A Death in the Family E-Book

Hazel Holt

• Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: Sheila Malory Mystery
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 310

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

When Sheila Malory is warned that her second cousin Bernard Prior is visiting members of the family in order to research their genealogy, she considers it nothing more than a bore. However, when Bernard is found dead in suspicious circumstances, Sheila begins to suspect that his innocent pastime may have led to something more sinister. Never one to let sleeping dogs lie, Sheila takes it upon herself to discover the truth behind Bernard's demise. What secrets lie buried in the family past? And what will happen to those who try to uncover them? Our intrepid modern-day Miss Marple is about to learn that murder can often hit uncomfortably close to home, and that appearances can be deceptive...

Leseprobe

A Death in the Family

HAZEL HOLT

For Zelda, to keep it in the family

Contents

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

Also by Hazel Holt

About the Author

By Hazel Holt

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘I am very much afraid,’ my cousin Hilda wrote, ‘that you may have to suffer a visit from Bernard Prior. He arrived at my house uninvited, and indeed unannounced, last Wednesday and stayed for several hours. He seemed oblivious to my hints that he and that dim little wife of his had long outstayed their welcome, so that in the end I was obliged to be quite brisk in my effort to get rid of them.

‘Apparently now that he has retired he has taken up genealogy – such a tedious study, I always think – and wished to glean from me any information I might have about our common ancestors. Appalled as I was at the mere thought of having anything at all in common with Bernard Prior, I made it quite clear that I had nothing to say to him. Unfortunately this did not, as I had hoped, send him on his way. Instead he insisted on telling me at great and boring length what he had already discovered, all of which involved unfolding cumbersome family trees all over the floor, which greatly upset Tolly, who, not unnaturally, considers that to be his own particular domain…’

There were several more pages in this vein, a sure sign that Hilda was very put out indeed, since her letters are usually brief and to the point and only go beyond one page when her feelings (quite rarely) get the better of her. I did see what she meant though. Bernard Prior is a sort of cousin on my father’s side and, on the few occasions I’ve met him, I’ve resolved never willingly to repeat the experience. Not only is he a dreadful bore but, like nearly all bores, he is convinced that people are delighted to see him and he is very difficult indeed to shake off. Since Hilda’s manner, even to her friends, verges on the acerbic, I could imagine only too well what her ‘briskness’ had been like. The fact that he had upset her beloved Siamese, Tolly, would have made her even more formidable than usual. Not, I imagine, that even that would have penetrated Bernard’s carapace of self-satisfaction.

Before he retired he was the headmaster of a private school in Bristol and like some – though mercifully not all – headmasters he had acquired a tiresomely didactic tone and I always felt that he was addressing me as if I was one of his less intelligent pupils. I mentioned Hilda’s letter to Michael when he rang to ask if I’d look after Alice one evening.

‘We have this tedious dinner thing we really ought to go to,’ he said, ‘and we thought you might like to spend a little time with your granddaughter.’

‘Of course I’d love to,’ I replied, ‘and apart from anything else I plan to be out as much as possible in the immediate future in case Bernard suddenly turns up.’

‘From what I remember of Bernard,’ Michael said grimly, ‘nothing short of emigration will save you from a visit by him. My childhood was blighted by one ghastly afternoon when he went on interminably about steam railways he had visited.’

‘Goodness, yes, I remember that. By the time he finally went I was quite rigid with boredom. It’s genealogy this time and, from what Hilda said, it looks as if he wants some input from the rest of the family.’

‘Well,’ Michael advised, ‘don’t get the photographs out whatever you do, otherwise you’ll never get rid of him.’

‘What I particularly dislike about him,’ I said thoughtfully, ‘is the way he just turns up without any warning. One time he and Janet arrived just after midday and he simply ignored the fact that we were in the middle of lunch. I did offer them something, but he waved it away and simply carried on talking about whatever he was mad about then while I was clearing the half-eaten food from the table. Janet looked really embarrassed, but I suppose, poor soul, she must be used to it by now. Anyway, she obviously adores him and thinks he’s marvellous – well, she must, else she couldn’t have stood it all these years.’

‘All I can say is the best of luck,’ Michael said. ‘So what about Tuesday? Thea said she’ll give Alice her supper before we go so it’ll be just bath and bedtime story. OK?’

My friend Rosemary was equally sympathetic.

‘Oh, poor you, how vile! I do know what you mean. Every family has one. Ours is Uncle Ernest’s youngest son, Tim. He could bore for England – he’s sports mad and knows the date and score of every cricket match since the year dot. Poor Jack, who’s keen enough on cricket, goodness knows, turns pale at the thought of him. He lives in Manchester, thank goodness, so we don’t see that much of him and fortunately Mother was really rude to him last time he was down here so perhaps she’ll have put him off.’

‘Hilda was very rude to Bernard,’ I said with a sort of melancholy pride, ‘but it didn’t seem to have any effect on him at all.’

‘Oh well,’ Rosemary said. ‘Perhaps you can palm him off onto other relations – you’ve got a fair number of cousins and whatnot and some of them live quite near.’

‘That’s a thought,’ I said gratefully. ‘There’s Cousin Richard and his family who’re just the other side of Taunton, and Harry and his lot at Brendon, and poor old Fred, if he’s still alive, I haven’t heard from him for ages. Though of course since he lives in Bristol Bernard may have got at him already. Oh yes, and there’s Cousin Sybil over at Lynton in that convent place. Only she’s not Sybil any more. I think she’s Sister Veronica now.’

‘I didn’t know you had a cousin in a convent,’ Rosemary said.

‘Some sort of second cousin – I’ve never quite worked out the relationship,’ I said. ‘No doubt Bernard will be able to explain it to me!’

‘What I meant to ask you,’ Rosemary said, ‘is do you feel like coming blackberrying one day? They’re very good this year and just getting properly ripe.’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I love blackberries – well I do when they’ve been put through a sieve, I can’t manage those seeds now – but I’m not mad about picking them. I always seem to tear my hands to pieces when I try.’

‘Oh, do come,’ Rosemary urged. ‘We can take a flask and make an afternoon of it. There are always some gorgeous ones up above Robbers Bridge and it’ll be lovely there now the tourists have gone and it’s all peaceful.’

‘Well, I suppose I could always wear some gloves…’

‘Bless you. I want to make some sloe and blackberry jelly so I’ll need quite a lot and I couldn’t face going off to pick them on my own. It’s supposed to be a nice day tomorrow so shall I come for you just after two?’

It was a perfect autumn afternoon, quite warm with gleams of bright sunlight coming and going from behind the clouds. We made our way along the hedgerows bordering the track above the river, picking as we went.

‘They’re nice and ripe,’ Rosemary said, ‘but not too squashy.’

‘And,’ I said thankfully, ‘there are quite a few at eye level – I do so hate it when you have to pull down the sprays with the best ones on and they spring back and hit you in the face! They’re just about perfect now – much later and the devil would be in them – isn’t that what they say?’

‘Mm yes. I must say,’ Rosemary went on, ‘there’s something immensely satisfying about gathering things from the hedgerows – sort of traditional, what people have always been doing.’

‘And free,’ I said, ‘that makes it even better. When we were small we used to pick the hazelnuts too, do you remember? There never seem to be any now. I wonder why?’

‘I suppose the squirrels have them and there are probably more squirrels now, like there are more rats in towns. Do you know, the last time I was in London I saw a rat in Leicester Square.’

‘No! Really?’

‘Yes, it was sitting up on the pavement bold as brass, absolutely unconcerned, and none of the passers-by took any notice of it. I was appalled.’

When our plastic boxes were full we went back to the car.

‘It’s really quite warm,’ Rosemary said. ‘Shall we have our tea by the river? I’ve got a rug somewhere in the boot.’

Sitting with our cups and slices of Rosemary’s delicious chocolate cake we watched the dragonflies swooping over the river – hardly more than a stream here – while a buzzard hovered over the bracken-covered slopes of the hills behind us.

‘Yes,’ Rosemary said, reverting to her earlier theme, ‘traditional – really timeless, like this valley. It doesn’t look as if it’s changed for hundreds of years. People must have been coming here for centuries, hunting and gathering and whatever they did. Our remotest ancestors…’ She broke off and laughed. ‘Perhaps you’d better send your cousin Bernard out here to get in touch with them.’

‘Don’t remind me,’ I said. ‘I’ve been trying to put it out of my mind.’

But it seemed that I was fated not to do so. A few days later I had a letter from another cousin (my grandfather was one of eight children so there are a multiplicity of cousins both close and remote), Marjorie, who lives in Kirkby Lonsdale.

‘You will be interested to hear,’ she wrote, ‘that I have just had a visit from our cousin Bernard and his wife. They were on a caravanning holiday in the Lakes and said they felt they must look me up as they were so near. Bernard has taken up genealogy, such a fascinating study I always think, and is most anxious to talk to as many members of the family as possible. He was most interested in all the old photographs I have and borrowed some of them to take away and have copies made. I said I was afraid some of them were sadly faded but he said they can do wonderful things with them nowadays. He was really delighted to learn that I still had some of the letters your Great Uncle John wrote to your grandmother in the First World War, and, of course, the letter and the citation they sent her when he was killed.

‘I told him that your father had inherited the big family Bible with all the dates in it and I said I was sure you would be delighted to show it to him and any other family things that you may have. He said that now he has retired he plans to spend some time in the West Country “rediscovering the family roots”, as he put it. It was so nice to see him and Janet again. They stayed for several hours and Bernard came back the following morning to check on a few things he’d forgotten to ask.’

‘Bother Marjorie!’ I said to Michael when I went round to babysit Alice. ‘She’s a dear soul but she does love company – any company – and she obviously had a lovely time listening to Bernard boring on, but I do wish she hadn’t passed him onto me!’

‘Well, you’ll just have to be brisk with him too, like Hilda,’ Michael said.

‘You know I can’t do that. I’m hopeless at being rude to people. There are several people, people I would gladly never see again, and all it would take would be one really beastly remark and I’d be free of them forever, but somehow I just can’t do it.’

‘Do what?’ asked Thea, coming into the room with Alice.

‘Be really rude to people I dislike so that I don’t have to see them again.’

‘Oh I do know what you mean,’ she agreed. ‘You want to so much, but the words simply won’t come!’

Alice, who had been impatiently waiting to attract my attention, tugged at my arm and said, ‘The book, Gran, have you brought the book? You promised.’

‘I hope you have,’ Thea said, ‘she’s been talking about nothing else since she got back from nursery school today.’

‘Of course I have. Linda sent it specially for you Alice, all the way from America.’

‘America!’ Alice echoed, the word obviously having no meaning for her. ‘Read it now!’

‘When you’ve had your bath and are in bed.’

Alice rushed towards the stairs. ‘Come on Gran!’

‘I’ve left some sandwiches and things in the kitchen and help yourself to drinks and whatever. Oh yes, and the telephone number’s on the kitchen table. We should be back about 10.30…’

‘Come along Thea!’ Michael said, as impatient as his daughter. ‘Ma knows where everything is – we’ll be late.’

Thea gave me an apologetic smile and disappeared after him.

When I had read The Moose in the House to Alice (three times) and she was finally settled and asleep, I looked down at my granddaughter and wished, as I so often did, that my husband, Peter, and my mother were still alive and could have seen her. I stood there for a while thinking of parents and children, going back generation after generation. I’ve never really understood about genes, but I thought of how little bits of people who had gone before were present in their descendants and that somehow something of Peter and my mother were there in the sleeping form before me. It was a comforting thought and I smiled and pulled the coverlet more tidily over Alice and, leaving the door slightly ajar, went downstairs to my smoked salmon sandwiches and my copy of Mapp and Lucia.

Possibly the same mood was still with me next day because I was moved to open the glass-fronted bookcase in the sitting room (where the ‘special’ books had always been kept) and take out the big family Bible. I noticed somewhat guiltily that the leather binding was beginning to crumble at the corners and made a resolution to rub in some lanolin (could one still get lanolin?) to try and restore it. The leather was embossed with a pattern and it was still possible to read the lettering round the circle in the middle: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge. I laid it on the table in the dining room, because it was too heavy to hold, and opened it.

On the flyleaf in Gothic lettering were the words: Samuel Prior: His Book: 18th November 1830 – presumably the date of his Confirmation. Inside the cover there was a long list, covering both sides, recording the births of generations of my father’s family, beginning with ‘Mary Prior, born at nine o’clock on the evening of 10th September 1846’. The writing was brown and faded but still clear enough to read. The entries ended with the record of my father’s birth and I felt a faint sense of disappointment that I was not included in that list.

Taking down the Bible that had belonged to my father I saw that he had recorded the date of his marriage to my mother and the dates of the birth of my brother and myself. Under the entry for my brother the date of his death, together with the words ‘In action in Cyprus’, was neatly written.

I sat for quite a while, not really looking at the volumes before me, but absorbing the information they contained. Then I shut them, put them away and went into the kitchen to cook some of the blackberries I’d picked with Rosemary. Foss, my Siamese, attracted by the sound of someone in the kitchen materialised suddenly and, leaping up onto the worktop, began his inevitable demands for food. Tris, who had been sleeping peacefully in his dog basket, decided he was missing something and joined in with short excited barks. Brought back to reality and the present day I opened tins for them both and put the radio on just in time for a talk on divorce settlements on ‘Woman’s Hour’.

I’d just finished putting the blackberries through a sieve (extraordinary how little you’re left with from a whole lot of berries) when the phone rang. It was my friend Anthea.

‘It’s about the talk for the over-60s at Brunswick Lodge,’ she said, and my heart sank because I knew that meant she wanted me to do something about it.

‘What’s happened?’

‘That woman who was coming to talk to them about nutrition – you know the one from the complementary medicine place – well, she’s suddenly said she can’t come.’

‘Oh dear, why not?’

‘Some silly excuse about having to go to a conference in Amsterdam. Apparently one of her team – whatever that might be! – has dropped out so she says she’s got to go instead. I said surely she could tell them she had a previous engagement, but she said it was very important. So irresponsible! And what are they doing going to Amsterdam, anyway? The last place, I should think – eating nothing but cheese – all that cholesterol!’

‘So are you having to cancel it?’

‘Of course not – we can’t let all those people down. No, I wondered if you could think of anyone who’d fill in?’

‘I suppose Barry could do his local history thing again.’

‘Certainly not. He was absolutely hopeless last time – kept losing his place in his notes and repeating himself, most embarrassing.’

‘What about someone from Age Concern?’

‘No, I’ve tried them. They haven’t anyone available until November.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t think of anyone else.’

‘I don’t suppose you…?’

‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘I hate speaking in public.’

‘But you give papers at conferences,’ Anthea said persuasively.

‘That’s quite different. Anyway I haven’t anything suitable prepared and I haven’t the time to do anything new.’

‘It doesn’t have to be suitable,’ Anthea said, but she knew she was fighting a battle she couldn’t win. We’ve been over this ground many times and, although in general I can never stand up to her, on this subject I’ve managed to remain firm.

‘Oh well, it does seem a pity,’ Anthea said disconsolately. ‘Give me a ring if you think of anybody.’

After this encounter I felt so exhausted that before going back to my blackberries I made myself a strong cup of tea. When I was sitting drinking it, on an impulse, I got up and took out my father’s Bible again and on the flyleaf I added the dates of my parents’ deaths, my marriage to Peter, the date of his death, the date of Michael’s birth and marriage and, finally, that of the birth of Alice.

‘There,’ I said to no one in particular when I’d finished, ‘that’s better.’

CHAPTER TWO

One of the jobs I really hate doing is taking all the crockery and glassware from the dresser in the kitchen, washing it and putting it all back again. I try to do it twice a year, but this year I’d resolutely closed my eyes to it and, as a result, when a particularly strong ray of sunshine came through the window and focused on the open shelves, I was appalled to see how badly it all needed doing. With a sigh I began to take the plates and dishes off the shelves and stack them on the kitchen table. Although I hardly ever fry anything nowadays, there was an unpleasant film on everything from that mysterious, invisible grease that seems to hang in the air of even the best regulated kitchen – and goodness knows no one would ever describe my kitchen like that.

Because some of the china was old (some of it my mother’s, some even my grandmother’s) I had to wash it all by hand so I filled the sink with warm soapy water, switched the radio on and set to work. Once I got down to it I quite enjoyed the pleasure you can get from a mindless task. The noise of the front doorbell cut sharply through the mellifluous sound of Delius’s ‘Walk to the Paradise Garden’. I made an exclamation of annoyance and went to answer it, still wearing my apron and rubber gloves. On the doorstep were Bernard and Janet Prior.

‘We were in the area,’ Bernard said, ‘and felt we must call and see you.’

‘You’d better come in,’ I said grudgingly, and led the way into the sitting room. ‘Sit down while I just go and turn the radio off.’

I went into the kitchen and removed my rubber gloves and apron, turned off the radio, cast a glance at the table full of crockery and the sink full of soapy water, both of which now seemed infinitely attractive, and went slowly back into the sitting room.

They were both sitting side by side on the sofa and I saw, with apprehension, that Bernard had already opened the briefcase he had with him and was laying various papers out onto the small table beside him.

‘How long are you down here for?’ I asked.

‘I’m not sure yet,’ Bernard said, still sorting through the papers, ‘it all depends on how much material there is.’

‘Material?’ I inquired innocently.

‘Yes, didn’t Marjorie write to you? She said she was going to do so; she was really enthusiastic about my project.’

‘I believe she did say something about you doing a sort of family tree.’

‘Oh much more than that,’ Bernard said reprovingly, giving me what I always thought of as his ‘headmasterly stare’. ‘What I intend to do is to make what is virtually a family history, going right back as far as records will take me.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought,’ I said provocatively, ‘that our family was of sufficient importance to have that sort of treatment.’

He gave me the stare again as if I was a recalcitrant pupil. ‘But, my dear Sheila,’ he said ‘it is precisely our sort of family – not of the highest echelons of society, not known to the world in general, but of good solid stock, the backbone, you might say, of England – that should be chronicled in this fashion.’

I didn’t say anything and he went on. ‘I have, of course, thoroughly investigated my branch of the family down from our common grandfather, but since my father was one of seven children there is a great deal to do concerning his siblings. Then,’ he continued, ‘when I have fully established exactly what information we have about those descendants, I will go back from our grandfather to previous generations.’

‘It sounds like a lot of work,’ I said, ‘but I suppose you’ve got time on your hands now you’re retired.’

‘One makes time for what is important,’ Bernard said. ‘As a matter of fact I do a certain amount of charitable work as well as being a lay preacher at my local church.’

‘How splendid,’ I said, thinking with pity of the objects of his charity and the members of his congregation.

‘Now then,’ he said, taking out a pair of spectacles, ‘I believe you have the family Bible with certain entries that I may not have.’

Reluctantly I got to my feet to fetch it, knowing that this would all take a very long time.

‘I’ll put it on the large table,’ I said, ‘since it is so heavy.’

‘Excellent. Janet,’ he went on, ‘will be making notes for me as we go along so that I will have an accurate record of all the information at our disposal.’

Sure enough Janet had a notebook and pen at the ready and I moved away from the table so that she could join him there.

‘Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?’ I asked.

‘Herbal tea if you have it,’ Bernard said. ‘No milk, no sugar.’

‘I think I’ve got some somewhere. For you too, Janet?’ I asked.

She nodded but didn’t vouchsafe an audible answer.

I found a box of peppermint tea bags at the back of one of the cupboards, a relic of a bout of indigestion a year ago. I sniffed them and they still smelt fairly minty so I thought they’d be all right. As a sort of gesture I made myself a cup of hot chocolate. I lingered in the kitchen as long as I could but eventually I took the tray back into the sitting room.

They had made themselves quite at home, sitting on either side of the table, Janet writing busily while he called out the names and dates of past generations of Priors.

‘I hope peppermint tea is all right,’ I said as I put the tray down. Bernard waved me away and went on with his task. Repressing an impulse to back into the kitchen and leave them to it, I sat down and slowly drank my hot chocolate.

‘There seems to be some discrepancy here,’ Bernard said, looking up and fixing me with a stern glance. ‘My records have 1867 as the date for William Prior’s birth,’ he said. ‘Here it is given as 1869.’

‘Oh, is it?’ I said. ‘I suppose one of them must be wrong.’

‘Obviously. Do you have any idea why the date here should be different?’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ I said.

‘Did your father say anything that might be relevant?’

‘I don’t think we ever talked about it really.’

Bernard made an impatient exclamation and I felt obliged to make some sort of comment.

‘I suppose there could have been two Williams. I mean, children – children of large families – often died young and the parents sometimes used the same name for the next child. It happens occasionally in Victorian novels,’ I said helpfully.

He regarded me thoughtfully for a moment. ‘It is a possibility. I will bear it in mind.’

‘Do drink your tea Janet,’ I said, ‘before it gets cold.’

She looked at Bernard as if for approval and then got up and fetched the cups from the tray.

‘I hope it’s as you like it?’ I said.

‘It’s lovely,’ she replied, sipping it quickly as if anxious to get back to her task.

He drank his more slowly, looking round the room. ‘That,’ he said nodding in the direction of a photograph on the bureau, ‘is your father, of course, and that is your mother. Now she was a Gray, was she not? A local family, I believe.’

‘Exeter,’ I said. ‘Not exactly local.’

‘I see.’

Janet made another entry in her notebook, which somehow annoyed me. ‘Anyhow,’ I said, ‘that’s not relevant, is it?’

‘All connections are relevant,’ Bernard said sternly. ‘The connections of families by marriage can be vitally important.’

‘Hardly in our case,’ I protested. ‘It’s not like alliances in noble families!’

‘I think you underestimate the scope of my work, I intend to spread my net wide.’

I relapsed into what I fear was sulky silence – Bernard has that effect on me – and they worked on, slowly and meticulously. I was amazed that copying the information on two leaves of the Bible should be taking so long, but every so often Bernard would stop and compare the information there with some of his own notes. I listened, for want of something better to do, to the ticking of the clock, and when it struck half past twelve I could bear it no longer.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said brightly, ‘but I’m afraid I’ve got to turn you out now. I’ve got a lunch appointment at one o’clock and, as you see,’ I gestured to my old skirt and apron, ‘I’ve got to get changed.’

Bernard looked up. ‘Oh dear, then we will have to continue another day – that is a pity. I had hoped to have all this information before we go to the County Record Office in Taunton.’

‘Some other day,’ I said, carefully not specifying which one. ‘I’m a bit busy this week. Where are you staying? Perhaps I could let you know when I’m free.’

‘We usually have our caravan, but since we may be down here for some time and caravan parks are not always open at this time of the year, we are renting a cottage just outside Dunster. However, it will be easiest if I leave you my mobile number.’ He gestured to Janet who scribbled a number on her notebook, tore out the page and silently gave it to me.

I got up to take it and remained standing hoping that it would impress upon them the need to go. Finally when all the papers were back in the briefcase Bernard stood up.

‘Well, I will hope to hear from you soon, Sheila,’ he said, looking regretfully at the Bible lying on the table. ‘It is a great pity there was not time for me to complete that stage of my research. Perhaps when I come again you will be kind enough to look out any photographs that may be relevant.’

‘Yes, of course,’ I said ushering them out into the hall. ‘I’ll see what I can find, though I’m not sure what I’ve got – I’m afraid I’m very disorganised.’

Bernard made no reply but his silence was eloquent.

I went out with them to their car, less for politeness than for a desire to make sure they were really going.

‘Thank you for the tea,’ Janet said. And, mercifully, they were gone.

I went back slowly into the house. The animals, who, prompted by some mysterious instinct, had made themselves scarce during the visit, suddenly reappeared and demanded food and attention.

‘Where were you when I needed you?’ I asked them. ‘I’m sure they’re the sort of people who are allergic to animal fur.’

They followed me hopefully into the kitchen where the piles of crockery and the sink full of cold water was a dismal sight. I fed the animals and poured myself a large glass of sherry before addressing the task ahead of me.

‘I really did behave rather badly,’ I said to Michael and Thea when I was telling them about it. ‘Not rude exactly, but as unhelpful as I could be.’

‘I don’t suppose he noticed,’ Michael said. ‘He’s got a hide like a rhinoceros.’

‘No I don’t suppose he did,’ I agreed, ‘but it was still bad manners. And not really fair to poor Janet. It’s not her fault her husband’s a tiresome bore.’

‘I expect she’s used to it. Anyway, Ma, for goodness sake don’t let him anywhere near us.’

‘He’s determined to talk to all members of the family,’ I said.

‘Don’t you dare!’

‘Does he have any family?’ Thea asked.

‘I believe there’s a son and a daughter. I seem to remember that he doesn’t get on well with one of them, but I can’t remember which. Mind you, I don’t imagine he was particularly easy to get on with – it could be difficult to be the child of a headmaster at the best of times, and I imagine he’d have been pretty dire.’

‘Poor little beasts,’ Michael said. ‘Still, I suppose they’re both grown up now. Perhaps they’ve escaped.’

‘Actually,’ Thea said, ‘a basic family tree would be quite interesting.’

‘Oh yes, I’m all for that, but not done by someone like Bernard and not in the sort of detail he seems to be going in for. No, a straightforward family tree would be nice. Useful too for Alice, for the years ahead when she has to do a project on it at school – I gather it’s a very popular thing with them nowadays.’

‘Both my grandparents died when I was quite little,’ Thea said, ‘and Daddy never talked about the family, especially after Mummy died, and now – well, I see him so rarely and it’s never a suitable time to bring the subject up.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘I often wish I’d asked my parents more, but you always think there’s plenty of time for things like that, and then, quite suddenly, there isn’t.’

‘Oh well,’ Thea said. ‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I? There’s just time for a quick cup of tea before I have to go and collect Alice.’

The phone was ringing as I opened the door and I made a dash for it, nearly falling over Tris who’d come to welcome me. After all that effort it was only Anthea.

‘Have you had any more thoughts?’ she asked.

‘Thoughts about what?’ I asked when I’d got my breath back.

‘The over-60s talk,’ Anthea said impatiently. ‘Have you thought of anyone? The time’s going on and we have to make a decision soon. Now,’ she went on coaxingly, ‘are you really sure you won’t…’

‘Absolutely sure,’ I said firmly. ‘No, hang on a minute. I’ve had an idea. I might just be able to persuade someone I know to give a talk on genealogy. It’s very popular now, especially with people who’ve just retired, they’re all mad to trace their ancestors.’

‘Who is this person?’

‘A sort of cousin of mine,’ I said. ‘He lives in Bristol, actually, but he’s down here for a bit doing some research and I might be able to persuade him to stay on and help us out.’

‘It might do, I suppose.’ Anthea was never one to be enthusiastic about other people’s ideas.

‘He’s an ex-headmaster,’ I said temptingly, ‘so he’s very used to addressing large gatherings.’

‘Well, all right then,’ Anthea said grudgingly. ‘See what you can do about it and get back to me.’

I smiled as I put down the phone. If I managed to arrange things and the talk was a success, I knew very well that Anthea would claim the credit for it all. Still, if Bernard gave the talk that would get Anthea off my back. I knew from bitter experience that she could, over a period of time, wear me down and I really didn’t want the time-consuming bother of preparing something suitable for the over-60s. Of course I knew that ringing Bernard about the talk meant that I’d have to arrange a date for him to visit me again, but I felt that it was a reasonable price to pay. And, in a way, I felt a bit guilty about the off-hand way I’d behaved when he came before. I could hear my mother’s voice reminding me that politeness costs nothing.

When I went to look for it I couldn’t find the piece of paper with Bernard’s mobile number on it, but I finally ran it to earth shut up in the family Bible – the obvious place to have looked, I suppose. When I dialled the number Bernard replied right away. Obviously one of those people who expect to be rung and are poised to respond immediately.

‘Bernard, it’s Sheila. I just wondered, will you be here on the 19th?’

‘Quite probably. Why do you ask?’

I explained about the over-60s and how interested they all were in genealogy and said how they’d be thrilled to have the benefit of his advice on the technique of tracing their ancestors, and how he would be the perfect person to talk to them, etc, etc. To my delight he took the bait straight away.

‘Yes, I think I could manage that date,’ he said. ‘I very much doubt if I will have finished my research down here before then, and I do feel it is very important, as I think I said to you, that we should all be aware of our family history. Perhaps you would be good enough to fill me in on the details – time and place, of course, and the length and scope of the talk. We can discuss it at more length when I visit you.’

‘Yes of course,’ I said, ‘and it’s so good of you to agree. I know everyone will be most excited.’ I paused for a moment, but knew I had to go on. ‘It would be lovely to see you and Janet next Monday – about 2.30 if that suits you? I’ll see what photos I can dig out.’

‘That will be excellent. I am aiming to make it a pictorial record as far as possible.’

‘That’s fine then,’ I said. ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you both.’ I put the phone down.

‘And don’t look at me like that,’ I said to Tris who was regarding me quizzically with his head on one side, ‘if it weren’t for white lies the world would almost certainly grind to a halt.’