Murder by the Sea (29 page)

‘But that’s Rosa!’ she said. ‘What’s happened to her? Is she all right?’

‘We don’t know,’ said Fran and turned back to DC Maiden. ‘Thank you, Mr Maiden. Would you inform Inspector Connell about this? He knows what it’s about.’

Maiden retrieved the paper and put it back in the file. ‘Certainly. As I said, he’s explained some of it. I believe he said he would be in touch with Miss Maurice later today if she identified the subject.’

Jane nodded and allowed herself to be led out of the interview room. Fran said goodbye to DC Maiden and almost pushed Jane out onto the pavement.

‘Would you like me to be there when Inspector Connell talks to you?’ she said.

‘Yes, please. You haven’t even told me what this is about. Where did they get her passport?’

‘It’s a long story,’ said Fran. ‘Have you got to get straight back to work?’

‘No,’ said Jane. ‘It’s Thursday, so the paper’s gone to bed. I’ll have to work on a couple of things over the weekend, so I’m free now. Let’s go into Giglio’s. I need a hot chocolate.’

Giglio’s was a nineteen-fifties style ice-cream parlour, which Fran knew from personal experience hadn’t changed since her childhood. Hot chocolate was served in glass mugs with chrome holders and pictures of the island of Giglio, after which the café was named, decorated the walls.

‘Now,’ said Jane, when they were seated at one of the little round, glass-topped tables, ‘tell me what this is about.’

Fran told her the whole story. Apart from slight pique because she hadn’t been allowed to interview Fran in the first place, Jane listened intently, asking only one or two questions when the narrative became over-complicated.

‘So,’ she said, leaning back in her chair when Fran had finished. ‘Rosa wasn’t really Rosa any more than this Lena person was?’

‘No.’

‘And you think she made friends with me deliberately?’

‘It looks possible,’ said Fran carefully.

Jane shook her head. ‘I don’t see why you think that. She was on a false passport. When the other girl was arrested it made sense for her to disappear.’

‘She was living in a luxury flat in Belgravia,’ said Fran, ‘not a bedsit in Battersea.’

‘I still think you’re on the wrong track,’ said Jane. ‘There’s absolutely no evidence to say she was trying to make friends with me in particular, or for any particular reason.’

‘What about the piece of paper Terry found?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Jane testily. ‘All this passport proves is that she had a kind heart, lending it to her lover’s homeless, displaced sister just to help her.’

Fran looked at her consideringly. ‘What about Aunt Jessica and Simon Madderling?’

‘What about them?’ Jane lifted her chin. ‘Aunt Jess was obviously a bit of a heroine in the war, and Simon was a hero – even if that wasn’t discovered until too late. There isn’t anything else.’

‘OK.’ Fran sighed. ‘We’ll leave it at that. At least you’ve confirmed for the police who Rosa was – or wasn’t. That’s all you need to say to Inspector Connell when he calls you.’

Jane wilted a little. ‘You said you’d be with me.’

‘He’ll call first, and if that’s all you’ve got to tell him he won’t need to see you, will he?’

‘No, I suppose not,’ said Jane.

‘Tell me, Jane,’ said Fran, stirring what remained of her hot chocolate. ‘Why have you changed your mind? Yesterday you were all for finding out all about the piece of paper. And keen to know about your aunt and Peel House.’

Jane sat looking at the table top for a long time. ‘I suppose,’ she said eventually, ‘it’s because it’s suddenly become real and personal.’

‘It couldn’t have got more real than poor old Terry being knocked over the head,’ said Fran, amused.

‘But it wasn’t
me
,’ said Jane. ‘I was just worried because Terry had been hurt. And even though I knew his flat had been searched, it didn’t really feel like anything to do with me. And it brought us together,’ she added, the familiar colour rising up her neck again.

‘But you were quite excited when you thought I might find out something last Monday night.’

‘I told you, it didn’t seem real. It was like a story.’ She hunched her shoulders. ‘But now – with the police –’

‘I know.’ Fran picked up her bag. ‘Come on. You don’t still want to be here when the Inspector calls.’

‘What about Pietro?’ Jane asked suddenly as they reached the square. ‘You didn’t mention him to the Inspector.’

‘There’s even less to connect him to anything that’s been happening at your house than Rosa. Or whatever her name was.’

Jane nodded. ‘Well, I’ll go home and tell Terry all about it. And we’ll see you on Saturday at Libby’s party?’

‘Of course you will,’ said Fran. Give my regards to Terry.’

And that was that, she told herself, as she walked back along Harbour Street to Coastguard Cottage. If Jane had been frightened off there was nothing more she could do, even for her own sake. Ian had his identification, Jane knew the history of her house as it related to her aunt, the only outstanding mystery was who hit Terry, and why. And unless she had a sudden inspiration about that, it looked likely to remain a mystery for some time to come.

Chapter Twenty-eight

ON SATURDAY EVENING AT seven o’clock, Ben opened the front door of The Manor and led his parents outside.

‘We’re picking Libby up at the theatre,’ he said, ‘she had to pop in for something.’

‘Shall we wait here?’ asked Hetty.

‘No, love, I’d like to see what they’ve been doing in the theatre,’ said Greg, who was in on the secret. ‘Let’s go in.’

The foyer was quiet. Ben went up to the double doors into the auditorium and gave them a little push as a signal, then stepped back. Suddenly, both doors were swept open, a great cheer went up and the piano struck up “Down at the Old Bull and Bush”. Hetty stood, struck dumb, flanked by her husband and son.

When the song finished, everyone in the auditorium cheered and applauded, and Hetty was led down to the stage, where Libby and Peter helped her up on to the stage and presented her with a huge bouquet. By this time, she was looking suspiciously bright eyed, and Ben, after a few words of greeting and explanation, led her and Greg to a table on the opposite side of the stage to the piano, where Peter, James and their mother, Millie, and Susan, Ben’s sister, already sat. Harry presided over a huge industrial barbeque in the tiny garden, and came in to join them as they took their seats.

Members of The Oast House Theatre company manned the bar, and after several more rousing choruses of well known, if ancient, songs, Libby sipped a glass of red wine and confided to Ben that it seemed to be going well and Hetty was enjoying it.

‘Told you she would.’ Ben cast a critical eye over the recreated pub on the stage. ‘Dad said it took him back.’

‘I can’t quite see him in a public bar during the war,’ said Libby, laughing.

‘Not here, no,’ said Ben. ‘I told you, didn’t I, there was always trouble between the pickers and the home dwellers, and the Squire’s son, as he was known then, wouldn’t have got involved. But when he was in the army he could do what he liked.’

‘Not quite,’ said Libby, amused.

‘You know what I mean.’ Ben gave her a friendly thump on the arm. ‘Is that young Jane’s Terry over there? I’d like to meet him.’

‘Come on then, I’ll introduce you,’ said Libby and led him down into the auditorium, where Terry’s eyes were fixed on his beautiful sister, who was playing and singing like a demon.

‘Good, isn’t she?’ said Jane proudly.

‘Wonderful,’ said Libby. ‘We just couldn’t have found anyone so perfect. Thank you, Terry.’

He dipped his head modestly. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

Libby introduced Ben, then went off to find Fran. She and Guy were discovered in the queue for sausages and mash in the garden.

‘Fantastic, isn’t it?’ said Guy. ‘Well done you.’

‘Oh, I only organised Terry’s sister, and that was by accident,’ said Libby.

‘You helped with the set and the wardrobe, though, didn’t you?’ asked Fran.

‘A bit,’ said Libby honestly, ‘but most of it was the others. Peter and Ben, mainly.’ She looked over her shoulder. ‘So, have you heard anything from Jane since Thursday?’

Fran shook her head. ‘Ian phoned and said he’d talked to her and got the same result as I did, but he’d decided anyway to have a look a bit deeper. He said a grudging thank you.’ She grinned. ‘I do annoy him!’

‘So he’s going to look into Terry’s attack, is he?’

‘I’m not sure, but he intends to follow up on Rosa.’ Fran sighed. ‘Nothing more for us to do, though, Lib.’

‘No.’ Libby chewed her lip. ‘Do you think we ought to have asked Mike a bit more about that evening?’

‘When he found Terry? He was questioned by the police, wasn’t he? I don’t think he’d have responded very well to us poking about. Look at how he was when we went in last Monday.’

‘I just can’t help feeling …’ Libby tailed off. ‘Especially after Bruce said he saw that Italian again …’

Fran’s eyes widened. ‘You think Mike Charteris is the disappearing Italian?’

‘He could be, couldn’t he?’

‘What on earth does a business contact of Bruce’s have to with Terry?’ asked Guy.

‘Oh, that was me in the first place,’ said Fran uncomfortably. ‘I was busy making connections all over the place, most of which had no relevance to each other at all.’

‘I said you were under too much pressure,’ said Guy, giving her a squeeze. ‘Oh, thanks, Harry.’ He handed one laden plate to Fran.

‘What about the old trout?’ asked Harry.

‘I’ll have mine later,’ said Libby, ‘on the FKO principal.’

‘FKO?’ asked Guy.

‘Family Keep Off,’ said Libby. ‘If you had guests that’s what you said to the children, to allow the guests to have what they wanted before the family got their mitts on it.’

‘I thought everyone knew that,’ said Fran, pouring brown sauce on top of her mashed potatoes, while Libby looked on with disfavour.

‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘I’m still suspicious of Mike. I was from the start. Especially when he kept trying to get into Jane’s apartment.’

‘Well, don’t say anything to Jane,’ said Fran. ‘She’s busy blanking it out at the moment. She’ll go to pieces if she starts worrying about Mike as well.’

‘Ah, but Terry’s there to look after her,’ said Libby. ‘I bet they move into the one flat, soon.’

‘When he’s strong enough,’ said Guy, with a wink.

‘Cheeky,’ said Libby and left them to their sausages.

A little while later, the family tucked into their own meals, while Terry’s sister took a break.

‘Good stuff, gal,’ said Hetty. ‘Your idea, the music, was it?’

Libby nodded modestly.

‘Lenny’s idea to have the party,’ said Flo, who’d joined them. Hetty raised her glass to him.

‘That gal’s good, too. Knows all the songs better’n I do.’

‘She sent us her set list and I downloaded all the words,’ said Peter.

‘That’s these, is it?’ asked Greg, lifting his song sheets. ‘Very clever. Not sure I’d know how, but Ben is teaching me his computer slowly, aren’t you boy?’

Libby hid a grin at Ben being called “boy”.

‘It’s helping find some of the old army buddies, isn’t it, Dad?’ He smiled over at his father.

‘Fascinating,’ said Greg, pushing his plate aside. ‘Do you know, there are more of them still alive than I would have believed.’

‘There’s even talk of a reunion next year,’ said Ben.

‘Later this year,’ corrected Greg. ‘More chance of getting there.’ He twinkled across at Hetty who patted his arm.

When Terry’s sister returned to the piano, the lights in the auditorium were lowered and a spotlight picked up Harry, who carried an enormous birthday cake down the central aisle to a deafening chorus of “Happy Birthday To You”. Hetty was persuaded to say a few gruff words of thanks, and the party resumed.

By eleven o’clock people were beginning to leave and Terry’s sister, with the effusive thanks of most of Steeple Martin, drove back to her babysitter. Terry and Jane came up to thank Libby and Ben for the party.

‘It was so good to get out,’ said Jane, ‘and do something completely different.’

‘Yeah, really took our minds off things,’ added Terry.

Fran and Guy were soon after them, as Guy had been chauffeur for all four of them, and as Libby and Ben waved them off, Libby yawned widely.

‘Have we got to do all the clearing up tonight?’ she asked.

‘No, tomorrow will do. Harry, bless him, is paying Donna and the current boy-in-the-kitchen to collect all the glasses and empties, so all we’ve got to do is strike the set, so to speak, and clean up.’

‘Good,’ said Libby. ‘Then if you don’t mind, I shall say goodbye to your mum and dad and go home.’

‘I’ll have to wait until everyone’s gone,’ said Ben. Libby sighed.

‘OK, I’ll wait too,’ she said, ‘but I’m still going to say goodnight to your parents. They must be whacked.’