Mrs. Malory and A Time To Die (24 page)

 

When we had finished reading, we both had tears in our eyes.

“Poor Jo,” I said.

“Poor Jo,” Rosemary agreed, “and poor Simon too. What he must have gone through!”

The door opened and Simon came in. Rosemary held out her hands to him and he grasped them tightly.

“You poor boy,” Rosemary said. “What a burden to place on your shoulders.”

“She had no one else,” Simon said quietly, “and she wanted me to know.”

“And Liz,” I said.

“Liz was wonderful when I showed her the letter,” he said. “She’s got me through. I couldn’t have coped without her. And not just this”—he gestured towards the papers on the desk—“but the gambling thing as well. She drives me to the Gamblers Anonymous meetings, waits in the car and drives me back. She has faith in me. I know I mustn’t let her down.”

“That’s wonderful,” Rosemary said.

“Actually,” Simon went on, “when Mother goes to Canada, I’m going to move in to the house here. Jo was right—we belong together.”

“And Jo,” Rosemary said, “what a sad, awful mess it all is. How can you deal with it? What can you do?”

Simon shook his head. “There’s nothing I can do, except keep faith with her.”

“But to take her life like that!”

“It was her choice,” I said. “It would have been worse for her to go on.”

“I suppose so,” Rosemary said reluctantly. “But, Simon, what about your father? What about Gordon?”

“I’ve agonized about that,” he said, “but what good would it do to tell anyone now? Jo’s dead and just think what it would do to Mother. Father and Jo! It would tip her right over the edge, now, just when she seems to be getting back to normal.”

“That’s perfectly true,” I said.

Simon gave me a grateful look. “Besides,” he said, “we don’t
know
those potassium tablets killed him. He was very ill anyway. And if those tablets were prescribed for Charlie, they might very well have been out of date.”

“Yes,” Rosemary said eagerly, “that’s quite possible.”

“That just leaves the insurance,” I said.

Simon gave a short laugh. “Oh, that’s not a problem,” he said. “Apparently there was something in the small print in the policy about negligence and due care having to be taken and so forth. After the coroner said it was an accident waiting to happen, they were very reluctant to pay out.”

“That wretched Marcus Barrington!” I exclaimed.

“And given the circumstances,” Simon went on, “I didn’t feel I could press them on that.”

“Just as well,” Rosemary said. “It might have left you liable to all sorts of things if anyone found out about Jo.”

“You won’t say anything about any of this?” Simon said quickly. “Please.”

“Well, I’ll tell Jack, of course,” Rosemary said. “I’m sure he’ll be all right.”

“And Sheila?” Simon looked at me anxiously.

“Of course not,” I said.

“Thank you. For Jo’s sake as well as mine.”

We all sat there for a moment in silence. Then Simon said, “I can’t begin to tell you how much it’s helped me, telling you about it, showing you the letter—all that. I suppose it’s sharing the burden, and explaining how things have been—well, it’s helped me get things in perspective in a sort of way.”

“You know we only want to help,” Rosemary said.

“Actually,” Simon said thoughtfully, “I think Jo would be pleased you knew. After all, you were among her oldest and best friends, and she would have been glad
I
had friends I could turn to. Liz is wonderful—she was marvelous about Jo and the letter and everything—but she’s very young, and sometimes I worry about the age difference between us. And I know I’ll be grateful to be able to talk occasionally about all this with—well, can I say older and wiser friends.”

“Anytime, you know that,” Rosemary said, getting to her feet. “Delia will be back from her ride. We’d better go.”

“Anything we can do,” I said, joining her at the door, “don’t hesitate to ask.”

Somehow being outside in the open air was an enormous relief. We went over and, leaning on the gate, looked out across the fields.

“Will Jack really be all right?” I asked.

“If I point out that the tablets had been prescribed for Charlie and were really
old
,” Rosemary said, “then I’m sure he’ll see that it was just wishful thinking on Jo’s part.”

“Anyway,” I said, “Simon’s right. It wouldn’t do any good to show anyone else the letter and it would certainly do untold harm.”

“I’m sure he’ll keep it safe just in
case
there’s ever a query—if anyone else was blamed, anything like that.”

“Oh, I’m sure he will.”

Rosemary sighed. “Simon’s always been a bit weak. I suppose it’s because he’s always been frightened of his father and felt he was a disappointment to him.”

“Well, now that he’s got Liz,” I said, “who looks up to him and thinks he’s marvelous, I think he’ll blossom, get some confidence at last. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he only started this gambling thing because he was lonely and felt inadequate. That’s something else that having Liz will help.”

We silently considered this possibility.

“It’s desperately sad about Jo,” Rosemary said. “I can’t imagine how she carried on as if everything were normal, when all that was going on!”

“Well, she was an actress,” I said, “and a very good one. That was the last part she had to play.”

“I never suspected the Parkinson’s, did you?”

“No, not really, though now I know, looking back I suppose there were signs—the way she looked tired and strained sometimes, not riding so much. Come to think of it, that time I saw her in Bristol at Temple Mead station, she looked dreadful. I suppose she was on her way to see the specialist. No, she’d have hated being really ill, and I know how desperately she missed Charlie. I can see why she wanted to go.”

We were silent again and as I looked down across the field, I had a moment of déjà vu. In the slanting rays of the late-afternoon sun I saw a tall figure on a superb horse coming towards us. But, as the figure grew nearer, I saw that it was Liz on Tarquin. We opened the gate for her; she dismounted and thanked us, smiled and led the horse into the stable yard.

“She looks so happy,” I said.

“Life goes on,” Rosemary said.

“Yes, life goes on,” I agreed. “Thank goodness.”