Till We Meet Again (24 page)

Roy chuckled. ‘Even if it doesn’t, they’ll have reporters hounding them when Susan’s case comes to trial. I don’t think we’d better try them for any information, do you?’

Beth looked at the two small cottages right by where they were parked. They were probably once council housing, but had been gentrified with porches and new windows. Beth seemed to recall that one of them was a shop back in the Sixties. The other looked as if it had elderly owners, judging by the old-fashioned net curtains and small holder for milk bottles, and as the cottage windows looked directly on to The Rookery, the people living there were more likely than anyone to know what went on over the road.

‘Let’s try here,’ Beth said.

The door-bell was answered after what seemed an eternity by a small, elderly, grey-haired woman, almost drowning in a thick Arran sweater which came down to her knees.

‘I’m sorry to trouble you on a Saturday morning,’ Beth said. ‘But I’m trying to find my friend who used to live across the road. Suzie Wright. We kind of lost touch when I went abroad.’

Beth braced herself for outrage, but clearly this woman hadn’t connected her old neighbour with the murderess in Bristol, for her expression was one of kindly interest.

‘She went off when the house was sold,’ she said, looking Roy and Beth up and down. Presumably they passed muster for she asked them in, commenting that it was too cold to stand chatting with the door open.

She took them through to a warm, cosy living room at the back of the house, with a small couch and an armchair by the fire.

Once they were inside, Roy turned to the woman. ‘This is very good of you, Mrs…’ he said, holding out his hand to shake hers.

‘Mrs Unsworthy,’ she said, and shook his hand.

‘My fiancée Beth has been trying so hard to find Suzie,’ he said, astounding Beth with his charm. ‘You see, we want her to come to our wedding.’

Beth shot him a glance, but he didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘So we thought if we took a drive up here today and asked around, we might be able to find her,’ he went on. ‘You said the house was sold. When was that?’

‘I can’t remember exactly,’ she said, sitting down on the chair and beckoning them to take the couch. ‘Eight, nine years I should think. Terribly sad for Suzie, she’d nursed her poor mother right from a girl, then she died, and her father just a few weeks later. That scoundrel of a brother of hers sold the house, right under her.’

‘My goodness!’ Beth exclaimed. ‘Martin did that? How awful for her! You must tell me everything.’

Mrs Unsworthy’s face took on new animation. She made them tea and offered them some rather stale fruit cake, and proceeded to tell them all about the Wrights.

Mr and Mrs Unsworthy had bought their house just a couple of years before Susan’s grandmother died. Their contact with the Wrights then was little more than saying good morning, but they were told by other people in the village that the old lady who lived with them was senile.

‘I used to feel so sorry for Margaret Wright,’ she said. ‘I had a dog in those days, so I often walked down by the river with him, and I’d see Margaret hanging out washing in her garden. Rows of sheets, so I guessed her mother was incontinent. I talked to young Suzie more. Sometimes I’d be out doing the front garden as she came home from school and we’d chat a bit. She was a nice girl, very helpful to her mother, and kind of old-fashioned. I didn’t really get to know Margaret until the old lady died. I think that was the first time I went in their house. I went to see if there was anything I could do. Margaret said she’d be glad if I could stay and have a cup of tea with her, she said she hadn’t had much sensible company for years. But the poor woman had a stroke herself just a few months later, and then it was Suzie who had to stay home and look after her.’

Beth thought that Mrs Unsworthy would make a good witness for the defence for she spoke quite forcefully about how unfair it was that Susan spent her entire youth as a carer. ‘The poor dear came in here sobbing like a little girl the day she heard her father had left the house to Martin,’ she said indignantly. ‘She couldn’t believe her father could do that to her. And neither could we.’

Beth decided to push things along a touch.

‘Another old friend told me Suzie had an affair with the gardener,’ she said, making herself giggle as if she didn’t believe it. ‘Could it be true, Mrs Unsworthy?’

At that the old lady pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘Yes, she was carrying on with him,’ she said. ‘We used to hear them larking about in the garden late at night. His old van was always parked outside until my John asked him to put it somewhere else. Terrible old thing it was, all rusty.’

‘Why didn’t he put it on the drive?’ Roy asked.

‘I expect Suzie thought that would make it obvious he was staying the night with her,’ Mrs Unsworthy said. ‘Or maybe she was afraid Martin would see it.’

‘Were you shocked when she took up with him?’ Roy asked. ‘We heard he was like a gypsy.’

‘I’m not one to gossip,’ the old lady said, folding her arms across her chest. ‘That poor girl was owed a bit of fun after what she’d been through. But she could have done better for herself. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a snob. But he had nothing but the old van, and of course until we heard about Martin getting the house, we thought Susan would inherit everything. We were worried in case that man was a fortune-hunter.’

‘So did she run off with him?’ Beth asked. ‘I mean, when the house was sold.’

‘No, she must have come to her senses,’ Mrs Unsworthy replied. ‘Or maybe that brother of hers shook some sense into her. She went off in a van alone with all her furniture. Do you know, she didn’t even bother to come and say goodbye to us!’

‘Really!’ Beth exclaimed. She knew Susan had told both her and Steven that she’d left messages for Liam with her neighbour, and this had to be the one she meant. ‘Are you saying she didn’t even leave a forwarding address or anything?’

‘Not a word.’ Mrs Unsworthy pursed her lips. ‘She didn’t even tell me the date she was going. One day she was there, everything was normal. The next I saw a furniture van outside and a man carrying stuff out to it. If I’d known it was her leaving, I’d have gone over. But I thought it was Martin taking his ill-gotten gains.’

It was very clear the old lady had been very fond of Suzie and had known her pretty well. She portrayed her as a very capable, calm, stoic and kind person.

‘How could she have gone off without a word to me?’ Mrs Unsworthy’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. ‘I was so hurt, I couldn’t understand why, especially as she’d run to me when her brother was so nasty to her. My John said she’d write in a week or two, but she never did. I didn’t even get a Christmas card from her.’

Beth found that completely mystifying too. She had always thought of Susan as being the kind to be sentimental about people. And someone who had always cared for old people wasn’t likely to hurt the feelings of someone who had been kind to her.

‘Did she write to anyone or leave her address with someone else?’ Beth asked.

‘No one I know.’ The old lady sniffed. ‘Lots of other people from the village came and asked me the same thing. She was liked by everyone, you see. Everyone felt bad about what that brother of hers had done to her.’

‘Would she have left her new address with the people who bought The Rookery?’ Roy asked.

Mrs Unsworthy shook her head. ‘They came and asked me if I had it some months after they moved in. There were a few letters for Suzie, you see. They knew there was some bad feeling between her and her brother, so they thought if they sent them on to him, he might not give them to her.’

Beth looked at Roy questioningly.

‘Did the gardener come looking for her?’ Roy asked.

‘Not here he didn’t.’

‘Have you seen him since?’ Roy asked. ‘I believe he used to do lots of gardens in this area.’

‘Never clapped eyes on him again,’ she said quite firmly.

‘Can you think of anyone else in the village that might know where he is?’ Roy asked.

‘They might know at The Bell in Shottery,’ she said. ‘He drank down there a lot.’

‘Well, that was strange,’ Beth said as they got back in the car. ‘Why would Susan tell me she left her address for Liam when she didn’t?’

‘Because the affair was already over?’ Roy suggested. ‘Maybe she made up all that lovey-dovey stuff to make herself feel better about it?’

‘She convinced me,’ Beth said. ‘The only thing I found odd was that she seemed to get over him so quickly.’

‘Maybe she didn’t say goodbye to Mrs Unsworthy or keep in touch because of her pregnancy?’ Roy suggested. ‘You said she was the old-fashioned kind, perhaps she was ashamed, and didn’t want people talking about it?’

Beth nodded in agreement. As she herself was the kind who never told anyone anything personal, she could perfectly well understand that. ‘Let’s give the pub a try, if that fails we can always go and look at Anne Hathaway’s cottage, it’s just by it.’

The inside of The Bell at Shottery was disappointing. Beth had imagined that an old pub, so close to the tourist attraction of Anne Hathaway’s cottage, would have its old-world charm still intact. But it had gone the way of so many other pubs – fruit machines, piped music and wall-to-wall carpet. Not even a real log fire.

Yet it was welcoming, with a Christmas tree and decorations still up, and as it was the wrong time of year for tourists, most of the customers appeared to be local.

Roy bought a pint for himself and a glass of wine for Beth and they stayed at the bar while they considered who might be a likely person to ask about Liam.

There was a small group of older men sitting by the pool table, their tweed jackets and sturdy boots suggesting they were farmers. ‘Shall we give them a whirl?’ he asked.

‘Go and ask them on your own,’ she suggested. ‘I’ll wander over if it looks as if you are on to something.’

‘I thought you were all for female emancipation.’ He grinned.

‘I am,’ she agreed. ‘But men of that age talk to other men more readily. Besides, you’re the super-sleuth, not me.’

Taking his beer with him, Roy went over to the men. ‘I wonder if any of you could help me?’ he said. ‘I’m trying to track down a gardener by the name of Liam Johnstone. I’m told he drinks in here. Would any of you know him?’

The men exchanged glances.

‘Was that the name of the long-haired gypo?’ one of the group asked a big man wearing a maroon waistcoat under his jacket.

‘Aye, his name were Liam,’ the big man replied in a rich Warwickshire burr. ‘I used to drink with him. Dunno where he is now though, haven’t seen him fer years.’

‘That’s a shame,’ Roy said. ‘He used to do a friend’s garden. I thought his work was good. Any idea where I might find him?’

The big man shook his head. ‘Plenty of folk have asked me that, and I’ll say the same to you as I said to all of them, he must have took off down South.’

‘Did you know him well?’ Roy asked. He liked the look of this old man who was at least seventy-five but fit and strong, with a weatherbeaten face.

‘I’d say so, we used to drink together. I liked him even if he did look like a gypo.’

‘Can I buy you all a drink?’ Roy suggested to the group. He thought it might oil the wheels of their memories.

After four pints had been brought over, Roy turned to the big man, who had introduced himself as Stan Fogetty. ‘I was told Liam had a girlfriend in Luddington,’ he said. ‘Would you know who she is? I might be able to trace him through her.’

‘Only girl I know about was young Suzie Wright. But she ain’t around here any longer either,’ Stan replied, then launched into the tale of how this same girl was robbed of her home by her brother. The indignation in his voice and the animation on the faces of the other men showed that this had been hot gossip around here at the time, and something they all felt strongly about.

Beth sidled over at that point and she and Roy listened carefully, as if fascinated by a bit of local history. Stan’s version was much the same as Mrs Unsworthy’s, the only difference being that Stan was born and bred in Luddington and knew Charles and Margaret Wright much better than Mrs Unsworthy.

‘Reckon young Liam felt sorry for little Suzie,’ Stan said. ‘There was plenty that thought badly of him, like he was after what was coming to her. But I knew that weren’t true.’

‘What was he like then?’ Roy asked.

‘He were an odd bloke,’ Stan said thoughtfully. ‘Clever, well-educated, but a real nature boy, kept away from cities and didn’t give a toss about money and possessions. He were a kind man, he’d got friendly with Suzie when he was doing the Wrights’ garden, he liked her and thought she deserved better than being stuck in that house looking after her mum and dad. He used to say that to us all, didn’t he?’ Stan looked round at his friends and they all nodded in agreement.

‘So the parents died, and then what?’ Roy asked.

‘He just stuck by her,’ Stan shrugged. ‘He told me more than once she were very capable, but he didn’t think she could cope on her own.’

‘So where did she go when the house was sold?’ Roy asked.

‘Dunno,’ Stan said. ‘Went off without a word to anyone.’

‘Liam was still here then, I take it?’ Roy said.

‘No, he shot off about the same time.’

‘So he could have gone off with her then?’

‘No, not Liam.’ Stan grinned broadly. ‘He weren’t the settling kind. We had a drink one night just before the house was sold and I asked him if he’d be going with her. He said something to the effect that she needed a more normal bloke than him, and he was already getting a bit tired of her trying to straighten him out.’

‘What do you think he meant by that?’

‘Meals on time, fussing over him. You know what women are like!’

Roy turned to smile at Beth. ‘Sounds like that poor girl got a raw deal all round,’ she said. Then, looking at Stan, she asked, ‘Why do you think her father left the place to his son? Had she done something which upset him?’

‘Well, my dear,’ Stan looked at her appraisingly, ‘it’s the way blokes like Charley think. Sons inherit, that’s the way it’s always been. Give it to the girls and they’ll just get married and the property goes out the family.’