A Medal For Murder (14 page)

He gave an exaggerated groan of appreciation. ‘I love melty. What else have you brought in that picnic basket of yours?’

She pursed her lips. ‘You’ll have to wait and see.’

‘Something delicious I’ll be bound.’

‘I wonder what Lucy has brought?’ Alison said, artlessly, as if not knowing the answer.

‘You know Lucy as well as I do,’ Rodney smirked. ‘She’ll come empty-handed. Lucy only ever brings Lucy.’

‘But this time she’s Anna, and Anna is such a good
housekeeper and so thrifty and all of that. What do you think she’ll bring as Anna?’

‘I should think her miser father won’t let her bring anything. “Leave it to the others,” he’ll say.’

‘Oh but she’ll bake.’

‘Anna might bake. Lucy won’t.’

Alison sucked chocolate from her fingers. ‘You know Lucy so well don’t you?’

‘Too well.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Rodney smiled. ‘I’m the only man in Harrogate not in love with Lucy.’

‘What are you so pleased about today?’

‘If you must know, I’m celebrating. That’s why I’ve brought ginger wine for you lovely ladies and dandelion beer for myself, as pillar of the community Henry Mynors, and for Dylan as the pathetic Willie Price. Poor chap can’t even be a William.’

‘They wouldn’t have alcohol at the chapel picnic!’

‘In that case, Meriel Jamieson will have to sack me and find another actor, because I’m celebrating.’

‘What are you celebrating?’

‘Ha ha ha! Who sold more motors than his pater this month?’

‘Did you really?’ She raised her goggles and gazed at him, eyes wide with admiration.

‘I did. Who has sold more motors than his pater for the last three months?’

‘Have you?’

‘So you must not refuse a toast to Rodney Milner’s success before he turns his attention to becoming dull but crafty Henry Mynors.’

‘Why do you call him crafty?’

Rodney pulled in to the side of the lane. ‘This the spot?’

‘I think so.’

He climbed out and helped Alison from the motor. ‘I call him crafty because he—’ in helping Alison, he first took her hand, then put out his arms to steady her ‘— because he chooses Anna the heiress over the bouncing friendly charmer who loves chocolates.’

‘You mean Beatrice Sutton?’

‘Do I?’

Alison cleared her throat. ‘I can’t see them. I can’t see Lucy or Dylan over by the stream or . . .’

‘Then let’s go and explore.’

He lifted the picnic basket from the back of the car. ‘I think my bottles might fit in here, what do you think?’

‘Probably.’

He arranged the bottles in the basket and snapped it shut. ‘I see you’ve brought glasses.’

‘I did. But Mother said we should cup our hands and drink water from the stream. She said that’s what people on a chapel picnic would do.’

‘That’s carrying it a bit far in my book. I wonder what else they would and wouldn’t do?’ He opened the gate to the field and bowed her through.

‘I don’t know. We shall have to think ourselves into the roles.’ Their hands touched as she helped shut the gate. ‘You had better call me Beatrice.’

Side by side, they walked to the stile that led to the far field. ‘Let me go first,’ he said. ‘Then I can help you across. Henry and Beatrice are very chummy at this point you know. It wouldn’t surprise me if they held hands.’

After climbing the stile, they walked towards the
stream. He saw where Lucy and Dylan had been sitting, where the clover and buttercups lay flat. ‘Look. They were here. Or someone was. I was in the Scouts you know.’

‘That’s a bit mean,’ Alison said. ‘If they didn’t wait, just because we’re a little late.’

‘Who cares? I don’t. Over there?’ He nodded to a sheltered spot a little further off.

‘Yes.’

They walked closer to the stream, where the bank sloped. ‘There are wild violets,’ Alison said. ‘How lovely!’

He spread the blanket. ‘Succulent Miss Beatrice Sutton, may the dashing Mr Henry Mynors tempt you to a titillating glass of ginger wine?’

She laughed at his silliness. ‘Do you really think that’s how they would talk, if not following the script I mean?’

He winked. ‘I think the two of them had a very big secret at one time.’

‘What was that?’

‘That they were far more chummy-rummy than chapel people ought to be. I think they probably kissed.’

‘Really? That’s a bit much.’ They clinked glasses. ‘Anyhow, well done, Rodney, for selling so many cars.’

Rodney sipped his dandelion beer. In a single breath, the bravado deserted him. ‘Do you know why I really sold more motors?’

‘I don’t know.’ She gazed at him with rapt attention. ‘Why?’

‘Because people can’t stand my father. They come in when he’s not there, usually on Saturday mornings. That’s what Dad puts my success down to, the popularity of Saturdays. But they’re always so relieved to see
me. And when Dad puts in an appearance, honestly, Alison, you think he’d have some idea how people feel about him. He has the hide of a rhinoceros. Probably brought it back from South Africa.’

‘Really? Lucy’s grandfather was in South Africa.’ ‘That’s how they know each other. It gives them something in common. They play this ridiculous board game sometimes,
Called to Arms.
They shake dice and go to squares called things like
Quick March
and
Conspicuous Bravery Advance to Victoria Cross
.’

Alison giggled. ‘I know. It’s mad. Grown men.’

Alison prided herself on seeing the best in everyone. ‘Your father must have a lot of confidence, to give you so much responsibility. He must think a great deal of you.’

Blushing, suddenly losing his composure, Rodney shook his head. ‘He thinks a great deal of himself.’

‘But . . .’

Rodney took Alison’s hand. ‘I don’t know how you do it, Alison.’

‘What? Do what?’ She left her hand in his.

‘What you do to me, every time we’re together. And when we’re not together, I think of you all the time.’

She stared at him, ‘But . . . I thought . . .’

‘Now I’ve made a fool of myself. I spoke out of turn. Sorry.’

‘No. It’s just that, I thought you and Lucy . . . I mean . . .’

He started to laugh. ‘No. Did she say that?’

‘Of course not. She wouldn’t.’

‘She wouldn’t because it’s not true. There’s never been anything like that between us, and it’s just as well.’

‘How do you mean, just as well?’

‘Because – well, it’s too puke-making to even say. If I tell you something will you keep it just between us?’

Alison nodded. ‘You know I will.’

‘My father has his eye on her. I can tell. If he gets his way, Lucy will be my step-mother.’

Alison started to laugh. ‘Never. Never in this wide world.’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Does Lucy know?’

‘Do you know, I don’t think she does. Because it’s beyond comprehension, don’t you think?’

Alison kept on laughing. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh, but if he thinks Lucy . . .’

‘I know.’

They both began to laugh, rolling about on the picnic blanket, laughing louder and louder until they reached a pitch and Alison had to pull out her handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes, then offered the hanky to Rodney.

Instead, he took her hand. ‘I love you, Alison.’

They came upon the round tower beyond the trees and across the meadow.

Lucy gazed at the tower. ‘Do you really think Anna would want to live here?’

‘She might. It’s very remote and romantic.’

‘Do you know, you’re a bit right there. Only Anna is so practical, I think she might worry about the water supply and the gas pipes. She’d never be able to get the floor clean.’

Dylan looked crestfallen. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ He brightened. ‘If you come at it from the other side, there’s the road, and a meadow to cross. And Anna’s such a hard worker that she’d think nothing to having
a well dug and coming out to draw her own water. She’d be a great one for old lamps and that sort of thing, having been used to the miser and his mean ways.’

‘I like it anyway,’ Lucy said. ‘Shall we go inside and take a proper look?’

‘It’s probably dangerous.’

‘Let’s go in and see. Don’t forget who we are.’

Dylan turned the heavy key. The property was not on Croker’s books, but keys that fitted another old property would work this lock. Dylan had it in mind to give Mr Croker a report on the state of the place. Perhaps the owner would like to have it taken care of.

In the precise clipped voice that Anna sometimes used, Lucy said, ‘This place is awfully dilapidated, Willie.’

Dylan loved the word dilapidated. Lapis, stone, stone falling away. He answered in character, as Willie.

‘It is rather dilapidated, Miss Tellwright. Just like my father’s works.’

‘That does not mean you are allowed to get so far behind with your rent. You must tell Mr Price that.’

‘He does understand. Please come up to the office.’ They continued their tour in character until Lucy stood on the battlements looking out across the fields, picking out, in the distance, the figures of Alison and Rodney. She held herself very straight, as Anna Tellwright would.

‘Willie.’

‘Yes, Miss Tellwright?’

‘Do you have your field glasses?’

‘I do.’

He handed her the binoculars.

She looked again at the two figures, that now were one.

‘May I look, Miss Tellwright?’

‘Perhaps not, Willie. We must talk about the rent.’ She turned away. ‘My grandfather has done me a very bad turn.’

‘Don’t you mean your father, Miss Tellwright?’

‘Of course, that’s what I mean, my father, the old miser whom I love and hate in equal measure.’

‘And what bad turn has he done you? After all, he has signed over a fortune to you.’

Lucy dropped the character of Anna. She looked across the fields to the far horizon. ‘Anna and I don’t have much in common really. Except that she is twenty-one and I will be twenty-one on 6th August. My granddad always said I would have an inheritance on my twenty-first birthday. Now he’s going back on his word.’ Their hands lay side by side on the parapet. Half an inch, and they would touch. ‘Oh I should not be blabbing about this. He always says not to tell people our business.’

Dylan did not know what to say. Inheritances and prospects were so far from his experience. He racked his brains, but no words came. Only by hiding behind his character could he speak his deepest thoughts.

‘You can tell me. After all, in the play I’m Willie who adores you. And Willie dies, so his lips will be sealed.’

Lucy turned to him and smiled. ‘My Aunt Ada – Miss Fell who lives on the floor above – she was my great aunt’s companion. Well, there’s something fishy. Aunt Ada is sure that a legacy should come to me when I’m of age, from my parents. Only there’s nothing I can pin Granddad down on. Whenever I ask now, he puts me
off. And I have to get away. I think . . . This sounds too horrible to say.’

‘What?’

‘Oh, I can’t say it to anyone. Not to Rodney, not to Alison because she’s sweet on Rodney and would tell him . . . It’s Rodney’s father, Mr Milner. He’s after me. He’s always been after me, since I was little. I can see that now. He disgusts me.’

‘Mr Milner?’

‘He used to lift me up and spin me round and . . .’

Dylan cupped her hand. She left it in his.

‘I have to get away.’

‘How will you do that?’

‘I don’t know. But I must. Granddad’s so mean, just like the miser in the play, even over the smallest amounts of money. Every little bill has to be gone over with a magnifying glass. And I spend hours doing useless things . . . helping at the dancing class, playing whist with Mrs Hart, making decoupage waste bins for the church fete. I’ll go mad if I don’t escape. I want to be independent, to earn my own living. I want to train to be an actress.’