A Crowded Coffin (8 page)

Edith, meanwhile, had ranged herself alongside Sam who offered shelter from the proprietorial arm Brendan Whittaker was trying to sneak around her waist. A couple of drinks in the local pub at Christmas when she was bored seemed to have had more of an impression on Brendan than Edith liked. Her conscience was more or less clear and he’d certainly not taken it seriously at the time, so why the present display of affection?

She was rescued by Lara, of all people, who took her back into the big drawing room. ‘I hope you’re looking after poor Rory properly,’ she cooed, settling herself in an elegant pose on a sofa and looking up at Edith.

‘Rory? Of course we are,’ Edith stared.

‘I do hope that’s so,’ was the surprising comeback. ‘But you can sometimes be a bit bossy, you know. I remember from school. And he does need a lot of TLC.’

‘What?’ Edith was frankly astonished. ‘I know he’s been ill with some fever or other, but he insists he’s fine now. Why on earth should I pamper a grown man? I’ve two elderly, real invalids to worry about.’ The (admittedly justified) crack about her bossiness rankled and she managed a laugh, but at the smug expression on the other woman’s face, the laugh tailed away.

‘You really don’t know, do you? I’m amazed.’ There was no doubt Lara was enjoying herself. ‘You didn’t know about him being held on a drug-smuggling charge in the Far East, then? He was in prison for about nine months until he was released a month or so ago. That’s why he’s so thin. I believe he had a very bad time. It was a trumped-up charge, of course, but one of the guys he was with was executed. Fancy him not talking to you, of all people.’

Edith was shocked, overcome with remorse at her bullying of Rory. No wonder he hadn’t carried tables and chairs for the dinner. Too shocked to care about Lara’s smirking triumph – they had always loathed each other, since Lara had picked on Edith at school until the younger girl learned to retaliate – she didn’t at first notice that last crack, then: ‘What do you mean, “me of all people”?’ she rallied belligerently.

‘Well, darling, I mean considering you’re related. It’s pretty amazing how much like your father he is, could be him all over again.’

‘What?’ Edith was dumbfounded. ‘You never met my father, you didn’t move to the village till after he died. How could you possibly know what he looked like?’

‘I didn’t,’ Lara smiled sweetly. ‘But when I was dressing for the dinner last night I was watching something Dad had
recorded and he’d accidentally caught the last ten minutes of a documentary about local heroes in Hampshire. There was a beautifully clear shot of your father, with a mention of who he was and how he died in an attack just at the end of the Bosnian War. I had no idea how good-looking he was, and then, of course, I came across Rory an hour later. It was quite a shock.’

Edith had herself in hand now. ‘I know there
was
a programme,’ she admitted,. ‘but it was years ago. And besides, nobody else has mentioned seeing any such thing.’

‘Why would they?’ Lara shrugged. ‘Nobody round here would say anything about it in case it upset your grandparents. Besides, the programme Dad recorded was on very late on one of the cable channels, I checked with him. I imagine the thing about your father was a repeat that followed on even later.’ She rose to her feet and smiled even more sweetly as she glanced across to where Rory was talking to Sam Hathaway.

‘It’s a good job you two aren’t an item, isn’t it? For that kind of resemblance you’d have to be
very
closely related, I should think.’

‘Well? Don’t think I didn’t spot you, Harriet, when you had young Edith pinned to the wall for interrogation at the party.’ Sam was looking sternly at her as they relaxed later that afternoon over a cup of tea in her garden.

Harriet banged her cup back in the saucer, too annoyed to care if it cracked. Sam had always been an expert at winkling things out of her. ‘Stop exaggerating. I did
not
interrogate her. She grabbed me because she’s worried sick and she thought I might be able to help.’

Sam, who was playing truant from church, scarcely noticed his cousin’s pettish behaviour. He was trying to decide whether to go back to his flat now or stay at Harriet’s for another night. His place was just a place to lay his head, he mused, not a home,
though nothing had been a home since Avril died. Maybe, perhaps, living next door to Harriet, his oldest and dearest friend, might go some way towards filling the aching gap. And perhaps something might turn up, something he could do to help the people here, or was that just arrogance? He made a face into his cup and shrugged; the Lord will provide, I suppose.

‘Edith’s been thinking along the same lines as I have,’ Harriet was saying. ‘In other words, she’s making mental notes about strangers who were around the village last Wednesday and who could – and you needn’t pounce on me, I said
could
– have been involved in her grandfather’s accident.’ Sam growled his
disapproval
and she ignored him. ‘Yes, well there are several new faces around at the moment. There’s Brendan Whittaker, and there’s young Rory, plus Mike, the dishy Texan. And Elv
eece
found him, of course. I just don’t know what to think about any of it.’ She slid a sidelong glance at his unresponsive features as she added, ‘There’s the vicar too.’

‘What?’ Sam sat up, ready for a fight. ‘That’s utter nonsense, Harriet. I don’t know the man but he’s got a perfectly good reputation. You need to watch your tongue, and warn Edith to do the same or you’ll both find yourselves in trouble.’

‘I’m aware of that,’ she said, irritably. ‘It’s only you and I’m just thinking aloud but I can’t help wondering if Walter’s
experience
might be connected with the missing man. Rory wasn’t here then, poor lad. I told you about what happened to him, didn’t I? And even though this American friend of the Deans was in the UK, the local grapevine would have picked up on it at once if he’d been loitering round the village in January. But that still leaves Brendan and John Forrester and Elv
eece
who were all here in January.’

‘Hang on.’ Sam had remembered something. ‘Forrester’s wife died around Christmas. You’re surely not suggesting that a grieving widower had time to go bumping off your missing
man, are you? Because it’s indefensible, if that’s what you’re saying.’

‘Calm down, Sam.’ She got up and went into the kitchen for more tea and a couple of slices of lemon drizzle cake. ‘I’m not suggesting anything, just wondering. I’ll tell you one thing about the vicar that I don’t like, though,’ she added vigorously. ‘He was definitely flirting with Edith at the party today and I don’t want her mixed up with him. I know he’s good-looking and I’m sorry about his wife, but the poor creature’s only been dead six months so it’s a bit soon for him to be taking up with another woman.’

‘What did she die of?’ Sam ignored Harriet’s hint about Edith who, he clearly recalled, had been flirting happily away with all the young men in the room, including the vicar. He lounged back in the sunshine, munching on his piece of cake and thought about what he had heard. ‘I gather she had some kind of
breakdown
, as far as I can recall, so I imagine it was mental health problems, poor soul, and that’s why he took this living. He hoped the pace of life and the countryside would have a
beneficial
effect on her.’

‘She was stoned,’ said Harriet baldly. ‘We weren’t here then, we were on that New Year break in Italy, but I asked around. I wanted to make sure I didn’t say anything tactless and upset him. Seems she was a fair bit older than he was and prone to hysterical jealousy, though the word is that nobody’s ever heard anything against him, other women, I mean, but she was always turning up at meetings and embarrassing him. Her drug problem, which everyone suspected anyway, showed up at the inquest. I went to that, the whole village turned out in support, and it was felt John came out of it very well. Everyone was sorry for him and the general consensus, though never openly expressed, of course, was that he was well out of it.’ She didn’t look at her cousin. ‘His wife left him an awful lot of money, they say.’

Predictably, Sam exploded in righteous indignation. ‘I’m not staying to listen to this kind of gossip, Harriet,’ he said, rising and heading for the house. ‘I’d better go and get started on clearing out the flat. I know most of our—’ he pulled himself up short on the word and looked away, while Harriet blinked in sympathy. ‘My stuff is in store but there are hundreds of books still to pack and I’ve left it late to start. I’ll ring you tomorrow and hope you can drag your mind away from scandal and trivia.’

Harriet saw him off, hugging him affectionately. ‘You’re a pompous old prig, you know, but I forgive you. And regardless of your strictures, I’m going to do some poking around and see if I can find any clues to the local mystery.’

He sighed and returned the hug. ‘I may be pompous,’ he told her. ‘But you’re a nosy old biddy, Old Hat, and you need to stay out of trouble. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid like wandering about at night trying to catch villains?’

Her blue eyes gleamed with mischief and Sam wished he hadn’t spoken. ‘I’ll think about it,’ was all she said, but Sam was seized with foreboding.

‘Edith? It’s Harriet. Sam’s just rung me to ask if you and Rory would like to join him for dinner at the new French bistro in town tonight.’ Harriet caught herself up with a faint giggle and went on, ‘Well, I’ll be there too, of course. Sam was cross with me earlier on but I’m obviously forgiven.’ She sobered quickly. ‘I hope you two can make it. Although he won’t mention it, today is his wife’s birthday and he finds it very tough going. Neither of us ever says anything, but Avril is always in our thoughts at this time and I know he’d welcome a bit of distraction.’

‘Oh, poor Sam.’ Harriet could hear the ready sympathy in Edith’s voice. ‘I liked Mrs Hathaway. She was always fair but you couldn’t mess around in her English classes. I expect you miss her too, don’t you? I’d better check whether Rory’s up for it and I’ll get back to you.’

Rory had disappeared immediately after the drinks party, muttering about ‘work to do’, so Edith busied herself by helping Karen around the house, as well as taking a pot of tea upstairs to her grandparents.

‘Tell me about Rory?’ she asked, as she poured out.

The silence that greeted this innocuous question made her look up. Her grandmother looked suddenly strained and very weary, while her grandfather was scowling.

‘The relationship is complicated; old sorrows, old anger, better left alone,’ he growled and Mrs Attlin nodded in
corroboration
.
‘As for discussing him, that’s his business. He doesn’t want it talked about so we’ll respect his wishes, if you please.’

She stared at him, feeling at a loss. There was a slight edge in his voice that warned her not to press the question. She felt his disapproval but ploughed on regardless.

‘What about his father? Is he still alive?’

The disapproval was marked now; she was encroaching on shaky territory but she had no idea why.

‘Rory’s father was killed some years ago, and his mother…. No, I told you, Edith, I’m not prepared to discuss this with you any further.’

Puzzled and slightly hurt, Edith shrugged and left the room, leaving the old people looking at each other.

‘Oh, dear,’ sighed Penelope Attlin. ‘Now her feelings are hurt. Do you think we should have told her everything after all?’

‘Nonsense, love.’ Walter shook his head. ‘Rory asked us not to discuss his affairs so it’s up to him to decide when – if – he tells her anything. Besides, it won’t do her any harm to have a check, bossy little madam. Always was.’

The bossy little madam stomped her way downstairs and relieved her frustration by peeling the potatoes Karen handed her. After a while her temper subsided and she wandered out to the stable yard. No point pushing for the story, she told herself. If Rory asked them not to discuss it, they’re not going to. I don’t like to ask Rory outright, but…. She sighed and shook herself. Lara’s mocking hint had disturbed her more than she cared to admit, even to herself, but surely there couldn’t be anything in it? Her father had always been her hero and the idea that he … no, it was preposterous.

She pushed open the stable door, knocking as she did so, and looked in – at images from hell. Huge canvases of red and orange light screamed at her from all sides of the open space. Jagged black wounds scored the searing nightmare colours.
There were no shapes, no forms, no figures in this landscape of pain and fear.

Recoiling in shock she turned away involuntarily and came upon another picture that was somehow infinitely sad, a small, swirling green canvas. An oasis, perhaps? She couldn’t make it out but it spoke of grief and longing.

And I sneered at his offer to paint me, she winced, as she slowly became aware that he was looking at her. His face was blank, features schooled into immobility, but his hazel eyes were watchful.

She put out a tentative hand. ‘Rory—’

‘I was backpacking last year,’ he said, turning his head away. ‘I was due to start working at the university here in the autumn so there was the summer to fill. Mum had died only a couple of months earlier so there wasn’t anything to go home for. I’d broken up with my girlfriend too so a trip out East seemed as good an idea as any.

‘It was fine until Mitch, the guy from college that I was with, met this local man in a bar and when he offered us a lift in his Jeep to share expenses, we jumped at it. He seemed okay and we bummed around the countryside with him for a few more days till we were going through Customs.’

He shrugged. ‘It was the old story. Couple of gullible young idiots who were horrified to find our bags stuffed with heroin, but his luck ran out when one of the Customs people recognized him from a wanted list.

‘I won’t bore you with the details but in a way, that helped Mitch and me. Because the local guy was a known smuggler they accepted that we’d been caught in his net, but they still threw us in jail. He, the other guy, was charged, tried and found guilty all in a rush, but because they were angling for a deal with the British government, they held off executing him, using us as the bargaining point.’

Again came the resigned shrug. ‘We were told afterwards that was probably why we were arrested in the first place but
whatever
the truth of it, we served their purpose. It took them nine months to sort everything out and in the end they cleaned us up, kitted us out in smart new gear and took us out of the cell, so we thought we were home and dry. But they had one last surprise for us – they forced us to watch the smuggler’s execution.’

He ignored her shocked gasp. ‘It was all very hush-hush and we were told to keep a low profile once we got home – other Europeans in the same jail, you see. God only knows how that Lara woman found out about it. I must remember to shut her up. Anyway, my university job was held open for me so after
debriefing
and counselling, here I am.’

It was hard to know what to say and Edith was grateful that he was looking more himself again. ‘These are for an Amnesty exhibition in the New Year,’ he told her as she stared again at the flaring paintings, then his glance flickered towards the small green canvas. ‘I was glad Mum was dead. It would have been hell for her; she had no family left.’ He went to the sink and started to clean his brushes. ‘She had a cerebral haemorrhage, right out of the blue. She was only forty-nine.’

That seemed to be his last word on the subject so Edith let it

go. ‘Harriet’s just rung to invite us out to dinner with her and Sam tonight. I said I’d ask you.’ She explained the circumstances behind the invitation and was relieved at his immediate
agreement
.

The new French bistro almost lived up to its own hype so Harriet was able to set aside her concerns and be, frankly, greedy. A glance at the other two reassured her. Rory was looking more relaxed and Edith too seemed more herself. Sam was – well, she hid a sigh – Sam was his usual pleasant self,
delighted that his two young guests were enjoying their meal, but Harriet knew that on this of all days, his wife’s death was very much with him. A lot of topics to avoid in conversation, she thought, it’s a flipping minefield: mustn’t talk about Avril; better not mention Rory and what happened to him, even though I’m guessing he’s told Edith about it now. Plus there’s Walter’s accident, which is better avoided, and Sam will hit the roof if I bring up the topic of the local ‘murder mystery’.

‘I wanted to sound you out about this missing man, Harriet.’ Edith looked up in surprise as Harriet choked on a sip of Merlot. ‘You okay?’ As Harriet nodded, avoiding Sam’s affronted expression, Edith went on, ‘Well, I’ve been talking to people about it, at the party today and to Karen, among others. It all sounds a bit odd, I have to admit, and at least four people solemnly told me they were quite convinced he’s been murdered.’

She gave a sudden giggle as she caught Harriet’s eye. ‘The silliest idea is that he was a spy and MI5 have done away with him, for reasons unspecified but believed to originate from the fact that he asked a lot of questions and a pair of sunglasses was spotted in the top pocket of his jacket. As it was January, the dark glasses are held to be deeply suspicious. On the other hand I also heard that the sinister reason he was asking about Grandpa was that he was investigating his military career. However, as Grandpa came out of the army after the Korean War, sixty years ago, that seems unlikely. Nobody can give me a good reason as to why this stranger, who’s probably just done a bunk, should have been bumped off, but it’s worrying when you consider Grandpa’s accident as well.’

Sam clucked his tongue in annoyance. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Edith, not you as well? I’ve had Harriet adding two and two and making seventeen on the same topic. And,’ he shot a warning glance at his cousin, ‘I suggest you both keep quiet about your
wilder theories. There’s a man missing and the police admit they have some concerns. It’s not a matter for idle speculation.’

Edith blinked and looked anxiously at Harriet, who laughed at her. ‘He’s a clergyman, he has to say things like that. Don’t worry, it goes with the job. If Sam and Rory don’t want to discuss the village goings-on, you’d better drop round for coffee with me tomorrow, Edith. We can sum up the evidence, or lack of it, then.’

Just before midnight Edith jolted awake, a partially formed idea nagging away at the back of her mind. Sleep proved elusive so she scrambled out of bed and looked out at the moonlit farm, silver and black in the shadows. All the anxiety about her grandfather’s health, along with the fairly parlous state of the farm’s finances, clamoured in her head, and she was just about to draw the curtain again when a glint of light caught her eye, two fields away. She squinted and spotted the light for a brief, second time; a torch held downwards, perhaps? It looked as though it was coming from the Burial Field. But that’s not possible, she gasped. You can’t see that far from my window.

About to dial 999 and summon the cavalry, she hesitated as another movement distracted her. This time it was a moving shadow, man-shaped, and it was running swiftly across the garden below her. As the man crossed a patch of moonlight she gasped: it was Rory.

It was enough to galvanize her into action and she dressed quickly. Slipping on jeans and T-shirt and thrusting her feet into trainers, she rootled in a drawer for the torch that always used to be there, found it and ran quietly downstairs. He had been coming from the direction of the study and, guessing that he had left the glass door open for his return, she left the house the same way.

Halfway across the first field she almost blundered into a pile
of sawn logs and timber. Of course, Gran had told her about the oak tree. No wonder she could suddenly see out of her window, the tree had been struck by lightning earlier in the year. She caught up with Rory as he hesitated at the field gate, some yards in front of her, then turned aghast at the slight sound she made as her shoe knocked against a stone.

‘For God’s sake, Edith,’ he hissed in outrage. ‘I nearly had a heart attack. Why are you…? Oh, never mind. Here, just get behind this hawthorn hedge so they can’t see us. And keep quiet.’

‘Who is it? How many? I can see two of them, is that all? What are they doing?’ Edith peered through the branches, gently holding back some leaves as she stared indignantly at the distant figures. ‘Bloody treasure-seekers, that’s who they’ll be. I’m calling—’ She patted her back pocket and made a face. ‘My mobile’s on my bedside table. Have you got yours?’

‘No. Stupid, aren’t we?’ He craned his neck to look more closely. ‘I can only see two of them as well. They haven’t got metal detectors, though. Can you see? They’re poking around the base of your old angel stone but they’re not using—’ He broke off abruptly. ‘There’s something peculiar about their heads but I can’t see what it is from here.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Edith smothered a giggle. ‘They’re wearing balaclavas!’

‘You’re kidding.’ He squinted the hundred yards or so across the field and shook his head in astonishment. ‘So? Bank robbers? Commandos? What—?’

‘That’s Brendan Whittaker,’ she interrupted, indicating the slighter, shorter man. ‘I’m sure of it. Look, he’s got really sloping shoulders. I reckon he has his suit jackets built up, but I’ve noticed he’s a lot less impressive in casual clothes. Yup, I’m sure that’s Brendan. Now what is he up to? I wonder.’

Rory was still staring at the scene. ‘I know this sounds mad, but surely that’s the vicar? The other guy, I mean.’

The long, angular figure wielding a shovel certainly looked familiar and Edith had just turned towards her companion when, at that moment, the shovel struck a stone with a loud jarring clang, audible to the onlookers. The expletive that ripped from the tall figure was unmistakably transatlantic in tone. Not the vicar after all.

‘Mike Goldstein?’ They strained to listen but the words were inaudible, only the soft but urgent murmur that followed.

‘What are we going to…?’ Edith began, then she caught a glimpse of Rory’s face in the moonlight. He was grey with sudden exhaustion and the story of his imprisonment came flooding back. She felt a pang of sympathy. ‘Come on.’ She tugged at his arm. ‘Let’s get back home. We can’t deal with this on our own. Look, if we keep to the hedgerow we’ll be in shadow.’