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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Serie: Cotswold Mysteries
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018
Thea and Drew have been married for a year and are settled in the village of Broad Campden, but Thea is chafing at the domestic routines she is expected to devote herself to, missing the novelty and adventure that house-sitting used to bring. When a routine burial exposes the secrets of the deceased, Drew finds himself caught in the middle of a family feud, in which he feels he is on the wrong side, and Thea's inquisitiveness and penchant for solving crimes draws her in too. With another crisis at Drew's other business leaving him with a profound dilemma and Thea struggling against the charismatic charms of a new man, can their marriage survive this latest Cotswold drama?
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Crisis in the Cotswolds
REBECCA TOPE
For Tim and Paula with thanks for your help with exploring the Cotswolds
Contents
Map
Author’s Note
Broad Campden is a real village, but I have tinkered with some details of the layout in order to find a site for the burial ground.
The Paxford Centre is a product of my imagination in every respect.
Chapter One
‘That was difficult,’ said Drew, clasping and twisting his hands as if holding himself together. ‘Worse than difficult, in fact.’
‘In what way?’ Thea frowned up at him. ‘Are they in a terrible hurry or something?’
‘No. They want me to pretend the funeral’s not happening. They want me to lie, if a particular person phones to enquire. And they will, apparently.’
‘Who? Don’t they know who they’re dealing with? What did you tell them?’
He went to the kettle and made himself a cup of strong instant coffee. His movements were jerky, and Thea could feel his tension from across the room. ‘I told them it wasn’t something I would generally agree to.’
‘Don’t make it so strong, Drew. It’s bad for your heart.’
‘It’s not my heart I’m worried about. It’s my conscience. I let money overrule principle. A simple moral dilemma, on the face of it. But who am I to judge the rights and wrongs of it?’
‘So – I’m guessing these are nice people, and the person you’ve got to lie to is a feckless drunken cousin who’s going to come and wreck the whole thing.’
‘More or less, according to them. But how do I know if I can believe what they say? What if it’s the other way round? It’s a big thing, to stop somebody coming to a funeral.’
‘I could do it,’ she offered. ‘I’m a better liar than you, after all. You’d just stammer and choke, and they’d know you were fobbing them off.’
She could see he was tempted. ‘That would mean you answering every call for the rest of the week. You wouldn’t be able to go out.’
‘True,’ she nodded, with a glance at the clear blue sky outside. ‘But I can hear the phone from the garden, and that new lounger hasn’t had much use so far.’
‘You lazy object,’ he sighed. ‘What happened to those plans you had for getting a job? That was months ago now.’
‘It must have been New-Year-itis. Resolutions and new starts and all that. But Hepzie thinks it wouldn’t do. Not to mention Steph and Tim. The whole thing would get impossibly complicated.’
‘Other people manage. In fact, as far as I can see, just about every woman in the land has found a way of managing. Look at Maggs.’
‘I know they have, but it doesn’t look like fun to me. I’ve never imagined I could compete with Maggs on any level. And I’m not sure it would be sensible economically, either, in our case. We’ve still got plenty of my house money to fall back on. We’ll talk about it again when Tim goes to the big school, okay?’
Drew sighed again. ‘That’s two and a bit years from now, right?’
‘Indeed. No time at all. Now tell me about this dodgy funeral.’
He sat at the table, nursing his mug. ‘The deceased is called Stephen Biddulph, aged seventy-nine. The funeral’s on Tuesday. There’s a wife, Linda, and a son, Lawrence. Second wife. Which is a secret, even from Lawrence. He’s always assumed he was a one and only.’
‘What? And she told you, just like that?’
‘I’m a safe pair of ears. But now that Stephen’s dead, she’s worried that word will get back to the first wife and her two sons. Secrets have a habit of breaking loose when there’s a death. That would rock all sorts of boats. Especially for her precious son, who would be exceedingly upset, apparently.’
Thea gave this some thought. ‘He’d be very angry as well, probably. Especially with her for keeping the existence of half-brothers hidden from him. I know I would be.’ She scowled at the very idea. ‘What a coward she must be.’
‘Hey! That’s a bit strong. She says Stephen made her swear never to mention it when Lawrence was born, and she’s stuck with it. She’s quite proud of herself, I think.’
‘So, the man never saw his older sons in all that time?’ Her outrage was still all too evident. ‘How is that possible in this day and age?’
Drew shrugged. ‘Good question.’ He finished the coffee and stood up. ‘Anyway, can’t stop. Mr Fleming tomorrow, nine-thirty sharp.’
‘The birdsong one?’
‘That’s him.’
They had enjoyed this particular customer more than most when it came to planning the funeral. Mr Fleming, deceased, had been avid about birds, and had insisted that his burial take place to the sound of their song. Dying at the beginning of May had been a bonus but, as Thea had pointed out, ‘They sing loudest at about 5 a.m. You’ll have to be out there pretty early.’
Mrs Fleming, being a woman of pragmatic character, had refused to consider anything sooner than half past nine. ‘They won’t sing at all if it’s raining,’ she said. ‘These things are clearly impossible to control. If it’s a fine day, there’ll be very nice early sunshine and most likely some sort of birdsong, even if it’s only collared doves.’
Drew, who lived to serve, had worried. ‘What if I bring a CD player for backup?’ he suggested. ‘There are sure to be some discs of birds available.’
‘If you like,’ the widow agreed. ‘But I’m not sure that’s what Dicky had in mind. To be perfectly frank, it’s enough for me that he died thinking it would all go as he wanted it to. He imagined the whole thing in advance, and that made him happy. What we actually do on the day isn’t terribly relevant, when you stop to think about it.’
Drew was never quite sure how to handle this kind of scepticism. Any lack of consideration for the rituals of death made him uneasy. ‘You still think the dead person’s hovering over you, watching what goes on,’ Thea accused him. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Not exactly,’ he prevaricated. ‘But it feels wrong to risk it, just in case.’
This elicited a laugh that was more affectionate than mocking. ‘You’re a one,’ she told him.
But they both knew that Drew had a comprehensive understanding of most of the emotional and cultural significances of a funeral. He regularly knew better than the families themselves what were the essential elements that should not be fudged or overlooked. Primary amongst these essentials was a recognition that the person concerned had gone and was not coming back. This was followed closely by a similar recognition that the same thing was going to happen to everybody else in the family, and it therefore behoved them to do as they would be done by. The dead were acutely vulnerable to disrespect and calumny, which explained the taboo against speaking ill of them. Whether grieving the loss or celebrating the life – or, ideally, both – there were certain truths that Drew would not allow to be dodged. He never said ‘passed away’, never avoided referring directly to ‘the body’, and never carelessly agreed to any overriding of the dead person’s wishes.
And in the case of Mr James Fleming (always known as Dicky), he very much hoped that some obliging birds would sing spectacularly in the trees above the newly dug grave.
But the matter of the Biddulph family – or families, to be strictly accurate – was a whole other worry. Thea’s offer to shoulder the burden of blatant lying was of very little comfort. Her involvement in the burial business was capricious at the best of times. At the outset, he had assumed that she would step efficiently into the shoes of his first assistant, Maggs Cooper. Arranging the funerals, talking to the relatives, even handling the bodies and attending the burials – it was all there waiting for her when they moved to Broad Campden. But, bit by bit, she had detached herself until her role had reduced to little more than answering the phone and sending out the bills. Her first experience of making arrangements with a young wife and very young son had gone disastrously badly. The family took its business elsewhere and Thea swore never to do that again. ‘I’m not Maggs Cooper,’ she said repeatedly. ‘She’s irreplaceable.’
It was true that Maggs was unusual. If ever a person had a vocation, it was her. From her early teens, she knew what she wanted to do and foisted herself on the local undertaker, brooking no arguments. When Drew set up on his own, Maggs went with him. Their success was as much thanks to her as to his own efforts. People loved her. Sensitive but direct, friendly but professional – she struck precisely the right note in her dealings with the bereaved. And now she was in charge of that original business, down in Somerset, with a small child, husband and versatile employee called Pandora, while Drew soldiered on in the Cotswolds, assisted not by his wife but a new employee named Andrew.
‘I’ll have to think about it,’ he said five minutes later. He’d made some toast for himself before pursuing further business in his office.
‘Think about what?’ Thea had been reading the local paper, forgetting all about Drew and his burials.
‘The first Mrs Biddulph,’ he reminded her.
‘Is that still her name?’
‘Good question. Probably not. Look – don’t stay by the phone any more than usual. If the call comes through to me, I can handle it. If you do answer it, just be careful what you tell anybody asking about that funeral, okay?’
‘No problem.’ She smiled at him, her whole face soft and pretty and guileless. His wife, he inwardly repeated, for the thousandth time in nearly a year. His second wife. Thea Osborne, née Johnstone, now Slocombe. Stepmother to his children, retired house-sitter and a few years older than him. He had fallen for her within minutes of their first meeting, in the face of disapproval from Maggs and his own anguished conscience, his first wife Karen still being alive at the time.
‘Anything in the paper?’ he asked.
‘Quite a lot, actually. You’ve got a heartfelt thanks in the obituaries, and somebody’s stolen a Labrador bitch and eight puppies, one week old. How is that possible? What foul things people can do. Oh, and they’ve finally got your plans in the council announcements section. Only a month late, the idiots.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I can’t afford to do it yet, anyway.’
‘That’s not the point.’ Her look was part exasperation and part affection. ‘It sends a message that business is growing and you’re keen to add more facilities and attract more customers.’
‘Yes, I know,’ he said, with his customary patience.
Chapter Two
The children came home in two very different moods. Stephanie was moving up to the final year at the primary school the following term and was taking it all very seriously. Shouldering responsibility came naturally to her and she was already positioning herself for the role of Head Girl, despite it being months away. Her rival was a child called Sophie, and the resulting enmity was savage. Most afternoons, Thea was expected to listen to every little skirmish in the never-ending war between them, and today was no exception.
Timmy, by contrast, had no ambitions of any kind beyond basic survival. He strove to avoid attention, especially from other children. Increasingly, Thea had sympathised as she understood him better. Small, colourless, quiet and shy, he was easy to overlook. One of four herself, with a healthy collection of nieces, nephews and a daughter of her own, she had nonetheless never encountered a child quite like Tim. His fragility endeared him to her, where it often irritated Drew. ‘It’s the opposite of what might have been expected,’ she remarked. ‘You being the one with all the patience and so forth.’
Drew never relished discussions concerning his son. ‘Just one of those things,’ he would say. ‘You’ll have to put it down to chemistry.’ He had moved from guilty to defensive and then to rueful acceptance. Tim was a motherless child and the damage was inescapable. All Thea could do was try to soften the edges of his woe.
Now, the little boy was contentedly sitting at the big kitchen table with his juice, biscuit and latest electronic device, ignoring his sister’s complaints about Sophie. Even his palpable relief at the end of every school day made Thea wince for him. It was as if he mentally ticked one more box off the thousands he would have to endure until he could find freedom. The previous summer had been a whirl of getting married, moving to Broad Campden, entertaining the bewildered children and generally adjusting to the new life for them all. Now they were more firmly settled, with Drew often busy to the point of discomfort, and the future more easy to see. Thea’s spaniel had her routines, pottering up and down the quiet lane where they lived, often unsupervised. A middle-aged Labrador four houses along had made her acquaintance, and the two would get together, somewhat against Cotswolds protocol, which much preferred its animals to be kept under rigid control. Hepzibah was a familiar figure, the Labrador unambitious and, compared to the sudden appearance of an undertaker in their midst, the dogs gave no grounds for neighbourhood objection.
‘And she deliberately broke my pencil,’ Stephanie whined. ‘She dropped it on its point while she was pretending to give it back to me. And then Mrs French told me not to make wild accusations.’
Thea had to hide a smile at the outrage on the child’s face. ‘Sounds as if you had a fairly normal day, then,’ she said. ‘How about you, Tim?’
He shrugged, as he always did, but then looked up. ‘Daniel Oakhurst’s big brother is going to die. I think they’re going to call Dad about it. I forgot to tell you.’
‘Really? How old is he?’
‘Dunno. Year Twelve or something. He’s got cancer in his head. Mrs Carroll told us not to talk about it, but Daniel says that’s silly. They talk about it all the time at their house, he says. He’s okay, Daniel.’
This was a major breakthrough, and Thea took care not to overreact. Implications swarmed through her mind – first of which was a probable improved status for Timmy, as the son of the man who handled such a high-profile funeral. The hint of a friend made at school at long last came close second. She wondered how a Year Four teacher might approach the fact of a young death with her class. ‘We’d better tell him about it now, then,’ she said. ‘Where do the Oakhurst family live?’
‘Right near the school,’ said Stephanie. ‘Jemima Oakhurst is in my class. The brother’s called Curtis.’
Timmy and Thea both looked at her with less than admiring expressions. ‘Is she your friend?’ asked Thea.
‘No,’ said Stephanie. ‘She’s horrible.’
‘Okay. So let’s leave it to Timmy, shall we? He can be the go-between.’
Stephanie gave a hesitant shrug. All her life she had been expected to yield to her little brother’s needs, and mostly she went along with the expectations. In the big things – the very biggest thing, anyway – she had had her way, and that left her feeling somehow in Timmy’s debt. Drew had broken a promise to his son because he and Stephanie had cravenly chosen to bury his mother in another field than their own. The betrayal was stark and permanent. Nobody thought the debt would ever be fully paid off.
The prospect of another funeral, this time of a teenage boy, gave rise to mixed feelings. Thea had long since grown accustomed to the flash of relief, even a momentary excitement, at the knowledge that the council tax could be paid for another month, or the freezer restocked. Only after that did she find space for sympathy and fellow feeling for those who had suffered the loss. Then came the story, every one of them different. Drew had great skill in eliciting the smaller details, the near-forgotten facts that made this person unique. ‘Mrs Taylor was a rally driver in her twenties’ or ‘William Collins mined opals in Australia until he was forty-five. He made a fortune and then lost the whole lot in three years, gambling on greyhounds. Isn’t that incredible?’ He nearly always added those final words, his eyes shining at the strange ways of the world.
‘Do you think Dad should phone the Oakhursts?’ Thea asked Timmy. ‘What did Daniel say exactly?’
‘We should wait for them to call us,’ interposed Stephanie with total authority. ‘That’s the way it works.’
‘Yes, I know, but …’ Thea floundered, aware that this young girl had a much more natural grasp of the business than she ever would.
‘You lot are quiet,’ said Drew, looking round the door. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Tim’s got a message for you,’ said Thea.
‘Has he indeed? And I’ve got one for you. All of you. Guess who’s coming to visit us tomorrow night?’
Stephanie studied his face for two seconds. ‘Maggs,’ she said with total certainty.
‘And Den?’ shouted Tim.
‘And Meredith?’ Thea added, adopting a smile that was just a trifle broader than the feelings lying behind it.
‘All of them,’ Drew confirmed. ‘They’re staying the weekend.’ He sighed contentedly. ‘Won’t that be wonderful.’
Friday was mainly dedicated to housework, thanks to the imminent arrival of three guests. There was a spare room for them, kept available for visitations that seldom happened. Thea’s siblings had not once come to see the Broad Campden set-up, but her mother had stayed a few days at Easter. The only other person was Thea’s daughter, Jessica, who had recently taken to making monthly overnight stays, belatedly eager to get to know her stepbrother and -sister. ‘It’s brilliant to have more relatives,’ she enthused. ‘And they’re such great kids, aren’t they?’
‘Drew’s not so bad, either,’ Thea had laughed.
‘He’s a catch,’ the girl agreed.
Now there was dusting, washing and shopping for food, all on a bright sunny day that had been scheduled for idling about in the garden. The school half-term holiday was rapidly approaching, bringing demands for entertainment from the children. When she suggested to Drew that he clear some days for himself so they could go out as a family, he’d raised his eyebrows and said people didn’t die to order, unfortunately.
‘No, but you could put the funerals back a couple of days, couldn’t you?’
‘I’ll do what I can,’ was the closest she got to agreement.
The phone call came at half past ten next morning. The dog barked up the stairs to inform her mistress that she was wanted. Drew was not yet back from burying Mr Fleming. If the landline wasn’t answered, the call would be redirected to his mobile, but he preferred that not to happen, and if it was during a funeral, it would go unheeded. Thea had been schooled in the procedures for handling reports of a death, as well as enquiries. Only as she reached the final stair, two strides away from the phone, did she remember the Biddulph business.
‘Hello? Drew Slocombe Undertaker,’ she said briskly.
‘Ah. Yes. Hello. I understand that you’re handling the funeral of a Mr Stephen Biddulph. I wonder if you could tell me the day and the time?’
She took a deep breath. ‘Oh, let me see.’ She rustled a piece of paper, probably very unconvincingly. ‘No, I’m sorry. I don’t think we’ve got anybody of that name in the diary. You did say “Biddulph”, didn’t you?’
‘That’s right. And please don’t play games with me. I know for a fact that you’re burying him sometime next week. That’s not in question at all. All I’m asking for is a civilised response to a perfectly normal enquiry.’
Her heart was thumping, mostly with shame at her own behaviour. ‘Well, I really am sorry, but I can’t help you any more than I have. I’ve got no more information for you.’
‘I see.’ Anger filled her ear, along with distress and frustration. ‘So I have to camp out in your benighted little village for a week, then, do I? Because there is no way in the world my family and I are going to miss it, you see. I don’t know who you are, but I can tell you, you’ve got yourself drawn into something pretty unsavoury.’
‘I’m Thea Slocombe, actually. My husband runs the business. And I might add that I don’t know who you are, either.’
‘My name, if it matters, is Clovis Biddulph. Stephen was my father. But it’s perfectly clear that your husband has been told to make bloody sure no unwanted relatives show up to ruin the nice natural little burial they’ve got planned. I get it. Well, Mrs Thea Slocombe, you can tell the lot of them it’s not going to work. It beats me how they ever thought it could. Even if they bury him at midnight, I’m going to be there. And it’s not just me, either. Tell them that, and see what they do then.’
She made a wordless sound and put the phone back on its stand. ‘Dear me,’ she said to the spaniel. ‘Looks like trouble.’
‘I did your lying for you,’ she told Drew when he came in at lunchtime. ‘Except I made rather a poor job of it. That man knows perfectly well you’re doing the funeral. Somebody probably Facebooked it. Nobody can keep secrets any more.’ The whole business had made her irritable. ‘Honestly, Drew, it’s all wrong. How can people let themselves get into such messes?’
He was twisting his hands together, as he had the day before. It made him look like a very worried undertaker.
‘I wish you wouldn’t do that,’ she said. ‘It’s starting to be a habit.’
‘What?’
‘Wringing your hands. I didn’t know anybody actually did that, but now you are. What are you so scared of?’
‘I’m not scared. I just don’t know what I should do about it. It takes me back to when I was at Plant’s and reputation was crucial. Daphne used to give us little lectures about being seen to be absolutely reliable and straight. Which she wasn’t, really, when it came to the crunch. That was why I left. I didn’t like the way everything was stitched up with the nursing homes and the coroner’s officer.’
‘I thought it was because you disapproved of the overcharging?’
‘That too. I always felt the families were being quietly exploited, and I wanted to be on their side.’
‘And you are. But sometimes people make things impossible. It’s not your fault.’
‘It is, though. I should have told them straight yesterday. What did the man on the phone say?’
‘He said there was no way he was going to miss the funeral and, if he had to, he’d camp here. He thinks you’ve planned a secret midnight burial.’
He laughed. ‘We never thought of that.’ Then his features straightened again. ‘But who would be idiotic enough to put it on Facebook? After everything Mrs Biddulph said to me?’
She thought for a moment. ‘Could be somebody secretly sympathises with the first family and wanted to alert them. How many are there in the second family?’
‘Wife. Lawrence. He’s got a wife and a little daughter.’
‘Has he? I thought he sounded too young for that, the way you were talking yesterday. How old is his mother, then?’
‘She must be fifty or so. Stephen was only twenty when he married the first time. He was probably well under forty when Lawrence was born. He’s had plenty of time to marry and have children.’
‘Hang on, Drew. This isn’t adding up.’ She looked at him with a frown. ‘It’s not like you to get in that sort of muddle. If Stephen was forty, that was nearly forty years ago, which makes this wife only ten when she had Lawrence, if she’s fifty now. You’ve got it wrong somewhere.’
He bowed his head in mock misery. ‘I’m losing it,’ he moaned. ‘Midlife crisis or something. Let’s start again. Stephen was seventy-nine. Linda – that’s the second wife’s name – looks about fifty. She didn’t say how long they’ve been married, but she could have been only eighteen at the time. So Lawrence could be thirty. That works, doesn’t it?’
‘Just about. Did you meet him? Or his wife and child?’
Drew shook his head. ‘Just Linda. All I know is what she told me.’
‘But Lawrence has got a wife – right?’
‘Yes. She’s very upset about the old man dying, apparently. Got on wonderfully well with him. And he was a devoted granddad to the little one. She’s called Modestine, which is a source of some disagreement, I gather.’
‘So I should think. Poor little thing. What would you call her for short?’
He shrugged. ‘History doesn’t relate that detail.’
She gave him an admiring look. ‘I know I’ve said it before, but it’s miraculous, the way you get all this information from one short session. I can’t imagine how that works.’
‘It all comes easily enough. Talking about flowers, for example. People go through all the friends and relations who might be sending some. And when it’s my sort of funeral, you get all the different opinions about burial and cremation, and ecology and religion. It’s a serious business. It makes everybody focus on the important stuff.’
‘It’s a special talent, and you know it. You and Maggs are the only people I’ve ever met who could do it.’ She sighed. ‘I know because I tried, and failed. Although I can tell you that the son who phoned me is called Clovis. I don’t think I can entirely dislike someone with such a wonderful name.’
‘You didn’t give yourself a chance with that funeral I asked you to arrange. It was my fault for throwing you in at the deep end.’
She let it drop there, a conversation they’d had many times before. ‘So, are they local? The Biddulphs, I mean. I suppose they must be if he wants to be buried here. But Clovis and Modestine both sound rather French. Has somebody got an exotic Parisian grandmother, do you think?’
‘Quite possibly,’ he said vaguely. ‘Linda and Lawrence are more or less local. The first lot aren’t very far away, from the sound of it. Stephen saw that piece about us in the paper last year. He put it into his will and told his family. All much as usual.’
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘You’ve gone all distant.’
‘I was thinking about Maggs,’ he said. ‘It sounds as if she wants to tell me something.’
‘It’ll be another baby,’ said Thea with confidence. ‘She knows that’ll make things complicated back at North Staverton.’
Drew winced. ‘It certainly would. I couldn’t believe how much harder it was with two than one. But it didn’t really sound like that. Surely she’d have just told me on the phone and said she wanted to come and discuss the implications if it was only that?’
‘You think it’s more serious? Like what? I bet you it’s a baby and she wants to watch your face when she tells you.’
‘I’m trying not to think about it until they get here. Once I’d got to Den having a life-threatening illness, or them suddenly deciding to emigrate to Tasmania, I thought I should just wait and see.’
‘Such self-control!’ she applauded. ‘But I doubt they fancy Tasmania, all the same.’
They were eating bread, pâté and salad, and drinking fruit juice. Thea was keen to put a permanent table outside, but most of the suitable space had been set aside for Drew’s hearse. Bodies had to be collected from wherever they’d died, and for that he used a medium-sized van, which also had to be parked somewhere. The house, left to him by an impressed client, was on a narrow lane with houses set at various angles, built before anyone dreamt of owning two cars. People coming to arrange a funeral were advised to park further away and walk the final distance. The inconvenience was permanent and insoluble. After a year of conducting the business there, frustration was, if anything, increasing.
‘Someone’s coming to the door,’ Drew said suddenly. ‘I saw a head.’ He pointed out of the kitchen window. From the front room, Hepzie gave a single bark of confirmation, two seconds before the doorbell rang.
‘You’re not expecting anybody, are you?’ said Thea.
But Drew was already in the hallway, opening the door.
Chapter Three
‘You told them!’ came a loud, accusing female voice. ‘After you promised not to. I’ve just heard from the only person who knows both families, saying they’ve found out about the funeral.’
‘Mrs Biddulph. Come on in and we can talk about it,’ he said calmly.
Thea was hovering at her husband’s shoulder before she had time to think. ‘That was quick,’ she said, realising a moment later that she should have known better. The obvious implication that she had spoken to the forbidden stepson hung in the air for all to hear. ‘Oh, sorry,’ she went on. ‘It’s none of my business. Sorry. I’ll just …’ she flapped a hand towards the kitchen. ‘Come on, Heps. We’ve got work to do.’ It was a dreadful parody of a busy housewife that would have shamed any amateur theatre company.
‘Come through,’ said Drew, ignoring Thea completely.
‘What did she mean?’ the woman asked suspiciously as they vanished into the back room.
Thea sank onto a kitchen chair and tried to persuade herself that it had not been obvious after all that she had dropped Drew into boiling water. There were several steps between her refusing to tell a downright lie to the man on the phone and the second Mrs Biddulph accusing Drew of treachery. But it was a mess, however one looked at it.
She cleared the table and put the kettle on, thinking Drew might offer his visitor some tea. It was not his usual practice to do so, but this funeral was in no way usual. The bereaved could frequently be irrational, argumentative and quite often intoxicated, but they very seldom made wild accusations.
The tea was not required, in the event. After twenty minutes, the two emerged from the sanctum, grim-faced but civil. ‘I hope I’ve made my position clear,’ said Drew, sounding very unlike himself.
‘It’s not your position that matters, though, is it?’ She sounded as if she’d said the same thing a few times already. ‘I just can’t have that woman putting in an appearance, telling Lawrence who she is, perhaps bringing all sorts of others with her.’
Drew sighed. ‘I’ve given you my suggestions,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you could have a think about them and let me know tomorrow what you’ve decided. It’s completely up to you, as I said. You’re under no obligation to me at all.’
They had somehow drifted to the front door, which Drew opened. ‘Goodbye, Mrs Biddulph, and please let me say I really am extremely sorry it’s come to this.’
She turned to face him, her features softening. ‘You don’t have to be sorry. I know it’s not your fault.’ She peered into the living room, where Thea was visible, plumping cushions. ‘I’m still not sure what your wife meant when she said “That was quick”,’ she said. ‘I suppose everything’s quick these days, with everybody texting and messaging and so forth. Nobody gets a moment to think any more. But I suppose we’ll have to go ahead on Tuesday. I don’t seem to have much choice, do I? I wouldn’t know what to say to Lawrence if we postponed it.’
She went at last, Drew standing in the doorway as she walked up the lane.
‘Sorry,’ said Thea abjectly. ‘I was such a fool.’
‘It didn’t matter. I’d already decided not to play any more games. I turned it round on her and said I was very unhappy that my wife was being dragged into their problems, and that what she’d asked of me was unacceptable. I suggested she makes contact with the first wife and try to have a civilised discussion. The thing is, absolutely nobody knows that this is the second Mrs Biddulph.’
‘But one person knows. She said so when she first got here just now. And she told you almost as soon as she met you.’
‘She did. Probably because I asked about death notices and letting people know when we were having the burial. That seemed to open the floodgates. She emphatically rejected any sort of public notice and asked me not to tell anyone if they phoned. When I must have seemed to find that odd, she explained the reason. With a whole mass of family history for good measure.’
‘It sounded as if there was some doubt about the funeral going ahead, just now.’
‘That’s right. It’s on hold until she tells me otherwise. She’s got until Monday morning. Mr B. is going to be okay at the hospital mortuary until then, anyway.’ He heaved a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘So, let’s forget all about them and enjoy seeing Maggs again. She said they should get here about six. We’ll have to kill a fatted calf for them.’
Thea had somehow overlooked the expected time of arrival and the need to provide a full-scale meal for seven people. Plus two more meals on the following day and, doubtless, a Sunday lunch as well. Catering was never her strong point. ‘Could we take them to the pub, do you think?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Certainly not. Maybe tomorrow for lunch, but it would be ludicrous to take them out the moment they get here. Don’t forget Meredith. She probably goes to bed at seven.’
‘Remind me how old she is? I’ve lost track.’
‘She was born two Septembers ago, which makes her twenty months. A toddler. Probably saying quite a lot by now. Still having a daytime sleep.’ His gaze lost focus. ‘I remember it all as if it was yesterday.’
‘Well, I don’t. Jessica’s first ten years are a complete blank. I thought I was being a fully committed hands-on mother, but now I wonder whether I was even there much of the time.’
‘Doesn’t Stephanie ever remind you of Jess? Doing little girl things? They seem to have a lot of the same interests.’
‘Now and then, I suppose. Jessica never watched films the way Stephanie does. She collected things. For years it was leaves. She pressed them, stuck them into books, and made pictures out of them. Carl taught her what they all were, and she labelled them. Like stamps, really. She must still have them somewhere.’
‘Hasn’t she told Steph about that? She’d probably love to have a go. I rather like leaves myself,’ he added wistfully.
‘Everyone does.’ Thea was impatient. ‘But that doesn’t mean you have to make a fetish of them.’
‘It’s nearly two o’clock. Do you need to go and get food? I’m here for the kids, if so. I’ve got plenty to get on with.’
‘I suppose I should. Is chicken all right? Then pasta or something tomorrow and a big pot of chilli on Sunday? I don’t have to do a Sunday roast, do I?’
‘It’s up to you. I could do Sunday, if you like. What about a barbecue?’
She stared at him. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you? The thing’s on the point of collapse, for a start. And it’ll probably rain. And we haven’t got any charcoal.’
‘Pity,’ he said mildly. ‘We should get a new one, and make sure we use it this summer. I love a nice barbie.’
All men do, she wanted to say, but bit the words back. She could already hear herself sounding like an irritating know-all.
‘Chicken’s perfect,’ he told her. ‘And I will do Sunday. It’s only fair. They’re really my guests, after all. You hardly know Den.’
‘We did that antique stall together last year. It’ll be nice to see him again. Is he still going to car boot sales or whatever it was?’
‘No idea. You’ll have to ask him.’
She watched his face and saw a return of the anxiety as to what it might be that Maggs had to say. Thea felt a surge of irritation in his defence. Why make him wait instead of saying it over the phone? It was unkind. ‘I bet it’s another baby,’ she said with a smile.
‘It probably is.’ He reached out for her. ‘Thanks, love. You don’t have to worry about entertaining them, you know. It’s only Maggs. They’re practically family. Let’s just make sure we enjoy ourselves, okay?’
‘Okay,’ she answered bravely.
The children’s excitement blossomed as six o’clock approached. ‘Can we stay up late to talk to them?’ Stephanie pleaded. ‘It is Friday, after all.’
‘Just for a bit,’ said Thea. ‘You’ve got all weekend to talk. They’ll just want to settle in and put Meredith to bed.’
‘Where will she sleep?’ Timmy gazed wide-eyed from face to face. ‘There’s no bed for her.’
‘They’re bringing one with them. It’s a fold-up cot. I’ve actually no idea what it’s like,’ Thea admitted with a laugh. ‘They might want you to help them put it up.’
The boy frowned as if burdened with an unfair responsibility. ‘Only if you want to,’ Thea assured him.
‘Where will they park?’ Stephanie wondered. ‘There’s no room for another car.’
‘Yes there is, because I’ve moved ours,’ said Drew. ‘It’s up by the church.’
‘I’m hungry,’ Tim complained, at five o’clock. ‘Why aren’t we having tea?’
‘We’re waiting to have it all together with Maggs and Den. I’ve done a great big chicken stew, and we’re having rice with it.’
‘Oh,’ said Tim. ‘Well, I hope they won’t be late, then.’
‘So do I,’ said Drew. ‘But if they are, we can have a few crisps or something to stop us from starving.’
At five to six, a car pulled up outside and Hepzie yapped. Both children hurtled to open the front door, deliberately jostling each other in the race to be first. Thea and Drew stayed in the living room, instinctively composing themselves into a united couple, lord and lady of the manor, welcoming the travellers. At least, that was how Thea fancied they might appear. It could just be that there would be no space for them in the hallway once three more people entered it.
‘Oh! Who are you?’ came Stephanie’s loud enquiry, in place of the expected salutations.
‘That’s no way to greet a visitor,’ came a familiar Geordie accent. ‘My name is Sonia Gladwin, as a matter of fact.’
Before the sentence was finished, Thea had rushed out to investigate. ‘Sonia,’ she gasped, unable to find anything to add that wouldn’t be at least as impertinent as Stephanie’s greeting had been.
The detective superintendent looked at the family gathered round her, including Drew in the doorway. ‘Is this a bad time?’ she said.
Chapter Four
‘Well, it is a bit,’ said Thea. ‘We’ve got people coming at any moment, and apart from anything else, your car’s going to be in their way.’
‘Right. Okay. Sorry about that. Funeral people, are they?’ Her brow creased. ‘Funny time for it – but then you exist to break the rules, don’t you?’
‘No, no. They’re friends. Colleagues. Not customers, anyway. What do you want?’ The question burst out, the constraints of polite protocol cast to the winds.
‘I want your help. A woman has gone missing not far from here and we’re very concerned for her safety. I think she’s someone you know from a while back. The thing is, it’s complicated. Delicate.’ She looked round again at the four faces. ‘I wouldn’t ask if it could be avoided, but it really would be a help if you could just hear the story and see what you think.’
‘Sonia – I can’t. I’ve got to feed seven people, and help get a toddler to bed, and—’
Drew stepped up. ‘Go into the study,’ he ordered. ‘We can manage for a bit. They might not even be here for another half an hour. Go and be a good citizen.’
‘Well keep an eye on the dinner, then. Don’t let it dry out. I was going to add more water to it. And the wine needs to be opened. And I didn’t finish laying the table.’
Gladwin was heading for the study – a room she already knew well. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s get on with it.’
Thea bit her lip at the tone. She was no stranger to murder enquiries, some of which had been Gladwin’s cases. She had moved all around the Cotswolds on a series of house-sitting jobs, encountering trouble, malice and fear along the way. At one point she had been in a relationship with another senior detective, involving herself quite directly in one or two investigations by his side. When DS Gladwin moved into the area and took up the reins, there was an immediate rapport. Slender, dark and energetic, she had moved with her husband and twin sons from the urban jungles of Tyneside to the comparatively sedate goings-on in Gloucestershire. ‘It’s a whole different class of murder,’ she said. ‘Which doesn’t mean people don’t behave every bit as badly – just in other ways from what I’m used to.’
‘Right, then,’ said the detective now, without pausing to sit down. ‘Do you remember a woman called Juliet Wilson, in Stanton?’
‘Juliet? Gosh, yes. That seems a long time ago now. Those pet rats. And the horses. What a palaver that was! You’re not telling me it’s Juliet who’s gone missing? Her mother must be frantic.’
‘You do remember her. Good. You’ll understand why we’re worried. She moved out of her mother’s house, some time ago. Mrs Wilson broke her hip and all sorts of complications set in, which nobody realised until a neighbour reported screams.’
‘Screams?’
‘Yes – well, that’s not important now. Juliet moved to a shared house in Blockley, with two other women, and got herself a little job in a boarding kennel. It was all going really well. It’s always hard to admit, but the general view seems to be that she was in a much better state once she got away from her mother.’
‘How long has she been missing?’
‘Three days. She was last seen on Tuesday afternoon, when she left work.’
‘Blockley’s no distance from here. I’m surprised I haven’t bumped into her if she’s been living there.’
‘Well, she knew you were here, apparently. She’s got all the cuttings about the burial ground in her room. She talked about you to her housemates. They think she intended to come and visit you, if she could get up the courage.’
‘She was never shy before. She kept walking into the house I was looking after, without even knocking.’
‘It’s different now. You’re married, for one thing.’
‘And she had a thing about men – I remember. It all came out at the end, didn’t it? She’d good reason to be wary.’
‘Which is one good reason for doing everything we can to find her. I have to say I’ve got a very bad feeling about it.’
‘But she always did go off on her own. We saw her roaming in some woods in the freezing cold, one time. She insisted she was all right and knew what she was doing.’
Gladwin sighed. ‘We think something must have happened to scare her. She could be hiding, of course. There’s a lot of wide open space out there. But she’d need food, and the nights are still bloody cold.’
‘So what can I do?’
‘Think back to what you knew of her.’
‘She was very sweet. We parted on good terms. But then I went off for Christmas with Drew, and I don’t think I’ve even been to Stanton again. I haven’t seen her at all since then. Does she drive?’
‘No. Never got as far as that.’
‘I really hope she’s all right.’
‘So do we all. So – if you’ve got time, have a scout around, between Blockley and here. You’ve always been good at that.’
‘At finding dead bodies, you mean?’ Thea’s voice was harsh. ‘Thanks very much.’
‘I just wanted you to know. Juliet obviously had some special feeling for you. She might have been coming here when something happened to her. She goes everywhere on foot, just as she always did. She knows the footpaths and tracks. I just wanted you to know,’ she repeated.
‘Okay. Yes. I’m glad you told me. I’ll see if I can think of anything useful – but I don’t imagine I’ll come up with anything.’
Squeals, voices and a yapping spaniel announced that the Coopers had finally arrived. ‘Bathroom – quick!’ came a loud female voice. ‘This nappy’s about to explode.’
‘You’d better go and see to your visitors,’ said Gladwin. ‘Sorry about the terrible timing. I’ll phone you if there’s any news.’
‘Thanks,’ said Thea with minimal enthusiasm. ‘I hope Juliet shows up safe, anyway.’
There followed a brief skirmish outside involving cars, Den and Gladwin managing it between them, having refused Drew’s offer to direct the manoeuvres. Nobody had made any introductions and Den came back looking puzzled. ‘Who was that?’ he asked.
Thea cocked her head teasingly. ‘Couldn’t you tell? Didn’t you get any vibes?’
‘Don’t tell me she’s a cop.’ He looked to Drew for rescue. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘There wasn’t time. She’s a detective superintendent with the Gloucestershire force. She and Thea are old mates. Don’t worry – she’s got no idea who you are, either. As if it mattered.’ Drew was sounding tetchy, with the collapse into near-chaos caused by Gladwin’s presence, Meredith’s overflowing nappy and Hepzibah’s rampant enthusiasm for the newcomers.
‘Okay. So – what’s cooking? I can smell something fabulous. Should I lay the table or something? Pour drinks? Entertain the young people? I’m at your disposal. Maggs and Merry won’t be long. I can’t tell you what torment the last ten miles have been. I’m not sure the car will be useable for a while.’ Somehow, everybody had drifted into the kitchen, in an instinctive expectation of food, and were standing around awkwardly.
