The Unburied Past (14 page)

‘Pretending it never happened.'

‘No nearer finding whoever was responsible?'

She shook her head and the conversation ended with the arrival of Lois and Johnnie. Several more people drifted in, and by the time the librarian stepped forward to begin proceedings about half the chairs had been filled, quite a few by personal friends.

Matt, however, gave no sign of disappointment and launched with practised ease into a witty and erudite talk that delighted his admittedly small audience. It was followed by some interested questions, a vote of thanks and a discreet reminder that he would be delighted to sign copies of his latest book.

‘We're a captive audience,' Lois whispered in tones of mock doom. ‘There's no escape!'

Accordingly they joined the short queue and Matt inscribed personal messages in each copy. Library staff were circulating with trays of canapés and glasses of wine, and when the queue for books dried up, Matt mingled with various groups of his friends.

‘Well done, mate!' Johnnie said, clapping him on the shoulder as he reached their circle. ‘That was first rate. I always wondered how writers set pen to paper – or should I say finger to computer?'

‘We all have different methods,' Matt said with a smile. ‘I can only describe how I go about it.'

‘Must be great to be creative,' Johnnie continued. ‘You with your writing and Kirsty and Angie with their cakes!'

Angie smiled. ‘Our “creations” are much more ephemeral, though. Here today, gone down someone's throat tomorrow!'

‘But, we hope, giving pleasure on the way down!' Kirsty added with a laugh.

‘Unlike my books?' Matt asked with raised eyebrow.

‘That's not what I meant at all!' she protested.

He laughed, laying a light hand on her arm. ‘Relax, Kirsty, I was teasing. Anyway, I don't expect my books to give pleasure
per se
. Excitement and trepidation are what I'm aiming for.'

‘And that's what they deliver,' Johnnie confirmed on cue.

Matt glanced at the copies under everyone's arms. ‘Well, enjoy them, whatever emotion they arouse,' he said smoothly and, as Chrissie called his name, moved away.

 

On the Saturday, since the stand-off between Angie and Simon was holding, she and Kirsty spent most of the day watching the Olympics on television. But when the coverage ended at ten o'clock and the news came on, their precarious world was again shaken.

The body of a policewoman had been discovered in an alleyway in Bellington, and there were indications it was an attempted rape gone wrong. Police were considering the possibility that it was the same perpetrator who was behind the recent attacks in Bellington and Westbourne. A photograph of the victim, PC Megan Taylor, appeared on the screen – a smiling girl in her mid-twenties, and distressed family and friends spoke of her generosity and readiness to help people.

‘At least that will step up enquiries,' Angie remarked as their initial shock subsided. ‘When one of their own is harmed the police really swing into action.'

‘That settles it, though,' Kirsty said. ‘With a murderer on the loose, there's no question of your staying here alone while I'm away.' She flicked her friend a glance. ‘You'd be much safer, you know, with a strong man around.'

‘I have three brothers,' Angie pointed out.

‘But not here.'

Angie smiled. ‘If that's your way of suggesting I get in touch with Simon, the answer is no way.'

As it happened, though, Simon himself made the first move, arriving at the house the next morning as they were finishing a lazy Sunday breakfast.

It was Kirsty who answered the door and she stared at him in surprise, unsure how to greet him.

He met her eyes steadily. ‘I'd like to speak to Angie, please. If she'll see me.'

Kirsty stood to one side. ‘Come and wait in the office while I go and check.'

She opened the door on the right and showed him in, closing it behind him before returning upstairs.

‘If that was the paper boy wanting his money,' Angie said, licking marmalade off her fingers, ‘I left it on the hall shelf. Did you find it?'

‘It's Simon,' Kirsty said baldly. ‘He's in the office, waiting to hear whether or not you'll see him.'

Angie's head reared up. ‘Simon's
here
?'

‘Yep.'

‘I'm not giving in about Austria.'

‘Then go and tell him.'

She rose slowly to her feet and left the room. Kirsty began to clear the table and load the dishwasher, hoping they'd manage to make up without either of them losing face. Despite learning of Simon's temper outbursts, she was fond of him and he and Angie were so much a pair in her mind that she had difficulty separating them.

It was twenty minutes before Angie returned, and a glance at her face showed Kirsty all had gone well.

‘He apologized,' she said, ‘and so did I. I just came to tell you I'll be out for the rest of the day. He's waiting for me downstairs.'

‘Fine. And where are you going on holiday?'

A smile spread over Angie's face. ‘Greece,' she said.

They were both due to leave the following Saturday and, during that week, with all the extra baking and freezing done and deliveries made, the workload diminished and they were able to spend time making last-minute preparations. Kirsty emailed the five friends she'd rendezvous with at Heathrow and went for dinner with Janice and Roy, who were now even more concerned for her safety.

‘Thank goodness you'll be away from it all for the next two weeks,' Janice exclaimed. ‘Perhaps by the time you come back they'll have caught him.'

‘And also by the time you come back,' Roy added, ‘Adam's arrival will be imminent. It'll be interesting to see how long it takes him to make the first move.'

‘We'll have to invite him for a meal,' Janice said. ‘Your grandmother's anxious to see him so she can talk some sense into him.'

Kirsty looked surprised. ‘What kind of sense?'

Janice bit her lip. ‘We weren't going to tell you, but Harry says he intends to look into your parents' deaths, for God's sake!'

Kirsty stared at her. ‘But … how?'

Janice shuddered. ‘God knows.'

‘How do you feel about that?' Roy asked quietly.

Kirsty considered. ‘I'm not sure; I have to admit I'd like to get to the bottom of it.'

‘It's a shame we had to tell you the truth,' Janice declared. ‘You were much better off believing it was an accident.'

‘But it can't be put back into the bottle, Auntie,' Kirsty said gently. ‘We know now, and I suppose,' she added apologetically, ‘we have to make our own decisions.'

‘You're not saying you'll help him?' Janice demanded incredulously.

‘I'm not saying anything. Let's just wait and see what happens.'

On the drive home she reflected on the conversation, and how Adam's arrival might impinge on any future relationship between herself and Nick. As Janice had said, it was good that she was getting right away from all the doubts and troubles of the last month or so; ever since she'd learned the truth about her parents things had started to go wrong: strange emails, unwanted deliveries, and on a less personal front, thank God, rape and murder. The break couldn't come soon enough.

It was after eleven when she reached home, and Angie had gone to bed. Kirsty poured herself a glass of water and, since she'd been out for some time, checked her emails for any urgent messages.

There was only one. It read:
Watch your step, my lovely. Gateaux aren't the only things to die for
.

A
dam looked out of the plane window as the fields and woods of England slipped past beneath him; it was still, despite industrialization, a green and pleasant land. It had been a momentous year for this country of his birth – the Queen's Diamond Jubilee, the London Olympics, and the wettest summer on record. He'd missed it all and now the end of August had belatedly settled into a series of warm, golden days to welcome him home.

Home
, he thought, trying out the word. For though he'd lived in Canada for over twenty years, his roots were undeniably here, and it was here, somewhere, that the mystery of his parents' deaths lay buried. As they began the descent to Heathrow, he vowed that by the time he crossed the Atlantic again, it would be a mystery no more.

Two hours later, having collected the hire car he'd booked in advance, he was on the M3 bound for Hampshire and Westbourne College, excitement mounting in him. The last seven weeks touring Europe had been exhilarating, exhausting and packed with interest. Now, however, tired of his own company, he was looking forward to meeting the people who would figure in his life for the next year or so, and to renewing his friendship with Nick Shepherd.

He'd also be expected to contact the family in the near future, as Charlotte had stressed in her latest text. Indeed, until he met them he'd be unable to decide on his first steps in tracking down the events of that long-ago summer. And Kirsty: what of that prim, stand-offish girl he'd last seen fifteen years ago? Where was she now? And would she be any help in his investigations, or side firmly with the family in trying to dissuade him from them?

He reached Westbourne in the late afternoon, down the vertiginously steep hill that led to the town centre and, having traversed it, up the gentler gradient where the side entrance to the college was located.

The iron gates, he saw, were electronically controlled. Adam leaned out of the car window and pressed the button set into the intercom on the adjacent wall, stating his name and business to the disembodied voice that responded. The gates swung ponderously open and he drove through to be confronted with a signpost, one arm pointing to the staff car park, the other that for visitors. Alongside them a notice board reinforced the verbal request he'd received to report to the porter's lodge on arrival.

Turning left as directed, Adam wound his way behind some buildings to the appropriate car park, where a space had been reserved for him. Then, having extracted his bag from the boot, he retraced his steps and went to register his arrival.

‘Mr Carstairs, yes, sir.' The porter ticked him off on his list and handed over a set of keys. ‘This one's for the college building, sir, in case you need to be there after hours. The other two are the outer door to Staff House and your own room. You're in number twenty-six, on the first floor. Now, sir, if you'll come outside with me, I'll point you in the right direction.'

He emerged from behind his counter and together they walked a short distance to the corner of a building, round which a vista opened up before them. Immediately ahead lay a large expanse of grass and trees criss-crossed by a series of paths. To the right, at the lower end of the enclave, sprawled the college itself, and encircling the grounds on the remaining three sides were the boarding houses, making the layout a perhaps conscious replica of the town itself.

The porter indicated one of the buildings in the semicircle ahead of them.

‘That's Staff House, sir, the middle one. You mightn't find anyone at home, though. Several gentlemen haven't arrived yet, and those that came earlier went out again.'

‘No matter,' Adam replied, ‘it'll give me a chance to settle in. Has my trunk arrived?' It had been sent direct from Toronto, all he had with him being what he'd needed in Europe.

‘In your room, sir,' he was assured. ‘Once you've unpacked, just ring and someone will come and remove it for you.' The sound of a buzzer signalled another arrival awaiting admittance and, excusing himself, the porter hurried back on duty while Adam paused a moment longer to take stock of his surroundings.

Admittedly the college itself faced outwards and he was presented with its rear aspect, but in this Georgian town it was a disappointingly ungainly building, to which, he'd read in the brochure, the rapidly growing school had moved at the end of the nineteenth century. The boarding houses, on the other hand, though presumably not Georgian, were at least in the Georgian style and more in keeping with their location. In the late-August sunshine an air of tranquillity lay over the scene; no doubt the following week when the boys returned it would be decidedly less peaceful.

Adam picked up his bag and followed one of the pathways to Staff House, pleased to find his room was at the front of the building overlooking the grass expanse. As promised, his trunk stood in one corner and on the table was a bottle of wine with a scrawled note.

Welcome to the UK! Suggest we have dinner à deux so we can catch up on news. Will be in touch. Nick.

By the time Nick knocked on his door a couple of hours later, Adam had emptied the trunk and had it removed to storage until needed. Already the room was personalized, with familiar objects about him and his books on the shelves.

‘Good to see you, Nick!' he exclaimed. ‘And many thanks for the wine. Shall I open it?'

‘No, save it for later. I thought we'd go down to the Regency to eat; it's one of the better pubs and they do good food.'

‘Sounds great. It seems a long time since my plastic lunch on the plane.'

‘Then let's go. There's a dining hall here, of course,' he added as they went downstairs, ‘but we're not all back yet, and it doesn't really kick in till term gets under way. In any case, I thought I could fill you in with what you need to know and answer any questions before you meet the rest of the guys.'

‘All guys?' Adam asked with a smile.

Nick laughed. ‘Afraid so; there aren't many females on the staff, and those who are, are married. This is singleton territory, and we're all male. As, of course, are the pupils; we've not succumbed to admitting girls yet.'

They walked across the grass, through a side gate operated by a keypad and down the hill to the town centre. The Regency pub was situated at the end of the road and boasted a paved area at the back where, on this summer evening, its customers were enjoying a drink or a meal.