The Twisted Way (23 page)

‘I met a man in Cape Town just before I came to England,’ Alistair said in an attempt to make polite conversation. ‘He told me about Little Brinton and thought I should start my holiday here. I plan to go to Enderly later.’

‘Oh,’ said Tim as cordially as he could manage. ‘What was his name?’

‘George Berry.’

Tim’s face paled. ‘I hope that’s a coincidence.’ His voice became hoarse and he felt a shiver down his spine. ‘A George Berry murdered a chap here in 2000. He went back to Africa where he had lived for many years but framed his brother-in-law for the crime. He got away scot-free and made fools of the local police.’

‘I shouldn’t think it’s the same man,’ Alistair said, almost too quickly. ‘He seemed a nice enough fellow.’

A nasty suspicion was forming in his mind. He vaguely remembered reading something in a local paper about a South African jockey who was murdered in Russetshire.

‘He told me he lived in Lilac Cottage.’

‘That’s him all right,’ Tim said. Alistair’s face too had now blanched. He was momentarily stunned.

‘Oh, he seemed such a, well, nice man. He had recently married an African girl and was planning to move to Botswana, at least – that’s what he said but he could be anywhere in Africa now of course .’

‘Tell the local police,’ Tim urged. ‘DI Peter Holmes was involved in the case, he will be most interested to hear what you have to say about the man.’

Alistair was not anxious to become involved. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said, procrastinating, as he brushed his hair away from his forehead and tried to erase a deepening frown. It may be better to forget the whole conversation, though he did not think the landlord would let the matter rest.

He enjoyed an excellent meal in the bar that evening and learned a little more about the events that surrounded the death of the jockey Karl Davies at the hands of George Berry. Several locals and one or two of the bridge club members were delighted to tell him. It had caused quite a stir in the quiet Russetshire community.

‘Our local bridge club was badly affected,’ one elderly man told him. ‘The chairman and founder of the club, Jack Headley, was framed by George Berry for the murder of Karl Davies. He was clever, of course and left clues that implicated Jack Headley. George Berry was the brother of Jack Headley’s first wife Belle and blamed Jack for Belle’s ill health and the cot death of their only child. It was not true, of course, Jack was innocent but George Berry was hell bent on revenge and he got it. Jack Headley went to gaol for a while for a murder he did not commit.’

Alistair was intrigued and wished to learn more. He did not have to wait long.

‘George wrote a letter to DI Holmes, who was in charge of the case,’ said another man who had been listening and was anxious to tell Alistair about his recollections of the case. ‘George Berry confessed that he was the murderer and Jack Headley was pardoned. He moved away though to be near his sister in Scotland. His name was blackened here of course. Someone would be bound to think he might have done it despite the evidence.’

Alistair decided he might contact DI Holmes after all. He didn’t think there was much hope of finding George Berry in Botswana or wherever he had gone.

Alistair explored the village the next day. He visited the lovely old Saxon church and looked with renewed interest at the outside of Lilac Cottage. It was the one that George had described to him, Alistair had no doubt about that. He wandered into the village shop and bought some local postcards from Mrs Blunt the proprietor. She was direct and businesslike. George had described her as an old battleaxe but Alistair discovered she was quite friendly. She must have mellowed, he mused and wondered why.

After much heart searching and reflection he decided to visit DI Holmes in Everton. He could not tell him much about George Berry but the detective was interested. Alistair gave him his address in South Africa and promised to let him know if he met George again, but he doubted that he would.

DI Peter Holmes, however, was keen to make up for his past mistake in not following his original hunches about the psychopath George Berry. An innocent man had been sent to prison, his life disrupted, and it was his fault. He contacted the police in South Africa and after being informed about a possible sighting in Botswana decided to fly out himself to investigate. An arrest looked promising. It appeared that George Berry was also wanted in South Africa for the killing of several local people when he had stayed in a small house he had rented in Cape Town. He had tried to cover his tracks well with his usual guile but had become over confident and had been recognised by several residents who were convinced that it was Berry who had strangled his victims and disposed of their bodies. They had been thieves and George had always considered that eliminating such people was just. However, these thieves had families and friends who wanted retribution and were willing to come forward. One way or another DI Holmes was determined that this time George Berry would pay for his previous crimes. Alistair’s chance meeting with George was the break that the detective had been waiting for.

After a couple of days in Little Brinton Alistair booked into the Green Man in Enderly. He was anxious to meet Janet but wondered how she would react to seeing the unopened letter addressed to her from his father James. It could be a shock. She would be at least eighty-five and possibly frail.

His stepfather had told him that James had treated his wife badly. He was an adventurer and would not have stayed in Cape Town very long. Alistair did not want to hear anything unpleasant about his father but had to admit that he did appear fickle.

Alistair enjoyed the local ales and pub atmosphere. The punters in the Green Man were friendly. He chatted to old Pat and soon discovered that Janet was fairly fit, though her memory was troubling her, and still lived in Primrose House, the house she had bought with James Anderson. She had married again and was now Janet Lacey but there were no children. Old Pat, with a wry smile, suggested that Alistair should talk to her handyman, Robbie. A son of James Anderson could be quite a shock for the elderly lady and Robbie was a knowing fellow who would handle things tactfully and could be helpful.

Robbie was surprised when Alistair introduced himself but did not doubt that he was James’s son. One look at those almost sky-blue eyes convinced him of that. His voice too shot through him like an echo from the past causing him to shudder. It was deep and strong, just like James’s voice had been so many years ago. He instinctively knew this man had a very different character but found it difficult to bury his antagonism. Robbie’s usually pleasant face hardened and his smile was tight. He had difficulty in controlling his irritation. Damn the man. What did he want to come here for stirring up the past? The only consolation was that Janet’s memory was fading and she would probably not remember him for long.

‘Can you take me to see her?’ Alistair almost begged. His charming manner infiltrated Robbie’s growing resentment and he found himself, against his better judgment, agreeing to arrange a meeting.

‘I’ll sound her out first,’ he said. ‘We don’t want to give her too much of a shock. Leave it to me; I’ll let you know how she reacts to the news. She’s very fragile and has only recently lost one of her oldest friends following a tragic accident.’

Alistair agreed. His shoulders, which had been feeling stiff, slumped slightly as he started to relax. He told Robbie about the ring and the letter. ‘She deserves closure,’ he continued with determination and Robbie, with an obvious lack of enthusiasm and mounting resentment, felt obliged to agree.

‘I’ll tell her when I go to Primrose House tomorrow morning. I am not sure how she’ll react. I can’t promise anything. She’s so forgetful and weak now.’

Alistair wondered why such an intelligent and obviously well-heeled man needed to work as a handyman. Oh well, he was clearly very fond of Janet Lacey and just the man to approach her. If anyone could pave the way for an amicable visit this man could manage it.

Alistair had worked for some time with the mentally ill before taking up his present post. He knew quite a lot about memory loss in the elderly and he assured Robbie he would be tactful and careful when he told Janet about the ring. The letter was another matter. He did not know its contents.

The next day Robbie asked Janet if she would like to meet Alistair and perhaps ask him to afternoon tea.

‘The man claims he is your first husband’s son,’ he said. ‘He is a very nice man, a doctor from South Africa – it may be worth meeting him to find out if there is any truth in his allegation. His mother’s name was Judith.’

‘Judith,’ Janet said with deliberation. ‘Yes, a Judith did write to me to inform me of James’s death and also that she would be sending James’s wedding ring and a letter quite soon but I didn’t hear any more from her.’ She looked at Robbie anxiously who was surprised that she could recall so much. ‘Do you think I should meet him?’

‘Well, yes if you feel up to it. It could answer a few questions for you. Would you like me to stay too?’

‘Yes. It would be a great comfort to me, we will all have tea together, a tea party.’

She giggled like a very young child who knew no better, a strange almost gurgling sound that burst out of her chest. Robbie, though not a religious man, found himself praying that the visit would not be a mistake. Janet was behaving as though she was in her second childhood, which in some ways she was, but the ring and letter might give her satisfactory closure with James and that could be worth the effort, although he was doubtful if anything could obliterate the pain that man had inflicted upon her.

‘Tomorrow at four o’clock,’ she suddenly said pertly. ‘I’ll tell Joyce to set out the best china teaset in the dining room.’ She smiled foolishly after which a look of odd wonderment returned to her face. ‘An afternoon tea party, what fun! Oh lovely.’ Her eyes sparkled like a child’s. She was looking forward to meeting James’s son. Robbie was relieved but at the same time dismayed. Perhaps she couldn’t remember what a dreadful man James had been. He thought it was cruel and unnecessary of Judith not to send the ring and letter to her before. All could be resolved now, though it was rather late in the day, and that idea consoled him. He would hope for the best.

Joyce Skillet placed a beautifully embroidered lace cloth on the dining-room table as her mistress had instructed in one of her more lucid moments. She washed and dried with care the best Worcester china painted with elegant rosebuds, before setting it on the table together with fine lace napkins that had not been used for years, and heavy silver tea knives that, with much cursing, she had polished for the occasion. ‘Tea party indeed, I expect this Anderson man is a fraud,’ she muttered crossly to herself. Joyce, with Felicity’s assistance, made a selection of dainty sandwiches and small iced fairy cakes to tempt the guest.

Felicity scoffed and moaned to Joyce. ‘I have never heard of any son of Uncle James before. He is undoubtedly some ghastly impostor. Huh! Fancy Aunt Janet inviting the handyman to tea too!’

For once Joyce and Felicity were in agreement. The grandfather clock in the hall struck a sonorous four notes and this was followed promptly by a knock on the front door.

Joyce led Alistair and Robbie into the dining room. What next? she thought irritably. Bloody handyman, much as I like him, and some charlatan coming to tea. He’s bound to be a con man at best although he is not bad looking and has a pleasant manner. To her dismay Joyce felt herself warming towards Alistair, but she was still convinced that no good would come of this meeting.

Janet remained sitting when Robbie introduced Alistair. Felicity scowled, stood up with obvious reluctance and stretched out a limp hand to take that of the stranger.

‘I’m Felicity,’ she drawled, ‘Mrs Lacey’s niece. My aunt’s first husband was my Uncle James, my mother’s brother, so I suppose we must be related if he was your father.’

She hoped not, but if he was Uncle James’s son she would have to make the best of things. A cousin, goodness what a fag. He did not look short of a penny or two and with any luck would not be hanging around Primrose House too long. Her mood lightened.

They sat down at the dining-room table and Joyce brought in the tea on a large silver tray with the aid of an old wooden trolley that bumped precariously over the thick rugs.

‘Are you going to be mum and pour?’ she screeched at Felicity who jumped but for once did not argue. She was far too busy gawping at Alistair. There was something familiar about those piercing blue eyes.

Janet leaned forward to take a better look at the newcomer. She scanned the thatch of blond hair then her eyes travelled down to his eyes. She was startled. They were, as Felicity had realized, familiar.

‘I am so glad you agreed to meet me Mrs Lacey,’ Alistair said in his deep resonant voice.

For a moment Janet could not speak. She had heard that voice before. Slowly the memories crept back. It was James’s voice and this man had James’s eyes. Her face grew white for a few moments but the colour crept back and settled in two odd rose-coloured patches upon her cheeks, making her look like a painted doll. To Robbie’s surprise her mouth trembled then broke into a odd wide and eager grin. He cringed. What on earth was she thinking about? She was so unpredictable.

Felicity poured the tea and made the usual murmurs, ‘Sugar? Milk?’, while keeping her sly eyes fixed firmly on the guest. She too had recognised the familiar sounding voice. It provoked a mixture of emotions. Uncle James’s disparaging attitude towards herself and Ronald came to mind. He had not been kind and welcoming when they had stayed at Primrose House.

‘Three teaspoonfuls of sugar please,’ Alistair said. ‘Three … well yes, of course, just like Uncle James,’ Felicity said out loud.

She passed the sandwiches and cakes round and they helped themselves with exaggerated politeness. There was a strange reluctance to make conversation interspersed with a few odd, almost inane-sounding, giggles from Janet who seemed to find the situation quite amusing. Eventually Alistair broke the silence.