Shadows in the Cotswolds (19 page)

‘It’s not so bad for you, hiding away in the Cotswolds,’ she accused. ‘And besides, what do you have to lose?’

It was a fair question. ‘Less than you,’ he conceded. ‘Now, anyway.’

They both realised the conversation had run its
course. She put a hand on her smart leather bag, and gathered herself. ‘I’d better go,’ she said.

‘Does Cedric know you’ve come looking for me?’

She gave a harsh laugh. ‘Cedric and I seldom speak. He’s brought home every evening, and collected again every morning. Every day he seems a little bit smaller, a little bit more silent. I stay out of his way as much as I can.’

Oliver could not imagine it. Nor did he want to. The image of a dead Melissa still persistently intruded into his thoughts. The entire conversation about Cedric had felt like a distraction from the more important matter. ‘Melissa was murdered,’ he said loudly. ‘Somebody killed that poor girl, the moment my back was turned. She kept her things at my house. She came and chatted to me, every few months. And you hardly even registered when I told you.’

‘I never met her. I had entirely forgotten she existed. Somebody told Cedric when she was born, and he helped to get it hushed up. His mother never knew about it. We didn’t know where she was, or what she was doing. Why should I care about her now? What does it have to do with any of this?’

Oliver stood up shakily. ‘She was a Meadows, and the Meadows family is the object of public loathing. I dare say there’s a connection.’ His mind began to form lucid links and theories that were startling in their clarity. ‘If Henry gives up the business, one of the next generation might be tempted to take it on. That means
Fraser’s Mo – or Melissa. Meadows & Daughter.’ He savoured the thought. ‘They’d both be free of the taint that people associate with Cedric. Perhaps the idea had occurred to Henry. Perhaps Mo has already said something to him.’

‘Stop it, Oliver!’ Sylvia ordered. ‘This is ridiculous talk.’

‘I wonder,’ he said. ‘You know, in the past year or so, I’ve come to understand that there’s a great world of difference between what people will acknowledge in open conversation, and what they’ll do under cover of darkness and secrecy. The trouble comes when those two worlds collide.’ He lifted his chin defiantly. ‘And I have to say I rather relish being part of it.’

‘Then God help you,’ she spat, and walked quickly away towards Paddington Station.

In Oliver’s house, Thea and her mother were having an oddly parallel conversation to that taking place in Norfolk Square. They had pooled their knowledge of the Meadows family, and made inspired guesses as to the state of mind of Henry Meadows, current proprietor of the undertaking business. ‘He won’t be popular, will he?’ Thea suggested. ‘The whole operation will be tainted by this child abuse case.’

‘Maybe Mo will offer to run it instead,’ said her mother, semi-seriously. ‘Although I can’t really see people talking to her about coffins and hymns with very much confidence.’

‘Maybe
Melissa
was a more likely proposition. You know – she was an insurance assessor, covering a huge area down the western side of the country. Oliver told
the police about it. It involved living out of a suitcase and moving around a lot.’

‘So …’ said Maureen slowly, ‘what if Melissa wanted to change and settle down? Perhaps she was positioning herself to oust Henry, and he got to hear about it.’

Thea watched her mother’s face as she reran this hypothesis for flaws. ‘That does sound alarmingly feasible,’ she concluded. ‘But surely Henry wouldn’t come here and do it himself? He’d pay somebody to do it for him. A hitman.’

‘Do people really do that?’ Maureen queried. ‘How could you ever trust the person to keep quiet? You’d have to pay them an
enormous
sum of money to be sure. If it was me, I’d rather take the risk and do it myself.’

‘But you were saying earlier that only a depraved monster could kill someone.’

‘And you said I was wrong about that.’

Thea smiled at the ludicrous image of her mother as murderer, while knowing it was not that simple. Even ordinary women, elderly housewives, would kill in certain circumstances. ‘It might seem easier in the short run,’ she said. ‘But could you live with yourself afterwards?’

‘Good question,’ nodded her mother.

‘I’m still not clear how much you knew about the family business from Fraser, before you came here yesterday. I’ve been assuming you knew most of it,
having met Mo already. But it’s all a bit hazy. I’m not even sure how long ago you two rediscovered each other.’

Maureen spluttered at this direct questioning. She had always preferred a more circumspect approach when seeking information. ‘It was about six weeks ago now,’ she said. ‘I told you – he contacted me on Facebook.’

‘So you put your maiden name on there, did you? Otherwise he couldn’t have worked out that it was you, could he?’

‘Yes, I did. I was wondering whether there was anybody from my schooldays who I might contact again. You know how you always wonder how people turned out. Looking back now, you can see the whole span of their lives, and it’s fascinating. There was a girl called Susan Bradford who emailed me. We sat next to each other in class for years.’

‘And has she had an interesting life?’

‘I’m not sure. She just listed her children and said her husband was in a nursing home. I assume not. But then, neither have I, when it comes to it.’

‘But something was different about Fraser? He persuaded you to meet him, and now you’re practically an item.’

‘Is that what you call it? I can’t explain it, Thea, so stop trying to make me. He’s good-looking, interesting, attentive. He doesn’t seem to find me boring. And to answer your question – no, I had no idea about
the child abuse case being anything to do with him. I don’t remember noticing anything about it on the news. These things just trundle on, don’t they – just background noise.’

‘What I mean is – did he list all his relations? Cedric and Henry and any cousins or in-laws? People do usually talk a lot about their family, especially when you first meet them.’

‘I knew about Mo. I don’t think he did mention Cedric or Henry specifically. Of course, I eventually got it out of him that his father was an undertaker. We argued about whether he told me that when I knew him before. I’m
sure
he didn’t. I would definitely have remembered that. He says he talked about it when we did our Jack the Ripper walk, but if he did, I’ve forgotten. And I’ve been thinking about what’s happened here, and I’m quite certain that Fraser never even knew Melissa existed. I believe him completely. He couldn’t have just gone on pretending he knew nothing about her, if he actually knew full well she was his sister. Besides – what would be the point?’

‘I’m not sure we used her name in his hearing.’ Thea struggled to recall an instance where they might have done, but her mind went cloudy with the effort. ‘Did we?’

‘I don’t know. But even if we didn’t, he’d have made the connection. He must have just thought she was some waif Oliver had picked up somewhere.’

‘But, it would fit with him being a very good actor,
wouldn’t it? Pretending to be your old boyfriend, when he’s not.’ Thea felt soiled by this deliberate attempt to undermine her mother’s faith in the man. She assured herself it was for the best, that he could not be permitted to swindle and betray such a trusting woman, but just the same, it was not kind.

Her mother, however, showed no sign of wobbling. ‘But he
is
Fraser Meadows,’ she insisted.

‘Yes, I suppose he is.’ Thea felt the frustration of going over the same ground again, while at the same time feeling sure there were details still to come, with enough clues to establish once and for all whether Fraser Meadows was who he said he was, and if not, what his intentions were. ‘And your boyfriend’s name was definitely Fraser, was it?’

Maureen laughed uncomfortably. ‘Yes, it was. It was in my diary. But … actually, I was quite silly. I gave a little list on Facebook of people I hoped to find, and of course anybody could have
pretended
their name was Fraser, based on that.’

Thea forced herself to concentrate on the logical thread of this. ‘No, but this man’s name really
is
Fraser. That much is certain, surely. The question is – is he the
same
Fraser that you knew?’

‘Oh, he
is
, Thea. He
must
be. Anything else would be too horrible.’

‘Yes it would. And I still can’t see how in the world we can ever prove it, either way. Unless you’ve got something from nineteen sixty-two with his DNA on
it. Then we could get Gladwin to run a comparison.’

‘Well I haven’t,’ said Maureen with an emphasis that suggested the opposite.

‘Of course not. How would you?’

‘Except …’

‘What?’

‘He gave me this silly little locket in the shape of a heart. It was pretty. I’ve still got it somewhere.’

‘So?’

‘It had some bits of his hair in it. I imagine it still has. Would that work, do you think?’

‘Gosh! It probably would. How amazing, if so.’

Maureen shivered. ‘It’s awful, really. I don’t want to do that. I’m not entirely sure that it
matters
, you see. The Fraser that’s here now is a perfectly respectable, pleasant person, and I like him. I’m sure he likes me.’

‘But that’s what conmen
do
. They make you like them, and then they take your house and your money and disappear. Why else would he go through all this charade of pretending to be someone else?’

‘He isn’t like that,’ Maureen maintained. ‘I know he isn’t.’

‘Tell you what,’ Thea began, ‘we could test him. You could leave that locket somewhere he’ll see it, and if he remembers it and gets all romantic about it, that’ll prove he’s the real original Fraser. But if he’s never seen it before, and you show him the hair, he’ll panic and try to take it on some pretext, and then you’ll know he’s a fake. Simple.’

‘Not simple if he’s as good an actor as you think. He knows I can hardly remember anything, so he’ll weave some tale about how much in love he was, and how poetic it seemed, and leave it until some later time to spirit it away. All he has to do is change the hair, come to think of it.’

‘Well, obviously, you take the hair out first, before you show it to him. That would be a better test, actually. If he asks where it is, without any prompting or hints from you, that’ll confirm he’s real.’

‘Yes, Thea,’ said her mother patiently, ‘I can see it would be easy to prove that he
is
real. But far harder to prove he isn’t. I mean, even if he seems to fail the test, there could be an explanation. I’m not sure I’d be any the wiser.’

‘So we should go ahead and get the DNA test done now. That would settle it.’

‘Let me think about it for a bit.’

Since the first mention of Fraser, there had been one burning question that Thea had been unable to ask. The taboo against enquiring into your parent’s sex life was ridiculously powerful, and she found herself unable even to frame the words. Her mother was averagely prudish, changing clumsily under a large towel on the beach, and fumbling for a suitable response when her daughters started their periods. Their big brother Damien had been their informant as to how babies were made, for which their mother appeared to be thankful. There had been a hugely embarrassing period during
which their mother had plainly conceived a strong liking for one of the teachers at school, during a trip on which she had been a volunteer parent. Thea had been forced to witness her own mother flirting with Mr Lewis. Afterwards, she had grabbed any excuse to turn up at the school on the off chance of seeing him. The transparency of it had been the worst thing. Not even a lovelorn teenager would have been such a fool about it. Their father, fortunately, had seemed oblivious, and the children had all taken great care to keep it that way, scarcely even mentioning it amongst themselves.

Mr Lewis had been Jocelyn’s form teacher, so she bore the brunt of it. Not until the following September did it start to fade away. The entire episode came back to Thea now, complete in all its detail, startling her in its clarity.

‘Do you remember Mr Lewis at school?’ she asked recklessly. ‘How you had that crush on him.’

‘I was menopausal,’ came the ready reply, ‘and not responsible for my hormones. I expect it was very embarrassing for you.’

‘It was. And for him, probably.’

‘Oh, he didn’t mind. He thought it was tremendous fun. It
was
fun. You don’t get that sort of experience very often in a lifetime, more’s the pity.’

‘But it wasn’t like that with Fraser?’

‘I was young and single. There wasn’t much to lose, other than my virginity.’

Thea’s instinct was to stop her, to put a hand over her mouth to stem the excruciating words. But it had been what she was aiming for, all along, and she needed to hear it. ‘So you did? Lose it, I mean?’

‘Actually, not quite. There was another boy before Fraser, in the summer after I left school.’

‘But you
did
sleep with Fraser?’

‘Oh yes, of course I did. That’s all I can really remember of him – his skin, and his … parts. If I could see him naked again now, that might clinch it. Although I imagine that changes through life, like everything else.’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Thea faintly. ‘Possibly not. So you haven’t seen
this
Fraser naked, then?’

‘Definitely not. It seems that at our age courtship can take an awfully long time. I think we’re both terrified of revealing our wrinkles. Understandably, in my case, I promise you.’

‘But you’d like to? I mean – you’d still enjoy it?’

‘Of course I would. It’s only been a year since your father died, but in that respect it’s been a very
long
year.’

In Thea’s own case, it had been about a year, as well. There was something unjust about that, she couldn’t help feeling. At her age, she was
supposed
to still get lots of sex. Both her sisters had husbands, and her friend Celia had a new boyfriend. And here was her mother complaining about deprivation, in her seventies!

An association reminded her of the murdered
Melissa, child of an old man, proof that the sap kept rising for an astonishingly long time. ‘Well, if Fraser is his father’s son, you’ve got plenty to look forward to,’ she said. ‘He’s still a few years short of his father’s age when he fathered Melissa.’

Maureen laughed. ‘You’ve worked it all out, have you?’

‘More or less. He must have been close to eighty. I don’t know how old the district nurse was. Anything from eighteen to forty-six, I suppose.’

‘Let’s hope she was forty-six. That makes a far nicer story.’

For the first time, Thea wondered where the woman was, and whether she knew her daughter was dead. Had Gladwin efficiently tracked her down and notified her, in the few hours since discovering Melissa’s identity? It seemed unlikely. If she’d been forty-six when she produced the child, she’d be in her late seventies now. Perhaps she was dead. Melissa had seemed like a person with no close ties, no parents to store her possessions for her. ‘It would,’ she agreed. ‘The older the better.’

‘Preferably dead,’ said Maureen sagely. ‘That would save her the heartbreak.’

They were off the impossible subject of sex, Thea realised with relief. Murder was much easier to deal with. They now had a theory to explain the killing of Melissa Anderson. Presumably Gladwin had arrived at a similar hypothesis, given the same set of facts and
relationships. In the morning, they would speak again, filling in more details, dredging up more snippets of conversation. But now it was almost time for bed.

‘Better take the dog out for a widdle,’ said Maureen. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

Thea went to the back door and pulled it open. Everything in the woods beyond was silent, the sky to the south pitch-black, but the lights of Winchcombe casting a glow in other directions. ‘We’ll be all right,’ she called back. ‘I don’t think we’ll go far.’

Hepzie squatted on a patch of grass lit by the light from the doorway. Thea applauded with the obligatory ‘Good dog!’ and thought about Oliver’s neglected birds. First thing next morning, she would go to the hide and feed them again. In a day or two they would return, she hoped, as if nothing had happened. The nervous woodpecker might take longer, and the opportunistic tits could have found a better bird table somewhere else, but no great harm would be done. Oliver could step back into his routines easily enough. Except his friendly young sister was gone for ever, and his humiliated older brother might prey on his mind, especially if he was ending his days in prison. And Fraser would take her mother to bed, which was a terrible thought.