Murder at the Laurels (13 page)

‘Hi.' Sophie waved a languid hand. ‘Shall I make the tea, Dad?'

‘Thanks, darling.' He sat on the edge of his desk. ‘So, is tea the only thing you want?'

‘No.' Libby fished in her basket. ‘Do you know where this address is?'

Guy wrinkled his brow as he took the piece of paper. ‘Up at the back of the town, somewhere, I think. Near the cricket ground? Why do you want to know?'

‘One of the nurses at the home where Fran's aunt died lives there,' said Libby.

‘Libby, please. Everyone doesn't need to know,' said Fran.

‘Oh, of course!' Guy looked at Fran curiously. ‘I didn't put two and two together. It was your aunt who was murdered, was it?'

‘I'm afraid so,' said Fran, trying to look discouraging.

He put his head on one side, looking a little like an inquisitive, middle-aged faun. Fran couldn't see the chimp likeness at all.

‘We're looking into it,' said Libby, importantly, and Fran sighed.

‘Oh, dear.' Guy smiled at her. ‘Worrying for you.'

‘Why does everybody seem to think I'm some kind of … of … clumsy …'

‘Bull in a china shop,' Fran finished for her. ‘I don't know, Lib, but as it seems to be the general consensus of opinion, I'm inclined to believe it.'

Sophie emerged from the back of the gallery with four mugs on a tray.

‘I put milk in all of them, if that's all right,' she said. ‘I'll go and get the sugar.'

‘Pretty girl,' said Fran, watching her go.

‘Thank you. One of my better efforts,' said Guy.

‘So you're related to the Denvers, then?' he said later, when they were all sitting round the coffee table with their mugs.

Fran looked up, surprised. ‘Not really,' she said. ‘I was a niece by marriage, they're blood relatives – I think. How did you know?'

‘Barbara came in to order a piece of sculpture as a headstone. Didn't she, Soph?'

Sophie peered up from between curtains of pale lemon hair. ‘One of Philip's.'

‘Philip Massey?' Libby's face was a picture. ‘My God, how much will that have cost her?'

‘Who?' asked Fran.

‘Famous sculptor and neighbour. Lives up the back. I think he'll be doing a cut-price number for our Barbara, won't he, Sophie?'

‘That's all very well, but it's not her job to do that, is it? I assume it's for our mutual aunt?'

‘So she said. Not mentioning you, of course.'

‘Bit of a cheek, though,' said Libby, ‘much like all the other stuff.'

‘I'll have to tell Charles,' said Fran.

‘Not till he comes out of durance vile,' said Libby.

‘Libby!' Fran sent her a reproving glare.

‘Don't mind me,' said Guy, looking amused.

‘Anyway,' said Libby, oblivious, ‘now we know roughly where Nurse Redding lives.'

Fran shook her head and cast her eyes up to Guy's pretty coving.

He laughed. ‘How about you two staying down here for dinner? My treat?'

Fran noticed Libby's colour surge up her neck. ‘I've got to get back,' she said, but thanks for the thought. But –' she sat up straight in her chair – ‘how about you coming to dinner with us? Fran? Is that all right with you?'

‘When you say us …?'

‘I mean, I'll cook. Ben's coming over, and you could come, and Guy. How about it?'

Fran looked at Guy.

‘I'd like that, if it's not too short notice,' he said. ‘And Ben's back on the scene, is he? Why, only last week …'

‘Yes, yes, all right,' said Libby hastily, and stood up. ‘Now, Fran, all we've got to do is find out where Nurse Warner lives.'

Sophie looked up. ‘Do you mean Sue Warner who works at The Laurels? Oh, I know her.'

Chapter Seventeen

‘
D
O YOU?
' I
T WAS
left to Guy to ask, as Libby and Fran seemed deprived of speech.

‘We were at school together. She lives in Canterbury somewhere, I think.'

‘Could you find out?' asked Libby.

‘I suppose, I could. Is it important?'

‘No, don't bother, Sophie,' said Fran, ‘but it's very kind of you.'

‘But –' began Libby.

‘No, Libby. It's nothing to do with us.' Fran stood up. ‘Come on, if you've got to cook dinner for us all.'

‘Oh, all right.' Libby got to her feet. ‘Do you want to come back with us, Guy?'

‘How would I get home?' He patted her shoulder. ‘No, it's all right. I'll drive over and possibly beg a bed from Ben.'

Libby reddened and opened her mouth, then thought better of it.

‘Bye, Sophie,' said Fran. ‘Nice to meet you.'

Guy ushered them out of the gallery. ‘See you about eight, then?' he said.

‘We do seem to do a lot of eating, don't we?' said Libby, as they walked back down Harbour Street.

‘Most people do,' said Fran.

‘Yes, but we always seem to have our important chats over food and drink.'

‘Well, you don't suggest meeting friends to watch television, do you? Eating and drinking are social pastimes.'

‘I enjoy them, anyway,' said Libby. ‘Hop in.'

‘Why did you invite Guy over?' asked Fran, as they bowled along a tree shaded country road. ‘Wasn't it a bit sudden?'

‘He invited us to dinner in Nethergate, didn't he? And as I'd already made arrangements with Ben, I couldn't go, but I didn't want to put him off.'

‘He would have understood.'

‘Yes, but you have to strike while the iron's hot,' said Libby obscurely.

‘You want him to help us?' Fran frowned.

‘No! He's interested in you. I didn't want him put off.'

‘Oh, Libby, really. Surely, it's up to him? Or me, come to that.'

‘Well, yes, but a little helping hand now and then never did anyone any harm.'

‘Did it occur to you that my life might be my own?'

‘Fran!' Libby turned to look at her. Fran squealed and Libby hauled the car back on to the road. ‘Am I interfering?'

‘Yes, Libby,' said Fran firmly. ‘Not only with Guy, whom I don't know at all, but with this business of Aunt Eleanor. I told you, it's nothing really to do with me, so it's certainly nothing to do with you.'

‘It was you who said we should find out about the other will,' said Libby huffily. ‘Make your mind up.'

‘I know,' sighed Fran, ‘I'm being inconsistent. I feel I've got to find out about it, yet I know I shouldn't.' She sighed again. ‘It's all very muddling.'

‘Well, look on it as me helping sort out the muddle,' said Libby, cheering up. ‘I'll let you sort yourself out over Guy.'

‘Gee, thanks,' said Fran, ‘but I don't think there's anything to sort out.'

‘He fancies you,' said Libby firmly. ‘Definitely.'

‘Well, aren't we lucky? Two middle-aged, over-the-hill women, and according to you, we've both got suitors.'

‘Suitors. What a lovely word.' Libby swung on to the main road. ‘Or possibly swains. Middle-aged swains. Or should it be swain?'

‘I've no idea, but whatever it is, you're cooking for it, so hadn't we better get a move on?'

Back at Number 17, Libby left a message for Ben telling him that their dinner à deux had been expanded and surveyed the contents of the larder and fridge.

‘Keep it simple,' she muttered to herself, and wondered if she was doing the right thing.

Wouldn't the conversation automatically turn to Aunt Eleanor? And even, possibly, to Fran's moments, which she hated being discussed? Libby sighed. Bull in a china shop, she told herself. They're right.

Ben, amiably accepting the ruination of his tête-à-tête, arrived early and helped set the kitchen table. Sidney, indignant at being turned off both Rayburn
and
table, was shut protesting inside the conservatory.

‘Bit of a squash, really,' said Libby, squeezing between the table and the sink. ‘Once we sit down we won't be able to get up.'

‘What do you do when the children are here for Christmas?' asked Ben.

‘Clear the conservatory and put the table in there.'

‘Couldn't we do that now?'

‘Too much effort. I have to start thinking about it days in advance. Besides, I've got a painting half finished.'

‘Oh, the autumn cottage window. You can show Guy this evening.'

Libby stopped and pushed her hair off her face. ‘Am I being an interfering old matchmaker?' she said.

‘Yes,' said Ben, ‘but you're
my
interfering old matchmaker, so that's all right.'

Libby, well-pleased with this statement, allowed herself to be kissed.

Despite the cramped conditions, the impromptu supper party was successful. Libby's simple menu went down well, and Ben and Guy's wine contributions even better. Guy had sensibly thought to ring Ben before he set out regarding a bed for the night, and Ben had coerced Peter and Harry into giving him their spare room. Ben had heard Harry loudly protesting in the background about being left out of the party.

‘Coffee in the sitting room?' suggested Libby. ‘I've even got some brandy, I think.'

‘Before we go in, can I see what you're up to in the conservatory?' asked Guy. ‘I've been trying to see what's on that easel all through dinner.'

‘Come on, then,' said Libby. As she opened the door, Sidney shot out like a champagne cork.

They all crowded into the conservatory, and Guy turned the easel towards the light. ‘Hmm,' he said.

‘What's up, Fran?' Libby turned as she heard a tiny sound from her friend, and wasn't surprised to see her with a rather startled look on her face.

‘Nothing.' Fran kept her eyes fixed on the painting. Libby saw that Ben was watching her.

‘It's a favourite subject, Fran,' he said. ‘Haven't you seen any before?'

‘No.' Fran turned to Libby. ‘I haven't, have I?'

‘I don't think so. You've been past the cottage, though.'

Guy turned from the easel. ‘It's actually right down near the harbour,' he said. ‘Don't you like it?'

Fran smiled brightly. ‘It's lovely,' she said. ‘Have you got any more here, Libby?'

‘Several,' said Libby. ‘I'll show you tomorrow.'

‘If you've got several,' said Guy, ‘why haven't I been given them to sell?'

‘They're not really up to scratch,' muttered Libby, turning the easel away from them.

‘I'll be the judge of that,' said Guy. ‘Come on, let's have a look.'

‘We're supposed to be having coffee,' sighed Libby.

‘And brandy,' said Ben, taking her arm. ‘Come on, Lib. We'll leave them here to ferret and we'll go and sit in comfort.'

‘Fran saw something in that picture, didn't she?' said Libby, once they were settled in the sitting room.

Ben nodded. ‘She'll tell us eventually. Odd, though, because you painted it.'

‘You think it could be something to do with me rather than the picture?'

Ben shrugged. ‘Who knows? I wonder if she's telling Guy all about it right now?'

‘I doubt it.' Libby sipped her brandy. ‘Good if Guy does take some of those pictures, though. I could do with the money.'

When Fran and Guy came into the sitting room, Guy was carrying several paintings and Fran was looking thoughtful.

‘When I go home tomorrow, I'm taking Fran back with me so she can see your cottage,' said Guy, sitting on the floor and accepting a brandy. He sent her a puzzled look, but didn't say anything more.

‘I was wondering if it was available to rent,' said Fran. ‘It looks very pretty.'

‘You can only see the window frame in the paintings,' said Libby dubiously. ‘How can you tell if it's pretty?'

‘The view's pretty,' said Fran with finality, and changed the subject.

Later, Guy gallantly offered to walk home with Fran, although, as Ben said, he would go past her door on his way to Peter and Harry's anyway, and left Libby alone with Ben.

‘Washing up,' she said, suddenly shy.

‘In the morning,' he said.

‘Aha! You'll be gone by then,' said Libby, hoping he couldn't see her heart hammering away like a pneumatic drill underneath her top.

‘Who said?' asked Ben, bending to touch his lips to her neck. Libby shivered, as all the bits brought to life last night leapt once again to attention.

‘Sidney,' she said faintly.

‘Go and feed him, then,' said Ben, giving her a little push, ‘and then come back to me.'

As Sidney was discovered hoovering up the remains of dinner, Libby decided he'd eaten enough, and shut him in the conservatory. His habit of acting as doorkeeper to her bedroom was, she felt, superfluous tonight.

The following morning, she discovered Ben had done most of the washing up and fed Sidney before she was even awake.

‘It seemed a pity to wake you,' he said with a grin, fetching her a mug of tea. ‘Couldn't remember if you preferred tea or coffee in the morning.'

‘Tea,' said Libby, wrapping her hands round her mug. ‘I thought you'd be gone by now.'

‘A very cavalier attitude, I must say!' He sat down beside her on the creaking sofa. ‘I wouldn't sneak out into the dawn, leaving not a wrack behind.'

‘What is a wrack?' said Libby. ‘I've often wondered.'

‘Wreckage,' said Ben, ‘like what I feel at the moment.'

‘Oh, dear.' Libby looked at him with interest. ‘You don't look as if you've got a hangover.'

‘I haven't,' said Ben, tracing a finger down her neck, dangerously close to her dressing gown. ‘But I'm not as young as I was.'

‘Oh,' said Libby, blushing.

‘I will go now, however,' he said, standing up. ‘You'll want to ring Fran to find out about last night …'

‘I wouldn't be so nosey!'

‘No, I meant about her reaction to the paintings.'

‘Oh.' Libby thought for a moment. ‘Yes, I'd better, before she goes off with Guy.'

He bent to kiss her. ‘I'll see you later, then,' he said. ‘Got some estate work to do for Dad, then Mum wants to go into Canterbury.'

‘OK.' Libby nodded and watched him leave before getting to her feet and going to the window to see if she could still see him walking up the lane.
How pathetic
, she thought, craning sideways to catch the last glimpse.
How old am I
? Sighing, she turned from the window and went to call Fran.

‘No, he didn't come in,' said Fran, ‘before you even ask.'

‘I wasn't going to,' said Libby indignantly. ‘I was merely going to ask about the picture.'

‘Oh, that,' said Fran in a weary voice. ‘I really don't know.'

‘What do you mean, you don't know?'

‘It hasn't any relevance to Aunt Eleanor. It's just – I keep feeling I've been there before. As a child. I keep seeing a child. And a bedroom, although it isn't mine.'

‘I suppose it couldn't be mine?' asked Libby slowly.

‘Yours? Why?'

Libby told her story about the picture on her bedroom wall. ‘That's why I keep painting it. I have no idea if it's that cottage, but when I went to view it, it felt right.'

‘So it was for sale?'

‘Oh, yes, but too expensive for me. Sea front, you see. Prime position.'

‘Do you remember who the agent was?'

‘No. Fran, you couldn't afford it! Don't be silly.'

‘If they haven't sold it, they might be willing to rent it out,' said Fran, sounding stubborn.

‘It's bound to have been sold. Very desirable property, that.'

‘I'll have a look, anyway. I need to find out about it.'

‘Well, let me know,' said Libby. ‘How will you get back?'

‘Oh, I'll think of something,' said Fran vaguely. ‘I'll ring you.'

Libby rang off, thought for a moment, then dialled again.

‘Sophie? Hi, it's Libby Sarjeant … You remember yesterday you said you thought you could find out where young Nurse Warner lives? Well, could you? … Yes, I know what Fran said, but I think we need to know … No, I think he's on his way back now … yes, right … OK. Thanks very much.'

Right,' she said to Sidney, who had appeared deciding it was lunchtime already, ‘now to find where Nurse Redding lives.'

But before she could do anything about either of the nurses, the phone rang again. This time it was Marion Headlam asking if Fran had another contact number.

‘I'm afraid not,' said Libby, ‘only her mobile number. Is there a problem?'

‘I just wondered if there was any news.' Marion Headlam sounded nervous. ‘It's all been rather unsettling.'

‘About the will, you mean?' asked Libby, trying to inject warmth and sympathy into her voice. ‘I'm sure it is, if Mrs Bridges said she was going to leave you something.'

‘Oh, well,' said Mrs Headlam with a shaky laugh, ‘not me, of course, only the home. And I wouldn't want to appear greedy. I do so hate it when that sort of thing happens with relatives, don't you?'

‘Er – yes,' said Libby, who had no experience of it.

‘Well, never mind.' There was an effort to sound normal and light hearted. ‘Such a pity we can't bury the poor lady, then we could all get on with our lives, couldn't we?'

Libby wondered whether Marion Headlam felt the same about all her clients, who, after all, probably left her in this state quite regularly.

‘Before you go, Mrs Headlam,' she said, thinking rapidly, if not sensibly, ‘I was wondering if you could put me in touch with Nurse – er – Redding?'