True Love Ways (11 page)

“Religious mania...” Meredith murmured, remembering
something else Turner had said.

“Could call it that, yes. Poor Uncle. He might not
have been faithful to her. Wouldn't have stabbed her in her bed.”

“What a charming subject for the dinner table,” said
Clarice, throwing down her napkin. Edith had arrived with the desert, but stood
at the end of the table listening intently to the conversation.

“Sorry, Clarice,” said Miss Pendragon. “Life
sometimes nasty. Not like your warm, comfortable world. That's why I equip my
girls for that.”

“Beth believes that girls can become doctors and
lawyers,” said Peter Mortimer.

“Brain surgeons if they want to,” said Miss
Pendragon.

“Don't you?” Meredith asked Peter. But she was
looking at Drew when she said it.

“I'm afraid I'm the old-fashioned type, Meredith. I
believe a woman's place is in the home.”

“And I happen to agree,” said Clarice. “Which makes
us the perfect couple. Doesn't it, darling? One day, Meredith, when you meet a
man you fall in love with, you'll realise that all you want to do is make sure
his dinner is on the table at seven o'clock sharp.”

“Of course, it helps if you've got an Edith on
hand,” said Drew, picking at his strawberry flan.

“Well, yes, of course. When would I have time to
make myself beautiful for Peter?” said Clarice, followed by one of her throaty
laughs.

Meredith looked at her aghast. She liked Clarice,
but this little woman act was almost sickening.

“I would hope,” said Meredith, “that the man I marry
will be as supportive of my dreams as I am of his.”

“Like mine,” said Miss Pendragon. No one at the
table was adept enough at hiding their surprise, apart from Clarice who
obviously knew. The idea of the masculine Miss Pendragon being married at all
was a bolt out of the blue.

“Beth's husband, Ralph Somerville teaches woodwork
at the school,” said Clarice.

“Use maiden name for career. My thing, you know what
I mean.”

Meredith knew exactly what she meant. “Where's your
husband tonight?”

“Looking after our son. He's ten. Got the measles.
Try not to be a fussy mother. Boy's hate all that. Don't suppose you'd mind if
I telephoned after dinner, though, Peter? Check my menfolk are alright?”

Meredith looked at Beth Pendragon and decided she
liked her very much indeed.

“Miss Pendragon...” Meredith approached the
headmistress after dinner.

“Taking me up on that job offer?”

Meredith was not entirely certain she'd been offered
a job, but she shook her head. “I … I'd need to think about it. No, I was
wondering. There's a boy I know. Drew knows him too. His name is Bert. He's got
an O-level in woodwork and is looking for a job. I don't suppose Mr. Somerville
needs an assistant?”

“I'll ask him. Bert you say. One of the youngsters
picking strawberries. Friend of the boy who was arrested. Think I've seen him
around.”

Meredith didn't doubt it. She expected Miss
Pendragon to be aware of everything that was going on in Midchester.

“I don't know if Bert will even want the job, so it
might be best not to say I've mentioned it. He might not want me to interfere
in his life...”

“Understood, Miss Bradbourne. Kids like to make
their own decisions.”

“What does your son want to be when he grows up?”

“A ballet dancer. Got all his certificates,” she
said, proudly.

Meredith excused herself and went in search of the
downstairs cloakroom. But on the way through the hall, she stopped and looked
at the staircase, trying to see in her mind's eye the events that led to Peg
falling down the stairs.

“She's a character, isn't she?” said Drew. Meredith
hadn't realised he was standing at her side.

“Miss Pendragon? Yes, she is. I like her though.”

“Yes, so do I. Are you going to take her up on the
job offer?”

“I don't know. I'm already committed to Willowmead.”

“Yes, it's a really prestigious school too. You'd be
a fool not to want to work there, seeing all those young women off to their
Swiss finishing schools, and onto a life of absolute uselessness as the wives
of diplomats. Not a brain surgeon amongst them.”

“So you approve of women brain surgeons then?”

He didn't answer. “Why are you staring at the
staircase?”

Meredith looked around, then caught his arm and led
him to the passageway between the hall in the kitchen, and out through the back
door into the garden. Someone had placed fairy lights in those trees, giving
the garden a warm and pretty glow. She told him in low tones about Peg's fall.

“And she's sure someone pushed her?”

Meredith nodded. “She wouldn't imagine it, Drew.
She's not that type. I'm so afraid for her.”

“Darling, she's going to be fine. We'll both keep a
watch on her.” Drew stroked her cheek.

“Will we?”

“Yes, but I want you to promise me you'll be careful
too. I've a feeling we're getting close to finding our answer.”

“Yes, me too. Did you pick up on all Miss Pendragon
said about her uncle? I was thinking about Jimmy, Bert and Betty, and the
advice I gave her today. Arthur Patterson said something about living a lie. I
wonder … do you think it's possible that Queenie was pregnant when she left
Trefusis? Then passed the child off as Patterson's?”

“What? Do you think that when she got this religious
mania, she told him? Confession being good for the soul and all that?”

“Exactly.”

“The thing is, darling, it gives Patterson a very
good motive for killing her, and Turner seemed certain it wasn't him but the
child. Why would the child murder her mother, darling?”

“Stop calling me darling. It makes it very hard for
me to concentrate.”

“Then allow me to ruin your concentration
completely.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Afterwards she rested
her head against his shoulder.

“Now I can't think of anything sensible at all,” she
whispered.  She had never felt so content. For a moment at least, all her
doubts about him were swept away. “Apart from the fact that I'm sure it must
say in the bible that vicars shouldn't kiss like that.”

“Why do you think female parishioners keep coming
back?” he said, chuckling under his breath.

She slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “So you
kiss all your female parishioners, do you? I imagine your pretty young wife
might have something to say about that.”

“Now why would I go out for hamburgers if I had
steak at home?”

“So you liken the woman you loved to a chunk of
prime beef?”

“Albeit a very pretty chunk.”

She tried to pull away but he refused to let her go.
“We're getting away from what's important,” she said.

“Do you really think so? I'd have said kissing you
was the most important thing in my whole life at the moment. So important, I
intend to do it again.”

“No, I have to go and … powder my nose. Let me go,
Drew.” Even she realised how half-hearted she sounded, and she did not put up
too much of a fight when his lips found hers again.

By the time she finally escaped, her heart felt as
light as a feather. He must like her, or he wouldn't be kissing her. But did he
feel as strongly about her as she did about him? She had very nearly told him
she loved him. Now she had relaxed enough to let him into her life, she did not
want to frighten him away.

Chapter Eight

Meredith located the downstairs cloakroom. Outside stood
a wooden coat rack, and she noticed Edith's coat and scarf hung on one of the
pegs. Something poked out of the coat pocket – and envelope - but Meredith
resisted the temptation to peak. She went into the cloakroom and tidied her
hair and make up. Her cheeks were flushed from Drew's kisses, and her eyes
slightly misty. This, she thought, looking in the mirror, is what a woman in
love looks like. Despite her misgivings about Clarice's little woman persona,
she believed that if Drew asked her in the moment to give up everything for
him, she would.

But surely, her little voice said, he wouldn't ask
if he loved you. “Yes, if he loves me,” she whispered to herself. Her feelings
about him were new and untried. She understood for the first time why she had
found it so easy to avoid other men until now. None of them had excited her in
the way he did, both physically and intellectually. Men had a tendency to talk
down to women, even more so if they suspected the woman was intelligent. Drew
didn't do that. He might have felt she'd handled her interrogation badly
earlier in the week, but he had told her so as an equal.

She thought about Peter and Clarice Mortimer. Did
the Reverend speak down to his wife? Meredith didn't think so, and yet … there
was something odd about their relationship. That they were in love was without
a doubt, but Meredith had sensed something else. A watchfulness on Mortimer's
part. All through dinner, he had cast surreptitious glances at his wife,
half-listening to his guests, and half-listening to Clarice. For Clarice's
part, she seemed aware of her husband's attention, and occasionally raised her
voice louder, or laughed for longer than necessary, as if holding his
attention. It was easily done. She was a very beautiful woman.

To what lengths would a man go to keep a woman like that?
Miss Pendragon had remarked on the expense of a cruise to the Holy Land. As far
as Meredith knew, vicars weren't overly well paid. Unless either Peter or
Clarice had a private income.

Meredith further considered the luxury dinner they
had just eaten, and the silver and crystal glass on the table. Clarice's dress,
of gold silk, would not have been very cheap. Is it possible that Peter
Mortimer, keen to keep his beautiful wife in luxury, had embezzled church
funds? Meredith shook her head. She was getting away from the main issue, of
who murdered Arthur Turner. Then again, Turner had mentioned that vicars were
not averse to breaking the law, and it was at that precise moment he stopped
talking. Did he have Peter Mortimer in mind when he said that?

Realising she had been gone some time, Meredith
slipped out of the cloakroom, bumping into Clarice as she did so.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, laughing. “I've been much
longer than I intended.”

“Don't worry. I only want to repair my make-up,
otherwise I could easily have gone upstairs,” said Clarice. “It's nice to get
away from the party for a few minutes, isn't it?”

“I've had a wonderful time,” said Meredith, not
wanting to seem ungrateful. “Dinner was delicious.”

“Hmm, you must come again sometime, Meredith. Especially
now you and Drew are...” Clarice smiled knowingly. She winked, and said, “I saw
you in the garden.”

“Oh...” Meredith found herself tongue tied again.

“Don't worry, I shan't tease.” Clarice went into the
cloakroom and shut the door. Meredith was just about to move away, when she
noticed that the envelope in Edith's pocket was sticking out even further. She
looked around, and then gently slid it upwards, without pulling it right out of
the pocket.

It had been opened and was addressed to
Miss M.
Patterson, C/O The Vicarage, Midchester
.

Meredith shoved it back into the pocket, almost in
shock. She would have liked to read the letter, but dared not. Instead, she
calmed herself and went back to the other guests in the drawing room.