The Shortest Journey (16 page)

‘She sings, at school in the choir. She has voice
like an angel. Zofia has sent me a tape. She sends me tapes now
instead of the letters, now that my eyes are not so good.’

‘What a marvellous idea. And you must send tapes to
her. I’ll help you make one, shall I? Sophie would love that. Let’s
see if your cassette player has a built-in microphone.’

‘I do not understand. I can press the button to play,
Zofia showed me how...’

‘Oh yes, it’s fine,’ I said, looking at the cassette
player that Sophie had bought for her mother before she went away.
‘Next time I come I’ll bring a spare tape and you can record a
message for them all. It’s a shame.’ I went on, ‘that Mrs Rossiter
never had any tapes from Alan. She would have liked that.’

A sound rather like a snort came from Mrs Jankiewicz,
but she said nothing.

‘I gather he’s been in England, though,’ I said,
putting the cassette player on a shelf and turning to look at her.
‘And she went into Taunton to see him.’

Still there was silence.

‘Did she?’ I persisted.

‘Yes,’ Mrs Jankiewicz said finally. ‘Yes, she did see
him. But it would be better if she had not.’

‘But why?’

‘Is no good, that one. Not a good son. Always upsets
his mother.’

‘What happened.’

She turned her head and looked again out of the
window.

‘She was crying, when she came back.’

‘Poor soul,’ I said.

She moved in her chair and faced me again.

‘You are a mother, Sheila, you know how nothing can
hurt you like a child, when they do not care...’

‘Alan always was a horrible person,’ I said. ‘What
happened this time?’

‘She went into Taunton to see him. He had a woman
with him and they want money for some journey they would make. I do
not understand what it was, but they want a great deal of money.
First Alan was so sweet – you know how people are when they want
something – and this woman so charming. They all have lunch at the
Castle Hotel, so expensive it is there, and they tell her all about
this journey, whatever it is, and she was so interested and she say
she would like to help. Then Alan tell her how much it is and she
is worried – so much money. Not that she cannot afford it, but she
has – what do you say? – trustees and she is, anyway, nervous at so
much. So she says she will ask these trustees and let Alan know
what they say. And then he is furious – you know how he can be? He
makes a scene and the people in the dining room were all looking at
them. You know how Mrs Rossiter hates such things. The woman, she
tries to calm Alan and eventually he apologises to his mother and
she comes back here. But she is so upset. She cries when she tells
me. She had looked forward so much to see him, but all he wants
from her is the money. Is no love, no affection. She say, when she
refuse him the money straight away, he look at her as if he hates
her!’

‘How terrible,’ I said. ‘And how unfair that she, who
is so loving, should be treated like that. Did she speak to her
trustees, I wonder? When did all this happen?’

‘About a week before...’

‘Before she went away. I wonder if she saw Alan
again. Do you know?’

‘She does not say.’

‘I wonder if it was Alan she went to see that day she
went off?’

There was a tap at the door and Maureen came in.

‘Are you going into the dining room for your lunch,
then, or shall I bring it here?’

Mrs Jankiewicz rose to her feet with some
difficulty.

‘I go to the dining room, I need to see Mrs Whipple.
Her daughter, she has sold the house for her and I do not think
that Mrs Whipple has had all the money from it that she should. You
must go now, Sheila, but you will come and see me again soon. You
are a good girl and they are beautiful roses.’

She took Maureen’s arm and they began their stately
progress along the corridor to the dining room.

I walked slowly out of West Lodge into the brilliant
sunshine and took a deep breath of air, as I always did when I got
out of there, to reassure myself that I was out in the real world
again, that I was still (relatively) young and healthy and free to
live my life as I wanted. But, as I walked through the gardens to
where I had left my car, it occurred to me that not only had Mrs
Jankiewicz not answered my question, but that she obviously had had
no intention of doing so.

We had a wonderful burst of summer weather, several
weeks when the sun shone every day and the idea of rain seemed
unthinkable. I’m lucky because my garden never really dries out
and, when he’s home, Michael can usually be coerced into lugging
watering cans about if there’s a hosepipe ban. We were sitting in
the garden drinking iced coffee after lunch – me idly glancing
through the
Telegraph
and Michael leafing rather desperately
through his law notes as term approached and, with it, exams.

Once upon a time I used to look first at the
Engagements, then at the Weddings and Births. Now, alas, I turn
straight to the Obituaries.

‘Oh dear!’ I exclaimed. Michael looked up. ‘Mrs
Rossiter’s sister Maud has died. “Peacefully, at home,” it says.
Poor Marion, I must write to her.’

‘What will happen about the Trust now, I wonder?’
Michael said. ‘It’ll be a marvellous bonanza for her solicitors –
it could run for years!’

‘Oh, darling, you make it sound like
Bleak
House
– Jarndyce and Jarndyce!’

‘Well, I won’t say that the law hasn’t changed at all
since Dickens’s day...’

‘Thelma thinks her clever young man might be able to
break the Trust,’ I said.

‘It would take a helluva time and cost a
fortune.’

‘Well, there seem to be several fortunes up for
grabs. I suppose Thelma will swing into action now. Oh dear,’ I
sighed. ‘I do wish I knew what has happened to poor little Mrs
Rossiter. It seems incredible that she should have just vanished
off the face of the earth.’

‘There are several people who might be better off.
Or, at least, they would be better off if she were proved to be
dead ... If someone has bumped her off, then it’s strange they
haven’t produced the body so’s they can get at the money.’

I thought for a moment. ‘I suppose they might want to
establish an alibi or something. Alan, for instance; he might want
to get back abroad. I mean, he wasn’t to know that Mrs Rossiter
told Mrs Jankiewicz that she’d met him. He might have reckoned that
no one would ever know that he was in England at all.’

‘Mm ... He’d have to be pretty stupid to take that
sort of a chance. Do you really think he’s the one?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t believe that anyone could
murder their own mother.’

‘Greek literature is full of matricide and patricide
and, anyway, look at the Old Testament!’

‘Yes, I know, but not in life. Certainly not someone
we actually know.’

‘Actually, I’d back Horrible Thelma as a murderer any
day.’

‘Oh, darling, really!’

‘Think about it.’ Michael put down the large binder
that contained his notes and leaned forward. ‘From what you’ve told
me, she’s mad keen to get a large sum of money to expand that
business of hers and – all right – she’d get a vast amount if she
waited until her aunt and her mother died, but she might need a
substantial sum now and she would inherit a fair bit from her
mother, in any case.’

A sudden thought struck me.

‘She might need it in a hurry. I do believe she’s
going to ditch Gordon and go off with this young man, Simon. I told
you about him. Gordon’s a bit dreary, but he’s no fool in business.
She’d have to buy him out of the firm!’

‘There you are, then.’

‘But – Thelma – no, honestly…’

But the thought squirrelled deeper and deeper in my
mind. If Alan’s infatuation with this American female gave him a
motive for his mother’s death, then what about Thelma and Simon?
She was a realist and would have understood (as Alan in his turn
had done) that her most powerful attraction for Simon was
financial. The not-quite-suitable mini skirts and the extra gloss
she had imparted to her appearance were all very well, but what
Thelma needed to catch (and, more important, to hold) Simon was a
share in a very profitable business. And to buy Gordon out she
needed a great deal – the sort of sum she could only hope to get
after her mother’s death.

‘But what about the time she came here just after Mrs
Rossiter went missing?’ I asked, trying hard to keep hold of
reality. ‘Asking if I knew anything. She was very distressed.’

‘Was she really, though? About poor Mrs R.?’

I thought of Thelma’s calculating explanation of the
Trust and how disgusted I had felt. I remembered her coldness and
lack of affection for her mother all the years I had known her.

‘But why did she call, then?’

‘To see if you knew anything, of course. Presumably
Mrs R. arranged to meet her in Taunton. Thelma probably told her
not to mention it to anyone for some reason...’

‘What reason?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps Thelma told her mother
that she was supposed to be somewhere else, at some boring
conference she wanted to get out of...’

‘It sounds a bit far-fetched.’

‘Well, whatever. Mrs R. meets Thelma...’

‘And Simon; Ed Cooper saw a man and a woman. And
that’s what she would have told her mother. Mrs Rossiter was such a
romantic, she would have been thrilled that Thelma had met the love
of her life at last and would have been dying to see him! But she’d
understand that it had to be kept a secret, at least for the
moment. Thelma would be taking a tremendous risk, but then she’s
always been one for taking risks.’

‘But Mrs R. was very fond of you and she just might
have let something slip. Thelma had to find out if she’d said
anything to you.’

‘And all that flouncing about at West Lodge was just
acting?’

‘Why not? Anyway’ – Michael opened his folder of law
notes again and laid them out before him on the garden table – ‘you
know what they say about murder. Who stands to gain? On that count
Thelma is the number one suspect.’

‘Alan inherits as well. He has a motive, too.’

‘Has he?’

‘Well, you know he has. Thelma says...’ I
stopped.

‘Exactly. You’ve only got Thelma’s word about all
that.’

‘But he’s been here in England. Don told me that Mrs
Rossiter said she was going to meet him in Taunton and Mrs
Jankiewicz said that she was upset when she came back. And she told
me about the American woman, too.’

‘Never mind. It just means that you’ve got two
suspects now instead of one.’

‘I don’t really want any suspects. The whole thing is
too horrible to contemplate. Would you like some more iced
coffee?’

‘Oh, yes, please. And Ma’ – Michael’s voice took on a
coaxing note that I knew well – ‘if you could spare the odd
half-hour to hear my notes. I’ve read them over and over and they
simply won’t stick.’

I fetched some more coffee and picked up the folder
resignedly. A piece of paper with verses scribbled on it caught my
eye.

‘What’s this?’ I read aloud:

“The wise solicitor requires

To know the gist of
Rouse-v-Squires

And also that renowned brain-teaser

Quoted in
The Oropesa
.

Of these twain, the legal meaning

Is the New Cause Intervening.

You’ll also need a knowledge thorough

Of Lamb-v-Camden London Borough

(Which should not confused be

With Tate and Lyle-v-GLC.)” ’

‘I have to do something to pound all those dreadful
cases into my head.’

‘I like this one:

“A maxim based on cases plenty,

Injuria non fit volenti,

Means that should a man consent, he

Gives away his right to sue

(An injudicious thing to do).”

‘You ought to put them all together in a little book
and get it printed by one of those law publishers in Chancery Lane.
I’m sure generations of law students would rise up and call you
blessed!’

‘I did another one this morning, it’s much more fun
than revising. Do you want to hear it?’

‘Go on.’

‘ “All of tort is founded on

Donaghue-v-Stevenson:

If you’d plead on Negligence

(Or for the plaintiff or defence)

You must learn its weighty moral,

Treasure it like gold or coral.

Negligence you must know pat:

Negligence is where it’s at.

Yeasty, fizzy, full of bounce–

Believe me, it’s the tort that counts.” ’

I laughed. ‘Oh dear, Pa would have loved that! Still,
come along; what do you want to do? Landlord and tenant? Or
inheritance?’

I opened the folder and we got to work.

The rest of the summer simply rushed by and Michael
went back to London with a case of clean laundry and lots of
ticked-off entries in his Good Beer Guide. I settled down to the
usual autumnal tasks of making apple chutney with windfalls – the
smell of boiling vinegar seemed to permeate the whole house – and
washing summer clothes and putting them away in suitcases under the
beds because there never seemed to be enough space in any of the
wardrobes.

Apart from a few senior citizens on Special Offer
Autumn Breaks, Taviscombe emptied of visitors and became a
reasonable place to live in again. I met Rosemary in a strangely
peaceful Woolworths and said, ‘Isn’t it lovely to have the town to
ourselves again! No endless queues in the supermarket, no finding
the shelves stripped of bread at weekends.’

‘I know. It’s been worse than ever this year. I wish
I was rich enough to go to somewhere like Iceland all summer!’

‘How are Jilly and the baby?’

‘Marvellous. She’s managing very well and dear
Roger’s so good, far better than Jack ever was. They came down last
weekend, just for the day, to see Mother, who was beginning to make
umbrage-taking noises.’