Murder in Bloom Page 13

  ‘Maybe,’ said Libby cautiously. ‘It’ll take a lot of thinking through.’

  Ben nodded, satisfied, and let her go. They spent the next half hour wandering through the house and exclaiming, usually at the gross excesses of Millie’s taste.

  ‘I can’t believe she gave birth to Peter and James,’ said Ben, gazing up at a particularly hideous lampshade. ‘Were they changelings, do you suppose?’

  ‘She told me she’d done all this after their father died. I suppose they took after him.’

  ‘I don’t remember him that well. He was quiet and adored Millie, I know that much.’

  A shout floated up to them through the open casement window and Libby leant out under the thatch. Lewis and Adam stared up at her.

  ‘Door’s open,’ she called back. ‘Come in and we’ll be down.’

  ‘I haven’t said anything about the possibility of us moving here,’ she whispered to Ben as they went towards the stairs. ‘Just that Peter wants it done up.’

  Ben raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

  ‘Cor!’ said Lewis, wandering through the downstairs. ‘Great house, pissin’ awful décor.’

  Libby laughed. ‘It’s Ben’s aunt you’re talking about here,’ she said. ‘Come and meet him.’

  Lewis and Ben shook hands warily as Adam burst through from the back of the house.

  ‘This is a great place, Ma,’ he said. ‘Masses of room. You should live here.’

  Libby opened her mouth and shut it again, shooting a warning look at Ben, who smirked.

  ‘So have a wander round, Lewis, and then tell us what you’d do with it,’ she continued. ‘Shall we have a look round outside, Ad?’

  She, Ben and Adam went out through the boot room and into the overgrown garden, beyond which was what looked like a paddock.

  ‘It used to be a farm, didn’t it?’ she asked, leaning her arms on the five-bar gate into the paddock. ‘Did they sell the rest off?’

  ‘Let,’ said Ben. ‘They still have a tenant farmer, like we do at The Manor. If we put the land up for sale some developer would leap in and apply for planning permission.’

  ‘They wouldn’t get it, surely?’ said Libby, shocked.

  Ben shrugged. ‘They might, although at the moment no one would buy or develop it with the economic situation as it is.’

  ‘Huge bloody garage,’ said Adam coming round the side of the house and brushing off cobwebs. ‘Part of it’s set up as a workshop.’

  ‘Is it unlocked?’ said Ben in surprise.

  ‘Yeah. Well, I got in. Doesn’t seem to be much in there to pinch.’

  Ben went off to investigate and Adam joined his mother at the gate.

  ‘This is exactly the sort of place where I wanted to live when I was a child,’ said Libby dreamily. ‘Put a pony in that paddock and I’d have been in heaven.’

  Adam looked at her with his head on one side.

  ‘And you’d still like to, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Libby, with a nervous laugh. ‘I mean, who wouldn’t.’

  ‘I just wondered why you and Ben were here instead of Pete,’ said Adam.

  ‘Because of asking Lewis, of course,’ said Libby, looking at him with wide eyes.

  ‘Oh, right.’ Adam nodded and looked across the paddock to the stand of trees beyond.

  Libby frowned at him suspiciously and turned to go back in the house. She found Lewis and Ben sitting at the kitchen table discussing floors.

  ‘What do you think, Lewis?’ she said, sitting down.

  ‘It’s a great house, and in terrific condition. Little bit of damp here and there, but whoever looked after it before all this bloody tat –’ he waved a dismissive hand ‘– knew what they were doing. Just needs a cosmetic overhaul, except in here, of course. I reckon they’ve wrecked a good bit of the original room putting this lot in.’ He looked round and shook his head. ‘You wouldn’t credit it, would you?’

  ‘The original fittings went to the owner’s son,’ said Ben. ‘He’s got the dresser and the Aga, and the big kitchen table.’

  ‘Lucky bugger. Is he the one who wants this place put back to rights?’

  Ben nodded. ‘Do you want to take it on?’

  Lewis looked uncomfortable. ‘I don’t really do this sort of stuff these days,’ he said. Then he grinned. ‘But I could be project manager, if you like. I reckon I’ll have the time for a bit, won’t I? My show will be on hold until I’m in the clear, and we aren’t due to start filming anyway for another couple of months. What do you think?’

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Ben slowly, ‘but I’ll have to talk to Peter, obviously.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, fine,’ said Lewis. ‘Just let me know soon as, eh?’ He stood up. ‘Come on, Ad, I’d better get back to Miss Droopy Drawers.’

  ‘Is that Cindy Dale?’

  ‘Yeah. You must come over and meet her, Lib. I’d got quite the wrong idea about everything, you know, and I think the public had when all that business blew up.’

  ‘I thought you wanted to talk to me today,’ said Libby. ‘That was one of the reasons I asked you out here.’

  ‘You don’t want me to take on this house?’ Lewis looked puzzled.

  ‘Yes, of course, but –’

  ‘Not the right time now, anyway,’ said Lewis. ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘All right,’ said Libby, with a quick look at Ben, who gazed studiously out of the window. ‘Perhaps tomorrow morning. Oh, and you said you wanted to go to Harry’s restaurant, didn’t you? How about the four of us go tomorrow evening. Ben? Would that be OK?’

  Ben smiled and nodded. ‘We could talk about this place, couldn’t we?’ he said craftily.

  ‘Great,’ said Lewis, beaming. ‘Tell me what time when you come over in the morning.’ He stopped on his way to the door and looked serious. ‘You will come, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Libby, ‘I’ll come.’

  Surprisingly, Ben had no objections. Throughout the evening they talked about Steeple Farm and what it could be like. Ben’s memories of it as a child were vague, but very much as a typical country farmhouse.

  ‘The only room I remember being different was the sitting room,’ he said at one point. ‘Millie must have persuaded my uncle to let her decorate it. It had silver embossed wallpaper on the chimney breast and bamboo paper in the recesses. I think she boarded up the fireplace and put in a gas fire.’

  ‘It hasn’t changed much now,’ said Libby. ‘Except the wallpaper’s different and there’s a television in front of the fireplace.’

  ‘It’s a pity,’ said Ben, ‘that we didn’t get together sooner. It would have been a wonderful place to bring up children.’

  ‘If we’d got together sooner Millie would still be at Steeple Farm,’ said Libby, ‘but I see what you mean. I said that to Adam this afternoon. It was the sort of place I dreamt about when I was a girl reading horsey books.’

  ‘Didn’t you dream about places like The Manor?’ said Ben.

  ‘No, they weren’t homely enough. In the books I read, they always belonged to the snotty family with the daughter who won everything at the Pony Club competitions and came a cropper in the end.’

  ‘That was our Susan, then,’ laughed Ben, ‘although you wouldn’t have said we were a snotty family, would you?’

  ‘Not with your mother,’ grinned Libby, ‘anything but.’

  The following morning Adam went off in the Renault and Ben lent Libby the Land Rover.

  ‘It’s really not difficult to drive,’ he said. ‘Just remember there are more gears than your car has.’

  Libby looked down nervously from the driving seat. ‘It seems very high,’ she said.

  ‘Then you can see over hedges,’ grinned Ben. ‘Go on, off you go. I’ll see you later.’


  ‘Will you book a table for tonight and ring me so I can tell Lewis?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ben with a sigh. ‘Now stop dithering and go.’

  Libby drove slowly and carefully towards Nethergate, infuriating several other drivers. Pulling up on the Creekmarsh drive and letting out a great sigh of relief, she found her shoulders ached from tension. Lewis came out to meet her and helped her down.

  ‘It’s like driving a bloody lorry,’ she said, stumbling against him. ‘And I’ve got to drive it back.’

  ‘Come and have a cuppa,’ said Lewis, tucking her arm into his. ‘Katie’s got the kettle on.’

  Katie didn’t look particularly down, thought Libby, when they went into the kitchen. Tired, perhaps, but otherwise just as Libby had last seen her.

  ‘Nice to see you again, lovey,’ she said. ‘Been a bit much, all this, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Certainly has,’ said Libby, sitting at the table. ‘Did you have a good weekend at home?’

  Katie turned back to the kettle. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Caught up with a few things and had a good dust round, you know.’

  ‘Do you want to come upstairs and meet Cindy,’ asked Lewis, who had been hovering by the door, ‘or drink your tea down here?’

  ‘I’d rather have my tea here,’ said Libby, ‘and anyway, I want to hear about her before I meet her. You haven’t said much, either you or Ad, except that she wasn’t what you’d expected.’

  There was a snort from the other side of the table. Libby and Lewis looked at Katie’s uncompromising back. ‘Doesn’t like her,’ mouthed Lewis. Libby controlled a strong desire to giggle.

  Lewis came and sat down at the table. ‘Well,’ he began, ‘I thought she –’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said a quiet voice from the doorway. ‘I didn’t know you had company.’

  Lewis, Libby and Katie turned towards the door, and Cindy Dale came into the room.

  Chapter Eighteen

  LIBBY STARED. CINDY GAVE her a shy smile, hesitating by the table.

  ‘Come and sit down,’ said Lewis, pulling out a chair. ‘Katie’s just making tea. This is my friend Libby. She’s Adam’s mother.’

  Katie almost slammed three mugs down in front of them and stomped away to the fridge.

  ‘Hello,’ said Cindy. Her voice was light, her vowels home counties. Stranger and stranger, thought Libby. ‘Adam’s nice. You must be proud of him.’

  ‘I am, yes. I’m proud of all my children.’

  ‘How many do you have? Is Adam the oldest?’ Cindy leant forward, wide, confiding grey eyes staring into Libby’s own.

  ‘No, the youngest. Belinda’s the middle one, and Dominic’s the eldest.’

  ‘What lovely names,’ said Cindy, a trace of wistfulness in her voice. As Katie poured tea into the mugs, Cindy looked up, pushed a lock of mouse-brown hair behind an ear and smiled. ‘Thank you, Katie,’ she said.

  Katie grunted and with thinned lips went out of the kitchen.

  ‘She doesn’t like me,’ said Cindy.

  Lewis cleared his throat. ‘I’m sure she does, she’s just – er – a bit – um –’

  ‘She was like that with me at first.’ Libby rushed in to avoid the difficult moment and Lewis looked grateful.

  ‘Oh? Have you known her long?’

  ‘Er – no, not long,’ said Libby, feeling a bit pink. ‘She’ll be fine in a day or so. Are you staying that long?’ Oh, bugger, she thought. I shouldn’t have said that.

  ‘I don’t really know,’ said Cindy, turning the grey eyes towards Lewis, who was studying knotholes in the table.

  ‘Oh.’ Libby was at a loss. She didn’t know why Cindy was here, what she’d told Lewis or the police and, most importantly, why she was so different from the picture painted of her by the media three years before. This was no glamour model. This was a girl who wouldn’t have been out of place in the pony books Libby had been remembering. She wore a loose shirt over jeans, had thick, straight hair and wore no make-up on her high-cheekboned face. Libby tried to remember if there’d been any photographs on the various sites she’d turned up on the search engine. She didn’t think there had been, but the descriptions of Cindy as a model turned singer had suggested a very different type of person than the calm, quiet girl who sat opposite her now.

  ‘Is the house much changed?’ she asked, and cursed herself again. ‘Sorry. That was insensitive of me.’

  Cindy’s smile was sad. ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ she said. ‘Lewis has done quite a bit more than we ever got round to.’

  We? Libby risked a glance at Lewis, who was now concentrating on a new knothole. ‘I suppose he would, being a television DIY expert,’ she said out loud, and wondered how on earth she was going to get out of this conversation. With relief, she heard her mobile trilling from inside her basket.

  ‘Ben? Oh, great. Yes, I’ll tell him. No, I didn’t crash it. I might on the way back, though.’ She turned to Lewis. ‘Ben’s booked our table for eight, if that’s OK?’ She smiled at Cindy. ‘Sorry we’re taking him away from you this evening.’

  Cindy looked startled. Lewis cleared his throat, looking relieved. Libby realised he hadn’t relished telling his house guest that she was to be left alone. Well, she thought, if you turn up out of the blue, you can hardly expect to be entertained the whole time, can you? Out loud, she said, ‘I’d better go and find Adam and let him know. I’ll see you in a bit, Lewis.’ She held out her hand to Cindy. ‘Nice to meet you,’ she said.

  Cindy put a soft hand into hers and smiled. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It was.’

  Outside, Libby realised she had no idea which part of the garden Adam was working on, and as she didn’t want go back in and ask, she had to go exploring.

  The gardens were extensive. She found her way first to the parterre, where Adam wasn’t, then following the downward slope of a meadow with a ha-ha halfway down, which would doubtless one day be another lawn, found herself by the edge of the creek, or the inlet, she remembered. And there, just to her right, stood the weatherboarded building which must be the sailing club. Moored alongside a pontoon, several small boats bobbed and swung contentedly, like so many seabirds. Finding an ancient wooden bench, Libby sat down and contemplated the view.

  The river was at its widest here, and almost dead ahead was the sea. On the opposite bank, she could see trees, a church spire and a couple of houses with riverside access. Expensive, she thought. But no more expensive than this place. She turned to look back and discovered that the house couldn’t be seen from here. So this place couldn’t be seen from the house either. She turned back towards the river and the sailing club. An ideal place for concealing activities, it would be, supposing you needed to. She stood up and made for the lane which ran alongside the meadow and took her down to the pontoon.

  Sure enough a small notice attached to the door, which was firmly padlocked, announced it to be the Creekmarsh Sailing Club, Private, Members Only. Not many members, thought Libby, looking at the collection of small boats, although perhaps there were other moorings. She wondered if Gerald Shepherd, or any former owners of Creekmarsh, had sailed from here, or used it, perhaps, as a secret way of ingress or egress. It looked possible that the estate owned the land, which probably meant that the sailing club leased the building and the moorings. She must ask Lewis. Whom she now heard calling her name.

  ‘Over here,’ she shouted, waving at the small figure at the top of the meadow. She watched as he trotted down to meet her, his unnatural tension of earlier now replaced with his usual ebullience.

  ‘Watcher doing all the way down here?’ he asked breathlessly, as he came up beside her.

  ‘Exploring,’ grinned Libby. ‘I started looking for Adam by the parterre, and just carried on in this direction.’ She pointed towards the Creekmarsh Sailing Club. ‘Ben used to sail here with a friend in h
is schoolboy days. Do you own the land?’

  ‘I dunno.’ He walked forward curiously. ‘Never thought about it. The land goes right down to the river, so I suppose I do.’ He nodded towards the sailing club. ‘D’you reckon that’s illegal?’

  ‘The building? No, I should think they lease the land and the moorings from the estate. You’d better check with your solicitor.’

  Lewis groaned. ‘Bloody solicitors again. You wouldn’t believe what’s been happening.’

  ‘No, so why don’t you tell me.’ She led him to the bench and sat down. ‘You were going to before Cindy interrupted us.’

  ‘Ears of a bat, that girl,’ growled Lewis. ‘Bet she heard.’

  ‘You don’t like her either, then?’

  ‘Oh, I dunno.’ Lewis sighed. ‘It’s just such a shock, her walking in like that. She’s such a shock, herself. Don’t get me wrong,’ he added hastily, ‘she ain’t done anything awful, like, but it’s got everyone confused.’

  ‘Tell me how it happened,’ said Libby. ‘From the beginning.’

  ‘Well,’ said Lewis, leaning back and turning his face up to the sun, which was just emerging from the overhanging trees on the other side of the lane. ‘Sunday afternoon, see, and I was up there all on me own. Katie wasn’t back, and I didn’t know when she’d turn up, so when I heard the front door open, I thought it was her and just sort of yelled out.’

  ‘Wasn’t it locked?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, that’s why I thought it was Katie, see, ’cos she’s got her own key. Anyway, there’s no answer, so I goes to the stairs and there’s this girl standing looking up at me. “Who are you?” she says. So I thought, bloody hell, what a cheek, and I goes haring down the stairs. “Excuse me,” I says, “but who are you? I just happen to be the owner of this place.” So she looks real surprised, like, and takes a step back. “But it belongs to Gerald,” she says. “Not any more, it don’t,” I says, “and who are you anyway?” So she tells me and you could have knocked me down with a feather.’

  ‘I bet,’ murmured Libby.

  ‘So anyway, I takes her into the kitchen and makes her a cuppa – for shock, you know – and tell her the whole story. All about how Tony sold the house to me with his power of wotsit, then about the body in the garden. Then she sort of puts her head in her hands and starts crying.’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t know what to do.’