Grave Concerns (24 page)

A lesser woman would have burst into tears at this point and perhaps gone to lock herself in the bathroom for good measure. Karen simply knelt on the floor, dry-eyed and despairing. Drew couldn’t move for the pounding of his heart. He’d gone badly wrong somewhere, and he couldn’t help suspecting it was when he allowed himself to start this new baby. That had been careless at best, culpably selfish at worst.

‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled feebly.

She looked at him hopelessly. ‘Sorry? But you’re not going to do anything about it, are you? Before you know it, the funeral business will have withered away and you’ll be a full-time private detective. That isn’t what I want, Drew. Let me make that very clear. It’s dangerous and it’s silly. And I can’t let you take Stephanie around with you when you’re doing it.’

‘I’ve no intention—’ he began.

She shook her head impatiently. ‘It’s money at the root of all this. If that woman had never offered you two thousand quid to find her mother, you’d have had the sense to stay out of it. Wouldn’t you?’ She hooked a finger round the
bridge of her nose, and rubbed it fiercely. ‘Maybe you wouldn’t,’ she decided. ‘But now she’s paying you, you’re under some sort of obligation. It’s all a ghastly mess, and I want you to get yourself out of it as quick as you can.’

‘Then help me,’ he challenged her, a remnant of spirit asserting itself at last. ‘Like you did last time. I’d never have got to the bottom of that one without you.’

‘I seem to remember ending up in hospital, and you practically losing your job. As a precedent, I don’t think that has much to recommend it.’

‘Even so, it was nice to have you on the same side,’ he said, sadly.

‘I haven’t got time. I told you. All I’m asking is that you do what you have to do to earn the money she’s offering, and then get right out of it. She’s poison, I can feel it.’

He didn’t dare argue. He didn’t dare say,
Some poisons are too attractive to resist
. But he resolved to do as she asked. If he could find the strength. 

He accomplished the appointment with Henrietta Fielding, with Stephanie cooperatively sitting in her buggy, watching the huge woman with fascinated interest. After ten minutes, however, Drew began to suspect that there was very little to be gleaned, in addition to what she’d told him on the phone. She sat monumental in a wide armchair, and played verbal games with him, like a monstrous cat toying with a mouse.

‘Not a squeak out of Trevor since I spoke to you,’ she began. ‘Nothing further to report at all, in fact.’

‘Could you give me a description of him?’

‘Middle-aged hippy. Thin, unkempt. Unreliable. A drifter.’

‘But determined enough to come in search of Gwen after a year or more. Important enough for you to contact me about him.’

‘I want to get him off my back. To pass the buck, if you like.’

‘You did that when you gave him my name and address. Why did you need to speak to me again?’

Her eyes twinkled, as she glanced from Drew to his daughter and back again. ‘I’m sure I told you – I’m a keen observer. I wanted to see how you’d react, where you’d go from here. I don’t get out much, and the computer gets wearisome after a while. Perhaps I felt like a bit of excitement.’

Drew had not forgotten the computer. ‘You’re in touch with Willard Slater, aren’t you. That’s how you know about Gwen being Genevieve’s mother, and about me being asked to find her.’

‘It isn’t
quite
that simple,’ she said. ‘But it’s near enough. I know that Genevieve contacted you, because she can’t abide not knowing what happened to her mother. Reasonable enough. But Willard and I don’t waste much time discussing his wife. It’s Egypt that interests us. Modern Egypt, that is. You know, it’s most regrettable the way some countries are perceived as only having a past, with nothing of significance happening in the present. Like Greece and Italy. My husband and I made several trips to Egypt together – we spend our honeymoon there. Willard has a
fine mind, you know. I enjoy our exchanges enormously.’

Drew smiled at the picture that came into his mind. Willard and Henrietta shoulder to shoulder, discussing the minutiae of Egyptian economic policy. Except they didn’t do it shoulder-to-shoulder. They did it keyboard-to-keyboard. ‘Have you ever actually met him?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘Actually, no. We found each other through a current affairs newsgroup. Even though we’re only twelve or fifteen miles apart, there seems no point in getting together. It isn’t that kind of relationship.’

‘Or Genevieve?’

She shook her head. ‘Never,’ she said flatly. Drew was unsure whether he could believe her.

‘So – was it a complete coincidence when Genevieve’s mother came to live in the same building as you?’

‘Of course not. Gwen had told Genevieve she was looking for a bedsit somewhere quiet. Willard sent e-mails out to several of us – it must have been a couple of Christmases ago – asking if we knew of any cheap places. And I responded. Simple, really.’

‘So you have quite a lot of contact with Willard?’

Henrietta frowned slightly. ‘Not really, no. No more than anyone else in the newsgroup.
We were in touch quite frequently after Wendy got back from Egypt. She seemed a bit down, and I wondered why. Willard told me about her involvement in the shooting – obviously it was relevant to our interest, as well. You know, it wasn’t a normal terrorist attack – if it makes sense to call such a thing “normal”. The gunman wasn’t with an organisation.’

‘Oh?’ Drew’s interest blossomed. ‘What do you think that means?’

‘Well, from what we can glean – and Willard does know people out there – that stupid girl had been going round talking to the local women, encouraging them to fight for their rights. One of them was a young student of English, so she understood more than the others. She went home all fired up, and her father saw red. He happened to be one of the most reactionary chaps around. It sent shockwaves through Cairo. They like to think of themselves as pretty progressive compared to places like Algeria and Saudi.’

The account she had given was more or less consistent with that of Karl Habergas, Drew noted.

Stephanie began to bang her heels on the lower strut of her buggy, a sure sign of restlessness. ‘I’ll have to go,’ Drew decided. ‘If that’s all you wanted to tell me?’

‘Expect a visit from Trevor,’ she said. ‘He
might be just the person you need to complete your investigation.’

He swallowed the
How?
and
Why?
questions. He thought he understood this woman better now. A lively mind trapped in an almost immobile body, with little to do all day but weave links between unlikely people. She must have thought she’d gone to heaven when Drew called on her looking for Gwen Absolon. Yet he strongly suspected that she knew nothing about what had in fact befallen Gwen once she left her bedsitter for the last time. She was getting there, slowly, perhaps, as Drew was himself. His competitive streak quivered at the prospect of a race to the finishing post.

‘Well, it’s been very interesting,’ he said neutrally, getting up to go. The prospect of a rival excited him, as he was sure it excited her.

Maggs was obviously annoyed when he found her in the office. ‘You’re never here,’ she complained. ‘This is getting ridiculous. The phone’s been red-hot all morning, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.’

Drew took a deep breath. ‘OK, I’m here now. I’ll try not to go away again today. Who phoned?’

‘Who do you think?’ she muttered, flicking a hand at the notepad on the desk. A neat list had
been made on it.
1. Mrs Slater. 2. Mrs Hankey. 3. Daphne Plant. 4. Mrs Slater. 5. Fiona
.

‘Daphne Plant?’ he queried in surprise. ‘What did she want?’

‘She didn’t say exactly. My guess is she’s heard you’re officiating at the funeral tomorrow and she wants to know what’s going on.’

‘The Garnstone undertaker must have told her. You can’t keep anything secret in this business. Still – maybe that’s good. It might lead to more work.’

Maggs gave an explosively mocking laugh. ‘You’re joking!’ she said. ‘Daphne’s not going to recommend
you
, is she?’

‘I don’t see why not. It’s no skin off her nose. It’s not the same thing as doing burials, taking business away from her. Officiating’s something different altogether.’

‘She doesn’t like you, Drew,’ Maggs told him grimly. ‘Hasn’t that got through to you yet? You’ve rocked her boat too many times. Before you came along, her life was a lot easier.’

‘She was spoilt,’ he said obstinately. ‘I’m not doing her any harm. If she’s giving people what they want, she’ll get plenty of business, whatever I might do.’

‘Mrs Slater phoned,’ she reminded him. ‘Twice.’

‘So I see,’ he said, hoping he sounded casual. ‘She didn’t leave any message?’

‘Just that she’d like you to call her. Mrs Hankey the same. Fiona wants the account for the burial asap. I told her we’d post it today.’

‘You can do that. We told her four fifty, didn’t we?’

‘Does that include a tree? She said she thought a tree would be nice.’

‘Did she?’ Drew was pleased. ‘We could do something for another twenty. That’s still a lot less than she’d have had to pay for a cremation.’

‘And you wonder why Daphne’s miffed with you! You know she makes at least a hundred quid profit, even on the contract funerals?’

Drew gave her a sceptical look. ‘Where d’you get that from?’

‘Work it out yourself. Seeing that there’s at least – what? – eight or nine a year, you’d be doing her out of something like a thousand a year. That’s not far off the total phone bill, just to give a for instance.’

‘Maggs, you’re a marvel,’ Drew said. ‘A brain like a computer.’

‘It’s not difficult,’ she said impatiently. ‘Other people just don’t make the effort.’

‘Before I forget – did you see young Stuart over the weekend?’

She frowned and shook her head. ‘No I didn’t. I was with Auntie Sharon.’

‘Both days?’

She nodded and put up a hand to forestall further questions. ‘Phone the Slater woman, will you?’ she said. ‘The sooner she’s out of our hair, the sooner everyone’ll be happy.’

Except me
, thought Drew guiltily.

When he returned her call, Genevieve enquired briefly as to how the burial had gone, and Drew gave an equally brief reply.

‘Can you come over?’ she asked next.

‘What, now?’

‘That would be nice.’

‘Sorry,’ he said, painfully. ‘I can’t. Maggs needs me here for the rest of today. And tomorrow I’m officiating at a cremation. It’ll have to be Wednesday. Can you tell me why you want to see me?’

‘Nothing special,’ she said, in a purring tone. ‘It’s just nice to talk to you. And perhaps we should assess where we’ve got to in investigating what happened to Mum. I hate to say it, but I’m not sure you’ve earned your pay up to now – have you?’

‘I haven’t stopped working on it,’ he assured her. ‘In fact, I think it might be coming together at last. There’ve been one or two new developments.’

‘That sounds intriguing. Stuart’s still here, by the way. He’s being very sweet. But he’s decided
to look for a job, so he’s going to be out most of the time, once he finds something.’

‘So he’s going to be a permanent fixture, is he?’ It occurred to Drew that he might usefully have a word with Stuart. Another angle on the family background wouldn’t be a bad thing.

‘Well, for a few months, anyway. He’s got a place at Newcastle University in the autumn. This is one of those year-out arrangements, where you just footle around wasting everybody’s time.’

For the first time, Drew heard Genevieve sounding her age. He wished he could tease her about it, but he was too acutely aware of being nearly ten years her junior.
Like Habergas and Gwen
, he thought suddenly. He contented himself with a short laugh, before confirming their appointment. ‘I’ll be there at four on Wednesday – after Karen’s collected Stephanie. OK?’

‘It’ll have to be, I suppose.’ He could hear the suppressed reproach, the not-quite-gracious acceptance of the delay.
What does she do all day?
he wondered. Maybe digging into her mother’s fate was really little more than time-killing while she waited for her baby to be born.

As Monday wore on, Drew began to feel nervous about the next day’s funeral. In his head, he could give the perfect eulogy, neither too sentimental nor too brusque, personal but also general. True
without being platitudinous. ‘Death comes to us all,’ he rehearsed aloud. ‘But the death of our own loved one always feels like a unique event. For that family, that particular circle, it is of course unique. And nothing afterwards is ever the same again. The pattern has to be redrawn, the loss accommodated …’ So far, so good, he assured himself. In fact, a lot better than anything he’d ever heard a church minister say. Even if he just paraphrased the usual Funeral Service words, it would sound fresher and make more sense than the tired old routine.

Something about the need for a ritual to mark the changed circumstances. The respect due to the dead person, the long life now finished; the inescapable ruthlessness of death … no that was a bit too strong. It probably wasn’t a good idea to remind everyone that their turn was sure to come. He walked up and down the office, practising, repeating a good phrase, hoping it would stick in his memory. It was OK, he assured himself. It was going to work. He planned to charge ninety-five pounds for his services, and he reckoned Mrs Hankey was getting pretty good value for money.

Stephanie was quiet all day, eating her lunch without fuss, and taking a long nap afterwards. She slept deeply, lying on her back, arms flung out, a solid little body. Absorbed in his rehearsal, Drew paused to look down at her on
her cushions. She provided a perfect antidote to thoughts of mortality and loss. Stephanie was his link to the future now. She would remember him when he was dead; she might even take over the business, expanding, transforming, innovating. There was land in abundance all around them, scope for all kinds of enhancement. Growing up here, in the beauty and peace of the village, she would be more than happy to put down roots.

Crossly, he shook himself. It wasn’t fair to map out her future like this. She might want to live in New York or Japan, to become a dentist or a stockbroker. Anything, he reminded himself, was possible. And – damn it – what about the new baby? It might be a son, intent on taking over the business from Drew, ambitious, avaricious, single-minded. Drew was deeply alarmed to discover how stubbornly unenthusiastic he felt at the prospect of a boy child.

Karen fetched Stephanie ten minutes later than usual. She looked pale and seemed to move stiffly. ‘Are you all right?’ Drew asked her.

‘I twisted my back at lunchtime,’ she admitted. ‘I was doing playground duty, and stretched to catch a ball someone threw to me. It just caught me a bit awkwardly. It’s nothing. My balance is a bit off these days. It’ll be better tomorrow.’

‘If it isn’t, you’re to take the day off. More, if necessary. In fact, perhaps you should phone
now, and give them a chance to find a supply teacher.’

‘I can’t, Drew,’ she said. ‘The kids are behind as it is. Supply teachers are really bad news these days. I’d have to work three times as hard when I went back again.’

‘You can only do so much. These targets and stuff are impossible, anyway. You’re mad to drive yourself into the ground over them.’ He was beginning to raise his voice in admonition, as seemed to happen every time he tried to talk to Karen these days. She turned her back on him, and began to bend down to gather Stephanie into her arms.

‘Aargh,’ she groaned, and slowly straightened up again. ‘Can you lift her? It doesn’t want to bend.’ She pressed a hand to her lower back. ‘This is ridiculous. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.’

Drew looked into her face, which was even paler than before. ‘Come on,’ he said, more gently. ‘You’re going to lie down. And you are definitely not going to school tomorrow. Have a lazy morning, at least.’ He attempted a disarming grin. ‘And then in the afternoon, you can mind Her Ladyship while I officiate at a funeral. See? It’s all working out fine.’