Mrs. Malory and A Time To Die (7 page)

“Thea says that they—Jo and Charlie—are worried about money.”

“Well, horses are expensive, you know—the upkeep. And I imagine there’s a limit to how much you can charge, even the weekenders.”

“They own all those fields, right up to the new plantation, don’t they?” he asked. “Surely they don’t need them all for pasture?”

“Probably not, and I believe they do rent out a couple. But I know Jo would hate to
sell
any of them.”

“Anyway,” Michael said, reaching for the last piece of shortbread, “they’d only get the agricultural price. You’d never get planning permission for land round there.”

“I should hope not indeed!” I said, “and certainly Jo would never, ever consider it, however desperate they were.”

“Well,” Michael said with the optimism we all feel about affairs that don’t immediately concern us, “I daresay they’ll pull through. It’s a perfectly good business as far as I can see.”

“Perhaps,” I said hopefully, “the open day will bring them in a lot more people.”

 

One of the more irritating things in life is the sudden realization that you’ve lost a filling; it seems almost impossible not to keep poking at the hole with your tongue. Fortunately my dentist, Jim Robinson, had a cancellation and was able to see me the very next day. Jim is an old friend and a great gossip, which is fine, except that it’s difficult to comment on the latest bit of news when your mouth is full of cotton wool, or you’re poised to wince at the whirring of the drill and the unpleasantness of the water spray.

“We’ve got a new dentist coming soon,” Jim said, poking experimentally at the hole in my tooth, “a South African—nice chap. It’ll take some of the strain off Gordon Nicholson and me. Since old Waddell died, there’s just been the two of us—not enough for a place the size of Taviscombe.”

I mumbled something that I hoped would indicate appreciation of his position.

“And Gordon’s not been putting in the hours, from what I heard. Only there part of the week.” He applied the drill and April, his assistant, sprayed water vigorously onto the tooth. “Do you know a chap called Dan Webster? Have a rinse away.”

Given this respite, I said, “I think I’ve met him once or twice, but I can’t say I know him. Why?”

“They say he and Gordon are involved in some sort of business deal; I don’t know what.”

“Really? I haven’t heard anything about that.”

“I’ve heard Webster has just bought a big place and some land up beyond Upper Barton—must have cost a packet.”

April handed him the stuff she’d been mixing, and he poked the cotton wool rolls into my mouth and began to fill the tooth.

“It’s all a bit of a mystery,” Jim said. “I mean,
is
Gordon carrying on with the practice or is he going in full-time with whatever this new thing is?” I tried to express interest in this speculation by raising my eyebrows, though I don’t think he noticed. “This Webster fellow, I think he’s into property in some way and Gordon’s on the council; that may be something to do with it!”

He took out the cotton wool, and I rinsed away the bits of filling before saying, “Oh, I don’t think Gordon would do anything underhanded; he’s always been a terrific one for abiding by the rules. A real sea green incorruptible!”

Jim looked startled and I said, “You know, the French Revolution—Robespierre, or at least I think it’s Robespierre. . . . No, I can’t believe Gordon would do anything wrong that’s connected with his council work; he cares too much about his position as a councillor.”

“True,” Jim said thoughtfully, “
and
he’s president of Rotary this year. He certainly wouldn’t get involved with anything that might jeopardize that. Still, I would like to know what he’s up to, especially with this new man coming; I need to know where we all are. Right, then, that’s you sorted out. Don’t bite on it for a couple of hours.”

After I left the surgery I felt the need for a little quiet relaxation, so I drove down, past the harbor, to the end of the seafront. To my annoyance, the council has decided in its wisdom that the seagulls might annoy the visitors, so it has caused the railings where the seagulls have always perched to be treated with some noxious substance to keep them away. Of course it doesn’t. They (the seagulls) perch on the shingle, rising in a noisy crowd whenever they spot someone who (in defiance of the notice posted by the aforementioned council) might have come to feed them. But I miss the line of gulls—neat little terns and large bully-boy herring gulls—alert and interested, occasionally making little forays, but returning to keep an eye on the passersby, waiting to see what they might offer.

I stood by the rails, looking out to the sea, and considering what Jim had said about Gordon and Dan Webster. I didn’t believe that Gordon, however greedy he might be for money, would risk the position and reputation he’s built up over the years. He likes being a big fish in a small pond, and his position on the council, and on the committees of other organizations, means a lot to him. He loves the idea of making rules for other people (it wouldn’t surprise me if the seagull embargo was his idea), extending the sort of control he believes he exercises over his own family to the public at large.

Of course, it’s possible that whatever Dan Webster wanted from Gordon was perfectly above-board and honest. But I couldn’t really think of anything Gordon might have or do that could be valuable to an entrepreneur (for want of a better word) like Dan Webster. Gordon was comfortably off, but he didn’t have the sort of money that would make him a possible investor in a really big project.

Looking out over the sea I saw threatening black clouds darkening the horizon. The gulls on the beach, apparently sensing the approaching storm, rose all together and flew off round the corner of the bay, and the first large drops of rain drove me back into the car. By the time I got home it was raining heavily and the sky was really dark. When I’d fed the animals, I made myself a light supper of steamed fish and mashed potatoes, because of my new filling, and sat down with it in front of the television. But the lights flickered from time to time and the rumble of thunder seemed to be getting nearer. Tris, who hates thunderstorms, sat pressed close by my feet and quivered at each lightning flash.

I went to bed early, taking the animals with me. Tris lay on the bottom of the bed, making little whimpering sounds when the noise of the thunder was too much for him. Foss, who loves excitement of any kind, inserted himself behind the drawn curtains on the windowsill, where he watched the storm with the interest of a small child at a fire-work display. I couldn’t get to sleep and lay there in the dark, not even able to see the time because the brief power cuts caused by the storm meant that my electric clock was affected and was now flashing madly on and off. After a while I put on the light, switched off the clock and looked at my watch. It was only just after midnight. With a sigh I picked up my copy of
Pillars of the House
and immersed myself in the lives of the Underwood family until the storm had passed over and I was able to sleep.

The next morning I had hoped to have a little lie-in, but now that the storm was over the animals were anxious to get on with their lives and saw no reason to be diverted from their usual regime, so we were all downstairs by eight o’clock, they with their bowls of food and I with a very necessary cup of coffee. When I went to let them out, I saw it was a beautiful morning and last night’s raindrops were sparkling in the sun.

Inspired by the brightness and freshness of the morning, I had a great clear-out in the kitchen, sweeping away the detritus of daily living from the work-top—all the packets of dry animal food, a dish of withered apples and overripe bananas, a bowl half full of drippings I’d meant to put out for the birds, a packet of biscuits and a couple of storage tins that should have been put away in the larder, and the animals’ antiflea spray—and wiped down every surface I could reach. After all that, averting my eyes from the cooker, I made myself another cup of coffee and had a nice sit-down with the daily paper.

It was late afternoon when Rosemary rang. Her voice was a little unsteady.

“Sheila, the most awful thing has happened. Charlie’s dead.”

Chapter Six

For a moment I didn’t take in what Rosemary was saying.

“Dead?”

“Yes, but it’s worse than that, Sheila. He’s been killed.”

“Killed,” I echoed stupidly.

“In the stables. He was hit over the head—it looks like a burglary that went wrong.”

“That’s—that’s horrible! When was this?”

“This morning—very early on. Simon rang a little while ago to tell me.”

“What happened?”

“Apparently he got up when it was just light to see to the horses—they’d been restless in the night . . . that awful storm. Liz had the same idea and she arrived early. She went into the office to put her things down before going to see to the horses and she found him there. He was slumped on the desk and there was this awful wound on the side of his head.”

“Oh no!”

“She said there was a very faint pulse—you know Jo made both girls do that first aid course— so she rang for an ambulance straightaway and then she rang up to the house to let Jo know what had happened.”

“Poor Jo. How could she bear it?” I asked.

“Liz said she was very calm and when the ambulance arrived, she went with him, of course. But he died on the way to the hospital without regaining consciousness.”

“Where’s Jo now?”

“At home. She rang Simon and he fetched her from the hospital. He’ll stay with her tonight.”

“Thank goodness for that.”

“The police were all over the place. Apparently the safe—you know that small safe in the office—was open but the money, yesterday’s takings, was still there, so I suppose whoever it was panicked when he saw what he’d done and ran away.”

“Oh dear,” I said wearily, “what a terrible waste of a wonderful life.”

“I know. Charlie of all people, so kind and bright and intelligent and—oh, everything! It doesn’t bear thinking about.”

But, of course, it was all I could think about that evening. I knew the sort of numbness that Jo must be feeling, the denial and the feeling that somehow it should be possible to turn back the clock and make everything all right. And I knew, too, the pain of waking up each morning and realizing all over again the awful fact of death, and the terrible emptiness. But when Peter died, I had Michael, still quite young, someone I had to make an effort for, someone to give some sort of meaning to my life. Jo had no children. True, Simon was devoted to her and she to him, but it wasn’t, couldn’t ever be, the same.

 

Rosemary rang again next morning. “I wish I knew what to do about Jo. I’d like to go and see her, but I suppose it’s too soon?”

“I think she’d like some time on her own,” I said. “In a little while I’m sure she’ll be glad to see people, but not just yet.”

“I’m sure you’re right; it’s just that one wants to
do
something. Anyway, she’s got Simon. Oh, I do hope Esther doesn’t go rushing round! Though I’m sure Simon can keep her away. Poor Esther, I know she’d mean well, like we all do, but I know the last thing I’d want in these circumstances would be Esther wittering on.”

“The last thing!”

“Do Michael and Thea know?” Rosemary asked.

“I rang them. They were dreadfully shocked and upset. Charlie meant so much to everyone, even people who didn’t know him that well. Michael’s their solicitor, so he’ll be involved, though I suppose if there’s a police inquiry, it won’t be for a while.”

“When I rang Jilly last night I had a word with Roger. Of course, he’d heard officially. He says Bob Morris will be looking into it, being the man on the spot. Bob’s got his promotion, Roger said—he’s an inspector now.”

“Oh, that’s good. Bob’s a nice person, very sympathetic and kind. If anyone’s got to talk to Jo about all this, I’m glad it’s him.”

 

The following morning I ran into Liz as I was coming out of the chemist and was able to ask her how Jo was.

“She’s being marvelous,” Liz said. “Well, you know Jo. She’s dreadfully upset—you can see that—but she’s trying to carry on as usual.”

“I suppose you’ve got to when there are animals around,” I said.

“Peggy and I can cope, but she says she needs to keep busy.”

“I don’t suppose it helps to have the police around asking questions.”

“They’ve been pretty good. Bob Morris is nice. His daughter rides with us, so he knows his way around the stables—that helps. And knowing Charlie and Jo too.”

“Of course.” I hesitated. “What exactly happened?”

“I turned up at the stables early because I thought the horses would be spooked by the storm. I went straight to the office and that’s where I found poor Charlie. It was so awful. It was . . .” Liz stopped and shook her head as if she couldn’t say any more.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have asked you.”

“No, it’s all right.” She paused for a moment and then went on. “He was lying across the desk and there was this terrible wound on the side of his head. They think he was hit with an iron bar or something. Can you believe anyone would do a thing like that? He was alive, but only just. I rang for the ambulance and they were very quick, but—but he didn’t make it to the hospital, poor Charlie.”

There were tears in her eyes and I put my hand on her arm. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “We all loved him.”

She nodded. “Everybody did. I can’t imagine what it will be like there without him. And all for nothing—not even for the money. He’d opened the safe, the door was open, but the money was still inside. We usually take it out in the evening, when we close down, but that time we were busy and Charlie said leave it and I’ll see to it in the morning. If only . . .”

“I know.”

“The horses knew something had happened,” Liz said. “It wasn’t just the storm; they were so restless, I’m sure they knew.”