Killed in Cornwall (14 page)

Doreen called in to see Nathan briefly on her way to work. She was sure she had persuaded him to start looking for a job and she wanted to keep the pressure up. The only way to succeed with him was to keep nagging until he gave in. As she crossed the road she was aware of the heat which was already building up and knew that she would be exhausted by the time she had finished both of her cleaning jobs that day.

It was not quite eight o’clock but Nathan was dressed, his face smooth from recent shaving. It pleased her to see him continuing to take care of himself. Many men didn’t bother when they were left on their own. She doubted that Cyril would
bother to come into the house except to sleep if anything happened to her.

‘I’ve made a few calls,’ Nathan told her. ‘One sounds quite hopeful. I’ve got to go and see old man Trevean soon. The trouble is the car’s been playing me up and it’s got to go into the garage. They’re more trouble than they’re worth at times.’

‘I’m real gladdened, Nathan. If you need a lift, come over and tell me. Otherwise don’t forget to let me know how you get on.’ Satisfied that all was well and her tactics had worked Doreen got into her car and drove off to her first cleaning job of the day.

Later that evening, having washed up their supper dishes and tidied the kitchen she made two pint mugs of tea. One she took out to Cyril who was in a world of his own, busy with the watering-can, a cloud of pipe smoke encircling his head. The second she placed by the telephone. She was in the mood for a chat and decided to ring a couple of friends. It was Rose’s number she dialled first. ‘How’s Evelyn getting along?’

‘Dad says she’s tired a lot of the time but she’s making slow progress.’ There wasn’t much more she could say to the numerous but well meaning enquiries.

‘That’s the main thing. Sounds a bit like Nathan really. He’s keeping that house like a new pin, much to my amazement. And now, God bless ’en, he’s got hisself a television and video. I’m surprised he knows how the thing do work. And to cap it all, this morning he tells me he’s got an interview for a job. Good luck to ’im, that’s what I say.’

Rose smiled as Doreen paused for breath and took a noisy sip of her tea, one of the many mugfuls she drank in the course of a day. But why shouldn’t Nathan make progress? Look at Barry, a man Rose had believed to have been too old, too set in his ways to ever change. Now he was buying new clothes and decorating his flat. Nathan was proving to be stronger than he had appeared to most people but Rose has sensed some inner strength. As with the fête, Doreen was not afraid to show how proud of him she was.

She listened to Doreen’s chatter for a couple more minutes then tactfully ended the conversation by saying she was in the middle of cooking her meal and didn’t want it to spoil. Farm work, Doreen had said, it was work Nathan was used to and he would be ideally suited to it because he wouldn’t have to make small talk or
try to please people from behind a counter or a desk. Things were looking good for him.

Remaining beside the telephone it occurred to Rose that she had not yet spoken to her mother since her return home from hospital. ‘She’s resting,’ her father had told her when she called on Saturday evening, and again when she rang on Sunday. ‘They told us to expect that she’d be very tired for a while.’

‘Don’t disturb her, just tell her I rang and give her my love.’ She wanted very much to hear Evelyn’s voice, to be reassured that she really was making progress, but to wake her might delay that progress.

‘She had an hour or so sitting in the garden,’ Arthur told his daughter when he phoned her on Tuesday. ‘I’ve made her go up for a lie down, she looks a bit grey. You know your mother, Rose, she’s as stubborn as you. She insists she’s fine when it’s obvious she isn’t.’

‘I’ll come up, Dad. You need a break and I can make sure she does as she’s told.’

Arthur snorted. ‘Fat chance of that after all these years. But no, maybe next week. I’d, well, it sounds daft as we’ve never been apart, but I’d like her to myself at the moment. It’s a chance to repay the way she’s always looked after me.’

Rose felt tears in her eyes. Even as a child she had known her parents’ marriage was somehow different from others. They had worked side by side on the farm, never far apart and had continued in that way since their retirement. She often wondered whether it was because she had been led by example or whether it was pure luck that she had picked the man who had made her so happy. He picked me, really, Rose thought, recalling how insistent David had been, how, after only a fortnight he had told her he loved her. They had married within a year. We were so young, we could have been so wrong, she thought. ‘All right, but remember you can ring me at any time and I’ll come.’

It had been another hot day with a visit to the library followed by the final session on the Poldhu painting. ‘I’m improving,’ Rose told herself as she stood scrutinising the canvas which was propped against the larder wall. But she felt restless, her father’s call had disturbed her. She prayed he wasn’t holding anything back, that her mother was simply tired, no more than that. She picked up her bag, locked the kitchen door behind her and, having made sure her mobile phone was charged up and on, walked quickly down the hill. She had decided upon a circular route, a long
walk to ensure she would sleep. Having crossed Newlyn Green she walked up Alexandra Road, turned right into Alverton Road and continued on up the steep hill which was Penalverne Drive. Keeeping up the pace, her calf muscles began to ache.

She could feel the steady beating of her heart and took slower, longer breaths until she finally came to West Cornwall Hospital. She waited to cross the road wondering whether her choice of direction had some Freudian connection. There was no reason to have come this way, there was far more to see along the Promenade.

The homeward journey was downhill. She reached the top of Causewayhead and kept walking towards the sea. There was a queue for the cinema but she couldn’t decide which of the three films was attracting such a crowd. None of them appealed to her. By the time she was back in Newlyn she was totally calm and in need of a rest. I’ll repay Laura with an unexpected visit, she decided as she neared her house. When Laura let her in Rose regretted her impulse because her friend already had company. Gwen and Lucy Chandler were seated in her living-room, gin and tonics in their hands.

‘Don’t be stupid, the more the merrier,’ Laura
said when Rose apologised and said she’d leave. ‘We’re celebrating their return to work. I take it you won’t say no to a stiff gin even if you are dressed like a tramp.’ She winked at Rose. Rose looked down. Her rope espadrilles had seen better days, her denim skirt was splattered with paint, only her blouse was tidy. She probably had paint in her hair, too, because she had left it loose that day. Clothes had never meant much to her unless she was going somewhere special.

Gwen and Lucy both appeared more relaxed than when she had last seen them but there was a long way to go yet. Rose had come for a gossip with Laura but knew it would not be appropriate. She allowed the other women to run the conversation.

‘It wasn’t easy on Monday,’ Lucy said. ‘I know people had guessed but they didn’t say anything.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I must stop talking about it.’

‘We’re making some changes,’ Gwen continued. ‘Something like this brings home to you that life is for living. When I think of that other poor girl.’ Her hand shook as she reached for her drink. ‘Anyway, we’ve decided to redecorate Lucy’s bedroom as a start. She’s picked the paper and I’m going to make the curtains. I
used to sew a lot when the children were small. Unfortunately I lent my sewing-machine to my daughter-in-law and I’ve never seen it since.’

‘Borrow mine,’ Rose said. ‘It hasn’t been out of the cupboard for years. I used to make my own clothes in the days when it was cheaper than buying them.’

‘Could I?’

‘If you’re going to be here for a while I’ll go home and bring it down in the car then give you both a lift home.’

‘I’d really appreciate that.’ Gwen smiled. It was the first time Rose had seen her do so.

‘Shall I come and give you a hand?’ Lucy asked.

Rose was surprised at the offer but agreed. They began the climb up the hill. Rose regretted having sat down as her legs were now protesting at more effort but she would soak in the bath later.

‘I heard you’re no longer with Jason,’ Rose said to break the silence as they passed the Red Lion. The harbour, to their left, glinted in the evening sunshine.

Lucy nodded but didn’t speak because just then a car stopped on the opposite side of the road.

‘Lovely evening,’ Doreen Clarke said as she stuck her head out of the driver’s window.

Rose was about to respond when she noticed the passenger. The expression of panic on his face was so fleeting that she wasn’t sure it had been there at all.

‘I’ve just taken Nathan up to Harry Trevean’s place. Looks like he’ll be starting work there. Nathan’s car’s been playing up so it’s in the garage and as it’s such good weather we came back the long way so’s we could admire the view.’ Doreen was staring pointedly at Lucy, waiting for an introduction.

‘This is Lucy Chandler,’ she said. ‘Lucy, this is my friend, Doreen Clarke and Nathan Brown.’

Lucy said a polite hello but there was no chance for further conversation because two cars were behind Doreen’s waiting for her to drive on. One of the drivers tooted his horn. Doreen put the car into gear, gave a quick wave and disappeared down the hill.

‘I’ll just get a cloth,’ Rose said when they were in the larder. The sewing-machine held a layer of dust. It was many years old but a good one, made from wood and steel in the days before plastic was popular. Together they carried it to the back seat of Rose’s car then drove back the way they had walked.

Gwen was ready to leave when they arrived so they went straight off.

‘I’m really grateful,’ Gwen told her as she and Lucy got the machine out of the car. ‘I’ll look after it and bring it back the minute I’ve finished.’

‘There’s no rush. As I said, I haven’t used it in years.’

Rose went home and ran a bath. She sank beneath the water and lay there for some time. ‘There’s only one way to find out,’ she said aloud. ‘If you don’t know, ask.’

Eva’s smile was infectious. ‘Good news?’ Dave asked when he came home from work.

‘I’ve got a job.’

He put the kettle on while she explained how she had managed to talk the landlord of a Penzance pub into giving her a trial. ‘One of the staff left unexpectedly and I happened to walk in at the right time. Perhaps our luck is changing. Well, I said I’d do anything, serving behind the bar, waitressing, whatever they wanted. They do lunches and dinners and it’s always busy apparently. The only thing is I’ll have to do some evening shifts.’

Dave reached for her and stroked her hair. It seemed as animated as she was. ‘That’s fine by
me. You must live the way you want to. Now, are you coming with me this evening?’

‘Yes.’ She didn’t know how he did it; all day his work was physical and he could still spend the evenings renovating the barn. It was gradually taking shape but even to Eva it was obvious there were many more months of hard work before it was habitable and a lot more work after that. But she would help him. Under his directions she was sure there were things of which she would be capable. All that marred the future was the fact that a murderer was out there somewhere and that she and the police had believed it possible that Dave might have committed it. That, and the question of the robbery at the Johnson’s bungalow.

Barry Rowe came backwards down the stepladder, a paint tray and roller in one hand. He stood back with satisfaction and admired his achievement through his glasses which were spotted with paint. Already the flat looked brighter and cleaner. He had decided upon plain walls as the rooms were small, and light, cheerful colours ranging through white gloss to primrose and pale peach emulsion. Daphne Hill had been kind enough to bring him some colour
charts which she’d picked up during one of her lunch breaks. Already he could picture the new furniture; pale pine or some other light wood and patterned curtains which incorporated the colours of the rooms. And new bed linen.

The shop bell rang. Barry cursed. He had forgotten to tell the company that there was a back entrance to the flat. Downstairs waited the man who had come to sell him a new kitchen. Barry had hoped to have Rose there to give him advice but he had been assured that the representative would offer a plan to make the most of whatever space was available.

Barry laughed. I’m actually enjoying this, he thought as he went to let the man in.

Only later, when he had paid a hefty deposit and cleaned his paintbrushes did he give Daphne and Rod another thought. She had told him that an Inspector Pearce had been out to see Rod. If Jack’s involved, Barry thought, then it’s serious. He liked Daphne and didn’t want to lose her but he feared he would if things turned out badly for Rod Hill.

He realised it was late, light was fading from the sky, and that he was hungry. It would be nice to eat out, to not bother to cook something, but it was not a pleasure he enjoyed alone and it was too late to ring Rose or anyone else.

He opened the kitchen window and flapped his hands at the low roof opposite, to no effect. The pair of herring-gulls continued to squawk raucously. At least the noise was not as unbearable as earlier in the year when they were mating. He had had some razor wire placed around his defunct chimney-pot to stop gulls nesting there and wished his neighbours would do the same.

He cooked scrambled eggs, sausages and beans and sat down to eat hoping that Rose would be free to go to Plymouth with him on Sunday and help him choose the furniture. The old stuff would go to some charity or other.