The Lily-White Boys (14 page)

Claudia saw her daughter droop, and ached for her. She could have stayed home to revise, after all. Personally, she wished they'd all stayed home; she was hating every minute of this. Whenever she'd been here before, even as recently as last Tuesday, she'd felt happy and relaxed. Now, for no reason she could pinpoint, it had all changed. Yet the change, she knew, was within her. It was as though she watched them all through distorting mirrors. Eloise had turned from Abbie to Harry.

‘All set for the Private View?' she asked him, offering a dish of nuts.

‘As much as we can be at this stage. The replies are starting to flood in at long last.'

‘I hope you can find room for Theo; he wasn't invited, but he'd love to come.' ‘Oh Lord, I'm sorry – someone always gets overlooked at these things. I'll have a word with my typist and make sure he's put on the list.'

‘Will you be helping with the hanging, Claudia?'

Claudia started to find herself addressed, but Harry was answering for her, an edge to his voice.

‘No, no, that's not her scene. Claudia prefers to swan in when all the hard work's been done and the bubbly's on hand, don't you, darling?'

Claudia said tightly, ‘I shan't be helping, no. I'm lunching in Broadminster on Tuesday and don't know what time I'll be back.'

‘You do enough behind the scenes anyway,' Eloise said tactfully. ‘But if you do need any help, Harry, I could spare an hour or two.'

‘Thanks, I might take you up on that.'

Into the awkward silence, Monica said, ‘It's very noble of you, Eloise, to have us for Sunday lunch, specially when you've no help with the meal. I don't suppose your caterers were available at short notice?'

Her sister laughed. ‘I've a confession to make: one reason why I've invited you all is that we had a dinner-party last night and there's quite a lot of food left over. Though the main reason, naturally, is that we wanted to see you!'

Monica smiled. ‘We're not proud, particularly when it comes to “Home Cooking's” specialties. I thought, incidentally, that they excelled themselves on Tuesday.'

‘Yes, they do very well.' Eloise rose to her feet. ‘If everyone's ready, shall we go through?'

As they moved into the hall, Monica found Justin at her side.

‘Are you all right? You look rather pale.'

‘A migraine hovering, I'm afraid. It's like an oven outside.'

‘Perhaps something to eat will help.'

But Monica knew resignedly that once it had got this far, there was no deflecting the headache. Already the bright colours in Eloise's dress were hurting her eyes.

The meal progressed. Monica made an effort to eat the delicious cold food spread before her, but her appetite had gone. Claudia, she noted, was doing little better. Poor Eloise, her ‘finishing up' party was letting her down.

A mint sorbet spiked with crème-de-menthe ended the meal and they returned to the sitting-room, where conversation continued in a desultory fashion over coffee and, later, tea. Though she longed for the dimness of drawn curtains and the quiet of her own room, Monica had no energy to make a move. It was left to her mother, who, perhaps of all of them, was the one who'd enjoyed the occasion without reservation, to mention the time.

‘We mustn't outstay our welcome,' she remarked, ‘and you're looking a bit peaky, darling. Didn't your headache lift?'

‘Unfortunately not.'

Justin said quickly. ‘Look, I'll drive you home. One of the boys can bring your car round tomorrow.'

‘No, really, I'll be all right.'

‘No arguments. You're not in a fit state to drive, by the look of you.'

It was too much effort to protest, and in any case the thought of someone else driving was like a load being lifted from her. Among the murmurs of concern, she allowed herself to be escorted to the car and helped into the back seat.

‘What an end to a day out!' she said shakily. ‘I do apologize.'

‘Nonsense. We didn't realize how badly you were feeling, though I should have known, since Eloise has the same trouble.'

Monica rested her head against the back seat and thankfully closed her eyes. The swaying motion of the car made her nauseous and she could feel sweat pricking at her skin. Still, the ordeal would soon be over and she could go to bed.

When they reached North Park, Justin insisted on escorting them up the path and waiting till Monica had inserted her key and swung the door open.

‘Now you're sure you'll be all right? Would you like me to phone the doctor?'

She shook her head. ‘He'd only advise rest and darkness. Thanks, Justin, you very probably saved my life.'

‘Theo will bring your car round before he goes to work. Straight to bed, now, and take care. Goodbye, Maude. It was lovely to see you.'

As Monica pushed the door closed behind them, Mrs Bedale came out of the kitchen. ‘Did you get the phone call, Miss Tovey?'

Monica halted, an enervating flood of heat pouring over her. ‘What phone call?'

‘The gentleman who rang before. I gave him Mrs Teal's number, like you said.'

‘Oh God,' said Monica through dry lips. ‘No, I didn't. I have a migraine, Mrs Bedale; I shan't want any supper, I'm going straight to bed.'

And leaving the two women in the hall, she dragged herself up the stairs.

Had the police managed to trace the call? She was incapable of phoning them to find out. Well, she'd done all she could; if he'd wanted, he could have contacted her at the Teals'. Perhaps he didn't intend to speak to her at all, but just to leave messages to frighten her. Though as far as she knew he hadn't even done that; she'd not specifically asked, but she wasn't going downstairs again to check.

Suddenly aware that she was going to vomit, Monica turned and staggered towards the bathroom.

‘Not one of our more successful occasions, darling,' Justin said drily on his return. ‘Poor Monica in obvious pain and sparks flying between Claudia and Harry. That's unusual; I wonder what had happened?'

‘No doubt even the most devoted couples have rows sometimes.'

He turned at her tone of voice. ‘You think they are devoted? I don't know that I'd have put it so strongly.'

‘Goodness, Justin, how should I know? They've always seemed perfectly happy.'

‘Yes.' He paused. ‘You know, I was thinking only the other day that it says a lot for Harry that he's still our friend. We treated him pretty badly, didn't we?'

‘The selfishness of young love!'

‘I sometimes wonder if he still wishes things had turned out differently.'

‘Oh, he's very fond of Claudia, and he adores Abbie. They're fine; it was probably some little disagreement they'd had before they came which they'd not had time to talk through. I did like her dress,' Eloise continued, flipping through the pages of the colour supplement. ‘I must ask Monica which designer it was.'

Justin took the hint that his wife didn't want to probe any deeper into their friends' affairs. It was some time later that he realized she'd bypassed his comment on Harry's feelings towards herself.

The ringing of the phone bored into her head like a pneumatic drill. Blindly she reached out for it, more intent on stopping the noise than discovering who was calling. But as a gruff, hesitant voice said, ‘Miss Tovey?' she was suddenly, icily, awake. He'd caught up with her at last.

She hitched herself up on one elbow. ‘Yes?'

‘I'm the bloke you saw that night. By the van.'

‘I know.'

‘When I read what they found in the back, I –'

‘
Read
it?'

‘That's right; I'd no idea, I swear it!'

She said whitely, ‘But if that's true, how – ?'

‘I'd been visiting a friend, see, and missed the last bus. Well, I was in a fair old stew, 'cos I had to be at the depot by five. I tried hitching but no one would stop, so I started to walk, and then I saw this van in a lay-by. It was –'

‘Wait!' Monica interrupted, picking her way through the irrelevancies. ‘Are you trying to tell me you didn't kill those boys?'

‘ 'Course I didn't! I'd no idea they were there! Fair makes my flesh crawl, thinking about it.'

Were the police getting this? ‘Then why in the name of heaven didn't you come forward and explain?'

‘There were reasons. But –'

‘Look here, young man.' The invalid was giving way to the magistrate. ‘Do you realize that not only have you hindered police inquiries, you've also given me an extremely worrying few days?'

‘Yes, sorry about that. I tried to phone –'

‘Only twice. Why didn't you ring again?'

‘I was out of the country, wasn't I, driving a load to Belgium. Left five o'clock Friday morning and got back dinner-time today. I did phone earlier but you were out again.'

‘I know,' she said weakly, her anger beginning to evaporate in enormous relief. ‘But never mind me, why didn't you tell the police? By phone if you didn't want to call in, just to let them know they were looking for the wrong man?'

‘They can trace calls, even from public phone-boxes. They'd have nabbed me for nicking the van.'

‘But you'll have to see them. You might have valuable information.'

‘I haven't – I just said! I don't know nothing.'

‘Nevertheless, you must go.' She reached for the bedside pad. ‘What's your name and address?'

Her voice must have held authority, because to her surprise he gave them: Frank Andrews, 3 Calder's Close. They could both be false, but it was a starting-point.

‘I'm sure they'll go easy on you,' she added. ‘You will see them, won't you? Tomorrow? Ask for Mr Webb, at Carrington Street.'

He didn't reply, and she said urgently, ‘Promise me you will.'

‘All right,' he said sulkily, ‘but they'd better believe me about the van. I didn't have to phone, you know,' he added, with a burst of righteous indignation.

‘I know, and I'm very grateful that you did. I've not enjoyed the past week.'

‘No, I reckon not. Sorry.'

‘Mr Webb, at Carrington Street,' she repeated, hoping the forcefulness of her request would last until the next morning.

As he rang off she swung her feet to the floor and waited for the dizziness to subside. Where had she put the Chief Inspector's number? The police should now know as much as she did, but she wanted confirmation of the fact.

As it happened, Webb was also in bed at ten o'clock that Sunday, but he was not alone. Swearing softly, he answered the insistent ringing of the telephone.

Hannah, lying beside him, gathered it was the man tapping Monica's phone. She'd called her friend twice over the last few days to see if the mystery caller'd rung back, and knew the strain she was under.

David put the phone down and turned back to her. ‘As you'll have gathered, the bloke's just been on again. And, would you believe, he's insisting he's not the murderer after all. How do you like that? Your friend Miss Tovey got a name and address out of him and made him promise to come to the station in the morning.'

‘Good for Monica. But if he's not –'

The phone interrupted her with shrill insistence. With a grimace Webb lifted it again, to find Monica herself on the line.

‘Sorry, my love,' he said as he replaced it, ‘she's naturally a bit jumpy and she needs someone to talk to. I'll have to go over.'

‘Of course. You think he's telling the truth, about not being the murderer?'

‘From what I heard, it sounds genuine. Just our luck, when he finally materializes.' He was already out of bed and pulling on his clothes. ‘She says she's not too good – migraine – so I'll be as quick as I can. You'll stay, won't you?'

‘Oh, I think so. I'm too lazy to dress and go back downstairs.'

‘Fine, then I'll be even quicker!' He bent to kiss her swiftly before hurrying out of the door, knotting his tie as he went.

He hadn't yet met Miss Tovey, Webb reflected, as he started up the car. Possibly that was remiss of him, but Dawson had given him a full report and he had to delegate sometimes. The only sight he'd had of her was when she went down the path after dining with Hannah, and the impression he'd received was of a small woman, though it was hard to gauge heights from the second floor.

As it happened, the impression had been correct. She opened the door to him in a pale silk housecoat, apologizing for it as she did so. ‘As I mentioned, I wasn't well earlier, and went to bed soon after six. Consequently when the phone rang, it took me a few minutes to collect myself.'

‘You sound to have done admirably,' he said, following her into the drawing-room. Though she was quite small, she had a sense of presence which authority at work and on the Bench had no doubt nurtured. For the rest, her fair curly hair was beginning to fade to grey, but her eyes were clear and candid and could have been those of a young girl.

Monica for her part was sizing up her visitor, whom she'd seen in the distance once or twice at Court. Close to, she saw a tall, lean man – in his late forties, probably – with plentiful brown hair, a hard-looking mouth and rather bleak grey eyes. Not someone she'd care to cross, she decided.

His manner was considerate, though, and he led her gently through her conversation with Frank Andrews, eliciting all the information she had with the minimum amount of questioning. It took a surprisingly short time.

‘Your men did get everything?' she asked anxiously.

‘Yes, but I haven't had a transcript yet. Your account has been most helpful.'

‘And you will give him a chance to turn up voluntarily?'

‘Oh yes. Someone will be watching the address he gave, but we'll play it carefully and wait to see what he does.