Seeing is Believing (11 page)

The statement was admirably accurate and I signed it, then was told that that was all that was wanted of me. I went out to the car and drove home. I tried to think of other things besides the murder, for instance of Hugh being in love with Avril and never telling her so, and of Jane Kerwood's broken heart and who had managed to break it. But these things did not really seem dissociated from the murder. For one thing, I did not know whether or not to believe what either of them had told me, and though each might have a reason for invention that had nothing to do with the murder, but only with private troubles and heartache of their own, it somehow seemed likely that lies were being told at the moment which were
somehow connected with the mystery of Peter Loxley's death. I reached home and put the car in the garage, then started up the path to the front door.

But I had taken only a step or two when I saw a very extraordinary thing. Someone was sitting on our doorstep. A woman. A woman whom for a moment I took to be Avril. She had Avril's fair hair drawn back austerely from her oval face, her wide-spaced blue eyes and delicate features. And there was a look of casual grace about the way she sprawled on the doorstep of which Avril might have been capable if it had ever occurred to her to sit there. But she was not Avril, though I knew her face almost as well as Avril's. It was her cousin, Lynne Denison.

She got to her feet as I came up the path. Standing, she looked a little less like Avril. She was not as tall and she was even slimmer and there was something more alive, more expressive about her face.

‘So it was worth waiting,’ she observed as I joined her by the door. ‘I thought someone would turn up sooner or later.’

Her voice was quite different from Avril's. It was richer and warmer.

‘Have you been waiting long?’ I asked.

‘No, only a few minutes,’ she said. ‘I came by taxi from Otterswell, and I let it go before I was sure there was anyone at home. By the way, I'm Avril Loxley's cousin, Lynne Denison.’

I smiled. ‘I knew that. And I'm Frances Chance and I live here. Is there really no one at home?’

‘Well, I've tried ringing and knocking and I've been round to the back to see if I could get in there; in fact, I've tried everything but shouting, but there's been no response.’

I took my key out of my handbag. ‘Let's go in then, and see if we can find out what's happened to everybody.’

I unlocked the door and pushed it open and led the way inside. Picking up a small suitcase that she had with her, Lynne followed me. I did not know what I expected to find, but I had a frightened sort of feeling that there might be some sort of horror waiting for us. That was what the events of the last twenty-four hours had done to me. I
did not fear anything in particular, but the mere emptiness of the house when I was expecting several people to be there gave me a feeling of tingling apprehension.

In fact, the house was empty. Nothing was out of place. The potatoes that I had peeled were still in their bowl in the kitchen sink. The copy of
The Times
that Brian had been reading when I left for Otterswell was in a fairly crumpled state on the sofa where he had been sitting. There was a slight warmth in the room, as if the electric fire on the hearth had only recently been switched off.

‘Just wait a minute,’ I said to Lynne. ‘I don't know where everyone's got to, but I'll take a look upstairs.’

But there was no one upstairs.

Coming down, I said, ‘No, they've all gone out. I expect Avril had to take the dogs for a walk, and my husband and a friend who's staying with us have also gone for a walk. Of course, it was Avril you came to see. You know — do you? About Peter?’

She was standing in the middle of the sitting room, looking round her, taking in her surroundings. I had a feeling that that was something that she would always do. The scene in which she found herself would always be a matter of importance to her.

‘One could hardly help it if one watched the television news last night,’ she said.

‘Ah yes, of course,’ I said. ‘We didn't watch it.’

‘I expect you had too much else to think about. But I saw it and I thought I'd come down to see if I could help Avril. Things must be terrible for her. Not that there's anything special I can think of that I can do for her, though I might take her back to London with me. I suppose she'll have to stay here till after the inquest, but then perhaps she'd like to come. And I thought she might even come back to Hollywood with me. What do you think?’

‘There'd be the problem of her dogs,’ I said. ‘She's got three dogs, all rather large. I don't know if she told you that.

‘Oh yes, those dogs. She did tell me about them. But couldn't she board them in some kennels somewhere?’

‘I dare say she could if someone persuaded her to do it. Now what about some sherry? May I give you some?’

Thank you, yes.’

I went to the cupboard to get out the bottle and glasses.

‘But how did you know she'd be staying here?’ I asked.

‘From a policeman next door,’ she answered. ‘The taxi actually put me down there, and I could see that there were several policemen in the house. So I asked one if he knew where Mrs Loxley was and he said to the best of his knowledge she was staying here.’ She took the glass I had given her and sat down in a chair near the fire which I had just switched on. ‘Am I terribly in the way? Do please go ahead with anything you meant to do. For the moment, this drink is all I need.’

I sat down in a chair facing her. ‘I don't know what there's any point in doing as I don't know where everybody is. I don't know how many people I'm supposed to be cooking for.’

‘Oh, don't cook for anyone,’ she said. ‘Come down and have lunch at the Green Man with me. I booked in there on my way here. If the others have come home before we go, they can come with us; and if they haven't got back, you can leave a message for them telling them where to join us. By the way, what literate taxi-drivers you have. When I said I wanted to be taken to Raneswood, he didn't say, “Oh, that's where they've had a murder.” He said, “That's where they're doing a production of
Romeo and Juliet
, isn't it?” Then to my surprise, he said that he didn't like Shakespeare. I thought that was awfully brave of him. After all, everyone
has
to like Shakespeare; you can't say you don't.’

‘Did he recognize you?’

‘I don't think so; or if he did, he was too polite to say so. After all, he might not like me. Not everybody does.

Frances, about those dogs of Avril's, are they really and truly hers, or were they actually Peter's?’

‘D'you know, I've never asked myself that question,’ I said. ‘I've always taken for granted they were hers. In fact, that they were her substitute for not having had children.’

‘You never wondered if they were Peter's substitute?’

It was a fact that I had never done so. She was watching me with something peculiarly intent in her blue eyes, it might almost have been something mocking. I had a feeling that she was taking me for some kind of simpleton and I did not much like the feeling.

‘I don't think I know what you mean,’ I said. ‘Did Peter want children very badly?’

‘Avril's never talked to you about that?’ she said.

‘No.’

She looked down into her glass of sherry and I was glad to be freed from her searching stare.

‘And of course you've always taken for granted that their failure to have children was Avril's fault,’ she said. ‘But it wasn't, you know, it was Peter's.’

‘You mean he refused to have them?’

‘No, no, simply that he couldn't. At first, when a child didn't come, they took for granted it was something wrong with Avril, and she went to I don't know how many doctors to see if it could be put right. But they all said there was nothing the matter with her and that she was perfectly normal. So at last it was Peter who started going to doctors and the answer was that it was he who couldn't have children. There was nothing wrong with him sexually, you understand, but he was — I suppose the word's sterile. Avril told me all that at lunch yesterday and I expect I shouldn't be handing it all on to you, but now that Peter's dead I somehow can't keep it to myself. I don't mean that it's got anything to do with the murder, but I think Avril may need a friend who knows the truth about what she's been going through. She was so loyal to him when he couldn't give her the one thing she wanted.’

Those words roused a curious echo in my mind. It was of Jane Kerwood saying to me that Peter had been an unhappy man because he couldn't have the one thing in life he wanted. But had she meant simply that he could not have a child, or had it been that he had been unable to give Avril the one thing that would make her happy? Had he feared that sooner or later she was likely to leave him?

Wondering if it had been from him that Jane had learnt the truth about the Loxleys’ relationship, or if it had been from Avril, I said, ‘It's a very sad story.’

‘It just happens that for Peter and Avril it was,’ Lynne said. ‘For some people it wouldn't have mattered so very much. I've always been thankful that I haven't had children, but then I'm not very clever at choosing husbands, and children would have complicated things so much. You see, I think that once you've got them you've got to put them first. You don't know what I've seen in Hollywood of children going wrong out of the sheer missing of that in so-called one-parent families. Or perhaps I mean too many parents, who keep changing. But you've no children yourself, have you? Has it mattered to you very much?’

‘I suppose it did for a while long ago,’ I answered. ‘But Malcolm was really all I ever wanted … Oh, I think they're here.’ For I had heard the squeak our gate always gave when it was opened and footsteps on the path to the house. I went on hurriedly, ‘Are you planning to tell the police what you've just told me about Peter, Lynne?’

‘Good heavens, no!’ she exclaimed. ‘It can't have anything to do with his murder. And you won't tell them either, will you?’

I heard myself promising not to, but with a feeling that to bind myself in any way just then as to what I told anyone about anything was a mistake. Lynne had certainly been talking too much, telling me what had been told to her in confidence, but that did not seem to have occurred to her. I thought that probably she would tell it
all to the next person with whom she found herself alone.

The door opened and Malcolm and Brian came in.

I introduced Lynne and they expressed great pleasure at seeing her, wanted to know, as I had, what had brought her, and heard of her learning about Peter's murder from television. Then they helped themselves to sherry and Malcolm said that of course ynne was staying for lunch.

‘Oh no, you're all coming down to have lunch with me at the Green Man,’ she said. ‘But tell me, where's Avril?’

‘And where have you been?’ I asked.

‘Only for a bit of a walk,’ Malcolm said. ‘We thought we'd get home before you got back from Otterswell.’

‘We both felt an overpowering desire to go somewhere where we wouldn't be able to see a single policeman,’ Brian said. ‘We've been up on the Downs.’ He was looking at Lynne with deep interest, as if she were of a species that he had never encountered before. Yet Granborough parents were such a mixed lot that I was sure he must have met and entertained at least a few actors and actresses, some of them almost as famous as Lynne, as Malcolm and I had in our time. ‘I realize we ought to have left a note for you to tell you where we'd gone,’ he went on. ‘I'm sorry if you were worried.’

‘I wasn't specially worried about you two,’ I said, ‘but as Lynne just asked you, where's Avril?’

‘She went to call in on Jane,’ Malcolm answered. ‘Jane's had the idea that Avril might move in with her as a lodger, at least for a time. Avril seemed to like the idea. And she set off to discuss it with her, of course taking the dogs. It's very kind of you to invite us to the Green Man, Mrs Denison, but I think we ought to wait till Avril gets back.’

‘Lynne,’ she said.

‘Lynne,’ he responded with a smile. ‘Though I could try phoning Jane to see if Avril's started back already, and if she hasn't, I could tell her perhaps to meet us at the Green Man.’

‘Yes, do that,’ Lynne said.

Malcolm went out to the telephone in the hall and I heard him speak for a minute or two, presumably to Jane, but when he came back into the room he shook his head.

‘She's left Jane already, so we'll have to wait for her,’ he said. ‘She should be here in a few minutes.’

As he spoke, I heard the squeak of the gate, and a moment later Avril came into the room with the three dogs thrusting their way in ahead of her, and scenting a stranger in Lynne, investigating her with a mixture of hesitant growling and little yelps of pleasure.

As soon as she saw Lynne, Avril threw herself into her arms. The two of them clung together, and tears began to stream from Avril's eyes.

‘Oh, Lynne, you shouldn't have … You can't do anything … You can't help … It's all so awful, but you shouldn't have come.’ The broken sentences came from Avril between choking sobs. ‘But I'm so glad to see you.’

‘I know I can't do anything, but I couldn't think of you here alone,’ Lynne said. ‘I know you've got good friends, but it isn't the same thing. Now, we're going out to lunch at the Green Man. You've got to face other people sooner or later, so we may as well get it over now, or would you really very much sooner stay here?’

Avril withdrew from the embrace of her cousin and mopped her eyes.

‘No, let's go.’

I thought of my uselessly peeled potatoes in the bowl in the kitchen sink, but on the whole was glad that I had no need to go on and prepare the rest of the meal. Avril at first was unsure what she should do with the dogs, but with a little persuasion from Malcolm, decided to have them tied on their leads to a pole in the garden that was used for supporting the line that took the washing. Their whines of protest followed us as we set off down the lane.

Avril and Lynne went ahead, talking quietly and confidentially to one another. Brian chose to walk by himself.
Malcolm and I stayed a few yards behind them. At first, while we were passing the police cars, we were silent. I wanted to talk, to tell Malcolm what Lynne had told me about Peter, but I remembered that I had promised not to tell this to the police, and I was not sure if that really meant strictly the police or if it included everyone else as well. But I thought that anyone who knew us would know that Malcolm and I were one identity, that we had no secrets from one another, and that telling one of us something was the same as telling it to us both. Not that Lynne knew us, but I felt she ought to have taken it for granted.