Murder in Midwinter (35 page)

‘Happy Christmas!’ she said, as Fran opened her door an hour later.

‘You’ll have to excuse the mess,’ said Fran as she led the way up into her living room, which was filled with boxes. ‘I didn’t realise I’d brought this much down with me.’

‘You didn’t at first,’ said Libby, ‘you’ve just added to it as time’s gone by. And you had to clear out the London flat, didn’t you? Have you got someone to move you?’

‘It was easy,’ said Fran. ‘No one wants to move in Christmas week apparently, so those removal companies that are working haven’t got much on.’

‘Good.’ Libby perched at the window as usual. ‘Can I have a fag? I’m hardly having any, now, but it is Christmas.’

‘Course you can,’ said Fran, ‘and you can have a glass of fizz, if you like, too.’

‘Blimey! That’s pushing the boat out,’ said Libby.

When they were both settled with glasses, Libby returned to the subject of Dorinda.

‘That visitor was the same visitor that Julia told Jonathan about, wasn’t it?’ she said. ‘And it must have been Colin.’

‘So, work it out. Why did he keep visiting the Shepherds?’

‘I wouldn’t call twice “keep visiting”,’ said Libby, ‘but you’re right. There must have been some reason …’

‘He found out about his real parentage,’ said Fran, watching Libby as a teacher might watch a favourite pupil.

‘Oh, bugger,’ said Libby. ‘Earnest.’

‘I think so. It all makes sense. Dorinda is thrown out, and the necklace used as an excuse. I would guess Shepherd raped her, probably because she refused him. There’s no mention of him at Anderson Place, so I expect Sir Fred took Nemone and the children with him. Nemone would have known about the rape, and maybe she helped Dorinda with money.’

‘Kindness itself,’ repeated Libby.

‘Exactly.

‘So what’s Ivy all about then?’

‘It looks as though Sir Fred married Ivy. Perhaps she and Dorinda were friends. We don’t know. We’ll never know any of this unless we can find proof.’

‘So Laurence was actually Earnest Shepherd’s grandson. No wonder he was so attached to Anderson Place. He must have thought he had a stake in it.’ Libby stubbed out her cigarette.

‘So did Colin. I don’t suppose he realised it was nothing to do with the Shepherds. The grandchildren inherited because they were Sir Fred’s.’

‘But none of this makes any sense of Laurence’s murder. He wasn’t killed by any of the Shepherds,’ said Libby.

‘No, but you’ve worked that out for yourself.’

‘I know, but not
why
,’ said Libby.

‘Oh, come on, Lib. Money.’

‘Hmm. Yes. Horrible.’ Libby drank the last of her champagne and slid off the window sill. ‘Come on, then. Let’s forget it and have a lovely day. Your Inspector Connell will be on it quickly enough.’

Chapter
Thirty-two

T
HE MANOR WAS LIKE
everybody’s vision of an old-fashioned Victorian Christmas. Libby and Fran had already seen the tree and a lot of the decorations, but Hetty had excelled herself now, and every inch of the downstairs appeared to be weighed down with holly, mistletoe, ivy and candles. The large family sitting room had a traditional Yule log burning in the enormous hearth and a smaller Christmas Tree stood in the corner surrounded by presents. Fran and Libby added theirs to the pile and kissed everyone. Belinda and Adam were already ensconced on one of the sofas clutching glasses, Ben’s father Gregory sat upright and smiling in his chair by the fire and Ben himself wandered about with a napkin-wrapped bottle.

At twelve-thirty a horn sounded outside. Rushing to the window, they saw Peter and Harry waving from the front seats of a beautiful old Morgan sports car.

‘Wow!’ said Ben and Adam together, and dashed out to greet the newcomers.

‘So, what do you think of our wedding present, girls and boys?’ said Harry, emerging into the sitting room and divesting himself of tweed coat and cap.

‘Love the costume,’ said Libby.

‘Wedding present?’ asked Fran.

‘From Pete,’ said Harry. ‘Gorgeous, isn’t it? Course, we’ll both use it, so it’s for both of us, really.’

More champagne was poured, Hetty decreed that present giving should begin and thereafter, Christmas Day proceeded as do most Christmas Days all over England. Lunch was much later than Hetty had anticipated, but the more convivial and jovial for that. Guy, having spent the morning and early afternoon with his mother and Sophie, arrived to pick Fran up, but was pressed to stay, and the evening progressed into a game playing marathon, with charades the top favourite.

Fran and Libby volunteered to make turkey and ham sandwiches during the evening, with a few salad ones for Harry. In the comparative quiet of the kitchen Fran gave a pleasurable sigh.

‘This is what Christmas is supposed to be like,’ she said.

‘If you’re not a bah, humbug type,’ said Libby.

‘Well, I’m not.’

‘Where are your kids?’ asked Libby, beginning to slice Hetty’s home made bread.

‘Lucy’s with her kids at their other grandparents. The ex is elsewhere, I gather. Jeremy’s still in New York and Chrissie’s husband Bruce doesn’t approve of me. They’re spending Christmas somewhere warm.’

‘Did they send you presents?’ asked Libby curiously.

‘Oh, yes.’ Fran was chopping lettuce and tomatoes. ‘Rachel and Tom make their mother send me a present, because if she doesn’t, they think I won’t send them any, Jeremy is always extravagant and phoned me this morning, and Chrissie sent me a lovely lavender bath set.’

‘Eh?’ Libby looked up. ‘Bath mat?’

‘Talcum powder, bathcubes and soap.’ Fran looked up and grinned. ‘She is desperately trying to change me into a suitably blue-rinsed matron to fit in with dear Bruce’s executive job and lifestyle.’

‘You?’ Libby laughed. ‘Blimey, she doesn’t know you very well, does she?’

‘No,’ Fran said.

‘Oh, God, sorry, Fran. That was tactless.’

‘No, it was truthful,’ said Fran, now buttering massive slices of bread. ‘I neglected my kids when they were little because I was concentrating on my career. My mother knew them better than I did for a long time. And look where it got me? A grotty rented flat in London and no future.’

‘That’s not true, now, is it?’ said Libby, tearing lumps off the turkey. ‘You’ve got your lovely cottage, a nice car – and a boyfriend.’

‘Boyfriend? Is that what Guy is? Aren’t we a bit old for boyfriends?’

‘Oh, all right, then, whatever. Not partner, though. You don’t live together.’

‘No, and I don’t want to,’ said Fran. ‘Now I’ve got Coastguard Cottage I want to savour it all to myself for a bit.’

‘No Lucy and the kids, then?’ said Libby wickedly.

Fran laughed. ‘Definitely not!’ she said. ‘They’re welcome to come for the odd weekend, but that’s it.’

‘What about the others?’

‘Jeremy will come when he’s next over, but that’s different. And I can’t see Bruce wanting to come. They might come for a flying visit, I suppose.’

‘Is he that bad?’ said Libby.

‘Actually, although I know we’re not supposed to be talking about this today, but he’s exactly as I imagine Orrible Andrew to be.’

‘Oh.’ They both stopped working and looked at each other. Then Libby picked up the sliced ham and began to assemble the sandwiches. ‘It is him, isn’t it?’ she said finally.

‘Who else can it be?’ said Fran. ‘He must have intercepted a call from Laurence to Bella and decided that he would come between them and the money from the site. And then he went to the flat and found out about Dorothy.’

‘Where does Dorothy come in?’

‘I suppose Laurence must have told him Dorothy was also due part of the money. Something like that. So he had to kill her, too.’

‘Birth certificate, too. Bet he looked for that and couldn’t find it, so thought it must be at Dorothy’s.’

‘And Eric’s flat is the clincher. As you said, who else could it possibly be? Bella’s known everything we’ve done all the way through, and would have told Andrew.’

‘Although I thought she was getting a bit stronger,’ said Fran. ‘She seemed quite determined to come and live in March Cottage and do up the Alexandria.’

‘This is why you felt she was in danger from Andrew?’

‘I suppose so.’ Fran had her uncomfortable face on now. ‘Although I’m not sure of any of this. It’s pure speculation.’

‘But you said Connell had come to the same conclusion,’ said Libby, frowning as she tried to cut through a tower of sandwiches.

‘More or less. He was very cagey, though. I suppose he would be, wouldn’t he. I haven’t exactly impressed him with my infallible insights.’

‘Well, nothing we can do right now,’ said Libby. ‘Could we perhaps give Bella a ring tomorrow? Or the day after?’

‘It might be rather inappropriate if her husband’s just been arrested,’ said Fran. ‘Perhaps we just ought to take the files and the newspapers back and leave it at that.’

‘She’ll want to know about Laurence and the family, though, won’t she? After all, they’re – or they were – cousins.’

‘If Andrew worked it out, she could.’

‘But Andrew didn’t work it out, did he? Laurence told him.’

‘Yes.’ Fran looked thoughtful again.

‘Hoy, you two! How long are those sandwiches going to be?’ Harry appeared in the doorway. ‘I said you should have let me make them.’

‘No work for the newly-weds,’ said Libby. ‘You can help carry in, though.’

Fran and Libby had no more opportunity to talk about their suspicions that evening, and eventually, the party broke up and they all went their separate ways.

‘Do you think Guy will stay with Fran tonight?’ Libby asked Ben, as they strolled down the Manor drive behind Belinda and Adam, who professed to have had one of the best Christmases ever, to Hetty’s unsuccessfully concealed delight.

‘I don’t know and I don’t want to know,’ said Ben. ‘Don’t be such a nosy old cow.’

‘She says she doesn’t want to live with anyone once she’s moved in to Coastguard Cottage.’

‘Well, of course she doesn’t,’ said Ben. ‘You don’t want to live with me, do you? You want Number 17 all to yourself.’

‘Mmm.’ Libby thought about it. ‘But with Guy literally just down the road, won’t it be a temptation? For him to stay over, I mean.’

‘More for him than her. He could get a bit too presumptuous.’

‘She doesn’t feel the same about him as I feel about you,’ said Libby.

‘Really?’ Ben gave her shoulders a squeeze.

‘Well, she hasn’t had the practice.’ Libby poked him in the ribs. ‘Anyway, I’m a sucker.’

Boxing Day was spent quietly. Libby invited Fran – and Guy, as he still appeared to be around – to a buffet lunch of traditional cold meats and pickles, which Belinda and Adam said they enjoyed more than Christmas dinner itself. Before Fran and Guy arrived, she collected all the material they had taken from Bella’s cottage and piled it into the conservatory.

Fran spotted it as she was helping clear away after lunch.

‘Shall we take it back tomorrow?’ she asked, pausing with an armful of dirty plates.

‘If you want to,’ said Libby. ‘Did you phone her?’

‘No, I felt awkward,’ said Fran. ‘I know it’s not my fault if her husband killed somebody, but I shall feel responsible. After all, we did point Ian in the direction of Laurence’s father and his connection with Bella, didn’t we?’

‘Didn’t
you
, you mean,’ said Libby, plunging her arms into the sink. ‘And are we going to try and find out if we’re right about Colin being Dorinda’s?’

‘I don’t think we can,’ said Fran, ‘not unless we go through all that stuff in the files page by page. And I still don’t think we’d find anything conclusive. She obviously didn’t keep a diary, did she?’

Libby sighed. ‘No. So that’s that. Unless Bella finds anything later and lets us know.’

‘She may want to wash her hands of the whole thing,’ said Fran. ‘I think I would if I was her.’

‘So,’ said Libby, after a pause. ‘How come Guy’s here today?’

‘You invited him,’ said Fran in surprise.

‘Because he was there when I phoned,’ said Libby.

‘He spent the night on the sofa,’ said Fran, blushing.

‘On your sofa?’ Libby’s voice rose. ‘Impossible.’

‘That’s what he said,’ said Fran.

Libby turned round, folding soapy arms. ‘Come on, Fran. Tell all.’

Fran’s colour deepened. ‘He couldn’t drive home, could he? After all that drink Hetty kept giving us. So I offered him the sofa. He could hardly go to the pub at that time of night, they’d closed.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Yes.’ Fran looked her friend straight in the eye. ‘He didn’t sleep with me, Lib. I was tempted, believe me, but when it came to the crunch I was just too scared.’

‘Mm.’ Libby turned back to the sink. ‘You’ll have to get over it sometime unless you want to dwindle into an old maid.’

‘I couldn’t be that, could I? I’ve already had kids.’

‘You know what I mean,’ said Libby. ‘Just think, no sex for the rest of your life.’

‘I’ve done without it for the last few years, and I’m no spring chicken,’ said Fran, bending her face to the plate she was drying so that Libby couldn’t see her expression. ‘I don’t see why I shouldn’t go on like that.’

Libby looked severely over her shoulder. ‘Oh, yeah?’ she said.

Opting to take Romeo the Renault the following morning as there was more room for the bulky files and newspapers, Libby picked Fran up and immediately enquired about Guy’s whereabouts.

‘If you noticed,’ said Fran, buckling herself in to the slightly unsteady passenger seat, ‘he didn’t drink more than a glass of wine yesterday, so he drove home. He was spending the evening with his mother.’

‘I didn’t know he had a mother,’ said Libby, pulling out into the High Street with an alarming jerk.

‘She’s quite old,’ said Fran. ‘He and Sophie had lunch with her on Christmas Day.’

‘Is she in a home?’ asked Libby, thinking of The Laurels, where Fran’s aunt had died last summer.

‘No, she lives alone. Quite independent, apparently.’

‘Is he going to take you to meet her?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Fran testily. ‘Just leave it, Libby.’

Libby pulled a face and concentrated on driving.