Deception in the Cotswolds (17 page)

‘She kept on about how much life there was left in him, how he had his grandchildren to enjoy, and the Ugly Sisters to amuse him, and all the events of the
world to follow. She told him he had to stay alive just to see whether the climate change thing was true or not. He was really interested in all that.’ He gave her a penetrating look. ‘It wasn’t until she went away that he let himself go.’

‘Really? But that was only a couple of days before he died.’

Toby’s irritation was plain to see. ‘She was busy for that whole week. He wasn’t happy about it, that’s what I mean. She ought not to have gone while Edwina was at her daughter’s.’

A pang of startling remorse struck Thea. She had completely failed to fulfil Harriet’s commission to keep Donny going. Instead she had listened with sympathy to his litany of self-pity, and even suggested he speak to an undertaker about his own funeral. ‘Oh dear,’ she said faintly. Then, with an effort, she said, ‘Ugly Sisters? Is that Edwina and Thyrza?’

He nodded with a weak grin. ‘And Philippe. We had some fun with him and his dog, as well.’

Toby looked as if he hardly knew the meaning of the word
fun
. There was something inconsistent somewhere, between his words and his manner. ‘When did you last see him? Donny, I mean?’

He shifted on the wooden kitchen chair and turned to look out of the window at the view of the village church tucked amongst the trees. ‘A month ago. I saw him a month ago. April 30
^th
, it was. Cissie’s birthday.’

‘I think quite a lot might have happened since then,’ she said gently. ‘It’s over five weeks.’

‘That’s what Edwina says,’ he nodded.

They had not heard Jemima come in through the open front door. Not until she spoke, in the kitchen doorway, did they realise she was there.

‘Well, this looks very cosy, I must say,’ she remarked, nastily. ‘I’ve been looking bloody everywhere for you, Toby. Can we get on with it, please? Now!’

Meekly he got up and followed her out of the house without a backward glance.

Jemima’s abrupt rudeness was a lot more unsettling than it ought to have been. After all, it wasn’t so very different from her manner on previous encounters – so why did Thea feel such a sense of injury? It had to do with the feeling of being sidelined, or, even worse, being regarded as a bad influence on Toby. That seemed unfair. So strong was her annoyance that she considered running after them, down to the Lodge, to remonstrate and demand an explanation.

But Jemima should be forgiven, Thea supposed, under the circumstances. After all, people did behave out of character when under the strain of a recent bereavement. Instead of following them she closed the front door with a decisive thump, and went down to the cellar to commune with the geckoes. Thoughts of Toby led her to wonder whether he might have used
his expertise in marketing to help sell the creatures. He had, by his own account, two of Harriet’s reptiles, thereby perhaps forging a closer link between the owner of Hollywell Manor and himself. Did Thyrza or Philippe Hastings also have pet geckoes? Did Harriet give them away as Christmas presents? Did every house in the village have its perspex tank full of exotic foliage and timid nocturnal creatures?

There was little to see on this sunny June day, except for the residents of one tank, which was labelled ‘Gustave and Simonetta, 14
^th
May’. This was presumably the date they were put in together, barely three weeks previously. There was definite activity on the floor of the cage, amongst a generous layer of woodchips. Two geckoes were apparently entwined, one considerably larger than the other. ‘Oops – sorry!’ Thea muttered, as she realised what was going on. Unable to see much in the way of erotic detail, it was still evident that gecko sex was taking place. Perhaps it had taken them three weeks to get to like each other, and this was the culmination of a long slow courtship.

‘Good luck to them,’ she said to the spaniel, who had followed her down to the cellar, only to stand aimlessly by the door, unable to detect anything of interest in the room. ‘Fancy giving them such daft names.’ The small labels had only come to her notice a few days into her time at Hollywell. They proclaimed geckoes by the names of Judith, Jezebel, Elijah,
Bathsheba, Pandora, Panchouli, Norma, Mimi. When she paused to think about it, they seemed to fall into groupings: Biblical characters, names from classical literature and a scattering from opera. The great majority were female, which made good sense, she supposed. Somewhere there was probably a complex breeding programme planned out – although it was hard to believe that inbreeding would be much of a problem.

The morning sun beamed invitingly, and after a second mug of coffee, she went outside to consider her options for the day. There was still a vestige of regret for the weekends she had spent with Phil Hollis, when he would come and find her in whichever
tucked-away
little Cotswold village she was staying, and they would explore the byways together. It had not happened often, but there had been idyllic moments, for which she felt nostalgic.

Down at the Lodge, a little group of people had gathered. She could see Jemima, tall and somehow authoritative, with Toby submissively facing her, holding a large white bag. Another woman had joined them, it seemed, and was standing with her back to Thea, shoulders bowed. It took a moment to identify Edwina. As she watched, they separated. Toby went to a blue car, threw the bag onto the back seat and got behind the wheel. The two women watched him reverse and turn out into the road, but did not wave a farewell.

Then the women also parted company. At least, Jemima repeated Toby’s moves, getting into a dirty white car and driving off. Edwina was left alone, having been given a hearty pat on the shoulder by the departing Mimm. Even from a distance of three hundred yards, Thea could read its message:
Pull yourself together, woman. There’s nothing to be gained from self-pity.

The view across Cranham Common, with the little chapel-like school and modest church to the south, was bathed in sunlight. At her back were the beech woods, all paths leading that way, as if ancient people had spent their time under the trees, gathering firewood or mushrooms or killing the wildlife. Scanning the entire vista, it was very clear to her that Cranham’s only real merit lay in the woods. The houses were mostly post-war, many of them bungalows that were uncomfortably suburban in appearance. There was an impression of a settlement hastily expanded at a time before stringent planning laws came into force, no sense of design or cooperation between the various builders. Something must have gone quite badly wrong in the century between the building of Hollywell Manor and the arrival of all these undistinguished little houses, scattered amongst the slopes and troughs and tumps of the area.

But she remembered her first sight of the place, the little winding road diving bravely down to the hollow containing older houses, which she had
initially assumed to be the entire sum of the village. There had been real excitement at that moment, a feeling of discovery and possibilities. Only gradually had she worked out the chaotic nature of the place, the split between ‘north of the common’ and ‘south of the common’. And she had to wonder again how they coped in times of deep snow or torrential rain. There was something very vulnerable about Cranham, which made her feel uneasy.

She gave herself a shake. Edwina Satterthwaite was still standing forlornly outside the Lodge, obviously upset. With a brief sigh, Thea began to walk down to her. She did not regard herself as a rescuer by nature; she did not compulsively collect waifs and strays and set their lives to rights. But here in Cranham the strays were too insistent to ignore. Like the dog in the woods, she remembered with a bitter pang. And the malfunctioning Toby. And Donny himself, who had so obviously needed something, even if she had thoughtlessly provided quite the wrong kind of assistance. She had done her best, but it had not helped any of the sufferers. Maybe it would go better this time.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked quietly, a few feet from the woman. ‘Tell me to go away if you like. I just thought—’

Without warning, Edwina broke into loud sobs. She did not, however, throw herself onto Thea’s breast, as Thea herself had done with Drew. Instead, she
buried her face in her hands, and stood there, swaying slightly.

‘I’m sorry,’ she choked indistinctly. ‘I … I …’

‘Come up to the Manor,’ Thea urged. ‘You need to sit down.’

‘No, I have to stay here. The police want to talk to me again.’ She blew her nose determinedly, and gained some control over her emotions.

‘Here?’ Thea looked around for unnoticed policemen. ‘Now?’

‘In a few minutes. They want something explaining, they said. I don’t know why they don’t ask Jemima. She was his daughter. I’m just a friend.’

‘You said
again
? You’ve already been interviewed, then?’

Edwina nodded. ‘Three days ago, it must be now. All about Donny’s frame of mind and his wife. They were very kind, but it wasn’t very nice.’

‘No,’ said Thea thoughtfully. ‘They haven’t taped off the house, so they obviously don’t think it’s a crime scene. That probably means you’ve got nothing to worry about.’

Edwina blinked red-rimmed eyes. ‘Why should I be worried?’

‘Upset, then. Look at you,’ Thea corrected impatiently. ‘You’re clearly not happy about it.’

‘Oh, you don’t understand anything. All you can say is “probably” and “obviously”. There’s nothing obvious or probable about the way the police think.
They just stick their noses into people’s feelings and manage to get everything wrong.’

‘They do, don’t they,’ Thea agreed mildly. ‘And you’re right, I should stay out of it. I was trying to make you feel better. Sorry.’

‘No, I’m the one to be sorry. I miss Donny so terribly, I can hardly think about anything else. I just can’t believe he would do what he did, without talking to me first.’

‘But you were here, the night before.’

‘Yes I was, and yes we argued, and shouted at each other, and I know the police have heard about that – from you, I assume.’

Thea remembered guiltily that she had indeed told Higgins about the raised voices on Monday evening. She flushed, and mumbled, ‘I’m afraid so, yes.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about it. I would probably have done the same in your shoes. But that isn’t what I mean. There was nothing unusual or different about that evening. So why did he choose to die a few hours later?’ The tears had dried up completely, but her face showed the ravages of her misery.

‘Well,’ said Thea, groping for something that might console the woman, ‘at least you shaved him. He looked much better for that.’

‘What? I never did. I know he was awfully stubbly, but I never managed to say anything about it, with him being so cross with me.’

Before Thea could properly process this anomaly, a
car engine alerted them to the arrival of DI Higgins. He got out quickly, his gaze on Thea. He did not seem pleased to see her, one eyebrow raised suspiciously. It was a familiar look, full of anxious questions as to how much she was disclosing to people the police would rather were kept in the dark.
Have you told her?
she could almost hear him asking. Did Edwina know that there had been an anonymous phone call accusing her of killing Donny? Thinking back through the long days since Monday, she could not be entirely sure just what she had said, and to whom. She did not think she had discussed Donny with anybody but Drew in any detail. With a reasonably clear conscience, she tried to indicate to Higgins that he had no need to worry, with a little shake of her head.

‘Mrs Satterthwaite – thank you for coming so quickly,’ he greeted Edwina. ‘Will you come into the house with me, please?’

‘I’d better go,’ said Thea with reluctance. She quite badly wanted to know what Higgins had in mind. Was he planning to somehow re-enact Donny’s death, hoping to push Edwina into a confession? If so, surely he should have a witness? It seemed odd that he had come here all on his own.

‘No! Stay with me,’ Edwina pleaded, much to Thea’s surprise.

‘Um …’

‘Yes, all right,’ said the detective. ‘It might be useful to have somebody with you.’

‘Why didn’t you bring somebody, then?’ Thea asked him. ‘You couldn’t rely on me being here. Or anyone else, come to that.’

He shook his head distractedly. ‘Short-staffed. There’s been a major incident in town. A kiddie never turned up at school as he should have done.’

Thea sighed. ‘He’ll be fine, of course. He just wanted some sunshine.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ he said tightly. ‘Meanwhile, practically everybody’s out looking for him.’

‘I’m impressed that
you’ve
given this case priority, then.’ She glanced at Edwina, who stood passively near the front door of the Lodge, seemingly uninterested in Thea’s evident acquaintance with the detective. Most people would have found it unsettling, at the very least. ‘I don’t know what you’re planning to do, but I’m not sure I want to be a witness to it.’

‘Chaperone, that’s all. Mrs Satterthwaite seems upset. She’ll be glad of a female friend, and she seems to trust you.’

Thea nodded uneasily. The matter of trust very probably lay at the heart of this whole business, and she was no closer to working out where it might justifiably be placed than she had been a week ago. She followed the others into the Lodge, wondering exactly what Edwina had been expecting, both now and before Donny died. How had she seen the future for herself and her friend? Had she believed him to be terminally ill, destined for helpless dependency while he slowly died? Had she been
prepared to change his nappies, rub his bedsores, spoon food into him? She was apparently a competent person despite her bad hip, a committed grandmother, a close friend. But she had been involved with a married man for many years, had argued and fought with him as a routine part of their relationship. How did she feel about the abandoned Janet? How close had she been to the death of Cecilia? The questions swirled, effectively silencing her, as Higgins led Edwina along the passage to Donny’s bedroom.

She waited for the woman to question the reasons for visiting the room, with its tragic associations, but Edwina said nothing, leaving Thea to fill the void. ‘They’ve been clearing out his clothes already,’ she said. ‘Jemima and Toby. If you’re letting them do that, you can’t be expecting to find any clues as to what happened, can you?’

‘We have all we need,’ said Higgins. ‘Now, I’d like you both to look out of this window, if you don’t mind. That’s if you can squeeze around this big old chair.’

‘What?’ demanded Thea. Higgins put a finger to his lips, almost playfully, and she lapsed into silence.

‘Mr Davis enjoyed this view, didn’t he?’ The question was addressed to Edwina, who nodded. ‘You can see across the valley to the south, to Sheepscombe nearly.’

It was the same view that Thea had paused to admire from the Manor, earlier that same day. Edwina went to the window and looked out. ‘Yes,’ she said.

‘But from the bed, all you can see is the tops of
trees. You have to sit just here, where the chair’s been placed, and then you get the full panorama.’

So what?
Thea was bursting to ask.

As if aware of her impatience, Higgins turned back into the room, and approached a framed piece of writing hanging on the wall. ‘Have you noticed this?’ he asked.

‘No. What is it?’

‘You could tell her,’ he invited Edwina. ‘Couldn’t you?’

‘It’s one of his poems. He used to write them when I first knew him. This one is quite recent – since he came to live here. Harriet had a calligrapher copy it and frame it, for his birthday last year.’

‘Shall I read it, or do you want to?’ Higgins asked.

Edwina shrugged, and turned back to the window. Higgins read in a gentle voice: