Maestro (6 page)

"It’s not too bad but you may need a couple of stitches." 

"There's no doctor in Glymeer. Only in Goldarn." 

"Surely someone can drive you. I will if no one else can," Sara offered. 

"No, I'm fine. Thank you." 

Gillane stood up and reached for the duffel bag. 

Sara had got to it first intending to hand it over to him. She could barely lift it off the floor.  

"Please allow me to drive you home." 

Gillane acquiesced reluctantly, nodding his agreement as he picked up the duffel bag.  

The drive to Gillane's farm took a mere three minutes. A large meadow did in fact separate his farm from Downswold. So Gillane had spoken the truth: it was possible to walk across the meadow, after all.    

Whereas Downswold was concealed from public view, Gillane's house could be seen easily from the main road. 

Strangely, Gillane had not changed the name of the property: a sign with DENLEY painted on it, still stood near the entrance. Seeing the sign reminded Sara of her conversation with Mag: Old Man Denley was the original owner of both the farm where Gillane now lived, and Downswold. 

Sara drove straight up to the house. Gillane got out of the car immediately. Sara opened the boot for him to retrieve the impossibly heavy duffel bag. 

Sara was surprised to see Gillane walk over to her side of the car and tap on the window. 

"Would you like to come in for a sherry?" he asked 

"You must have a nasty headache. Perhaps it’s better if I don't..."  

"It'll soon pass. Please come in."

Gillane walked towards the house and stood waiting for her at the front door. 

Sara turned the engine off, got out of the car, and locked the doors. 

Gillane was no rural farmer. Sara found the gentleman of the house standing in the hallway, next to an elegant wooden chest. An impressively sized abstract painting hung along the wall. It was definitely not the type of painting the folk in Glymeer would be prone to collecting. 

Gillane led Sara down the hallway, the walls on either side covered with more paintings. At the end of the hallway, a sumptuously decorated sitting room awaited. 

In between fine wooden furniture, rugs were scattered over the floor. A myriad of colours jostled for space on the walls. Blues, greens, yellows, reds, in every shade imaginable. 

Sara found it hard to take it all in. She had been expecting a rustic farmhouse. But this! 

Gillane obviously had refined taste which had been cultivated somewhere else.  

Sara's host appeared not to notice her astonishment. A crystal glass full of sherry was handed to her. 

"Please sit down Sara." Gillane instructed, waving to a deep crimson-coloured chair. 

Sara accepted the glass and sat down. Gillane took his place on a separate chair alongside. 

He remained silent, offering no explanation for what Sara saw around her. Sara assumed that he must be extremely uncomfortable. In return for her bringing him home, he had felt obliged to invite her in. 

Sara chose to remain equally as silent. She sipped her sherry slowly, looking at Gillane out of the corner of her eye. She had learned by now that Gillane was too much of an elusive character to justify anything, let alone the possessions which filled the room. 

She also felt strangely flattered that he had revealed some of himself, part of an inner sanctum which surely no one else in Glymeer had been privy to.  

"Wonderful sherry," she mused, "Not too sweet." 

Gillane moved towards her, decanter in hand. She held the glass steadily as he refilled it. 

"The cut has stopped bleeding. Does the light in the cellar always give trouble?" 

"Yes. I should have warned you about it. Perhaps you shouldn't go down in the cellar until I attend to it." 

Sensing that the quality of Gillane's conversation would not improve, Sara set her glass down and got up to leave. 

"You'll be right as rain in the morning," she said with as much gusto as a doctor telling a patient that they had one month to live. 

Gillane accompanied her through the hallway.  They stood briefly together behind the front door, inches apart.

"Thank you for the ride, Sara. It’s just a scratch, not to worry." 

Sara nodded concentrating on the door.  

"You're very welcome to stay for dinner," continued Gillane, "if your stocks are low at Downswold." 

He was very close to her now. She could feel his breath on her face. Tempted and terrified at the prospect, she declined the invitation without giving her hesitation away. 

"It’s very kind of you but you would do well to get some rest." 

Gillane opened the door. Sara walked to the car slowly. Before getting behind the wheel, she looked at Gillane, who had stayed standing in the doorway. 

His face expressionless, Gillane nodded then waited for her to drive out onto the main road. 

********************* 

Over breakfast the next morning, Sara concluded that Gillane was an extraordinary individual. He didn't spin a yarn or fabricate stories about himself. His greatest weapon lay in his silence and quiet observance of others. During their lunch together the previous day, he had remarked that Glymeer was too personal. What he hadn't said was that the villagers' silence, their recalcitrance towards him, was more deafening than his own. They suspected him of something terrible. 

If he had indeed committed a murder and gotten away with it so far, it was his silence that had saved him.  

A young girl went to Downswold and was never seen again. 

Sara remembered John Sheeley's words. And Mag's. Twenty years ago. If Gillane had done something indefensible, why would he still be living in Glymeer? He could have moved away, gone to the ends of the earth, taking his secret with him. 

Sara retrieved her notepad and examined the notes she'd taken from the microfiches. 

Inspector Jay had closed the case. Twenty years ago. He had, "felt obliged to close the case." 

Sara stuffed the notepad into her handbag and drove into Glymeer to find a 'phone.   

There were no public telephones on the single main street. She decided to drive into Goldarn to find one. She didn't want to ask John or Mag if she could use their 'phone; surely they would already know that she had been to Gillane's house. A long explanation would be required. 

The square in Goldarn was filled with early morning activity. Sara found a 'phone booth at the corner of the street that Gillane had led her down on their way to lunch. She could see the police station at the opposite end of the square. 

She found the number for the Goldarn Police Station in the worn directory under the 'phone. She dialled the number. It rang several times before someone answered. 

"Good morning! Is Inspector Jay there please?" Sara sang into the mouthpiece camouflaging her accent as best she could. 

"Inspector Jay? He hasn't been here for more than fifteen years!" came the surprised reply. 

Sara summoned her courage. 

"I...I wonder if you could help me. He was very nice to my family some years ago. We promised we would visit him if we ever came by this way..." 

"Ah if you want to be visiting him then, he lives in Finacre." 

"Finacre? Is it far?" 

"Where are you then?" 

Sara held her breath.

"I'm opposite the bloody station," she thought pulling apart the map she had inside her notepad.

She spotted Goldarn on the map and a village called Ayres just south of it. 

"Er.. Ayres. I'm in Ayres!" she lied into the telephone receiver. 

"All right then. You're not far. About forty miles. Here it is: Savernake Cottage, Finacre, RH8 CG3. That's all I've got." 

"Thank you. Thank you."

Sara hung the 'phone back in place. With any luck, she had gotten away with it. 

Her heart racing, Sara drove back to Downswold to figure out what to do next.

Sara locked the door behind her once she was safely back at Downswold. 

Over a cup of strong coffee and a cigarette, she scrutinised the map to decide the easiest route to Finacre. She calculated that it would take her one and a half to two hours to get there, covering a distance of fifty-five to sixty miles. If she left right away, she would probably catch the Inspector having his lunch. If he was still alive. 

"Probably best to take some lunch along," she muttered to herself as she packed half a loaf of bread and cheese into her bag, "damned if there's a decent place to eat between here and there." 

Getting to Finacre was easy; due north of Goldarn, the winding country lanes offered the benefit of panoramic views unimpeded by diesel fumes and speeding drivers. 

An hour and a quarter later, Sara spotted the road sign. FINACRE 16 Miles. 

Sara considered she might be a little hysterical or even mad to have driven all this way. The Inspector would probably be demented or senile by now, with no recollection whatsoever of something that took place a lifetime ago. 

Sara slowed the car down. Fate was beckoning. The first cottage in Finacre, the first dwelling she saw, was SAVERNAKE Cottage. 

A very small stone cottage surrounded by a low brick wall. The carefully tended garden filled with brightly coloured flowers. Someone still lived here. 

She steered the car onto the pebbled driveway. An elderly woman came out the front door. Sara jumped out of the car quickly. 

"Mrs. Jay? Are you Mrs. Jay?" 

The woman stared at Sara apprehensively and pulled the shawl she was wearing, tightly around her shoulders. 

"Yes?" 

"My name's Sara. I was wondering if I might have a word with your husband."  

"What about?"

Mrs. Jay lifted one hand to her head, the other hand still clutching the shawl. She seemed bewildered, confused. 

Sara saw an old man appear behind Mrs. Jay in the doorway. 

"What is it then?" Sara heard him say, as he placed his hand on Mrs. Jay's shoulder. 

"Mr. Jay? Mr. Jay? My name's Sara. I've got to talk to you!" 

Husband and wife looked at each other. Mrs. Jay stepped aside to let her husband pass through the doorway. Sara noticed he was leaning heavily on a cane. 

The old Inspector resembled John Sheeley: the same ruddy face, reddish hair, what was left of it. He looked Sara up and down. Sara stood there motionless expecting to be rebuked strongly at any moment. 

"What you be doing here then?" barked the Inspector. 

Sara cringed. A sharp reprimand was coming. The Inspector still looked powerful, even in his diminished state. 

"I've got to...to talk to you...Sir," Sara stammered, "Were you... an Inspector at..Goldarn, Sir?" 

"Yes! Put that damn car off!" 

Sara realised that she must have appeared mad, when she leaped out of the car, with the engine still running. Neither had she pulled up the hand brake. 

She collected her bag with the all-important notepad and approached Mr. and Mrs. Jay cautiously. With his free arm, the Inspector waved to the side of the cottage. 

"Walk around the back!" he commanded Sara sternly. 

He retreated into the cottage and closed the door. 

Sara made her way round to the rear. Obviously, the Jays were not prepared to let a stranger into their cottage. 

The Inspector was already waiting for her standing in the middle of a stone patio decorated with flowering pots. Opposite the patio, Sara noticed the well-tended vegetable garden, the rows covered over with a dark coloured mesh. 

The Inspector bade Sara to sit down on one of the iron chairs grouped around a small table. Mrs. Jay came out to join them and sat next to her husband. 

"Have you come a long way?" asked Mrs. Jay 

"From Glymeer," replied Sara 

"You're not from Glymeer are you?" 

"No. No. I'm renting a cottage there. I'm on holiday. I'm from London." 

Unlike his wife who appeared content to banter on, the Inspector was clearly impatient for the conversation to move along. 

"What's this about then? What can I do for you?" 

"I..I want to talk to you about a case from twenty years ago. Can I? Is that all right?" 

"Get some tea, Hennie."  

Mrs. Jay breathed a sigh of relief as she rose to follow her husband's instructions.  The Inspector leaned back in his chair, the cane resting against his left leg. He searched Sara's face with the dexterity of a trained policeman.  Finally, he nodded for her to speak. 

"Mr. Jay, I’m staying at Downswold. It belongs to Mr. Gillane." 

The old man's face didn't flinch. 

"And what case you'd be wanting to know about?" 

The name hadn't rung a bell. Sara started worrying that the Inspector wouldn't remember. 

"Sarah LUNN," she articulated the girl's name loudly, to jog the Inspector's memory.