Pretty Maids All In A Row (17 page)

'Matthew! You never told me that!'

'Of course I didn't. I shouldn't have told you now, but I felt I owed you an explanation.'

'I'm seeing the consultant tomorrow. Perhaps there'll be better news then.'

They moved apart as Carrie came in with a tray, feeling closer than they had for some time.

'What bloody rotten luck,' Crombie said. 'Will she have an abortion?'

'God knows. That at least isn't our pigeon. Hell, Alan, I'm beginning to wonder how many rapes there've been. We'd never have heard of this one, but for the pregnancy. As it was, Matron had a job getting her to report it.'

'Did anything new emerge?'

'No, she was pretty unforthcoming. Made Sally wait till she'd cooked Selby's lunch, if you please. Even then she didn't want to talk, and when she finally did, it was just a repetition of the other cases—woollen helmet and so on. Except for one thing. She didn't mention the nursery rhymes till Sally asked outright. And that really upset her.'

'Well, it would. In nine months she'll be saying them again, and it'll bring it all back.'

'Yep. I didn't think of that. So that's three rapes we know about, and one murder, and we're no nearer catching him than we were ten days ago. Let's hope to God it doesn't take another before we can nab him.'

Delia arrived with Carrie that evening. 'I hear you want a shampoo,' she said. 'I can do it now, if it's convenient.'

'Oh. Yes, thank you.'
Jessica glanced at Carrie, who, with a strained smile, moved past her and went to the kitchen. 'The cloakroom basin won't be big enough,' she added. 'We'll have to use the bathroom.'

'Righty-ho.' Delia was looking about her with bright, inquisitive eyes.

'Perhaps you could help me. I've been given a new, lighter plaster today, but I'm still nervous of steps.'

'Sure.' Side by side they made their way up the steep stairs and into the bathroom. So this was Delia Speight. More attractive than Carrie, with those deep blue eyes and curly hair, but there was something about her Jessica didn't take to.

'I didn't know what shampoo you liked, so I brought a selection. The herbal's very good.' That'll be fine.'

Delia had moved the bathroom chair to the basin and opened the holdall she'd brought with her. Out of it she took an overall, which she slipped on as she talked. 'Pretty hair you've got, haven't you? Well cut, too. Bet that cost you a bomb!'

'It only needs cutting every six weeks. Unless I'm working, I wash it myself, but I haven't been able to manage since the accident.'

'I hear you go up to The Willows,' Delia said chattily, shampooing Jessica's head with professional speed. 'Hardly a bundle of laughs, is it?'

'I've only met Mrs Southern so far. She's a charming old lady.'

'A sharp tongue, though. I do her hair, and it has to be just so.' She gave a contemptuous little laugh. 'Her and her Father Christmas!'

'But she did see someone,' Jessica defended her. 'The police think it might be important.'

'More fools them. She doesn't know if it's Monday or Christmas, that one, for all her snappy answers. Mind you, Miss Sampson's worse. Completely off her head. Wait till you see her.'

'I'm surprised you go up there, if you dislike it so much.' Jessica hoped the towel had muffled some of her asperity. Delia gave no sign of noticing it.

'Well, it's the money, isn't it? They pay full rates. Mind you, they can afford it. And it's only once a fortnight, on my half day. Keeps me in ciggies, if nothing else.'

The shampoo finished, they moved to the bedroom, where Delia completed her work with a blow-dry. Jessica had to admit she was good.

'That's lovely, Miss Speight,' she said in genuine pleasure as Delia put away her equipment. 'Thank you very much.'

'We ought to get the press back for a photo. "Hair by Delia Speight"! I can come any time, just tell Carrie if you want me.'

Matthew came out of the study as the two of them negotiated the stairs, and Jessica introduced him.

Delia looked him up and down with her bold eyes, but all she said was, 'I'll see if Carrie's ready to come home.'

'Are you pleased with it?' Matthew asked, as she disappeared into the kitchen.

'Yes, very. I'm not sure about Delia, though. She's quite different from Carrie.'

'Yes. I've a feeling if she'd been the one to show up that first day, we'd have looked elsewhere.'

Delia reappeared. 'She's not finished yet, so I'll go on ahead. That's five pounds, Mrs Selby, including VAT.'

'Let me.' Matthew stepped forward.

'Ta. Well, see you again sometime.'

'Quite a glamour puss, isn't she, that Mrs Selby of yours?'

'I suppose so,' Carrie said listlessly.

'Too bad she's not a regular. I could make a name for myself. We'll feel the pinch when they go, and your extra cash dries up. How long do you reckon you can go on working?'

Carrie turned her head away, lips trembling. 'Oh, come on! It's not the end of the world. Lots of women'd give their souls for a kid.' 'But not this way! Not like this!'

'You shouldn't take risks, I'm always telling you. Hey, I've just thought! What if Sister's been caught, too? That'd be a laugh!'

Carrie spun round. 'A
laugh?
Is that what you call it? You think it's a joke?'

'All right, calm down—I didn't mean you. But you like kids, and no one's going to blame you for what's happened, so why not try and make the best of it?'

Carrie drew a deep breath. 'Yes,' she said, 'I expect you're right. I'll go and get supper.'

CHAPTER 10

Angie Markham ran down the path and turned at the gate to wave. Matthew closed the door. 'Pretty little thing, isn't she?'

'Yes, and she'll make a good actress, too, if she gets the right training. She has a natural flair.' Jessica put an arm round his waist. 'Thanks for putting in an appearance, darling. And you needn't have worried about her not liking you.'

'A forgiving nature. As has her mother, since we're invited to dinner. Unfortunately I have to go to Oxford on Tuesday and might be late back. Perhaps we could ask the other guests to collect you, and I'll get there as soon as I can.'

Jessica grimaced. 'My friend Charles Palmer!'

'He won't proposition you if his wife's there!'

'I can cope with propositions, as long as that's all he tries.'

Matthew frowned. 'You're still casting him as murderer? Isn't that rather stretching it?'

'Potential murderer, and it's not stretching it at all. It has to be
someone,
Matthew, and in all probability we've met him. It hardly encourages one to feel sociable.'

Michael Romilly looked up as the door burst open and Jill came storming into his office.

'Have you seen this?' She slammed a copy of the
Weekly News
on his desk.

'Surprisingly enough, I have.'

'You sanctioned it?'

He tipped his chair back, studying her flushed face. 'Jill, I've no time for guessing games. What are you getting at?'

'Well, look at it!' She jabbed her finger on the front page headlines. 'I don't know about you, but I call that bloody irresponsible!'

He hadn't heard her swear before, and his eyebrow lifted. '"Old lady may have seen murderer,"' he read aloud. 'Is that what's bothering you?'

'Of course it is. Don't you realize it makes her a prime target?'

'Now look: as I understand it, said old lady is cocooned in an old people's home. Short of being locked up in Strangeways, she could hardly be better guarded. No one can get at her.'

'I bet he'll have a damn good try.'

'Bill knows what he's doing.'

'Huh!'

'Could this be professional jealousy, by any chance?'

'No, it couldn't. That's the least of my worries.'

'You did your splurge on the Randal woman.'

'She hadn't seen anything suspicious. She's safe enough.'

'In my opinion, no one in the whole damn village is safe. They've got a right nutter there. Nursery rhymes! Ye gods!'

'I still think that'll put the wind up him. Then who knows what he'll do?'

'If he does anything at all, you'll have my apology in writing.'

'A fat lot of good that'll do the old lady.' She turned on her heel and slammed out of the room. Michael sat looking thoughtfully after her. Then, with a shrug, he turned back to his report.

Susan said, 'Would you rather I didn't talk about it?'

Frances Daly shrugged and reached for the menu. 'Everyone else does. Why should you be any different?' She looked up, meeting her friend's eye. 'Or have you inside information?'

'Afraid not. Dave's playing this one close to his chest.' 'You have seen him, then?'

'We had a drink together.' 'Sounds civilized.'

'But it wasn't. We were both uptight.'

'All the same, I can't imagine Steve and me ever meeting for a drink. What was it like, being with him again?'

Susan played with the pepper mill. 'I still fancy him, Fran.'

'Ah. And is it mutual?'

'I think so.'

'Any chance you'll get back together?'

Susan shrugged.
‘I
don't think he'd risk it.'

'But you would, given the chance?'

'Oh hell, I don't know. Life with Tony showed up all Dave's good points, but we still irritate each other. He can't stand me smoking, for one thing.'

'Nor can I!'

'Sorry!' Susan stubbed out her cigarette. 'We seem to be talking about me rather than you! Have
you
seen Dave again?'

'He came back on Thursday, to talk to Mrs Southern.'

'Oh yes, I saw that in the paper. Do you think she really saw something?'

'Search me. The police are taking it seriously. It was Mrs Selby who picked it up—Jessica Randal, you know.'

'I read that too. What was she doing with the old woman?'

'She comes up most days to sit with her.'

'Nothing better to do, I suppose. What's she like?'

'Very pleasant. A bit on edge, I'd say.'

'So should I be, living in a dead woman's house.'

A waitress came to take their order, and as she moved away, Susan said curiously, 'You haven't the slightest idea who it could have been? You must know most people in the village.'

'That's what's so horrible. I try them out in my mind, one after the other. Could it be him? Or him? Look, Sue, I'm sorry. Can we change the subject? I'm not quite as blase as I thought. Have another go at that ex-husband of yours.'

'Don't worry,' Susan said quietly, 'I intend to.'

The cottage was filled with sunshine and the sound of church bells, and Jessica hummed as she prepared lunch. Matthew was up at the Hall this morning, but he'd be back by one, and had promised to spend the rest of the day with her. They might go for a short drive.

As the potatoes came to the boil, the phone rang. She turned down the light and dried her hands on her apron. Probably Matthew, asking her to put lunch back half an hour. Carefully, moving from one piece of furniture to the next for support, she went to answer it.

'Hello?'

There was a click in her ear, followed by a few notes of music and then a man's voice, loudly pitched:

'Curly locks, Curly locks,

Wilt thou be mine?

Thou shalt not wash dishes

Nor yet feed the swine,

But sit on a cushion

And sew a fine seam,

And feed upon strawberries,

Sugar and cream.'

Jessica stood rigid, the phone welded to her ear. Though she longed to drop it, she was incapable of moving. Another tune jingled briefly, then the same voice continued:

'Mary, Mary, quite contrary,

How does your garden grow?

With silver bells and cockle shells

And pretty maids all in a row.'

A crackle came over the wire, then the last line was repeated:
'And
pretty maids all in a row.
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