The Ten Commandments (3 page)

'I said quickly, "Simon, you know you can't -" but he'd already put down the phone.'

'And the caller gave the name of Jim Fairlie?'

'That's right. It didn't ring a bell with Simon, but the man said they'd met a few years ago. He rattled off names of supposedly mutual friends, though Si didn't recognize any of them. Anyway, he'd got some problem, and suggested discussing it over a pint.'

'Why wouldn't he come here?'

'Said his wife worked in an office across the street, and he didn't want her to see him. I think Si finally gave in because of the alleged social connection.'

'Even though he didn't remember the man, or any of the names he'd mentioned?'

Parker gave a wry smile. 'That was nothing unusual; old Simon was famous for his bad memory. It caused him endless embarrassment, and he'd pretend to remember people, even if he didn't, to avoid hurting their feelings. Anyway, I did my best to stop him going, though I knew it was hopeless; you can't let a client down once an appointment's made, and he'd no way of contacting Fairlie. So I told him I'd go with him, but he laughed and said, "Stop fussing, Steve, it'll be OK. Anyway, he might clam up if there are two of us, and I'm only going for a drink, for God's sake."'

Parker stopped speaking, and in the silence noises floated up from the street through the open window and the fan whirred relentlessly.

Webb said, 'Did he make any comment about the man's voice, how he sounded?'

'He said he seemed on edge.'

It wasn't much to go on. 'Well, we'll do our best to trace him.' Privately, Webb feared Fairlie would prove as elusive as Philpott's bogus house vendor. He went over to the window and separated two slats of the blind to peer across the street. 'What offices are over there?'

'Solicitors, patent agents, accountants – you name it.'

'We'll get a team on to it, see if there's a Mrs Fairlie working in any of them. Not,' he added heavily, 'that I'll be holding my breath.'

'He
might
have given his own name,' Parker said desperately, 'if he hadn't actually planned to kill Simon.'

'Possibly.' Webb nodded to Jackson, who put away his notebook and stood up. 'You can't think of any client Mr Judd had an altercation with? Anyone who might have harboured a grudge?'

'No, he was a placid chap, dedicated to the job. He didn't let anyone rile him; in fact, the rest of us used to call him in to calm things down if tempers got frayed.'

'Well, thank you, Mr Parker, Get in touch if you think of anything else, however unimportant it seems.'

Parker saw them to his door and they went in silence down the stairs. Webb walked over to the reception desk.

'Did anything strike you, miss, about the caller who phoned Mr Judd yesterday?'

She blinked back tears. 'His voice was shaking – he sounded upset.' She looked up at him. 'That's not unusual, though. We get all sorts ringing in.'

'Was it a young voice, would you say?'

'It was hard to tell, with the shaking. Not

old, anyway.'

'Accent?'

'Local, I think.'

'And he asked for Mr Judd by name; what were his exact words?'

"'Is Mr Judd there? It's very important that I speak to him."'

'That was all?'

'Yes. So I – put him through.'

Webb nodded. 'Thank you.' He turned on his heel and, with Jackson beside him, strode through the noisy reception area out into the street.

Hannah felt oddly nervous as she stood on Gwen's doorstep and pressed the bell. It was eleven months since they'd seen each other, and a lot had happened to both of them.

It was still warm; the sun was low in the sky, bathing the park behind her with its rich light. A game of tennis was in progress, and the plop of balls and the occasional call of 'Out!' reached her as she waited.

Then the door opened and Gwen stood there, squinting in the sunlight which gilded her face – Gwen, just as she'd always been, with her tall, gawky frame and the strands of hair escaping from their French pleat to curl endearingly on her neck.

'Hannah! You're a gem to do this! How lovely to see you!' She clasped Hannah awkwardly to her, endangering the basket of food which she held.

'Welcome home, Gwen! What a long time it's been!'

'Come in. Isn't it hot? Just like a Canadian summer.'

They went together into the little hall, dark-seeming after the evening light outside, and, by tacit agreement, made for the kitchen. The table-top was almost invisible under a pile of mail and free newspapers, and Hannah perforce laid her basket on a counter.

'I'm afraid there's rather an odd smell,' Gwen said apologetically, 'due, I suppose, to the house being shut up for so long, though Beatrice did come in to air it.' She shot Hannah a glance. 'She tells me you've seen quite a bit of each other over the last twelve months.'

'We – met at various functions.'

'And also on less congenial occasions?'

But Hannah was not yet ready to discuss the deaths of a member of staff and a school governor during Gwen's absence, both in distressing circumstances.

'I'll put the wine and food in the fridge, shall I, till we're ready for them? It's salad – I didn't think you'd want anything hot on an evening like this.'

'No, indeed, and your salads are so special. Unlike mine, which, as you know to your cost, are simply bits of lettuce and tomato thrown on to a plate.'

'Have you seen your mother yet?' Hannah asked, disconcertingly aware of the need to make conversation.

'No, I was shattered when I got home and went straight to bed. I spoke to her on the phone, though. Bea suggested not bringing her back till tomorrow, to give me time to settle in.'

Old Mrs Rutherford had lived with Gwen for as long as Hannah could remember – or perhaps it was Gwen who lived with her. During the sabbatical, she had stayed with her elder daughter and son-in-law. Hannah gathered from John Templeton, who was also the school doctor, that the old lady's eyesight was troublesome, and wondered anxiously how that would affect Gwen.

I thought we might have a drink on the terrace,' Gwen was continuing. It's still warm, though the sun's moved off it.'

'That'd be lovely.'

'What will you have? Duty-free gin and tonic?'

'Sounds perfect.'

Hannah watched her pour the drinks, splashing tonic water over the mail in a typically 'Gwen' fashion. She never failed to marvel that this gauche woman with the diffident brown eyes was in reality a brilliant academic with a will of iron. Many was the parent, Hannah reflected, who, to his cost, had underestimated the headmistress of Ashbourne School for Girls.

'You carry the glasses – I'd only spill them – and I'll go ahead and open doors.'

They walked back into the hall and through the familiar sitting-room, which, as Gwen had said, did smell a trifle musty. She bent to unbolt the old-fashioned French windows and pushed them wide. Out on the narrow stone terrace was a wooden bench and a rickety iron table which, to Hannah's mind, could have done with a good scrub. No doubt at least a year's grime coated it, but Gwen didn't seem to notice. She sank down on the bench with a sigh, stretching out her long legs.

'Home sweet home!'

'Are you glad to be back?' Hannah asked her.

'Oh, I think so, though I hated leaving Canada.'

'From your letters, you seemed to have a busy social life.'

'Yes, there was always something going on.'

'And you liked the school?' Hannah prompted.

'It was excellent; I'm hoping to adapt some of their ideas for Ashbourne. We must discuss them as soon as we have a moment.'

There was a pause. Hannah said, 'Thank you for going to see my parents.' They had emigrated to Canada twenty years previously.

'It was a pleasure, especially to find them so well. They wanted to hear every last detail about you.'

'But they already know it! I write regularly and we speak on the phone at least once a month.'

'Well, they still had plenty of questions.' A sly, sideways look. 'They wanted to know if you had a "young man".'

Hannah smiled. 'And what did you say?'

'That if you had, you were keeping him to yourself.' She added gently, 'They want grandchildren, Hannah, and you're their only chance.'

'A pretty slim one, by now.'

Gwen reached for her glass and stared thoughtfully into it. 'Do you ever feel you're missing out, not being married?'

Hannah raised her eyebrows. 'No; do you?'

Though they'd been at school together, Gwen was in fact five years Hannah's senior, a prefect when she herself was in the first form. To Hannah's knowledge, there had never been a man in her life; but then, she reminded herself, Gwen knew nothing of David. Close though their friendship had been, there was an unspoken ban on discussing intimate subjects, and Gwen's question now had taken her by surprise. She was even more surprised that Gwen hadn't immediately answered hers.

'Do you, Gwen?' she repeated, turning to face her.

Gwen was staring dreamily down the length of the garden. 'A year ago, I'd have said of course not. Now, I'm not so sure.'

'Don't tell me you've fallen for a Mountie!' Hannah teased, and was amazed to see her friend flush.

'Take no notice,' Gwen said quickly. 'I'm getting maudlin in my old age. Now, I want to hear all about Ashbourne.'

So, since the moment could no longer be delayed, Hannah took another sip of her drink and began her report.

'Darling?'

Gillian Coburn looked up from her easel as her husband's voice reached her from two flights below.

'In the studio,' she called.

She met him in the doorway, his jacket slung over one shoulder and his tie loosened.

'Sorry, love, I didn't hear the car.'

'Deaf to all else when the muse strikes, eh?' He kissed her. 'Did you meet the plane all right?'

'Yes, it was on time, thank goodness.'

'How are your parents?'

'Exhausted, poor loves, but they'll soon bounce back. The tour seems to have been a great success. Not only that, Pop's making strides with the new book, too.'

'I hope I have as much energy at his age.' He paused, his eyes on her face. 'Did they ask about Alex?'

'Of course.'

'What did you say?'

'As little as possible. They'll see for themselves soon enough.'

'I wish there was something we could do,' Hugh said worriedly. 'It's grim having to sit on the sidelines while they destroy each other. Can't you talk to her?'

'I've tried, but you know Alex; she can be very prickly, specially when she's unhappy.'

'She wasn't at the house to meet them?'

'No, she'd arranged to take the twins to London today; they wanted to go round the Tower.'

'In this heat? She's a saint.'

'She said she'd ring them when she gets back, and call round tomorrow.'

Hugh moved past her and stood looking at the painting on the easel. Gillian was making quite a name for herself as an illustrator of children's books, and, an architect himself, he was fascinated by the way she built up a picture.

'It's coming along well, isn't it? Are you pleased with it?'

'Fairly; I'm not quite happy with the little boy. He's a complex character for a children's story, and I don't think I've got him quite right.'

She came to stand beside him, frowning slightly, until the slamming of the front door broke their concentration.

'Hello?' came their daughter's voice. 'I'm home! Where is everybody?'

Hugh and Gillian exchanged a smile. 'Coming!' they called back, and, with Hugh's arm round his wife's shoulder, they went together down the stairs.

Unusually, Hannah arrived back at Beechcroft Mansions at the same time as Webb, and waited while he garaged his car.

'You're working late,' she greeted him. 'Is this the case you were called to last night?'

'Yes; it's been the hell of a day, I can tell you – the PM, interviewing the widow, then over to Ashmartin. I was there till after seven, since when I've been in the Incident Room.'

'Why Ashmartin, for heaven's sake?'

'Because that's where the victim came from. He was a social worker, and on the face of it, it looks as though one of his clients turned nasty.'

'On the face of it?'

'Well, it's more complicated than that. In fact, it's very similar to a case we had some years ago, which is still on file.'

The church clock was chiming ten as they went into the building. I hope you've eaten?' Hannah said.

He nodded. 'One of the lads brought in pizzas. And you. I take it, have been to Gwen's?'

'Yes; she was pretty tired, so I left soon after we'd eaten.'

'And you survived the grilling on your stewardship?'

'Just about. Of course, she knew the worst of it already; John and I had both sent her full reports, so it was just a rehash.'

'Well, you must admit you had an eventful year.'

The lift stopped at Hannah's floor. 'Like to come in for a nightcap?'

'Love to,' he said with alacrity.

Hannah's flat always seemed a haven after a difficult day, its soothing pastels and relaxing atmosphere a balm to the soul. Tonight, despite the still-oppressive heat outdoors, it felt pleasantly cool. He sidestepped the marmalade cat which came to greet them, winding itself round Hannah's legs with a mew half-welcome, half-complaint.

'I know, I know,' she told it, 'you're starving, as usual. Come along, then, and I'll give you some biscuits.'

Webb leaned against the kitchen door, watching her. Has Canada changed Gwen at all, or is she as scatty as ever?'

Hannah paused, the packet of cat food in her hand. 'I'm not sure. She's
not
quite the same, but it's nothing I can put my finger on. Perhaps we've just forgotten some of each other's foibles.'

She shook the packet into the cat's bowl. 'What
does
worry me is that she's bent on introducing some Canadian methods to Ashbourne, and I'm not sure I like the sound of that.'

'It's just the first flush of enthusiasm,' Webb said comfortably. 'Once she settles back into the old routine, she'll probably opt for laissez faire.'