Grave Concerns (12 page)

‘Stop it!’ she pleaded. ‘Stop being so horrible. I haven’t done anything to make you so cross.’

‘No,’ he sighed, letting his shoulders sag. ‘No, I don’t suppose you have. But I really
really
wish you hadn’t come to see me again, all the same.’

To avoid seeing her reaction to that, he got up and went to Stephanie, who was toppling sideways over one edge of her chair, letting an arm dangle heavily. It was a habit she had, which Drew usually found enchanting. Now he pretended to be concerned that she’d land head first on the floor if he didn’t straighten her. She looked up at him drunkenly, head tipped onto one shoulder, and a wad of chewed eggbox in the non-dangling hand.

‘What are you like?’ he said to her, in a mock
Somerset accent. ‘Crazy, you are, my girl. Sit up straight, why don’t you?’

A loud sniff from Genevieve made him freeze. Jesus, she wasn’t
crying
, was she? He forced himself not to look until he’d got Stephanie sorted out. In that half-minute, he’d hardened his heart enough for it not to matter whether she was weeping or not. Either way, it was probably all part of a deliberate plan to ensnare him, he told himself fiercely.

When he did look, she seemed very much as before – perhaps slightly pink around the nose, but nothing that couldn’t safely be ignored. He decided that adopting a businesslike manner was the safest option. It was, after all, the way an undertaker – and probably a detective – was expected to behave.

‘Have you got the address of the last place she lived?’ he asked. ‘That’s probably the best place to start. Though I assume you know she isn’t there now?’

‘You assume right. She was there last summer. She gave us the address, and phoned us once or twice, apparently from there. It was a bolthole she used on and off. Just a cheap basement bedsit.’

‘But—’ he shook his head disbelievingly. ‘Why haven’t you gone yourselves to look for her? You surely must have been worrying, even before
that piece in the paper, that there was something wrong?’

‘We phoned the number she gave us, and a man answered. He said she thought Mum had left in July or August, without any forwarding address. I didn’t see any point in going there, after that.’

Drew felt a powerful return of his earlier scepticism. Something really was not making sense here. But he’d had enough of Genevieve for one day. Stephanie would be wanting her lunch, and he was tiring of the effort to control all his conflicting emotions. He remembered the way Genevieve had had this same effect on him two years earlier. One minute he’d been telling a warm and sympathetic woman his life story, the next she’d seemed strange and remote. Clearly, she could switch from being a perfectly capable adult to a self-obsessed bundle of neuroses and back again with no warning. He’d been mad to allow her back into his life, knowing how dangerous she could be. But there didn’t seem any way out now. She wasn’t going to leave him alone until he’d at least made a token effort to locate her mother.

‘Just a bit more background,’ he said, ‘and then I’ll have to be off.’

‘Background?’ she repeated. ‘Haven’t I given you all that?’

‘I mean – apart from where she was living
where had your mother been in the weeks before she disappeared? What had she been doing? Who had she been seeing? What about Dr Jarvis? Do you know when he last saw her? I need
facts
, if I’m to be of any help.’

She sighed impatiently, and said nothing. Drew had to acknowledge that her obfuscation merely piqued his curiosity. What
was
the truth of the matter? Who had Gwen Absolon been – this seventy-year-old with no strings to hold her in place? An old woman, with her complicated love life, living like a nomad? She was too intriguing now to abandon. He deliberately brushed aside the nagging question –
What in the world am I going to tell Karen?

Impatiently, Genevieve dumped a further jumbled mass of information on Drew’s bewildered ear, as he tried to keep Stephanie amused for another twenty minutes.

‘Once Nathan had died, and she was finally free, she started going off round the world, doing it on the cheap, by herself. Like I said before, she was making up for lost time. We got postcards from the wildest places. In a year or so she’d got the bright idea of taking small groups of adventurous tourists with her. None of them half as adventurous as her, of course. She did all the paperwork, visas and so on. Got them somewhere to stay and told them what to look at. They
paid rather handsomely, I think. But she spent it as soon as she got it, and there were enough calamities to wipe out much of her profits.’

‘Calamities?’

‘People demanding their money back because they never saw a tiger, or the right sort of gazelle. Lost luggage, broken ankles. I never heard all the gory details, but she packed a fair amount onto her postcards. The worst was what happened at Giza, of course.’

‘Giza?’

‘You know. Where the Great Pyramid is in Egypt. Near there, anyhow. I can never remember the name of the actual spot. There was a shooting and one of my mother’s group was killed. A girl. It was about a year ago – terrorists targeting tourists to get their views aired. Very bad publicity all round and disastrous for the tourist industry, which was only just getting over the massacre at the Valley of the Kings.’

‘I think I missed it,’ said Drew vaguely.

‘Well, it’s not important. The point is, she came home rather chastened. Arrived on our doorstep one evening and was welcomed in by my devoted husband. I was out at the time. She told him she was in need of some company, and when I got home she was installed in the spare room for a little holiday and he was like the proverbial dog with two tails. I freaked out. I insisted she 
couldn’t stay for long. Then even Willard seemed to turn against her. She was only with us for just over a week and I never saw her again.’ Drew watched for emotion, and was rewarded by the slightest tightening of the nostrils.

‘That’s it?’ Drew verified. ‘That’s all you can tell me?’
Guilt!
he told himself triumphantly.
All this is because she’s consumed with guilt at throwing her own mother out. Presumably she had to go back to the grotty bedsit
. At last, something seemed to have a rational explanation.

‘More or less,’ she nodded. ‘Hasn’t she been good!’ She changed the subject, clearly keen not to dwell on her actions. ‘Is she always as easy as this?’

‘Pretty well,’ said Drew modestly, allowing himself to be diverted. ‘As long as someone’s around, she seems contented enough to amuse herself.’

‘Sounds as if she’ll be a doddle. I can have her any day this week, if you want to get on with it.’

‘Give me that address, and I’ll get started tomorrow,’ he said. No, he couldn’t abandon Genevieve now. Perhaps both of them were being manipulated by the ghost of Gwen Absolon. There had always seemed to be an unacknowledged but irresistible power to the fact of an unexplained death, with all the unfinished business that attached to it. Mysteries existed to
be solved – like Everest; it wasn’t in his nature to walk away from this one.

But he wasn’t looking forward to it. He didn’t anticipate any astonishing success. He was going to have a great deal of explaining to do, for one thing. Karen would want to know why he was helping Genevieve – the money wouldn’t be enough to convince her. And the police – God help him – would be more than a little reproachful if they ever learnt the truth.

The sooner he started, then, the sooner he could claim his two thousand quid, and get back to his ordinary life.
Whatever that might mean
he thought glumly.

Genevieve had another visitor, half an hour after Drew departed. When she opened the door and realised who it was, she went instantly onto the attack. ‘What the hell are you doing here again?’ she demanded. ‘Isn’t it a bit soon for another fight?’

‘I don’t want to fight,’ he said calmly. ‘And it certainly wouldn’t do you any good in your condition. I had hoped to find you in a more rational frame of mind today.’

She stared at him for a moment, and then stepped back to let him in. ‘Willard’s not here,’ she said.

‘Good. We can have a nice uninterrupted chat, then.’

‘I’ve just had that nice undertaker round,’ she told him. ‘He’s going to do a bit of investigating. I’m paying him,’ she added defiantly.

‘What is there to investigate?’ he asked warily.

Genevieve’s face seemed to shrivel, and she sat down heavily in the same corner of the sofa she’d occupied most of the morning. ‘I really do have to know what’s happened,’ she said miserably. ‘It’s haunting me. I can’t sleep. I pretended to think Willard might have bumped Ma off – just to give Drew some reason to listen to me.’

Dr Jarvis laughed. ‘I said I was convinced she’d killed herself, with the same general intention,’ he admitted.

She looked at him, grey eyes filmy with self-pity. ‘But why
did
you go to him? He must think we’re in cahoots. That we’ve got something to hide.’

He looked at her kindly. ‘I did it for you,’ he murmured. ‘I knew how you must be feeling.’

She sighed. ‘You’re retired now, you know. You don’t have to keep trying to cure everybody. I’m a hopeless case, anyway. You’ve had nearly thirty years to sort me out, and see where it’s got you.’

‘I don’t think doctors ever really retire,’ he said. ‘After all, you’ve asked for my services in another context, haven’t you?’ He looked meaningfully at the pregnant bulge.

‘Oh, don’t!’ she pleaded. ‘We’ll talk about that in a minute. But only if we can be sure not to start fighting again. You might as well admit you haven’t a hope of winning. Willard’s been on at me for months, as it is.’

He dropped his hands limply between his knees, as he sat on the edge of an armchair. ‘So – is this amiable young Drew going to come up with anything? What did you find to get him started?’

‘Her last known address. That seems to be where detectives usually start. And I told him the whole story of Nathan.’

‘Ha!’ he said. ‘So did I. I hope the stories tallied.’

‘I told him the truth, for what it’s worth,’ she said primly. ‘I don’t think he really understood the relevance. I’m not sure I do myself.’

‘Oh, it’s relevant,’ Jarvis told her solemnly. ‘Very relevant indeed.’ He paused. ‘And I hope your young friend is trustworthy, because I shared some little facts with him that could land me in a certain amount of hot water.’

‘He can’t go to the police now,’ she said, triumphantly. ‘He’s left it too long. I must say, I think I was quite clever there, sucking him in so slowly. He fancies me, which helps.’

‘Everybody fancies you, Genevieve,’ said the doctor sadly.

They shared a long wordless moment of eye contact, with Genevieve struggling to conceal the confusion she was feeling, and Dr Jarvis drawing it out of her. He knew her too well, she felt, her heart beginning to thump wildly. It was frightening, having someone so totally apprised of all one’s weaknesses. It was like being in love, without any of the mutuality, so that it was all pain and fear and intense misery, and no euphoria. He knew the gaping holes in her character, the inconsistencies and evasions. He knew why she had to learn the truth about her mother, while being terrified of what she might discover. He knew she was utterly dependent on Willard. He knew she was virtually paralysed by her pregnancy, every trip outside the house an ordeal, every forced acceptance of what was shortly to happen to her a vicious thrust of panic. ‘Stop it,’ she moaned. She fell back against the cushions, and put a hand to her heart. It was thundering wildly, filling her chest with breathless terror. ‘You know I can’t stand it when you do that,’ she complained weakly.

He smiled thinly, still with his eyes on hers. ‘I can’t help it,’ he sighed. ‘You shouldn’t be such a fascinating creature.’ He smiled again, more warmly. ‘You haven’t changed a bit, you know,’ he said wonderingly. ‘Not since you were twelve.’

‘Of course I haven’t!’ she spat back. ‘Isn’t that the whole problem?’

He shook his head, and stood up abruptly. ‘I’ll go and make us some tea,’ he said. ‘Or do you want something to eat? It must be lunchtime by now. I’ll have a hunt in the fridge, shall I?’

‘Do what you like,’ she flapped a hand at him, and he disappeared into the kitchen. She stared blindly at the pile of debris left over from Stephanie’s visit. She supposed she should clean it up before Drew brought his daughter back next morning – and find more stuff for the kid to play with. It felt like a Herculean task.

Dr Jarvis came back in under ten minutes, with a pot of tea and some sandwiches on a tray. ‘Cheese, Marmite and some cucumber and coleslaw,’ he said. ‘The bread’s a bit stale, but I cut the crusts off for you.’

He put the tray down beside her, and poured two mugs of tea. Genevieve took the food and drink without comment. ‘Now,’ he proceeded, rubbing his hands together. ‘What about you? While I’m here, would you like me to have a look? When did you last visit your GP? Are you having visits from the midwife? Are they still happy about the home delivery?’

Genevieve turned her face away from him. ‘Everything’s under control,’ she muttered. ‘I’m feeling perfectly well.’

‘That’s good to hear. You’re looking fine, I must say. No giddy spells? Swollen ankles? Headaches? You’re bloody lucky, you know, to be allowed your own way. Hospital phobia isn’t generally taken seriously. But you always were a rebel.’ He spoke fondly, cajolingly. ‘Could I just have a glance at your record card? See if the BP’s behaving itself?’

‘It’s upstairs,’ she told him, still with her face averted. ‘But I told you – everything’s absolutely fine. Don’t fuss.’

‘It’s a big event you know,’ he pursued, letting in a note of reproach. ‘A lot of organising to be done. Have you got the cot and buggy and all the other stuff?’ He looked curiously around the room. ‘I don’t see any sign of any preparations. It could all happen in another two or three weeks, you know.’

‘
Two or three weeks?
’ Her voice was startled and she threw him a look of pure horror. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘Experience, my dear,’ he smiled. ‘Something an old-fashioned family doctor can lay some claim to. You’ve never been able to establish an exact date, and since you refused to go for a scan, it can only be guesswork. From the look of you, I’d say the head’s already well down in the pelvis. Now I don’t want to say anything to alarm you – just reassure me that you’ve been seeing the GP or
midwife regularly, and that you’ve at least got the basic essentials standing by.’

‘Yes, yes,’ she said firmly. ‘Everything’s under control. I told you. But … you will come as well, won’t you? I can’t do it without you. You’re not going away anywhere, are you?’

‘Nothing planned,’ he assured her. ‘I’d be privileged to attend, so long as your own GP has no objection. You’ll have to introduce me as a friend of the family. He’d be within his rights to feel intimidated by having a retired doctor breathing down his neck.’

‘No problem,’ she smiled bitterly.

His sandwiches finished, he got up to go. ‘It’ll be all right,’ he said vaguely. ‘We’ll find out what happened to Gwen, one way or another. Don’t forget – that body might yet turn out not to be her at all.’

‘A wild goose chase, you mean?’ she said gloomily. ‘No – I’m sure it’s her. The Egyptian thing, the age and height. But why do they say she had white hair? Mum’s hair was a dark grey.’

The doctor shrugged. ‘I’ve heard of it happening – the acids in the soil leach out the pigment, and leave it white. Or maybe she dyed it.’

‘Why would she dye it
white
? It would make her look so old. The last thing my mother admitted to being was old. I sometimes think
that’s another reason why she steered clear of me and Brigid – she wanted to pretend she was fifty, and having daughters less than ten years younger than that would rather give the game away.’

‘Well, we’ll probably never know now,’ he said dismissively. ‘Bye, then, Gen. I’ll see you soon. Look after yourself, won’t you.’ And he leant over her for a paternal kiss on the cheek. The tickle of his moustache sent shivers through her.
Just like a real father
, she thought to herself, wriggling slightly.

Stephanie was to spend the next day with Genevieve – Drew had been careful not to disclose the ‘Slater’ – after he had stoutly endorsed her suitability for the task of childminding. ‘She’ll be fine,’ he insisted. ‘Genevieve was bored, sitting about all day doing nothing much. She’ll be happy to have somebody to play with. She said it would be good practice.’

‘Can she do nappies, and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?’ Karen demanded.

‘Anybody can do nappies,’ said Drew impatiently, ignoring the other part of the question.

‘I suppose it’ll be OK,’ said Karen grudgingly. ‘I just feel irresponsible, letting Steph go to somebody I’ve never met.’

‘Stephanie can look after herself,’ he said.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ she snapped. ‘She’s ten months old.’

‘Joke,’ he defended lamely. ‘I was joking.’ He tried to make amends. ‘I won’t leave her there all day – not at first, anyway.’

‘We should have asked for references,’ gloomed Karen, as a final word. She was going to break the news of her pregnancy to the Head of the school that morning, with the warning that this time she was unlikely to be coming back, and was not looking forward to his reaction. ‘But then we’re desperate, aren’t we?’

Maggs’s attention to publicity for Peaceful Repose Funerals included trying to get Drew more bookings as a speaker. Not only did some groups pay well for the talk, it was a key way of generating more business. She was also planning to have a good think about other services they might offer. ‘Flowers, for example,’ Drew suggested. ‘Could we have a garden area with dahlias and sunflowers that could be cut and sold for funeral tributes? That’d provide some colour, too.’

‘Could do,’ shrugged Maggs. ‘Gardening isn’t really my thing.’