Authors: Cassandra Chan

The Young Widow (17 page)

BOOK: The Young Widow

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Bethancourt sighed. “I know,” he said. “I don't know what will come of thatânothing good, I'm afraid.”

“You don't like her.”

“Not at all,” he said. “I like her fine, if she's not a murderer.”

“But you're not attracted to her,” said Kitty. “Maddie pointed that out to me yesterday.”

“Well, no,” admitted Bethancourt. “I expect it's because I like independent women. Mrs. Berowne is more the let-me-understand-you type.”

Kitty sipped at her wine. “She could be innocent,” she said, as if considering a new and troublesome idea. “I haven't told you yet what I found out from my aunt. I had to drag it out of herâshe's the loyal retainer type and doesn't approve of gossipâbut I got it in the end. And it does rather give Mr. Paul a motive.”

Bethancourt settled his glasses more firmly on his nose. “I'm all ears,” he said.

“It was about five years ago,” began Kitty. “Paul and Marion had been married for three years or so and they weren't very happy. At least, Mr. Paul wasn't. He'd been having an affair with some woman in Town and wanted a divorce. According to Aunt Janet, Marion was devastated. She'd had a miscarriage the year before and was just beginning to come out from under the depression when Paul told her he wanted a divorce. Mr. BerowneâGeoffrey, that isâdidn't approve of divorce and insisted that they go to counseling. That didn't go too well and the divorce probably would have happened, but then Marion found out she was pregnant again.”

“And Geoffrey wasn't about to let her wander off with his grandchild.”

“It was more than that.” Kitty took a sip of wine, holding it in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. “Geoffrey didn't approve of divorce, but he was dead set against it if there were children involved. Marion held out for a while, hoping Paul would come around, but when he didn't, she went to Geoffrey and told him everything. They hadn't told him about Paul's affair before, and when he found out that Paul was still seeing this other woman and had been all along, he was really furious. He always had a bit of a temper, but it was usually one big flash and it was over. This time, he stayed angry. Maddie tried to calm him down, but she's not much good as a peacemaker and just ended up having a fight with him herself. Geoffrey laid down the law to Paul. He said if Paul didn't drop this other woman and do his duty by Marion, he'd disinherit him and kick him out of Berowne Biscuits.”

Bethancourt frowned. “But I thought he had already settled a large sum on Paul when Paul married.”

“No, I don't think so,” said Kitty slowly. “I think it was just a nice startâthe big money came from the promotion and raise he gave Paul later on. Geoffrey raised Paul's salary to match his own.”

“I see,” said Bethancourt. “I take it Paul caved in to his father's threats then?”

“Not right away. He did leave the estate, and my aunt thinks he was looking for another job, but didn't find one. In any case, he came back after about five months or so and accepted his father's terms. Geoffrey apparently tried to make it up to him, but Aunt Janet says it was never the same between them after that. They'd been close before, but since that time there was a kind of wall between them.”

“Isn't that interesting?” mused Bethancourt. “And about a year later, Geoffrey marries Annette. Yes, I can see why he wasn't prepared to put up with much guff about her.”

“But don't you see the motive this gives Paul?” asked Kitty. “If he
had found another lover, it would be the same thing all over again unless Geoffrey was out of the way.”

“You said you didn't think he was having an affair.”

“I didn't,” she answered. “But I could have been wrong.”

“Even if he wasn't,” said Bethancourt, “he could have just been so fed up that he would have done anything to get out. Yes, Kitty, this definitely constitutes a lead. I, as well as Chief Inspector Carmichael and Sergeant Gibbons, am very grateful to you. Do you know who the other woman was?”

Kitty grinned. “I thought you'd ask that,” she said. “Aunt Janet didn't remember her name, but she thought it was either Amy or Ann, and her last name began with an âS'. She was a solicitor acting for some firm Berowne Biscuits was taking over, that's how she and Mr. Paul met.”

“That's certainly enough to go on,” said Bethancourt, jotting the information down in the back of his address book. “Here, let me have your aunt's address, tooâI'm sure Carmichael will want to talk with her.”

Kitty gave it readily enough, but added, “She mightn't admit it all to him. And, by the way, I would appreciate it if my name wasn't mentioned when they talk to Maddie and the Berownes. Maddie will probably fire me if she finds out I sent this investigation in any direction but straight at Mrs. Berowne.”

Their starters arrived then, putting off any further discussion of murder in favor of one about food. Bethancourt eyed Kitty speculatively as they ate. In this atmosphere, she sparkled and he found himself more attracted to her than he had expected.

It was a very enjoyable dinner. The food was excellent and Anton, when at last he appeared, was a pleasant addition. Bethancourt, who enjoyed dining out, was almost reluctant to leave the restaurant and move on to Paul Berowne's favorite pub.

CHAPTER
9

A
n hour before closing on a Sunday night, the pub was quiet. There was a group of regulars huddled at the far end of the bar and a young couple installed at one of the tables against the wall, but that was all.

It was an old pub, dark and small, with low ceilings and odd nooks and crannies stretching out at the back. A young, auburnhaired woman was perched on a stool behind the bar, reading the evening paper; she looked up as they came in and smiled.

“Kit!” she said, and then her eyes travelled over Bethancourt, assessing him. She and Kitty exchanged a look Bethancourt could not read.

“This is Phillip Bethancourt,” said Kitty, sliding onto a barstool. “Phillip, Mira Fellows.”

“What can I get you?” asked Mira, stowing away her paper and rising.

“We've already had brandies at Anton's,” said Kitty. “I think I'll stick with that.”

“Me, too,” said Bethancourt. “And let me buy you something.”

“Thanks.”

Mira produced the drinks, pulled a half-pint for herself, and settled opposite them, resting her elbows comfortably on the dull wood of the bar. Blue eyes regarded Bethancourt with both humor and intelligence, and she exchanged another glance with Kitty, which this time Bethancourt interpreted as approval of himself, whether of his appearance or his trustworthiness he did not know.

“So,” said Mira, “you want to hear about Paul Berowne.”

“That's right,” said Bethancourt. “Anything you can tell me.”

“There's not much to tell really.” She shrugged and sipped her beer. “He comes in three or four nights a week, but keeps to himself.” She jerked her head over her shoulder. “There's a table in the back where he always sits and usually he's got a book or some papers. On busy nights when it's crowded, he joins the regulars there at the bar, but he doesn't say much.”

Bethancourt considered this singularly unhelpful statement while he lit a cigarette. Mira was watching him; there was more she hadn't told him yet.

“So he doesn't talk to anyone here?” he asked.

“Not about the kind of things you want to know.” Mira spread her hands. “He chats to me sometimes on quiet nights when he comes up for his drinks. We talk about films, or the book he's reading, or local gossip. A few times, when he's been particularly down and maybe had a few too many, he's told me how worried he is about his work and how inadequate he feels. But nothing more personal than that, nothing about his family.” She hesitated. “He strikes me as a deeply unhappy man,” she summed up. “From what he's said to me, he doesn't think much of himself and I have the impression that he only goes on because he hasn't the strength of mind to kill himself. But if he hated his father, or had some other reason to wish him dead, he never told me about it.”

“Mira!”

Two of the men at the far end of the bar raised their empty pint glasses.

“Coming,” she said, and pushed herself away from the bar. “I'll be right back.”

Bethancourt watched her as she walked back to her other customers. So Paul Berowne had found that his own self-worth had been the price of his father's bargain and, having lost that, he had had no will left to reject it again. It was not the portrait of a man bent on murder, but Bethancourt still felt that Mira was holding something back. When she returned to them, he asked, “Do you like him?”

Mira, whose expression had been remarkably open and frank before, now dropped her eyes and shifted her elbows on the bar.

“I suppose I do,” she answered unwillingly.

“She feels sorry for him,” put in Kitty disapprovingly. “Deep down, Mira's a softie. You should see her collection of stray cats.”

Mira shrugged this away impatiently. “Paul's a sad person,” she said. “Naturally I feel sorry for him.”

Bethancourt glanced at Kitty, who was leaning over the bar.

“Well, go on, Mira,” she said. “God knows it's taking long enough.”

“Not everybody is as cold as you about these things,” retorted Mira. “Some of us have feelings.”

Kitty groaned and rolled her eyes and Bethancourt was suddenly enlightened.

“You slept with him,” he said to Mira.

She flashed him a startled glance. “You're bloody quick, aren't you?”

“I have my moments of perception,” said Bethancourt. He turned reproachfully to Kitty. “You told me Paul Berowne wasn't having an affair.”

“One night isn't an affair,” retorted Kitty. “And since I knew he was spending so much time here, I figured he wasn't seeing anyone.”

“Anyone
else
, you mean,” corrected Bethancourt. He turned back to Mira. “When did this happen?”

Mira was hugging her elbows, but this time she met his eyes. “About a fortnight before the murder. It had been a busy night and I had just finished pushing everyone out when I realized Paul was still back in his corner. I thought maybe he'd had too much to drink and was having trouble standing up, but when I went back he wasn't drunk. He just looked utterly miserable, so I told him to stay put and I'd bring him another one and we'd have a good talk. And, well, one thing led to another.”

Kitty was shaking her head over her friend's deplorable lapse. “Only you could go from pity directly to passion,” she said.

“It's not as if he's unattractive, Kitty,” said Mira. “And by the time we got to that, I'd had a few drinks myself.”

“And he never tried it on again?” asked Bethancourt.

“He couldn't very well after he'd insulted her,” said Kitty. “Tell him, Mira.”

“He came in the next night,” said Mira, “and took me aside to explain that he hoped I wouldn't take last night the wrong way, and would I please not tell anyone. I was rather offended. I mean, it was he who made the first move and if he thought it was such a terrible mistake, then he should have thought twice. And as for thinking I would blurt it all out to everyone in the pub, well, it was just insulting.”

“But you did tell Kitty,” pointed out Bethancourt.

“Well, I'd already told her,” said Mira defensively, “and she was the only one. I made it perfectly clear it wasn't to go further.”

“You have to admit it was offensive,” said Kitty.

“Quite,” said Bethancourt. “I do admit it. Did he come in again after that?”

“Not for more than a week,” said Mira slowly. “In fact, it was the night before the murder that he came back and apologized.”

“Ah,” said Bethancourt, watching her. “And that led back to the bedroom, did it?”

Mira was staring at the countertop while Kitty sipped her brandy and confidently waited for her friend to deny this.

“Well â¦” began Mira, and then trailed off.

“Mira!” exclaimed Kitty. “You didn't!”

“He's really rather sweet, Kitty,” said Mira. “And awfully good in bed.”

Kitty groaned. “You have a genius,” she said, “for choosing losers. Sexually skillful ones, no doubt, but losers nonetheless.”

“Paul's not a loser,” said Mira, “just unhappy.”

“Mira, the man could be a murderer.”

“Well, I didn't know that,” said Mira defensively. “I thought Annette Berowne had done it. You said she had.”

“So you've seen him since the murder,” said Bethancourt.

“Oh, God,” said Kitty.

Mira nodded. “He didn't come in for over a week after it happened,” she said, “but he's been in several times since then, and he's spent the night, which he didn't before.” She hesitated, and took a deep swallow of her beer. “Look,” she continued, “the reason I'm telling you this is because of something he said the day of the murder. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but when Kitty rang and said it wasn't certain Mrs. Berowne was the killer, well, I got worried.”

“The day of the murder?” asked Bethancourt, surprised. “He was here then? At what time?”

“He rang early and woke me up,” said Mira. “He wanted to come round at once, but I told him to give me an hour. So I guess it would have been about half nine when he got here.”

“And how long did he stay?”

“Not long. Less than an hour, because I had to start preparing to open.”

Bethancourt breathed again. He had been fearing that Paul Berowne, on the verge of becoming the prime suspect, was about to be given an alibi.

“He wasn't,” he asked delicately, “here to continue the activities of the night before?”

Mira flushed. “No,” she answered. “He came because he was afraid he'd been seen leaving then. Ken Mills had been in that night with Patty DobsonâI told you about that, Kittyâand she lives at the other end of town. Apparently when Paul left here, Ken was just coming back from seeing Patty home. Paul dodged him, but he thought Ken might have seen him anyway and he wanted to warn me that it all might be coming out. I was worried for him, but he seemed calm enough about it and just said, âIt had to come to an end sometime. This is as good a time as any.' I thought then that he meant our affair and was just being fatalistic. But now, well, it's occurred to me he could have been referring to his situation with his father and that he'd decided to end it.”

The look in her eyes appealed to him to tell her she was wrong, but Bethancourt did not see it. He was thinking rapidly, seeing how it all might have come about. Paul Berowne, unquestionably a beaten man, well-mired in one of life's deeper morasses, suddenly found not, perhaps, hope or love, but at least a reminder that life could be different. It might well have been enough to ignite all the passions the man had kept bottled inside him for so many years. And just at this opportune moment, he would have noticed the lilies of the valley Annette had placed in her husband's study. He must have known what they could do, and had carefully replaced them when they withered to strengthen the poison in the water. Whether his course had been unalterable at that point, Bethancourt was not sure, but then had come the fear of discovery, the knowledge of what Geoffrey would do if Ken Mills were not discreet enough. The obvious solution was to kill his father before he could learn of it.

It was an enormous motive, one equal to the millions Annette Berowne had inherited along with her freedom. For the first time, Bethancourt began to see a glimmer of hope in the case.

Bethancourt
was buoyant as he escorted Kitty back to the car and drove the short distance to the estate. They were laughing as they drove up the drive and followed the curve to the offshoot that led to the servants' entrance. The Jaguar's headlamps swept the front of the house as they passed and Bethancourt's laughter died. Parked off to one side, he had seen a police Rover.

“What is it?” asked Kitty, who apparently had not noticed the car.

“Nothing,” answered Bethancourt, pulling up into the little paved space outside the kitchen door.

“Do you want to come in and have some coffee?” she asked. “I think you probably should.”

Bethancourt agreed automatically, so preoccupied with Gibbons's presence here that he did not notice the look in her eyes. It was possible, of course, that something had happened, that both Carmichael and Gibbons were in the house, attending to a new development in the case. But Bethancourt did not believe it. When the police arrived late in the evening in the pursuit of their duties, there was normally a blaze of light and noise. He had seen only a single light in the windows of the drawing room, and the house was quiet. And he could think all too easily of another explanation for Gibbons's presence here. In all his worrying, it had somehow not occurred to him that Gibbons might have taken things so far. The thought depressed him.

His thoughts were so far away that he was taken by surprise when they entered the kitchen and Kitty pressed against him, running a finger down his shoulder, and asked playfully, “Do you really want coffee?”

Bethancourt looked down at her, not unaware of the irony of the situation. Here he had been fretting over Gibbons's possible indiscretions and now he was offered the opportunity to commit one himself. Kitty, however, was not a suspect, and he was not a police officer. But neither was he a free man.

“Oh, Kitty,” he said regretfully, “I really, truly never meant to mislead you. I already have a girlfriend, you see.”

“Well, I wasn't asking to try out for the part,” she retorted, drawing back a little. “Besides, I already knew that. I asked Sergeant Gibbons.”

“Oh.” Bethancourt was surprised.

“But it was worth asking anyway,” she continued. “Not everyone is faithful all the time.”

BOOK: The Young Widow

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