LS 13 - Murder in a Different Place (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-eight

‘I met Matthew when we were both at the start of our respective careers,’ began Andrew. ‘I hadn’t yet had my breakthrough with
Doctor Faustus
and he was the lowliest of the low on a Fleet Street paper, which he said was a great step up from the regionals.

‘As you all know, being gay was still illegal. In fact, the terrible “cures” were still being used.’ His old face looked suddenly harrowed. ‘You can’t begin to imagine what it felt like, back then. To be attracted to someone of your own sex with the world around you telling you it was wrong, perverted, unnatural, and yet feeling yourself as if it was the most natural thing in life.

‘I was doing the time-honoured “resting” occupation of barman in one of the Fleet Street pubs when I met Matthew. He and I recognised each other for what we were straight away, although no one else knew or suspected.’ He smiled. ‘The universal “gaydar” hadn’t developed way back then. If you weren’t obviously “camp” – although that was another word we didn’t know – there was nothing to tell us from anyone else, although, of course, the theatrical profession was always suspect to a degree.’

‘You’d be surprised how little has changed in some areas,’ said Harry acidly.

‘But in general, Harry, there is acceptance. After all, you and Peter were able to have a civil partnership ceremony and are recognised in law as a couple and each other’s next-of-kin. Back then there was nothing.

‘But Matthew and I began a relationship. Harry says he knew of me as Lucifer and Matthew never told him anything about me other than the fact that I had a reputation to keep up. I never knew anything about Harry other than the fact that he was, as Matthew used to put it, his “Hostage to fortune”.’

‘What did he mean by that?’ asked Peter.

‘That Harry might cause problems at some time in the future.’

‘What?’ erupted Harry. ‘You didn’t –’

Andrew patted his arm. ‘Calm down, boy. He didn’t mean
you
would cause problems yourself. He meant that your existence would.’

He looked round the table. ‘I’m assuming you all know as much as Harry knows now?’

‘As much as we’ve guessed or put together,’ said Fran. ‘No one’s been able to confirm all of it.’

‘Especially Matthew’s cousins,’ said Ben, ‘yet they were the ones to call us in in the first place.’

‘Ah, yes, the cousins.’ Andrew smiled grimly. ‘Another responsibility. But one which Matthew didn’t like.’

‘But – and we’ve only just found out about this – the land, and Overcliffe Castle was all the property of the cousins’ family,’ said Libby. ‘They weren’t DeLaxleys.’

‘No,’ said Andrew, ‘but after the …’ he paused, ‘the tragedy, when Reginald died, the castle was sold. You knew that?’

‘Yes.’

Andrew took a sip of wine. ‘By that time, the family had run through most of the money. Matthew bought the land, piece by piece, as he became a voice to be reckoned with in the newspaper world. He wrote some books, too, did you know?’

‘No!’ They were all surprised.

‘Oh, very dated now, but explorations of politicism and what would now be called “Social Mores”. At the time, very well regarded.

‘Anyway, going back to the beginning of our relationship. At that time, of course, Harry was yet to make his appearance, but his father already had.’

‘Keith Franklin,’ said Peter. ‘And we heard he’d gone back to the Island because Matthew had told him about his real parents.’

‘His real mother, certainly. I doubt Matthew said anything about his father.’

Libby looked at Harry, then back at Andrew.

‘Would that,’ she began nervously, ‘have been Alfred Morton?’

Andrew nodded. ‘Harry said you’d found a newspaper clipping. The family tried to have the whole thing buried, and Matthew, although fairly new to the newspaper world in those days, did his best to keep it out of the spotlight.’

‘Not altogether, though,’ said Ben. ‘Even though we couldn’t find much about it online, my mother remembered it.’

‘Because he was Reginald Morton’s son, I expect,’ said Andrew. ‘That’s what got most publicity.’

‘Yes, that was it,’ said Libby. ‘So the sisters are all Mortons. Is that why Honoria is a sculptress?’

‘Not why, exactly, but Matthew told me they were brought up among artists, poets, writers, and intellectual free-thinkers.’

‘Which they aren’t now,’ said Peter. ‘They’re bitter.’

Andrew put his head on one side. ‘Well, you can’t blame them, really, can you? I’m quite sure they expected to be Matthew’s heirs, and along comes this interloper Harry taking it all away from them.’

‘But they were strange towards us before they knew about the will,’ said Libby. ‘All friendliness at first, and determined to find out what had happened to their sister Celia.’

‘But they were concerned to keep the secret of Alfred’s scandal,’ said Andrew. ‘Oh, yes, I know how they all felt about that. And I’m certain that they think someone had found out about it and that’s why Celia was murdered.’

‘And what do
you
think?’ asked Harry.

‘I don’t know.’ Andrew shrugged. ‘Matthew was very worried in those last weeks, that’s all I know.’

‘You were in touch with him?’ said Libby amid the gasps of astonishment.

‘Yes. We both had pay-as-you-go mobiles just for communicating with each other. I gather no mobile was found?’

‘No.’ Harry shook his head. ‘But he had another – I had the number. Neither of them were found. But –’ he frowned. ‘I thought you were dead.’

Andrew’s smiled was cynical. ‘After what’s been going on in the media over the last few years, do you blame us for keeping out of sight? We could have had our personal lives and conversations laid bare for all to read. And it wasn’t just for ourselves. I’ve my poor Fay to consider.’

‘Does she know?’ asked Fran gently, after a pause.

This time, Andrew’s smile was warmer. ‘Of course she does. Fay has been my greatest support and my best friend for the last fifty years. We have been the most faithful, the most enduring theatrical couple the world has known. Because we’ve kept our very private lives out of the spotlight. Not without difficulty, but in the main, the media have only known what we chose to give them.’

‘We did wonder if Matthew had thrown his mobile away himself,’ said Libby. ‘If he had two, would he have thrown them both away?’

‘Only if they both contained something he considered damaging. I can understand him throwing mine away, but the other one …’ Andrew frowned. ‘If he did, it was because of Celia’s death. He must have known who did it.’

‘If it was murder, and she didn’t just hit her head and drown, as the police thought,’ said Peter.

They all thought about this for a minute.

‘Andrew,’ said Libby, ‘do you know who Harry’s granny is – or was?’

‘Was,’ said Andrew. ‘She died some time ago.’

‘Was it Lady Bligh?’ asked Harry.

‘No.’ Andrew shook his head.

‘They all knew her, though, didn’t they?’ said Fran. ‘Lady Bligh and the Clippings.’

‘And the Dougans,’ added Libby.

Andrew nodded.

‘And you aren’t going to tell us, are you?’ said Fran.

Andrew smiled. ‘I promised Matthew I never would, and I never have. And to be honest, I don’t think it has any relevance to the question of murder. There are very few people to whom it would mean that much these days. And why go after Harry?’

‘That’s more or less the conclusion we came to,’ said Peter. ‘The sisters are the only ones left who are trying to keep the secret of Alfred Morton. No one else would care.’

‘Don’t forget Reginald Morton was quite a famous poet in his day. If this was brought up now, it might lead to a resurgence of interest in his work,’ said Andrew.

‘But that would surely be good for the sisters, if they hold the rights to his works?’ said Ben.

‘When did he die?’ said Harry.

‘1953, so he’s still in copyright,’ said Andrew. ‘You’re right there.’

‘Perhaps they don’t realise that,’ said Libby.

‘No, I think it’s more that they are of their generation – and mine, to be fair – and old scandal should not be talked about. They would be ashamed.’ Andrew finished his glass of wine. ‘Now, anything else you’d like to ask me?’

There were several questions about Matthew’s life that Andrew answered genially and without any attempt to gloss over the reality of his relationship with Matthew.

‘Fay and I used to stay with him sometimes, and at others, he would come and stay with us. We even stayed with him on the Island.’

‘So you knew the sisters?’ said Libby.

‘Not knew, exactly. We met them. An odd bunch – out of time, almost. Celia was the best of them. She was far more up-to-date in her outlook, and oddly, the only one who didn’t marry.’

‘The one Matthew was closest to,’ said Harry. ‘She wasn’t my grandmother, was she?’ He shuddered. ‘He couldn’t have raped his own sister.’

‘No, she wasn’t,’ said Andrew, ‘and yes, Matthew was closest to her. She was the only one who didn’t expect him to support her. The other three – well.’

‘We think Honoria was a sculptor involved in a movement called the Geometry of Fear,’ said Fran. ‘Are we right?’

‘You are. She had always loved making things, and after – well, after the scandal, she went to London and managed to get on to some course or other.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t remember much about it. Then she married another artist, who eventually died in poverty quite young, so she came back to the Island.’

‘What about the others? The only one who said anything was Amelia, and she seems quite proud of the fact that her husband was a diplomat,’ said Libby.

‘He was a very junior attaché in some very boring places. Amelia rather jumped at the chance of getting away. I don’t think it was a love match.’

‘And Alicia? She married a Hope-Fenwick, apparently,’ said Harry.

Andrew raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s what she’s calling him, is it?’

‘Why? Wasn’t that his name?’ said Libby.

‘It certainly wasn’t! His name was Helmut Hoffmann. He was German.’

‘
German
?’ gasped Libby, while the others all muttered in surprise.

‘Yes.’ Andrew smiled his cynical smile. ‘You can see why she disappeared!’

‘Was he a prisoner of war?’ asked Peter.

‘He had been. There were several camps in Hampshire, and when he was released he went to the Island to work on a farm. Alicia met him – don’t know how – and they fell in love. She was over twenty-one, so her parents couldn’t stop her, and they married in a registry office in Newport. Then Alfred was let out of prison.’

‘And they scarpered,’ said Harry.

‘They scarpered.’

‘Leaving poor old Reg to clear up the mess,’ said Peter.

‘Indeed.’

‘So is the assumption that all three of the girls left the Island because of Alfred’s suicide?’ asked Ben.

‘And the rape,’ said Harry.

‘Oh yes,’ said Andrew.

‘But what about Celia? What did she do?’ asked Libby.

‘She was still a minor in the eyes of the law, so she stayed with her parents. And Matthew was there. I think they comforted each other.’

‘The sisters said that he was closer to Celia than any of them,’ said Libby.

‘So poor Celia had to suffer the fallout from the scandal while her sisters escaped.’ Peter shook his head. ‘What a nightmare.’

‘I believe it was. Of course, it had all happened before I met Matthew, and by that time he was living in London. Celia used to go and stay with him, and we used to go out all together.’ He smiled. ‘She was lovely. If I’d been straight I’d have fallen in love with her.’

‘But you
did
get married,’ said Libby.

‘Ah, yes,’ said Andrew, ‘but then Fay and I had a mutual secret to keep. You see, Fay’s gay, too.’

Chapter Twenty-nine

Harry frowned. ‘Why have you kept it a secret?’

‘We kept it for so long it didn’t seem worth the hassle of making it public now. Think what a field day the press would have! They’d be delving into our past lives and coming up with all sorts of nasty little speculations, even though both Fay and I had long-term – and long-distance – relationships and no grubby little fumblings in the dressing rooms. These days, there would be someone popping up to say I’d assaulted them back in 1965 as soon as the word was out.’ Andrew shook his head sadly.

‘It’s awful, isn’t it?’ said Libby sympathetically. ‘We used to ignore the odd pat on the bottom in the old days, but now … Well, I can think of lots of men I could take to court on that basis.’

‘Me, too,’ said Fran.

‘What did you both do? Were you secretaries?’ asked Andrew.

Fran and Libby looked at each other and grinned.

‘Actors,’ they said together.

‘Ah. Of course.’ Andrew nodded. ‘And now I’d better get back to the pub and bed.’ He stood up. ‘Just one more thing. You now know what the sisters are so concerned about keeping secret. I think you should leave it at that unless anyone tries anything else on Harry. And your policeman friend is on to that, is he not? I’m sure it isn’t connected.’

Harry showed Andrew out and came back to the table.

‘What does he know that he’s not telling us?’ he said as he poured himself more wine.

‘The name of your gran for one thing,’ said Peter.

‘I agree with Harry,’ said Ben. ‘I think it’s more than that. I also think that he’s right, the anonymous letter is nothing to do with it.’

‘What do we do, then?’ said Libby.

‘Nothing,’ said Peter decisively. ‘We know what the secret is, as Andrew said. Ian knows about the possible threat to Harry, we’ve warned the sisters off and now we even know all about the past lives of the sisters. I suggest we leave it alone.’

Libby nodded gloomily. ‘I suppose so. It feels all wrong, though. Just leaving it hanging.’

Thursday was a warm, overcast day. Libby took the laptop into the conservatory and set about looking up Amanda Clipping and Lady Bligh.

Amanda had, as they had been told, spent most of her working life in London. She was currently in PR for a television production company. Her CV was online, together with social media links, but nowhere did it say anything about her personal life or where she came from.

‘I suppose that’s sensible,’ Libby muttered to herself.

Lady Bligh was documented by virtue of her title. Before she had married Henry, Lord Bligh, she was plain Lily Cooper, daughter of Esmond and Alberta Cooper of Newport, Isle of Wight. The Bligh residence was, as Libby already knew, Etherington Manor in Beech. There was nothing more but her birth date, which fitted with the sisters’ and Matthew’s ages.

‘So,’ she said to Sidney, ‘do we think all this lot gathered up at old Reg’s castle being terribly arty? Did they all know Alfred? Did they all dash off after his suicide? And they must all have known the rape victim. I wish someone would talk to us.’

Sidney ignored her and tucked his nose under his tail.

‘I suppose you’re right. I should leave it alone. But I can’t help wondering.’

The housekeeping had been somewhat neglected over the last few days, as had shopping. Libby aimed a duster at the surfaces she could see in the sitting room, then made a list on the back of an envelope. She decided the eight-til-late, Bob the butcher, and the Cattlegreen Nursery shop would be able to supply everything she needed, collected her faithful basket and set off. The sun was trying to break through the high grey cloud, and it was still very warm. This week the children would break up from school, but today the village was quiet. She was the only customer in both the butcher’s and the nursery shop, and only a couple of other people were in the eight-til-late.

She peered into The Pink Geranium as she passed but couldn’t see Harry, which was odd as he was usually to be seen in the late mornings, either behind the counter or at the window table. She frowned and walked on. As she did so, a car pulled out in front of her from the car park behind the doctor’s surgery and she jumped back as it shot off up the high street.

‘You all right, gal?’ came a shout from behind her.

She turned to see old Flo Carpenter coming down Maltby Close towards her.

‘I saw that. Silly bar steward. What did he think he was doing?’

‘Trying to make a quick get-away, it looked like,’ said Libby thoughtfully.

Flo peered at her. ‘What’ve you gone and got yourself into now?’

‘Nothing. At least I hope not.’ Libby looked across at The Pink Geranium again. ‘Look, Flo, I must see if Harry’s all right.’

Flo’s neatly pencilled eyebrows shot up. ‘Oh, yus?’

‘Just watch me while I try and get into the caff, will you?’

Folding her arms and pursing her lips, Flo nodded. Libby looked both ways and shot across the road.

The Pink Geranium was locked. Libby banged on the door and the window, and even shouted through the letter box in the side door to the flat, but got no reply. She was just beginning to panic when Peter appeared at her side looking astonished.

‘Where’s Harry?’ she panted.

‘In the pub talking to Andrew,’ said Peter. ‘What on earth are you doing?’

Libby let out a long breath. ‘I saw – I mean, I thought I saw – oh, look, were you going to join them in the pub? Can I come?’

‘Yes, I think you’d better,’ said Peter, taking the basket from her. Libby went to the kerb and waved across to Flo, who gave the thumbs-up sign and tottered back towards her own home.

‘So what is this all about?’ asked Harry when Peter had settled her at the corner table.

‘I’ll tell you when Pete comes back with the drinks.’

Peter put drinks on the table. ‘Now tell us why you were acting like a madwoman.’

‘Well,’ Libby took a deep breath, ‘just as I was going to cross Maltby Close, a car shot out of the doctor’s car park and nearly ran me over.’ She held up a hand at the three men’s shocked comments. ‘It wasn’t that that upset me. It was the fact that I’m sure I’d seen him before.’

‘Oh? Where?’ asked Harry warily. ‘Not –’

‘Yes. On the Island. He was the young man Fran and I saw with Amanda Clipping that time. And he was in a hurry.’

Peter and Harry looked at each other.

‘What did you think?’ asked Andrew.

‘Well, Harry’s already had anonymous letters, the last one hand delivered here. I thought – if he knows Harry’s here – well, then I couldn’t raise Harry, and I thought …’

‘Do you think we ought to check the caff?’ asked Peter.

‘I would,’ said Libby. ‘He may have tried to get in round the back. He looked young. He could have climbed over the wall.’

‘You two wait here,’ said Peter. He and Harry got up and left.

‘Who do you think he is?’ asked Andrew.

‘No idea, but he knows Amanda Clipping. It can’t be her threatening Harry, she’s got no reason.’

‘Hmm.’ Andrew looked down into his coffee cup. ‘He must be connected to someone else, then?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know who the other man was either.’

‘What other man?’

Libby explained about the older man in the wheelchair. ‘We even thought it might be you. Or Lucifer, as we knew him.’

Andrew smiled. ‘No, it wasn’t me.’

‘We know that now. It’s just such a puzzle. I thought we were supposed to have left the whole thing alone.’

Peter reappeared in the doorway. ‘Attempted break-in. Harry’s calling the police.’

Libby stood up. ‘Where? At the back?’

‘Yes. The kitchen door and the door to the flat. Stay here, I’m going back to Hal.’

Libby had time to drink her lager and Andrew had finished his coffee by the time Harry and Peter rejoined them.

‘They’ve got people dusting everything for fingerprints, or whatever it is,’ said Harry. ‘I told them we’d been in touch with DCI Connell previously, and I think they were going to let him know. I can’t open at lunchtime.’

‘Nothing’s badly damaged, though,’ said Peter, ‘and because he couldn’t get in, nothing was taken. They want a statement from you, Lib.’

‘Now?’

‘Someone will get in touch, they said.’

At that moment Libby’s mobile began to ring. She looked at the screen.

‘Ian,’ she said.

‘Libby, I need to talk to you. One of the officers at the scene will take a brief statement, then I want to talk to you later. I’m supposed to be off duty, so I could come down this afternoon. I want to look at the restaurant anyway.’

‘OK. I’ll be in. Do I go and talk to an officer now?’

‘You’re in the pub, aren’t you? They’ll come and get you from there.’

Sure enough, an officer arrived five minutes later and took Libby’s statement. ‘DCI Connell will be in touch, ma’am,’ he said.

‘He already has,’ said Libby. ‘Will I have to come into the station to sign that?’

‘Not sure, ma’am. DCI Connell will tell you.’

When he’d gone, Andrew stood up. ‘You all need to get back to your lives. Are you opening tonight, Harry?’

‘I think so. I hope so.’

‘Then perhaps Libby and Ben and Peter will dine there with me? I shall go home tomorrow. What about your friend Fran?’

‘I’ll ask her,’ said Libby. ‘She’ll want to know about this, anyway.’

Considerably shaken, Libby went home to call first Ben, then Fran, who both said they’d be delighted to dine with Andrew at The Pink Geranium.

‘If we’re allowed of course,’ Libby said to Sidney, as she went to open the door to Ian Connell.

‘Now, tell me exactly what you saw and how certain you are that you’d seen this man before.’ He sat opposite her, his dark eyes intent on her face. Libby thought again how attractive he was, and slapped down a little “What if?” scenario creeping in to her head. She repeated her story, and told Ian about the meeting on the Isle of Wight.

‘So he has a connection with the whole business on the Island?’

‘We don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘The secret the old ladies seem to be worried about is nothing to do with Harry – well, it is, but not any reason to threaten him. But why would Amanda Clipping want to?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t get it.’

‘Don’t worry, we’ll get to the bottom of it. He could be someone just employed to spy on Harry, nothing to do with the whole thing personally.’

‘But someone employed him,’ said Libby.

Ian inclined his head. ‘But whatever he was supposed to do this morning, he wasn’t equipped to break into the restaurant. The marks on the doors weren’t made by anything particularly sharp, and we think a credit card was used to try and open the locks.’

‘But they’d be deadlocked,’ said Libby.

‘Exactly, so whoever he is, he isn’t a professional burglar.’

‘So what was he supposed to do? Did he expect to find Harry in the restaurant? Did he expect him to be alone?’

‘We don’t know, but what we do know is that whoever sent that last note knew where Harry was, and it’s a workable theory that they’ve been watching him, and know he’s usually alone late morning.’

‘Yes,’ said Libby. ‘That’s why I wondered where he was when I went past.’ She shivered. ‘That’s horrible. To think of Harry being spied on like that. It almost looks as if …’ she trailed off.

‘They were waiting for an opportunity,’ Ian finished for her.