Murder in Bloom (14 page)

‘We’re not,’ she said, handing him a glass. ‘The police think they know who the body is, so that’s that.’

Ben raised his eyebrows. ‘But what about this other murder in London? I thought that was connected?’

So he’d been following it, thought Libby.

‘Yes, I suppose it is, but it’s nothing to do with us,’ she said.

‘But it is to do with Adam’s employer.’

‘Well, yes.’ She wriggled in her chair. ‘Look, Ben, we don’t have to talk about murders. I just wanted to see you.’

He stood up and came to sit beside her. ‘And I wanted to see you,’ he said. ‘I don’t like this situation.’

Libby opened her mouth to tell him that he’d started it and thought better of it.

‘Yes,’ he said, reading her mind, ‘I know I started it, so can we just talk it through now and see where we go from here?’

Libby stared at him, then stood up. ‘I’m just going to put the vegetables on,’ she said.

When she came back, Ben had topped up their drinks and taken off his jacket.

‘What do you want to say?’ Libby sat down beside him again and picked up her glass.

He looked amused. ‘What I’d like to say is “will you marry me?” but I won’t.’

Libby choked on a mouthful of scotch. He patted her on the back. ‘Instead, I’ll say please will you continue to be my significant other because I love you and I miss you. And I would like to move in with you permanently, as you don’t want to move to The Manor – and I can quite see why – but if you’d rather I didn’t, then I suppose we’ll have to go back to the way we were.’ He shifted position in order to drape an arm round her shoulders and give her a squeeze. ‘I know I was sounding pushy and dictatorial, and I know it all sounded like blackmail, but I realised that we’re not kids with our whole lives ahead of us, who could say “there’s no future in this” and move on to someone else.’

‘So we’ll have to settle for us?’ Libby frowned at him.

‘I didn’t mean that,’ Ben sighed. ‘I meant that I’ve found my future, there’s no point in looking for anything else.’

‘Me?’ asked Libby hesitantly.

‘Of course, you,’ said Ben. ‘Now shut up and let me kiss you.’

It was much later when Libby suddenly sat up in bed and let out an exclamation.

‘What?’ Ben mumbled.

‘I’ve got it,’ said Libby, throwing the duvet back.

‘Got what?’ Ben sat up. ‘And where are you going?’

‘I’m going to phone Fran,’ she said.

‘It’s gone eleven, Libby, and I thought you weren’t involved in this investigation?’

‘I’m not,’ Libby said and grinned over her shoulder at him. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

Fran sounded no more awake than Ben had and twice as exasperated, but Libby took no notice.

‘It’s obvious when you think about it,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why you didn’t.’

‘What’s obvious, and why should I think of it?’

‘The skeleton. The DNA. It’s Kenneth.’

Chapter Fourteen

THERE WAS A SILENCE while Fran tried to wake up. Libby sighed impatiently and began to tap her fingers on the receiver.

‘All right, all right, I’m awake now.’ Fran paused. ‘Of course, you could be right.’

‘Of course I’m right,’ crowed Libby. ‘It’s so bloody obvious I don’t know why the police didn’t think of it.’

‘They probably did,’ said Fran slowly, ‘when you realise they had given the age of the skeleton as a man between thirty and fifty. Gerald doesn’t fit into that age range.’

Libby deflated. ‘Oh.’

‘So that means they must have ruled Kenneth out.’

‘What?’

‘It’s just as obvious, Libby. Creekmarsh belonged to Gerald Shepherd. He’s disappeared, and apparently now, so has his son. Nothing’s been heard of him for a couple of years, has it?’

‘Don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘He made enquiries when his father and Cindy went AWOL, but I don’t know what happened after that.’

‘Well, then, the police would know that, so they would look into the possibility that the body was his.’ Fran yawned. ‘Look, let’s talk about this in the morning.’

‘But you said I was probably right.’

‘I said you
could
be, Lib. It doesn’t feel right to me. Let me sleep on it. Go back to bed.’

Libby crawled back under the duvet and tentatively reached for Ben.

‘That didn’t take long.’ His voice was blurred with sleep.

‘No,’ said Libby and, smiling, closed her eyes.

Sunday dawned sunny and Libby was filled with optimism. Adam and Ben were both still asleep when she came downstairs to Sidney’s importunings, and after she’d fed him, she went into the garden to wait for the kettle to boil.

A soft breeze drifted through the branches of the cherry tree, now alive with bright green leaves, the white blossom only a memory, and multi-coloured aquilegia waved along the bottom of the large choisya. Sidney had disappeared over the back fence into The Manor woods, and Libby could hear a distant lawn mower. Sniffing, she agreed with Chesterton’s dog Quoodle; there was a definite smell about Sunday morning.

She made tea and took hers upstairs with Ben’s.

‘This is nice,’ he said, struggling to an upright position and leaning forward to kiss her.

‘It is, isn’t it?’ she said, her stomach melting with the pleasure of just seeing him there, propped up against the white pillows.

‘Come back to bed, then.’ He turned back a corner of the duvet and waggled his eyebrows at her. She giggled.

‘Drink your tea first,’ she said. ‘Or it will go cold.’

It did.

‘And now,’ said Libby, some time later, ‘I shall have to make more tea and go and see if Ali and

Ahmed are open this morning.’

‘Why?’ asked Ben lazily. ‘It’s Sunday.’

‘And I promised Ad a proper Sunday lunch, which I completely forgot about. So I’ll have to go and see what Ahmed can rustle up.’

‘He might have a frozen chicken,’ said Ben doubtfully, ‘but what about vegetables?’

‘I might have to cadge off Pete and Harry or your mum,’ said Libby. ‘Do you think they’d mind?’

‘I’ll give Mum a ring,’ said Ben, swinging his legs out of bed. ‘Where are my trousers?’

‘Do you have to put your trousers on to phone your mum?’ Libby snickered. ‘Will she be shocked?’

‘Idiot. My phone’s in the pocket.’

When Libby returned from the bathroom to get dressed, Ben was back in bed.

‘We’ve all been invited to lunch at The Manor,’ he said, holding out a hand. ‘So you can come back to bed again. We’ve got some time to make up.’

‘Did you force your mum into it?’ asked Libby suspiciously.

‘No, she was delighted to ask us. It gives her a chance to cook properly, she said. You know how she loves entertaining.’

‘Cooking, yes. I wouldn’t say she liked entertaining as in dinner parties.’

Ben grinned. ‘No. I can’t see my mum in a glam frock serving goat’s cheese on a raspberry coulis, can you?’

Libby grinned back and let her dressing gown fall to the floor. ‘No, thank goodness,’ she said, and dived back under the duvet.

By the time Adam appeared, Ben and Libby were in the garden, respectably dressed and in deep conversation about summer flowering perennials.

‘Morning, Ma,’ he said, pushing a hand through tangled hair. ‘’Lo, Ben. Is there any tea?’

‘You can make some,’ said Libby. ‘Hangover?’

‘No,’ said Adam with some surprise. ‘I got a lift home from someone and he didn’t want to be late, so I was in by about half twelve. You were already asleep.’

‘Well, good,’ said Libby, avoiding Ben’s eye, ‘because Hetty’s invited us up to The Manor for lunch.’

‘Hey, great,’ said Adam, brightening. ‘But I thought you were going to do lunch?’

‘I was, but now Hetty’s invited us. I expect she wants to see you.’

‘She’s got a soft spot for you, you know,’ said Ben, sitting down on one of the slightly unstable garden chairs.

Adam looked down at his feet. ‘Yeah, well,’ he said.

‘Go on, then, have a shower and I’ll make you some tea,’ said Libby, giving him a fond push towards the cottage.

It was a shock later, when Libby turned on the radio while clearing up the kitchen from the previous evening, which unaccountably hadn’t been done, to hear that the midday news bulletin contained a reference to both the discovery of the Creekmarsh skeleton, although without naming the house, and Tony West’s murder. Scraping the remains of the chicken into the bin, Libby realised she hadn’t once thought about ‘the investigation’ since Ben had arrived. She smiled a secret little smile.

Promptly at one o’clock, Ben, Libby and Adam presented themselves at The Manor. Hetty greeted them without fuss and showed them into the sitting room, where Ben’s father Greg sat, frailer than ever, but ever the courteous host. Lunch was served at the huge table in the kitchen. Adam’s eyes gleamed at the enormous rib of beef, the tureens of vegetables, Hetty’s special gravy and horseradish sauce.

‘Enough to feed an army as usual,’ said Ben, grinning at his mother, who wielded a skilful carving knife.

‘Plenty to see us through the week,’ said Hetty. ‘Take some ’ome cold, gal, put it in ’is sandwiches.’ She nodded towards Adam, who beamed back at her.

‘Will you be needing sandwiches next week, Ad? Or will Katie be back?’

‘Who’s Katie?’ asked Ben.

‘She’s, like, Lewis’s sort of housekeeper-secretary,’ said Adam, helping himself to roast parsnips. ‘She’s been away since – well, I don’t really know. She wasn’t there yesterday.’

‘She’s just gone home for the weekend,’ said Libby. ‘Lewis said she’d gone to London.’

‘So what’s he like then, this Lewis Wotsit?’ asked Hetty.

After lunch, Libby offered to help with the clearing up, and, as usual, Hetty said it would all go in the dishwasher – she gave it a pat – and she preferred to do her pots herself.

Adam, perfectly at home at The Manor, wandered into the library, which, he told them, was the perfect setting for a murder and wondered why Ben and Libby both told him to shut up.

‘Actually, Ad, I was going to ask your advice about something,’ Ben went on.

‘
My
advice?’ Adam looked shocked.

‘You must have picked up a certain amount working with Mog?’

‘Well, yes, I suppose so,’ said Adam, glancing nervously at his mother.

‘I need a bit of advice on what to do with that bit of the old lawn that goes down to the wood,’ said Ben, putting an arm round Adam’s shoulders. ‘Would you come and have a look at it?’

They disappeared through the French windows and Libby watched, an amused expression on her face.

‘There now,’ said Hetty, coming in with a tea tray. ‘I didn’t make coffee. Thought you’d like a cuppa.’

‘Lovely, thanks, Hetty,’ said Libby, who was still full of Cabernet Sauvignon. ‘Does Ben really need Adam’s advice on the garden?’

Hetty looked up. ‘If it’s that bit down by the woods, yes, he does. Can’t decide whether to chop the lot down, put up a fence or what. Not much fer ’im to do round ’ere, really.’ She passed Libby a cup. ‘So things working out for you again?’

‘Er –’ said Libby.

‘Just our Ben’s not bin happy this week. And I reckoned it had something to do with you. And that Fran and Guy getting married.’

Libby sighed. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s it exactly. And Guy wants Ben as best man, and Fran wants me as – well – attendant, I suppose. All very difficult.’

‘And you still don’t want to get married?’

‘Oh, Het, I’m not sure. I love Ben, but marriage hasn’t done well by either of us in the past, has it?’

‘Neither it did with that Fran, nor that Guy. They was both married before, and they’re taking the chance.’

‘I know.’ Libby looked down at her cup. ‘Would you be happier if we got married?’

Hetty shrugged. ‘Don’t make no difference to me,’ she said. ‘Don’t know why you don’t just live together. Most folks do.’

‘Ben’s said he’d like to move in with me,’ said Libby. ‘Not,’ she added hastily, ‘that it isn’t lovely here –’

‘But it ain’t your own.’ Hetty nodded. ‘Be Ben’s one day, though.’

‘Don’t talk about it,’ said Libby.

‘Have to. My Greg’s not going to last much longer – it’s a wonder he’s held on as long as he has

– and I ain’t no spring chicken. Got power of attorney for both of us, has Ben. ’Course, there’ll be our Susan to think about too, but she’s got her own place.’

‘Power of attorney? Gosh, has he?’ said Libby. ‘I didn’t know that.’

‘No reason you should. Just being sensible, case anything happens. I remember what it was like when I took over here.’ Hetty stared broodingly at the carpet.

‘It must have been so hard for you,’ said Libby gently, after a moment. Hetty pulled herself together. ‘Yeah, well, had to

be done, didn’t it?’ She poured more tea into her cup and looked enquiringly at Libby, who shook her head. ‘You have to get things in order, gal, so as your kids don’t have a mess to clear up. Don’t mean you’re going to die next week, just that it’s all clear and they don’t have nothing to worry about when the time comes. Hard enough without all that.’