pop up like mushrooms. Was Millie secretly jealous of her friend’s relationship with her father? Was Richard embarrassed about it, or just star-struck by the girl’s fame and fortune? Did Judith fully understand the implications? Had she really never heard of the cousin? What did any of them stand to gain from the others? When she finally caught up with her own thoughts, Thea realised she had become inescapably drawn in. She was hooked by the revelations of the day – not just Judith’s
unlikely affection for a man with little charm or appeal, but the appearance of a long-lost cousin, and the delay in telling Mrs Wilshire the tragic news.
Drat!
she said loudly to herself. It no longer felt possible to just bundle her dog into the car and drive away. And one reason for this was that she found herself rather admiring Judith/Jayjay, the celebrity. There was also the thrill of enjoying a one-to-one conversation with a person almost everyone in the country knew by sight. It would be something she could boast about, once the Chedworth business was concluded. Even if the entire encounter had been phony, a counterfeit performance laid on by a skilled actor, it had felt exciting and revelatory. There was a lurking implication of a self-deluded girl stalking an older man who had no feelings for her at all. The damaged celebrity in search of normality and protection. It would make a very neat reversal of the usual pattern, where the sad lonely man persuaded himself that the lovely actress fancied him.

But Judith wasn’t finished. ‘I only met her once – Richard’s mum, that is. I came here with Millie, ages ago now. Mill thought her gran might let me look at some of the old clothes she’s got, in case they’d be good as costumes, but she didn’t want us touching them. Said she’d kept them in perfect condition for seventy years, and she didn’t want people messing about with them.’

‘I’ve messed about with them,’ said Thea, feeling guilty. ‘I could never get them back as they were. I hope she doesn’t find out. Or perhaps Millie could gently tell
her what’s been happening, and ask her what she wants done with all the things here.’

Drew came in then with a tray, holding a teapot, three cups and a plate of biscuits. ‘Where did you find those?’ Thea asked. ‘Have they been in a tin for months?’

He laughed. ‘No. I had them in the car. I bought a few things yesterday, on the assumption there’d be no food in the house. I only just remembered.’

Judith gave a loud dramatic sigh. ‘She is still alive, you know. Everything still belongs to Richard’s mum. Don’t you feel it’s all rather yukky, going through her stuff like this?’

‘I assumed that was why Richard asked me to do it – keeping his own hands clean, as it were.’

Drew spluttered over his tea at this, but Judith merely nodded. ‘That’s exactly right. I said the same thing to him. But actually, it’s mainly Millie’s fault. She’s the obvious person to do it. She’s been all over the place ever since her gran went into the home. Screaming at poor Rick one minute, and then asking if she could borrow money against this house the next. She’s been a good friend to me, so I shouldn’t speak against her, but to be honest, she is a bit of a taker. Expects it all to be handed to her on a plate. She won’t put the graft in, like I did.’

There was not a lot to say to this. At barely twenty-five, it was difficult to believe that the girl had spent long hard years stacking supermarket shelves while attending hundreds of auditions, as the general pattern
seemed to go. It had to be at least two years since she joined the cast of the soap opera. Many might think she had enjoyed a solid-gold career with plenty of extremely good years ahead of her. She was, as far as Thea was aware, a reasonably talented actor, and her looks were distinctive enough to carry her well into her thirties. Long faces like hers were highly regarded in the fickle eyes of the general public, rather to Thea’s chagrin. She blamed the woman in
Sex in the City
– Sarah Jessica Parker – and a gaggle of younger lookalikes.

‘Your chauffeur not working today, then?’ Thea said, after a pause.

Judith snorted. ‘You make me sound like royalty. It’s just a driver – different men every time, pretty much. It’s a not-very-subtle way of making sure we actually turn up when we’re supposed to. They treat us like naughty schoolchildren. One of these days, they’ll fix tracker devices on us, or implant microchips, so they can always find us. It’s a massive cast, you know. They talk as if they’re organising an army, half the time.’

‘A different world,’ murmured Drew. Then he worked his shoulders manfully. ‘I’ve got half an hour, max,’ he announced, addressing Thea. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Good question,’ she said. ‘An hour ago, I’d have followed you back to North Staverton, but now – well, it doesn’t feel right to just abandon things here.’

He tilted his head at her, saying nothing. Then he looked at Judith, who looked right back at him.

Thea agonised, thinking aloud. ‘I expect I
could
leave it all to Millie. The house is her responsibility, not mine. I don’t imagine I’ll even get paid for the days I’ve done. But there are so many loose ends. You see that, don’t you? You’d stay as well, if you could.’

Judith gave a snorting little laugh. ‘You two!’ she said. ‘What are you like?’ It was funny, even if it came from a line of TV dialogue. She went on, ‘The big “loose end”, as you put it, is that Richard did
not
kill himself. The idea is insane. There’s nothing about him that could make that a sensible idea.’

‘Have you ever been in that barn?’ Drew asked her. ‘Do you know how high the upper part is?’

‘I have, actually,’ she admitted. ‘Richard took me there a couple of times. He had a thing about it. Did I tell you he took the dogs there quite often?’

‘Millie mentioned it. Did he know who owns it?’

Judith shrugged. ‘He must have done. But he said he’d been going there all his life, so nobody’s bothered about it, obviously. We used to climb in from the field next to it. The road gate’s kept locked with a chain and a padlock.’

‘Why hasn’t anybody converted it into a house?’ Drew asked. ‘You never see an old barn like that, left as it was originally.’

‘I can think of lots of reasons,’ said Judith vaguely. ‘It’s too high for a house, for one thing. It’d be like living in a cathedral.’

‘But it’s a place he might go if he was feeling … low
or worried, or something,’ Drew pursued. ‘To go and think, maybe. Like a cathedral,’ he finished thoughtfully. ‘There is a sort of holy feeling to it, somehow.’