Murder in Steeple Martin (17 page)

‘I will. But you watch her, young Lib. That Ben is a right little cad in his own way. Cousin or not.’

Libby thought about this all the way home, as if she hadn’t been thinking about it all afternoon, and was relieved to find Fran in the cottage alone, Sidney fast asleep on her lap.

‘How did it go?’ asked Fran, putting Sidney aside and going towards the kitchen. ‘Can I make you a cup of tea?’

Sucking up, thought Libby uncharitably. ‘So-so,’ she said. ‘How was your day?’

‘OK.’ Fran put the kettle on the hob. ‘Why didn’t you come to the pub?’

‘I didn’t know what time you were going to be there, and when Ben came to find me it was too late.’

‘Sorry.’ Fran wrinkled her brow. ‘He seemed to think you’d know. We got there about one.’

‘How would I know? You just said lunch-time. I didn’t speak to him at all.’

Fran looked up quickly. ‘Oh, Libby, you’re angry with me. Oh, God, I’m so crap at this.’

‘Crap at what?’ Libby felt in her pockets for cigarettes, realising that she hadn’t had one all day. Angst was good for something, then.

‘People.’ Fran poured water into two mugs. ‘I get them all muddled up.’

‘Muddled up? How? I’m a woman, Ben’s a man. Can’t muddle that up.’

‘No.’ Fran turned round and handed Libby a mug. ‘Sorry, didn’t use the teapot.’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ Libby went into the sitting room and found her cigarettes on the table.

‘What I meant was,’ said Fran, sitting down and lifting Sidney on to her lap, something he would never let Libby do, ‘I get fixated on an idea and forget about the people concerned. I should never have gone off with Ben.’

‘Why ever not?’ asked Libby, feeling the now familiar blush creep up her neck.

‘Well –’ Fran looked down at Sidney, ‘– because of you. And him.’

‘Fran, there
is
no me and him.’

‘There is. Or you’d like there to be. And I’m sure he feels the same.’

‘Look, Fran, none of us are teenagers any more, and I’m not going to scratch your eyes out because you went off for the day with the bloke I fancy. I’m a grown-up, and grown-ups don’t do that sort of thing.’ Even if we want to, she thought.

‘All right,’ said Fran doubtfully, ‘if you say so.’

‘I do,’ said Libby, lighting the cigarette at last and inhaling gratefully. ‘So what happened?’

‘Ben took me to see the huts – aren’t they small? – and the bridge, then he took me to see Mrs Carpenter.’

‘Did he?’ said Libby, surprised. ‘What for?’

‘I don’t really know.’ Fran shrugged, and earned a baleful look from Sidney. ‘He just said he ought to go and see her and did I want to come along. They talked about you, mainly.’

‘Me?’

‘Mrs Carpenter asked after you. “How’s that Libby?” she said. Asked how you’d taken it.’

‘And? What did Ben say?’

Fran shrugged again and Sidney fell off her lap. ‘Said you were upset, obviously.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Well,’ said Fran, looking uncomfortable, ‘she said he should look after you. She told him off, rather.’

Libby grinned. ‘I can just hear her. “You’ve done enough running around with these young birds. Need a good solid woman of your own age.”’

Fran raised her eyebrows. ‘Just about. How did you know?’

‘She said the same to me. I wasn’t too sure about the solid, but I took the sentiment in good part.’ Libby looked at the end of her cigarette. ‘And what did Ben say to that?’

‘Well, sort of – “I know, I know.” Looked a bit embarr-assed.’

‘As well he might,’ said Libby. ‘So would I have done.’

‘Anyway, that was about it. And I’m afraid,’ said Fran with a sigh, ‘nothing came leaping out at me at all. All day.’

‘Oh, well, never mind. It was worth a try.’ Libby threw her cigarette into the fireplace. ‘Shall I light a fire? We’re not going out until later, are we?’

‘That’d be nice.’ Fran smiled up at her. ‘Am I forgiven?’

Libby pulled a face. ‘Don’t be daft.’

They spent a companionable couple of hours in front of the fire, until Fran asked if they should change before going to The Pink Geranium.

‘I suppose we should look smartish. People come from all over to eat there. I tend to be there at lunchtimes or when they’re closed.’ Libby stood up. ‘You go and use the bathroom first.’

Fran’s little black jacket and tailored trousers sent Libby’s heart into her boots. Her one and only silk blouse had made a return appearance, along with a rather dated pair of loose, dark red trousers. Her rusty bush of hair was tied up with a ribbon, while Fran’s sleek dark bob swung provocatively over her well marked cheekbones.

‘I don’t know why I like you. You’re far too smart and attractive.’ Libby flung her cape round her shoulders and picked up her basket. ‘Look at me. A reject from the hippy era.’

Fran laughed. ‘I’ve only got these sort of clothes because I need them for work and I can’t afford two separate wardrobes. And your look suits you. It’s – I don’t know – sort of earthy and sexy.’

‘Really? Peter says I look like a window dummy from Oxfam.’

‘Charity shops are really “in” these days. I get at least half my clothes from them.’ Fran buttoned up her navy coat as they stepped out into Allhallow’s Lane. ‘This coat came from the Hospice Shop.’

‘Really?’ Libby stroked the sleeve. ‘It’s a good one, isn’t it? Not my style, though.’

‘No, you’re more flamboyant. Your cape’s very you.’

Libby smiled, a trifle smugly. Earthy, sexy and flamboyant she liked. Shame about the short fat body that went with it.

The Pink Geranium was packed. Donna, Harry’s somewhat harassed young
aide de
camp,
as Peter referred to her, showed them to the sofa in the window to wait until their table was ready. Peter stood behind the counter making up drinks orders and waved. A minute later, a bottle of white wine and two glasses were brought over “apologies from Pete” as Donna said.

‘Apologies? What for?’ Fran sat back in the sofa. Libby didn’t dare or she would have disappeared.

‘Oh, we had a bit of a spat this afternoon,’ said Libby.

Fran looked a question.

‘Can’t you guess?’ Libby frowned. ‘Isn’t it just there in your head?’

‘Libby, please. Don’t keep having digs at me. I told you I don’t know much about whatever it is I’ve got. If facts are in my head, they’re in there. If they aren’t, they aren’t.’ Fran sighed. ‘I’m not doing it on purpose, and I bet that’s what the fight was about, wasn’t it? Peter doesn’t trust me, and thinks I’m just down here for a free ride and to get off with Ben.’

‘There you are, you see. You can do it,’ said Libby crossly.

‘No, that was simple deduction. And obviously I’m right.’ Fran looked across at Peter, who caught her eye and bowed slightly.

‘Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry. But he’s apologised. He’s just worried about his family.’

‘Of course he is.’ Fran put down her glass. ‘You know, Libby, I’m not sure this going on with the play is the right thing to do. Is it a bit insensitive?’

‘Oh, don’t start that again,’ groaned Libby. ‘We’ve been going over this ever since Wednesday, you know we have. We can’t renege again.’

‘No, I know, and it was Peter who finally decided to go ahead, wasn’t it?’ Fran shook her head. ‘I can’t make him out, really I can’t.’

‘No? How do you mean?’

‘He’s like two different people. One minute he’s being as camp as all get out, all insouciant and silly, the next he’s being serious and positively angst-ridden.’

‘It’s being a Gemini what does it,’ said Libby wriggling backwards into the sofa until her feet wouldn’t touch the floor. ‘Not so much a split personality as wanting to know what it’s like to be different. He likes to experience all sorts of things, and it’s now embedded in his personality. He really
is
serious, and cares deeply about things, but on the other hand –’

‘He feels he’s got to keep up with Harry?’ asked Fran.

‘Yes, I suppose that’s it. I’ve known Peter for years, long before he met Harry. I always knew he was gay, everybody did, but we never knew much about what he got up to in London. When he brought Harry down here we were all surprised, but everybody said how good it was for him. He lightened up – yes, became insouciant and silly as you put it. What worries me is that Harry might run away from all this. He’s not even thirty yet, and I’m not convinced he has much of a sense of responsibility.’

‘I thought he told you he really loves Peter?’

‘He did. But he also said he felt stifled by the family.’

Fran stared at the floor for a moment. ‘D’you know,’ she said finally, ‘I think I know too much about you all. I’m an outsider. I shouldn’t know all these intimate things.’

‘But that’s why you’re here.’

‘I know. But it doesn’t seem right.’

Libby heaved a sigh of exasperation. ‘Look, once and for all, Ben asked you in, I confirmed it. Whatever the rights and wrongs, you’re in. If you choose to leave us to our problems – well,
them
to
their
problems, I suppose – that’s your privilege, but let’s not keep going backwards and forwards. Is it or is it not insensitive, are you intruding or are you not intruding. Let’s just make up our minds and stick to it.’

Disconcerted, Fran sat looking at Libby with her mouth open.

‘Libby, your table’s ready in a minute. Do you want to order?’

Libby looked up to find Donna holding out menus.

‘Thanks, Donna, great. I know what I want, but Fran will need to choose.’

Fran took the menu and buried her face in it. Libby looked amused.

‘Hello, you old trout.’ Peter appeared at Libby’s elbow. ‘How’s tricks?’

‘Thanks for the wine,’ said Libby, smiling up at him. ‘A nice gesture.’

He pulled a face. ‘I’m full of them. Fran, how are you this evening?’

‘Fine, thank you,’ said Fran, looking up and putting the menu down on the table in front of her. ‘Just saying, I think I ought to go back to London and leave you all to it tomorrow. I’m only complicating matters.’

Libby and Peter exchanged surprised glances.

‘Were you?’ asked Libby. ‘I didn’t hear that.’

Fran flushed. ‘Well, that’s what I meant. You agree, don’t you, Peter?’

Peter scowled. ‘I don’t know, do I?’ He looked at Libby. ‘What have you been saying?’

‘She hasn’t said anything,’ said Fran. ‘I just feel I’m in the way, and I can’t contribute anything after all, despite what Ben thought at first.’

There was a short, awkward silence. Then Peter’s face relaxed into a smile. ‘Thanks, Fran. But don’t feel we’re driving you away. You’re welcome to stay if you want to get away from the rat-race.’

Libby laughed. ‘In my house, of course,’ she said.

‘Oh, you know what I mean,’ said Peter. ‘Now, can I take your order? Seeing as I’m here?’

Libby and Fran were still at their table when the last of the other diners drifted out. Harry appeared, still in his checked chef’s trousers and white tunic. Fran complimented him on the food and he made her an exaggerated bow.

‘Pete says you’re going back to London tomorrow,’ he said, twirling round a chair to sit astride with his arms along the back.

Fran nodded. ‘I only intended to stay for a couple of days anyway,’ she said, ‘and I haven’t been much help.’

‘You’ll come back to see the play, won’t you?’

‘Well,’ said Fran, looking at Libby, ‘if Libby can put me up, I’d love to. Or are there rooms at the pub?’

‘As long as you don’t want to come next weekend you can stay with me,’ said Libby. ‘The kids are coming on Friday and Saturday.’

‘I think I could only get away on Friday,’ said Fran, looking disappointed.

‘We’ll think of something,’ said Harry, ‘just keep in touch with old Lib.’

Peter arrived carrying a brandy bottle and glasses.

‘So, no Ben this evening, girls?’ he said.

‘Why should we know?’ asked Libby.

Peter raised his eyebrows. ‘Hoity-toity,’ he said, ‘I was only asking.’

‘Sorry. I don’t know where he is. Did he mention anything to you, Fran?’

Fran shook her head and took a sip of brandy. ‘Mmm, lovely,’ she said, closing her eyes.

Peter winked at Libby. ‘The fruits of country living,’ he said. ‘The good things in life.’

Fran looked from one to the other of them. ‘And I hope you appreciate them,’ she said.

Peter looked taken aback and Harry snorted with laughter.

‘We do, Fran, we do. But thank you for reminding us,’ said Libby, patting Fran’s arm.

‘David and Susan were in earlier,’ said Harry. ‘I don’t think they’ve ever eaten here before.’

‘Must have been seeing us all in the pub the other night,’ said Peter. ‘Reminded him he’d got a family.’

‘Reminded him that Susan has, anyway,’ said Libby. ‘Did he say anything?’

‘Apart from “What on earth is panzanella?”, not a lot,’ said Harry.

‘What is it, then?’ asked Fran.

‘Bread salad,’ said Peter. ‘Bog standard stuff.’

‘Oi!’ said Harry, giving him a poke in the ribs.

‘No, I meant did he say anything about – you know. Er, Paula.’ Libby buried her nose in her glass.

‘Yes, he did, actually,’ said Peter. ‘Asked if we’d heard anything. Asked how James was and wondered if he ought to go and see him.’

‘What did you say?’

‘Well, I don’t think James would be all that delighted to receive a visit from our resident bumbling GP, do you? He’s got enough on his hands with my mum, frankly.’

‘Oh, so he’s still there? Is she being difficult?’

‘More difficult than normal, you mean?’ Peter sighed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. When I was round there earlier she was going on about having lost her only chance of grandchildren, which didn’t go down too well with me, as you can imagine. And James looked as though he could cheerfully strangle her.’ He swore. ‘Sorry. That came out wrong, didn’t it?’

‘Why doesn’t he go back home?’ asked Libby.

‘Maternal blackmail, I should think.’

‘But it’s James who’s supposedly bereaved,’ said Libby.

‘Oh, don’t ask me,’ said Peter grumpily. ‘We all know what we think about that situation, don’t we?’

‘And that’s why the police are so interested in him,’ said Harry.

Peter and Libby exchanged startled looks.