A Shroud for Delilah (DCI Webb Mystery Book 1) (3 page)

‘Unless he’s a modern Bluebeard suffering the effects of Women’s Lib!’ Jackson grinned. ‘In which case,’ he added, ‘we could be in for a whole string of them!’

Which was altogether too close to the way Webb’s own mind had been running. ‘A regular ray of sunshine you are!’ he said bitterly, and went in search of Horn.

CHAPTER 4

When Kate and Josh came downstairs that Monday morning, the door leading to the office stood open and through it they could see Bailey studying a catalogue. He looked up with a smile.

‘Come in, Mrs Romilly. Settling in all right? Hello, young fellow! I didn’t realize we had two new assistants!’

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Kate apologized. ‘He doesn’t start school till Thursday and I didn’t like to leave him alone. Madge Netherby’s collecting him at ten, and he’s promised to sit quietly till then. This is Mr Bailey, Josh.’

‘No problem at all, and welcome to Pennyfarthings. It’s a blessing you could step in like this. Molly’s husband was offered a post in the States and they flew out almost at once.’

‘It was lucky for me, too.’

Out in the shop the doorbell chimed and a woman came hurrying through to the office drawing off her gloves.

‘I’m so sorry, Mr Bailey. The bus was late again.’

He waved aside her apologies. ‘Lana, this is Mrs Romilly, who’s come to work with us. Miss Truscott, our secretary, bookkeeper, and general factotum.’

The woman smiled shyly at Kate, murmured a response to her greeting, and, drawing the cover off her typewriter, sat down and began to open the mail. Kate saw she was younger than her first impression indicated — mid thirties, probably, though her severe hairstyle and the fine skin drawn tautly over her face made her seem older. She looked up to meet Josh’s unblinking gaze, and her expression softened.

‘Good morning. And what’s your name?’

‘Josh Romilly. I’m going to St Benedict’s on Thursday.’

‘Are you, indeed? Does that mean you can sing?’

‘Oh yes. I was the solo at the end of term concert. At Highfield, that was.’ He moved towards her, fingering the flex of the type-writer. ‘How does that work?’

‘Josh, you promised—’

‘He doesn’t worry me,’ Lana Truscott put in quickly.

‘In that case,’ Bailey said, rising to his feet, ‘I’ll show Mrs Romilly round while you two get to know each other.’

Kate had only a confused memory of the shop from her interview the previous week. Now she was glad to walk slowly round, inspecting with interest the ornate vases and delicately carved chairs which stood in seeming harmony with more modern pieces.

‘As you see, we’re not strictly an antique shop,’ her employer was saying. ‘We do have some valuable things — signed prints,
objets
d’art
and so on, but we also stock good modern stuff, to lure the discerning tourist.’ He paused, indicating an alcove stacked with shelves and fronted by tables bearing an assortment of coins, small pieces of silver, and porcelain.

‘We call this Collector’s Corner. All these will appreciate in value. My partner spends most of his time scouring the country for suitable stock. That dagger, for instance.’ He pointed to a long, slim weapon made entirely of steel, the hilt covered with ornate gold damascening. ‘Comes from India, mid-nineteenth-century, and there’s a smaller dagger concealed in the hilt. Clever, isn’t it? Richard’s really into swords and such. He has quite a collection at home. Personally, these snuffboxes are more my line of country. Aren’t they exquisite? But of course — I was forgetting!’ He flashed her an easy smile. ‘You probably know as much as I do. You’ve a History of Art degree, haven’t you?’

‘I’ve not done much with it, I’m afraid. I married straight from university and Josh was born a year later. It’s only since he started school that I’ve taken it up again.’

The doorbell sounded and the first customer of the day stepped hesitantly inside. Beaming reassurance, Bailey went to greet him, and Kate, feeling
de
trop
, retreated to the office to see what Josh was doing. She needn’t have worried; he’d drawn a chair up to the desk and was contentedly scribbling on a piece of paper. In the courtyard outside a crowd of sparrows fluttered and squawked over a freshly filled bird tray.

‘One of my first jobs each morning!’ Miss Truscott said, following Kate’s gaze. ‘Josh helped me today. I hope you haven’t a cat, Mrs Romilly.’

‘Somebody wanting prints of old cars,’ Bailey said as he came back. ‘Which reminds me, where did you leave your car?’

‘At the Netherbys’ for the moment. I didn’t know what to do with it.’

‘I should have explained — there’s a residents’ car park in Lady Ann Square. You’ll need a permit but that shouldn’t be a problem. Do you know Broadminster?’

‘Only from visits to Madge.’

‘You’ll soon find your way around.’

As promised, Madge collected Josh at ten o’clock. Lana Truscott seemed sorry to see him go. ‘He’s an intelligent little boy, isn’t he?’ she commented. ‘You must be very proud of him.’

The morning passed slowly. Kate started to unpack some ornaments in the stockroom at the back of the shop. There weren’t many customers. Monday morning did not seem a propitious time to buy antiques.

‘There aren’t enough of us to stagger lunch hours,’ Bailey told her at twelve-thirty. ‘Lana only works mornings and I’m not always here, so it’s easier to close. As it’s your first day I’ll treat you to a pub lunch.’

Kate was taken aback. ‘It’s kind of you, but I was going to do some shopping. There are several things—’

‘Plenty of time, we’re closed till two.’

‘Then thank you. I hadn’t realized Miss Truscott only works part time,’ she added as Bailey locked up behind them.

‘She lives with her invalid father and he needs a lot of attention.’

The Green was dotted with groups of office workers eating their lunch, while behind them the ancient Minster dried itself in the sun. Farther along Monks’ Walk a bow-fronted shop was doing a brisk trade in takeaway snacks.

‘
Plus
ça
change
,’ Bailey said with a smile. ‘It was a coffee-house two hundred years ago and still is, though it’s moved with the times. Pizzas rather than seed cakes these days.’

They turned down a cobbled lane leading to the High Street. ‘We’ll go to the Coach and Horses. It’s near the market and you can do your shopping after we’ve eaten.’

As he lounged at the counter awaiting their order, Kate studied her employer critically. His thick, curly hair, prematurely grey, had the paradoxical effect of making his face boyish. He smiled frequently, showing even white teeth in a tanned face, and she suspected uncharitably that he’d been told he was charming and couldn’t forget it. Of average height, his figure already showed the first signs of too many pub lunches. Wryly, she wondered what opinion he had formed of her.

‘Here we are, then. I’m quite hungry — we slept in this morning and hadn’t time for breakfast.’

Kate wondered if she was supposed to know his domestic arrangements but he solved the problem for her.

‘My girlfriend’s a model and lives largely on air, so she had no sympathy. Said it would do me good to skip a few meals!’ He patted his thickening waist ruefully and Kate found herself warming to him.

‘What does she model?’

‘Nella? Herself, mostly. That is, not specifically clothes, though she does on occasion. You’ve probably seen her in the glossies - in the latest car, the most modern kitchen, the nattiest cruiser.’

‘Doesn’t it give her expensive tastes?’

‘Yes, but also the means to indulge them.’

He glanced across at her. ‘I’m sorry about your marriage.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Mrs Netherby wasn’t specific. Is it a temporary separation?’

‘I rather doubt it.’

‘Well, there’s a lot of it about. Divorce, I mean. One reason why I’m not anxious to take the plunge. I saw what it did to Richard.’

‘Your partner?’

He nodded. ‘He and his wife split up a couple of years ago. She resented his being away so much, there were no children to complicate things, so she upped and left. It knocked him sideways for a while.’

Kate said drily, ‘Yes, children do complicate things.’

‘I was impressed by your son. Bright kid, I should say.’

‘Bright enough.’ She pushed her plate away. ‘Thank you, Mr Bailey. I enjoyed that.’

‘I think we might stretch to first names, don’t you? It makes it easier working together. I answer to Martin.’

‘Kate.’

‘It suits you. Lana, of course, persists in calling me “Mr Bailey,” so I’ve given up on that. She’s old-fashioned in a lot of ways. Unmarried, of course.’

‘Like you!’ Kate said wickedly, and he gave a shout of laughter.

‘
Touché
! A chauvinistic remark, if I ever heard one! Like Nella too, come to that, but there the resemblance ends. Still, Lana’s worth her weight in gold. She has a way with children, too. Yours took to her, didn’t he? Classic case of a mother
manqué
.’ He consulted his watch. ‘Well, if you want to buy some groceries we’d better make a move. I’m expecting a long-distance call at two.’

There were still a large number of tourists in Broadminster, and American voices echoed through the narrow streets. The indoor market was very rewarding. Kate filled her basket with cheeses and herbs, freshly baked bread and glowing fruit while Martin moved round inspecting the second-hand bookstall and chatting with the stall-holders. He seemed to know them all.

During the course of the afternoon Kate made her first sale, a seventeenth-century map of Broadshire.

‘Your customer was so excited, he forgot his paper,’ Martin said, picking it up from the counter. ‘The evening one, too — he must only just have bought it.’ His voice changed as he unfolded it. ‘My God, another murder! Did you bring your Shillingham killer with you?’

He spread the paper on the counter and Kate leaned over his shoulder. ‘Delilah killer in Broadminster?’ she read, and her eyes raced down the columns. ‘Granted a divorce only last week — killed yesterday afternoon — lipstick writing on the mirror.’

‘How horrible,’ she said softly.

‘A bit close to home, certainly.’

‘Michael had met the other woman.’

‘Michael?’

‘My husband.’

Martin turned to look at her. ‘Michael — Romilly? Michael Romilly’s your husband? Of course — it never struck me. I always read his articles — first-class stuff. Quite brilliant.’

Oh, he’s brilliant, Kate agreed silently. And cynical, and sarcastic, and impatient of other people’s opinions, which didn’t make him easy to live with. Nonetheless, she was missing the stimulus of his conversation, his lightning assessment of political figures, his thumbnail sketches which brought a scene or person instantly to life. Whatever else life had been with Michael, it was never dull.

‘You say he knew the first victim?’

‘Not well, but he’d met her once or twice. In pubs, I think.’

‘I wonder if there’s any connection between her and this latest one. Sunday afternoon. It sounds so peaceful, doesn’t it, especially in your own home. You’re relaxing with the papers after lunch, there’s a knock at the door and —
finito
. Curtains.’

Kate shivered. ‘You wouldn’t think she’d let anyone in, with the papers full of the other case.’

Where was she, when that poor woman was killed? She and Josh had gone for a walk — they might even have passed the murderer! The idea was absurd, impossible. Yet not impossible. She realized suddenly that the murder would have brought Michael to Broadminster. Had he been round to Madge’s and found Josh?

‘Five o’clock.’ Martin’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘Lock up, will you, Kate? And here’s the passage door key, you might as well take charge of it. If your doorbell rings, for God’s sake don’t answer it!’ He was only half-joking, and Kate’s mouth was dry.

When he’d gone, she went out to the courtyard to check that the gate was locked. There was no key, but it was secured with bolts top and bottom. She looked up at the wall. No one could climb that, and since the house was attached to its neighbours, only the front was unprotected.

With an effort she pulled herself together. People were murdered all the time, unfortunately, and she hadn’t been neurotic about it before. But nor had she been alone before, or had a link, however tenuous, with one of the victims.

Pushing such thoughts from her mind, she went to Mead Way to collect Josh. Madge opened the door.

‘Have you seen the evening paper?’

Kate nodded. ‘Was Michael here?’

‘No, I was half-expecting him, but he never appeared.’

‘And he hasn’t phoned?’

‘Not a peep.’

Kate should have felt relieved, but perversely she didn’t. Wasn’t he anxious about her, alone in the town where a woman had been murdered? Or had he completely washed his hands of her?

‘The children are watching telly. Have you time for a cup of tea?’

‘I’d love one.’

The familiar kitchen again, with the Monday pile of ironing and a smell of stew coming from the oven.

‘Where’s Paul?’

‘He had a staff meeting this afternoon. Tying up loose ends before term starts on Thursday.’