Mrs. Malory and A Time To Die (22 page)

“Simon’s no more likely to sell than Jo was,” Rosemary said confidently.

Delia wasn’t back yet, so I followed Rosemary into the office when she went to pay for the ride. Simon was sitting at the desk, studying some papers. He looked up when we went in.

“Hello, Sheila,” he said, looking surprised at seeing me and obviously feeling that some explanation was needed for his presence at the stables during office hours. “I thought I might as well come up here; it was a bit late to go back to the office. But I got Mother settled all right before I left.”

“That’s good,” I said.

“Simon,” Rosemary broke in, “was Dan Webster up here trying to make you sell him those fields?”

“Dan Webster?” he said, rather taken aback by her tone. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact he was.”

“And you’re not selling?”

“No. No, of course not. I’ve told him so.”

“He was round at the Butlers’,” I said, “bullying them. But they’re standing firm.”

“Yes, I know,” Simon said. “Will came here yesterday to tell me all about it. He was offering them fantastic prices.”

“And he’d make fantastic profits,” I said, “if he could get hold of this land for development now that there’s this change-of-use thing from the council.”

“He’d need planning permission,” he said.

“Well, I don’t think
that
would be a problem for Dan Webster,” I said. “He’s bound to have a councilor or two in his pocket—he’s that sort of man.” I stopped suddenly. “I’m sorry, Simon,” I said. “I’d forgotten he was a sort of business partner of your father.”

Simon smiled ruefully. “I’m quite aware of the sort of dealings my father was involved in,” he said, “and I know what the general opinion of him was.”

“Well, anyway,” Rosemary said impatiently, “as long as neither you nor Will Butler will sell, the Webster man will have to look elsewhere for his nasty little schemes.”

“I think it was really noble of the Butlers to hold out,” I said. “They’re terribly stretched financially and the sort of money he must have offered would have been a lifesaver for them. Thank goodness there are still people like them.”

“And Simon, too,” Rosemary said, smiling at him. “A hefty cash injection would have been very useful here at the stables. But you held out.”

“Well,” he said, shuffling the papers on his desk together and putting them away in a drawer, “even if I’d been tempted, I couldn’t let Jo down. She’d never have sold.”

“Well done, Simon,” Rosemary said. “And speaking of money, here’s what I owe you for Delia’s ride. We’d better go and see if she’s back yet.”

When we got outside, the riders were back, but there was no sign of Delia.

“She’s probably in the yard helping Liz and Peggy,” Rosemary said. “I’d better go and root her out.”

“Just before you go,” I said, “what did you think of Simon, just now?”

“Simon? What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you think he looked a bit uneasy?”

“Well, he looked tired, poor boy, but he’s had quite a day, what with his mother going walk-about and then Dan Webster. . . .”

“Yes, I know, but did you think he sounded quite
sure
about Webster? I’m sure he’s not thinking of selling,” I said hastily, as I could see Rosemary rushing to the defense of her favorite, “but I got the impression that there was something about the affair he wasn’t telling us. Something about his father, perhaps.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Well, you know, it’s always been possible that since Gordon knew about this change of use long before it was made public, he could easily have told Webster about it so that they could make a nice little deal together.”

“Probably.”

“And, of course, that’s what Gordon was going to see Jo about when Esther followed him.”

“That’s the thing that really gets me!” Rosemary said. “Esther of all people! How do you think she did it without Gordon knowing? I mean, she’s not exactly my idea of a private eye.”

“Well, I suppose he’d have said he was going to a council meeting and she’d have been suspicious, and when he drove off she got in her car and followed him. If he didn’t go in the direction of the council offices but turned the other way, she’d know he was going to Jo’s, so she could follow at a distance, if you see what I mean.”

“I suppose so,” Rosemary said grudgingly. “But it all sounds too clever for Esther!”

“I daresay when you’re as jealous and obsessed as she was, you can do anything, however out of character it might seem. Anyway, after Gordon died, then Webster took over and tried to persuade Jo to sell, and when
she
died, Webster probably thought Simon would be easier to persuade. In fact . . .”

“No, Sheila. Not back to
your
obsession. Jo’s death was an accident, whether it was more convenient for Dan Webster or not.”

“Possibly.”

I would have argued the point more fully, but Delia suddenly emerged from the stable yard and Rosemary seized the opportunity to hustle her into the car, where she held forth from the backseat.

“Gran, do you know, Peggy says I should be able to enter next year’s Golden Horseshoes competition. I’ll be old enough then. Only the ten-mile ride—or perhaps the fifteen if the going’s good. So, will you sponsor me? Most people give a pound a mile. And would you sponsor me too, Mrs. Malory? And you could bring Alice to one of the checkpoints to see me. I’m sure she’d like that. It’s very exciting. Of course, she won’t be able to do it for years, but it would be good for her to see how it’s done. This year, of course, it poured with rain and they had to cancel part of the course. Only a few people managed the thirty-five-mile course, but they were mostly sponsored by professional firms and things, which isn’t really fair, is it?”

I escaped from this flow of information as Rosemary dropped me off at the end of my lane. As I walked back to the house I tried to remember what had made me think that Simon had been holding something back from us. There was nothing I could put my finger on, just the feeling that he was uneasy talking about it, a vague thought that there was something else. . . . I opened the front door and in the general coming and going, in and out, of the animals I lost track of the thought, whatever it was.

Chapter Nineteen

I’d fallen into a sort of postlunch doze, something that seems to happen to me more and more, when I was woken by the insistent ringing of the phone. I picked it up and heard Anthea’s agitated voice.

“It’s dreadful news,” she said, “absolutely dreadful!”

“What is?” I asked, still only half awake and not yet capable of taking in any news, however dreadful.

“The lottery grant,” Anthea said impatiently. “They’ve turned us down!”

“I’m sorry,” I said inadequately.

“After all our hard work on the application—and Derek had lined up two independent referees as well for the next stage—it’s really heartbreaking.”

“How awful. Did they say why they’ve refused?”

“Oh, some bureaucratic nonsense—I couldn’t be bothered with it. Of course,” she went on, lowering her voice, “it’s because we’re not an inner city, not
deprived
. I know how these things work.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing like that,” I said.

“Anyway,” Anthea went on, “we’re not giving up.”

“But if . . .”

“We’ll raise the money ourselves. After all, it’s very necessary.” She went into her usual getting-things-done mode and I listened with only half an ear. “Vital work . . . Health and Safety regulations . . . all pull together . . . committee meeting . . .” I came to abruptly when I heard her say sharply, “Well, Sheila,
can
you manage next Friday?”

“Oh,” I said hastily, “I’m not sure. I’ll look it up on the calendar and let you know.”

“Very well,” she said grudgingly. “And do you agree?”

“Agree?”

“About my idea for a sponsored walk. People raise thousands for them!”

“Well, yes, but for important things like cancer research, not for rewiring an old building.”

“I can’t imagine why you think making the wiring safe isn’t important,” Anthea said severely. “I’d have thought that considering what happened to poor Jo Hamilton—after all, she was a friend of yours—you’d be as anxious as I am to get it done!”

“Of course I am, but . . .”

“And all the committee will take part. We must set an example.”

“I don’t know how long the walk’s going to be,” I said, “but I’m afraid my knee can’t manage more than a couple of hundred yards nowadays.”

She made an exclamation of annoyance. “Oh well, you’ll have to be a steward then; they stand about at intervals round the course with bottles of water, timing people. We’ll arrange all that next Friday. The important thing is to get things moving.”

“Yes . . .”

“I’m glad we’ve sorted things out. I’ll get onto Maureen now and tell her that you agree with me that the sponsored walk is the best way to go. I’ll get back to you when I know what she thinks. Good-bye.”

“For heaven’s sake—a sponsored
walk
!” I said as I put down the phone. Tris, who’d been lying peacefully in front of the electric fire, heard the last word and raised his head, looking hopeful, and then collapsed back again as I sat down on the sofa. Foss, now occupying my armchair, opened one eye, curled his tail round his nose and went back to sleep. I was thoroughly irritated by Anthea, and finding that my after-lunch coffee was now stone cold was the last straw. I slumped back on the sofa, knowing there were a thousand things I ought to be doing in the house and garden, but not feeling like doing any of them.

The phone’s ringing again increased my irritation. For a moment I let it ring, sure it was Anthea getting back to me, but habit is strong and I’ve never been able
not
to answer the phone when it rings. I picked it up and said a cross “Hello.” But it wasn’t Anthea; it was Rosemary and she sounded upset.

“Oh, Sheila, I’m so glad you’re in. I need to speak to you, but not on the phone. Could you come round?”

“Now?”

“Please.”

“What is it?”

“I’ll tell you when you come.”

She rang off and I replaced my receiver slowly, wondering what on earth it was all about. As I drove round there, I considered the various possibilities from something awful happening to one of the family (God forbid) to Mrs. Dudley being more intransigent than usual. By the time I got there I was really worried.

“What on earth’s happened?” I demanded as Rosemary opened the door. “Is it one of the children?”

“No, nothing like that, but I didn’t want to talk about it over the phone. Come on in and I’ll put the kettle on.”

Reassured by this, I followed Rosemary into the kitchen and sat down at the table while she filled the kettle.

“So, what on earth is it?”

“It’s Simon.”

“Simon? What’s happened?”

“Well, you know Martin Krieger—Jack plays golf with him.”

“I’ve met him once or twice. Some sort of high-powered businessman.”

“That’s the one. I don’t know exactly what his business is, something to do with exports, but anyway, whatever it is, he has to entertain a lot of his overseas customers. What they mostly like to do is go to that rather plushy casino in Taunton.”

“So?”

“So he’s seen Simon there a couple of times.”

“It can’t be. He must have made a mistake.”

“No, he knows Simon quite well—Simon’s firm does his audit.” Rosemary poured a cup of tea and pushed a plate of biscuits towards me. “The thing is,” she went on, “he said Simon was on his own each time and was—what was the phrase he used?—‘worryingly absorbed in the play.’ So much so that he didn’t see Martin. After the first time Martin kept an eye on him and saw that, though he did win occasionally, he went on gambling until everything was gone.”

“How awful. When was this?”

“A while ago, before Jo died.”

“So do you think it’s serious?”

“Well, you know how fond Jack is of Simon—we both are—so he asked him to lunch and had it out with him.”

“What did Simon say? Did he admit it?”

“At first he said he’s only been once or twice, just to see what it was like. But after Jack pressed him, he more or less broke down and came out with the whole story. Apparently it started by chance when he logged on to some sort of poker thing on the Internet.”

“I’ve heard about that,” I said. “There was quite a bit about it in the papers a few weeks ago.”

“That was just the beginning. He got really hooked, playing this wretched thing every night.”

“Goodness, yes. I remember Esther saying he was up till all hours on his computer, but she thought it was work he’d brought home.”

“Anyway,” Rosemary said, “he started to go to this casino in Taunton, and casinos in London too when he went up to stay with Vicky.”

“
Not
just wandering around London looking at things!” I said.

“Exactly.”

“But the money?”

“Well, of course, he was dreadfully in debt—both credit cards to the limit and a loan from one of those companies—you know the ones that advertise.”

“
Stupid
boy! So what did he do?”

“Apparently Jo came to his rescue. She lent him—gave really—enough to clear his debts on the understanding that he’d go to this Gamblers Anonymous place, and he said he would.”

“And has he?”

“He says he has.” She poured us both another cup of tea. “But Jack says he’s not sure Simon’s really given up gambling. He said he felt Simon was evasive—nothing you could put your finger on, but . . .”

“I know. That’s what I felt when we asked him about Dan Webster—you remember—just a sort of
feeling
.”

“Yes, you said. But we really don’t know what to do now. Jack says we can’t go on persecuting the boy about it; otherwise he’ll never tell us anything. But we can’t just stand by and let him make a real mess of his life.”