Pretty Maids All In A Row (2 page)

'And,' he added, following the right-hand curve, 'here we are at last.'

He turned off the road beside a handsome old building and followed the arrow to the inn car park. A large sign, depicting a stylized tree dotted with red blobs, announced it to be The Orange Tree.

'Just in time for lunch,' Matthew commented with satisfaction.

The young man who was waiting for them was stocky and red-haired, with bright hazel eyes. He came forward with his hand out.

'Mr and Mrs Selby? Julian Bayliss, J. R. Bayliss and Son.'

'Are you pressed for time, Mr Bayliss? If not, I suggest we have lunch before going to the house. As you see, my wife is convalescing and the drive has been a strain for her.' He turned to Jessica. 'And I'd further suggest, darling, that when we've eaten, you relax here with coffee while we get the inventory business out of the way. You're in need of a rest, I'm sure.'

She was more than happy to comply. The thought of going through an entire house, however small, item by item, exhausted her.

After lunch, therefore, Matthew procured for her the privacy of the inn parlour and, relaxing luxuriously on the comfortable old sofa, she surprised herself by falling soundly asleep.

It was after three when he returned alone. 'All set, sweetheart. Hinckley Cottage is ours for the next four weeks. Let's go and take possession.'

As they turned right out of the driveway, Jessica saw they were driving back the way they had come, but along the lower road. The houses they'd passed that morning rose above them against the skyline. Then Matthew turned into a narrow driveway and switched off the engine. Silence rushed in on her, not the fleeting absence of sound you might experience in London, but the deep, rushing silence of the country, penetrating mind and body, and seeming even to silence one's heartbeat. Matthew swivelled in his seat and smiled at her.

'Welcome home, my sweet!' he said.

Ten minutes later, after a brief inspection of the ground floor, she had been settled on another sofa, this time in the main room into which the front door opened directly. Two other rooms led off it, one a blessedly up-to-date kitchen with the promised cloakroom in its back porch, and the other a dining-room-cum-study, which Matthew proposed to take over.

'Look, there's even a typewriter!' he'd said. 'If I'd known that, I shouldn't have had to hump my own beast from home.'

The living-room itself was prettily decorated in keeping with its age, even if there was, for Jessica's taste, an over-preponderance of pink. Lovely old wood gleamed richly in the afternoon sun, and the ancient fireplace was screened by an ornamental vase. She could fill it with flowers from the garden. On either side of the chimney-breast were shelved alcoves, and from where she sat, some of the ornaments displayed appeared to be Meissen. A trusting owner, to leave them to their fate with unknown tenants.

Her eyes came to rest on the steep flight of stairs in the corner of the room. Certainly she'd be incapable of tackling those alone. When Matthew was out, she'd be confined to the ground floor.

'Now,' he said, coming in with the cases and dumping them at the foot of the stairs, 'having been instructed in the workings of the cooker, I shall make you a cup of tea.'

She made to rise, but he stopped her.

'But darling, that at least is something I can do!'

'Not today, and probably not for the rest of the week. Doctor's orders, remember: "Thou shalt not wash dishes, nor yet feed the swine." We'll find someone in the village to cook and clean for us.'

He disappeared into the kitchen, whistling as he filled the kettle and set out cups and saucers. Jessica watched him as he came back and positioned a low table within her reach, trying to see him dispassionately, rather than with the eyes of love. He was, after all, just a man—slightly above average height, with a lean build and fair hair already receding. Self-mockingly, she pursued her inventory: wide bony forehead, slightly lined; prominent cheekbones; intelligent, impatient eyes. Why, in the name of all that was wonderful, was he so important to her? She only knew he was.

She said softly, 'Matthew Selby, I love you very much.'

He bent to kiss her. 'And I you. Never forget that.' He straightened and patted his pockets. "Damn, I'm out of cigarettes. When we've had tea I'll go and get some, and order a daily paper at the same time. We mustn't lose touch with the outside world.'

*

Kathy Markham paused, wooden spoon in hand, as she heard the front door close. 'That you, darling?'

'Who else are you expecting?' Her husband came into the kitchen, and she lifted her face for his kiss.

'It could have been William. He went fishing with the Rowe twins, but he should be back by now.'

'I saw him coming up Green Lane as I passed. He won't be long.'

'You might have given him a lift.'

'In that condition? Not on your life. I'd advise you to make him strip on the back step.' Guy stood at the kitchen window, staring down his sloping garden to the lower road and the cottages that crouched there. 'Had a good day?'

'So-so. Angie's a bit fraught about that French she was set, but it's her own fault. She shouldn't have left it till the last minute, as I've been telling her the whole holiday.'

'Baudelaire, isn't it? Pretty heavy going.'

'That's hardly the point.' Kathy sampled the casserole and shook in some more salt. 'By the way, there's a new man in the village. He came into Miller's while I was buying stamps. From what I heard, he and his wife will be at Hinckley's for the next month or so.'

'I didn't know Freda took in lodgers. At least, not with their wives!'

'But Freda's not there. Apparently she's gone off somewhere, and left instructions for the place to be let.'

'Bit sudden, wasn't it? She never mentioned it when we saw her last week.'

'Well, you know Freda. She's probably got herself a new man and gone waltzing off with him. I do wish she'd pull herself together. It's two years now since Bruce left her. She can't go on like this indefinitely.'

'Who says she can't? Several devoted husbands round here avail themselves of her services.'

Kathy stared at him. 'You
are
joking, aren't you?'

'Indeed I'm not.'

'But that's awful! Who are they?'

'Ah, that'd be telling! Anyway, it's only hearsay, and highly slanderous.'

'For heaven's sake, Guy! Now you've gone that far, you might as well finish it.'

'All I'm saying is, she could run quite a lucrative line in blackmail, if she'd a mind to.'

'But you—' She broke off as a small figure materialized beyond the frosted glass of the back door. 'See to William, will you, darling? Make sure he takes his boots off before he comes in—Carrie washed this floor today.'

And as the concerns of her family took precedence, Freda Cowley and her affairs were pushed temporarily from Kathy's mind.

At The Willows Residential Home on the top road, old Mrs Southern was being difficult again.

'She wouldn't touch her supper,' Nurse Ironside reported to Cook, exasperation in her voice. 'And she's still got this bee in her bonnet about it being Christmas.'

Cook clucked disapprovingly and tipped the contents of the plate into the slops bucket. 'Waste of good food, that is. I don't make my cheese pies for Carrie Speight's hens. Christmas, indeed! If she thinks I'm cooking turkey at the beginning of September, she can think again. What started her on that, anyway?'

'Who ever knows what starts Mrs Southern off?' The nurse paused, ashamed of her outburst. 'Oh, she's a nice enough old thing, plummy voice and all, but as stubborn as they're made. Once she's got something into her head, there's no way of shifting it. But when I asked why she thought it was Christmas, that cunning look came over her face and she wouldn't tell me. Just kept saying, "Aren't there any presents for me? I've not even had a card this year." She was quite upset about it.'

Cook tutted resignedly. 'Going round the twist, if you ask me. We'll have her as daft as Miss Sampson, you mark my words.'

Pammy Ironside shook her head. 'No, you're wrong there. She gets some odd ideas now and then but she's bright enough. Reads everything we give her, and without glasses, too, for all she's well past eighty. Eyes like a hawk.' Pammy giggled. 'She caused quite an upset with Ivy yesterday, insisting there was dust on the dresser. She was right, too —there was! It's tragic, really, her being paralysed like that. Like being a prisoner inside her own body.'

'Give over—you make my hair stand on end, the way you talk!' Cook hesitated, then said gruffly, 'Think she'd get some bread and milk down, if I did some for her?'

Pammy smiled.
‘I
think she just might. Bless you, Cook.'

In his little cottage opposite the post office, Police Constable Ted Frost, comfortably paunched and looking forward to retirement, locked up for the night. It had been a good day. The boy had brought some corn cobs back from the farm, a present from Mr Davis, and Margie had cooked them just right. He was partial to corn on the cob, even though he couldn't regard it as English. Still, with salt and pepper, and plenty of butter dripping over it, it took some beating, that he would admit. And tonight it was followed by rabbit, which Benjie'd shot himself.

A lot to be said for being based in the country, Ted reflected complacently. All very well for the Smart Alecs in Shillingham and Broadminster, zooming round in their Pandas. He was quite happy with Westridge and his old bike, thanks all the same.

'Go on, Jack, I'm surprised you don't die of boredom!' they teased him, at intermittent training sessions. (He'd been 'Jack' to his colleagues, for obvious reasons, since the day he joined the Force.) Well, it was all right for them to spend their lives chasing bank robbers and the like, but he was too old for that now, and truth to tell had never really fancied it. The village bobby, everyone's friend. That was more his line. Apart from the odd complaints of
'scrumping',

Westridge was a law-abiding place, and he'd nothing to complain of in that.

The old black retriever thumped his tail as his master checked the back door. When Margie wasn't looking, a portion of rabbit had found its way into his bowl. Ted winked conspiratorially at the animal. Wonder if old Rover associated the tasty morsel with those leaping, flashing forms he'd chased so enthusiastically in his younger days? But that was being fanciful. Of course he didn't.

Chuckling to himself, the policeman started up the stairs, pausing as he always did at the window on the half-landing, from which vantage-point he could see half the village spread before him. Even as he watched, several of the lights went out, one after another. Well, it was almost eleven, and folks were up early hereabouts.

Belching comfortably, he went on his way to bed.

CHAPTER 2

Jessica stood in her dressing-gown at the bedroom window. Immediately below was the cottage garden with its crazy paving and its tangle of roses, sunflowers and Michaelmas daisies. Directly opposite, a patch of open ground sloped up to meet the garden of a house on the road above. Jessica studied the back of that house curiously. It was very large and a network of fire-escapes crisscrossed the facade. An hotel, perhaps.

Matthew came in with the breakfast tray. 'You shouldn't be standing, darling.'

She held down a spurt of irritation. He was, after all, taking care of her. 'I'm all right, I've got the crutches.'

Her resentment may have reached him, for he said softly, 'You know the first things about you that attracted me? That gorgeous husky voice and the way you moved—like a dancer. It can't be easy, having to hobble on two sticks.'

Jessica lowered herself into a chair. 'Oh, I shan't waste this. I'll work on the role of invalid till I've got it perfect. The part may come up one day.'

Matthew poured some orange juice. 'It must be useful, being able to file experiences for future use. I suppose novelists do it, too.'

'Whereas you, poor love, are stuck with the material you're offered!'

He smiled. 'With the Sandons, that's colourful enough.'

'Tell me about them.'

'Dominic and I were at Cambridge together. We weren't close, but we met at parties and so on. When he read my biography of the Barretts last year, he got in touch and asked if I'd consider one on his family. They came over with the Conqueror—"Sans-dents", originally, which I'd have thought they'd want to keep quiet about!'

'Not an impressive soubriquet. But you hadn't met his family till last week?'

'I knew his brother, Leo. He's unmarried and lives with them at the Hall, as does their mother, Lady Alice.'