Murder in the Green Read online

  ‘I get the scraps,’ said Adam, trying to look soulful.

  Hetty called them in to the kitchen, where they sat round the huge table. Libby noticed Greg wasn’t there, and leant over to whisper to Ben.

  ‘Not very well today,’ he whispered back. ‘I’ll go in and see him after lunch.’

  Ben’s father, wounded and imprisoned during the last war, had become increasingly frail over the last few years. He was an old-school gentleman who had deeply regretted having to hand over the management of his farm and hop gardens to his young wife after the war, although he was still able to run the estate office. Now, however, Ben, retired from his architect’s practise, did it for him, though the hop gardens and most of the land had long gone.

  How Hetty had managed it with such short notice, Libby didn’t know. The enormous piece of beef must have been in the freezer, she supposed, but how had she thawed it out in time? Even in the microwave – if it had fitted – it would have taken ages. Still, thought Libby, tucking in to perfect roast potatoes, there it was, and hers not to reason why.

  Lunch finished and cleared away, with Hetty insisting on doing her own “pots” as she always did, Ben went off to visit his father and the rest of them lay in various somnolent attitudes around Hetty’s sitting room.

  ‘Ben tells me the house is goin’ well, Libby.’ Hetty peered over the top of her spectacles.

  ‘Very well, thanks, Het,’ said Libby. ‘How’s Millie?’

  ‘Much the same,’ said Peter. He glanced at his brother. ‘James and I went in to see her yesterday. I’m not sure she knew who we were.’

  Hetty snorted. ‘Her own sons? Course she knew.’

  ‘No, Aunt Het,’ said James. ‘She really doesn’t. Or what day of the week it is or anything. She talks about you, though, and your mother – Lillian? – and Flo and Lenny.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘But as though she was still a child,’ said Peter. ‘That bloody play.’

  ‘You can’t blame the play, Pete. She was already a bit…’ Libby trailed off and looked round helplessly.

  ‘Barmy?’ said Harry helpfully. ‘Course she was, Pete.’

  ‘But The Hop Pickers revived the whole story of you coming here, Het, didn’t it? And that’s what set her off.’ Peter stood up and walked to the window. ‘I’ll never forgive myself.’

  The rest of the little gathering fell silent and awkward. Eventually, James stood up. ‘I’d better get back to Canterbury, Aunt Het,’ he said. ‘Tanya and I are going out tonight.’

  ‘That’s good, boy,’ she said tapping his hand with her gnarled one. ‘Time you settled down.’

  Harry snorted and Adam gave him a nudge. Libby was amused to see how well the two of them got on. Fran would be worried that Harry, and/or Lewis Osbourne-Walker, would be turning Adam’s head, but as far as she could see, her youngest son stayed resolutely heterosexual. Not that she was particularly worried about it either way.

  As James left, Ben came back in to the room frowning.

  ‘I think we should call the doctor, Mum,’ he said. ‘I don’t like the look of him.’

  Hetty gave him a sharp look. ‘He’s been as bad as this before.’

  ‘Maybe, but we’ve always called the doctor.’

  ‘He said not to,’ said Hetty, setting her mouth in a firm line.

  ‘Not even to make him more comfortable?’

  Hetty’s eyes lost focus. ‘He’s never comfortable,’ she said, and Libby was appalled to hear a tremble in her voice.

  Ben hunkered down beside his mother. ‘I know, Mum. But I really do think we need to call the doctor.’

  ‘Who is it?’ said Libby, standing up. ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘The new one.’ Hetty looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. ‘The old surgery.’

  The others in the room all looked at one another, reminded again of the tragedies of a few short years ago.

  ‘All coming back to that fucking play again,’ said Peter, and strode out of the room. Harry made an apologetic face and hurried after him.

  Libby went outside to make the call. It was, of course, put through to an emergency service, but the operator told her she would try and get hold of Dr Harrison himself. When she rang off, she found Adam standing by her elbow.

  ‘Mum,’ he said quietly, ‘I’m not sure I understand all this.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the sitting room. Libby sighed. ‘I’ll just go and tell them I’ve made the call,’ she said.

  ‘You remember the play, don’t you?’ she said, coming back to Adam.

  ‘Yes. We came down to see it.’

  ‘And there was a lot of trouble about it? Remember that?’

  ‘Could hardly forget it, could I?’

  ‘Well, Pete blames himself for writing the play and insisting on putting it on. He doesn’t think any of the problems would have happened if we’d never even thought about the theatre.’

  Adam frowned. ‘But you’ve put on lots of things since then, and he’s been involved.’

  ‘But now his mother and his uncle are both getting worse, and he sees it as a direct result of The Hop Pickers. It isn’t of course, but you can understand it.’

  Adam shook his head. ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘It’s like Lewis thinks he’s entirely responsible for all the trouble at Creekmarsh. I tell him he’s daft, but I don’t think it makes any difference.’

  Everyone stayed for a while, waiting for a call from the doctor. It came while Libby was making tea in the kitchen.

  ‘He’s coming over,’ said Ben, coming to find her. ‘He sounded –’ he broke off.

  ‘Concerned?’ Libby put the big brown teapot on to the tray with mugs, a milk jug and sugar bowl.

  ‘Yes.’ Ben looked down at the tray and covered Libby’s hand with his own. ‘Lib, I’m sorry, but I think I ought to stay here tonight.’

  Libby was conscious of almost equal parts of worry and relief, and hated herself.

  ‘Shall I stay with you?’ she asked heroically.

  Ben shook his head and picked up the tray. ‘Better not,’ he said. ‘I don’t think anything – well, that is, I don’t think he’ll –’

  ‘Die tonight?’ said Libby.

  ‘Yes.’ Ben looked at her. ‘But it might be difficult.’ He heaved a sigh, standing in the kitchen, the heavy tray in his hands, looking as though the whole world had descended onto his shoulders. ‘He’s been a creaking gate for so long that we’ve all got used to it.’

  Libby nodded and leant across the tray to give him a kiss. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘And what with Peter blaming himself it just makes things even more awful, doesn’t it?’

  Ben sighed and nodded, and they left the kitchen to take the tea into the sitting room. They were still there when the doctor arrived. Ben and Hetty took him straight up to Greg.

  ‘Come on,’ said Harry. ‘Let’s wash these mugs up and get out of the way. They won’t want us hanging around.’

  Peter, still looking like an aristo on his way to the tumbrel nodded vaguely and came away from the window. Adam began loading mugs on to the tray and Libby led the way to the kitchen, where she filled the sink with water.

  ‘You three go,’ she said plunging her arms in. ‘I’ll be quicker on my own. Then I’ll just see if they need anything and get off home myself.’

  Adam and Harry came up behind her and each gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Come to us this evening,’ said Harry. ‘I’ve got some bookings at the caff, so if you feel like eating again later on I’ll give you a share of Ad’s scraps.’

  Libby looked round at him and grinned. ‘I’ll do that,’ she said. ‘Be like old times.’ She looked across at Peter, standing disconsolate by the door. ‘Cheer up, Pete. It really isn’t your fault.’

  But, later, as she walked slowly down the Manor drive past the Oast House Theatre, she wondered if perhaps they didn’t all share the blame.

  Chapter Eight

  It was still broad daylight at a quarter to nine when
Libby walked to the Pink Geranium. Ben had called at around six, to say that Doctor Harrison had arrived and organised some specialist equipment to be delivered, including oxygen, given his father an injection and said he would see them in the morning before surgery, but if they were at all worried they were to call him on his private number at any time.

  ‘Seems a nice chap,’ said Ben hesitantly. ‘Don’t know where he’s living.’

  ‘Over the surgery, perhaps?’ suggested Libby. ‘There is a flat there, isn’t there? He must have bought the whole building when he bought the practice.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Ben. ‘Most practices have several doctors these days. The old village doctor has all but died out.’

  ‘Not ours, obviously,’ said Libby. ‘And if he’s nice, as you think, then thank God for it, I say.’

  She glanced now across the road to where the doctor’s surgery stood on the corner of Maltby Close. A light on the first floor confirmed her supposition that the new doctor had taken up residence in the flat. Bit small for a family, thought Libby, but at least there’s a garden.

  Donna installed her on the sofa in the window of the Pink Geranium and Adam brought over a bottle of red wine.

  ‘Harry said you like this,’ he said, wiping his hands on his long French-waiter apron.

  ‘I do.’ Libby smiled up at him. ‘Where’s Pete?’

  ‘He wouldn’t come.’ Adam pulled down the corners of his mouth. ‘Said he’d got work to do at home.’

  ‘Am I waiting until you two are free to eat with me?’

  ‘Don’t know.’ Adam shrugged. ‘I’m supposed to be plating up, so I’d better get back. See you in a bit.’

  Libby sat gazing out onto the high street watching the sky get slowly darker. Eventually, she stood up, and carrying her wine glass, made her way to the back of the restaurant.

  ‘Can I go through to the yard?’ she asked Donna.

  The yard, from where steps led up to the flat Adam was now occupying, had now become a designated smoking area. Libby sat at one of the little white-painted iron tables, and noted that the other two were full. She smiled evilly to her self and lit a cigarette. ‘So much for the ban,’ she muttered.

  ‘What?’ Harry slid a chair noisily away from the table and sat down. ‘Gi’s a fag, gal.’

  Libby handed over her packet. ‘Have you finished in there?’

  ‘Yup. Be able to come out and play soon. Do you mind what you get to eat?’

  ‘No, I’m looking forward to it.’

  ‘So what’s the news on Uncle Greg?’

  Libby told him all she knew.

  ‘Doesn’t look too good, does it?’ said Harry, stubbing out his cigarette half smoked and standing up. ‘I’ll just finish up in there and be out shortly.’

  Libby finished her own cigarette slowly, then went back to the sofa to wait for Adam and Harry. Donna came over to join her and slipped off her shoes.

  ‘Are you eating with us?’ asked Libby.

  ‘No.’ Donna pushed her hair away from her face. ‘Got a date.’ She grinned at Libby. ‘Finally, someone who isn’t put off by unsocial hours.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘No one you know. He’s a doctor.’ Libby was surprised to see Donna blush.

  ‘Not the new doctor over the road?’

  ‘Oh, no. I’m one of his patients, couldn’t do that.’ Donna giggled. ‘No, he’s a houseman at the hospital.’

  ‘Oh, right. Well. Congratulations. His hours will be even worse than yours.’

  ‘I know.’ Donna sighed. ‘Can’t get it right, can I?’

  Harry appeared carrying two plates, Adam following with a third.

  ‘Sure you won’t join us?’ said Harry. ‘Or are you desperate for the doctor?’

  Donna poked her tongue out and stood up. ‘Will you sort out the last customers?’ she said, indicating the two remaining tables of diners.

  ‘Have they paid?’

  ‘Of course.’ Donna gave Adam a playful pat on the cheek and disappeared towards the kitchen. Harry nodded towards the empty table in the other window.

  ‘She’s a good girl,’ he said. ‘I hope she doesn’t decide to start having babies and leave us.’

  ‘She’s got ambition,’ said Libby, taking her seat at the table. ‘You told me. That’s why she came here from Anderson Place, isn’t it?’

  ‘But luurve might intervene,’ said Harry. ‘If this doctor sweeps her off her size tens.’

  ‘Blimey!’ said Adam, his mouth full of refried beans. ‘I never noticed she had big feet.’

  ‘Bye Donna,’ said Libby loudly, and Adam choked. ‘Have a good time.’

  Donna encompassed them all in a smile and a wave.

  ‘Anyway, babies aren’t all they’re cracked up to be,’ said Libby with a darkling glance at her son.

  ‘We were angels,’ he grinned. ‘It’s Fran’s lot who are so awful.’

  ‘Not Jeremy, actually,’ said Libby. ‘You liked him, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, but he’s in America. Fat lot of use he is.’

  ‘I met the other two at the wedding, didn’t I?’ said Harry, pouring more wine. ‘The quite pretty one with the kids who couldn’t decide whether or not to be a hippy, and the discontented one with the make-up and the husband.’

  ‘Lucy with Rachel and Tom, who aren’t too bad, I suppose, and dreadful Chrissie and Brucie baby, who have a cat, Cassandra. Fran and Guy have gone there today, as a matter of fact.’ Libby sipped at her wine. ‘Families, eh?’

  ‘Yours is all right,’ said Harry, with an odd look. ‘The Parkers and the Wildes are a bit more of a problem.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Libby didn’t want to think about it. ‘I think there are quite a lot of family problems in Cranston Morris, too,’ she said.

  ‘Cranston Morris?’ Harry frowned. ‘What have they got to do with anything?’

  ‘You knew I was going to their parade,’ said Libby. ‘Well, I met Richard Diggory again. I said I would. Then I went to the actual sunrise celebrations this morning.’

  ‘What time did you get up?’ asked Adam, horrified.

  ‘Four thirty. I didn’t mean to, I just didn’t sleep well. Anyway, it turns out Diggory is the Oak King and quite important in the whole Celtic festival thing. Bit of a ladies man, though.’

  ‘Don’t tell me he tried it on with you?’ Harry threw his head back and laughed.

  ‘Why shouldn’t he?’ said Libby, a little huffily.

  ‘Trying to mate with a hedgehog comes to mind.’ Harry patted her hand.

  ‘He made me uncomfortable, anyway,’ said Libby.

  ‘And what else happened?’ Harry had sat back in his chair and was watching her carefully.

  Libby opened her eyes wide. ‘Nothing, why?’

  ‘Just wondering why you went to the parade and the sunrise party. Not your sort of thing these days, is it? You told me you used to go when he was small.’ Harry jerked his thumb towards Adam.

  ‘Something to do,’ said Libby, bending to her plate once more.

  ‘That bloke who was murdered on May Day,’ said Adam indistinctly. ‘Betcha.’

  Libby looked up at two sets of eyes bent accusingly on hers.

  ‘Well,’ she said, clearing her throat, ‘my friend Gemma did ask me to look into it.’

  ‘Oh, Libby!’

  ‘Oh, Mu-um!’

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said hastily. ‘Fran’s had no moments about it –’

  ‘So Fran’s involved too?’ said Harry.

  ‘And Ian’s warned me off comprehensively.’

  ‘When did you see Ian?’ asked Harry.

  ‘This morning. He was there, too.’

  ‘That bloke that got murdered May Day. Told you.’ Adam glared triumphantly at his mother.

  ‘All right, all right,’ said Libby. ‘But I said no, and that’s that.’

  ‘Where have I heard that before?’ said Harry, casting his eyes up to the ceiling.

  ‘You know what,’ said Adam suddenly. ‘You w
ant to get away. Have a holiday. You haven’t been away from Steeple Martin since you moved here, have you?’

  Libby and Harry both looked at him in astonishment.

  ‘Where did that come from?’ said Harry.

  ‘I just think she should.’ Adam was defensive. ‘She’s spent the last few years looking into things for other people, and looking after people –’

  Harry snorted.

  ‘Well, she has,’ said Adam, glaring once again, but this time at Harry.

  ‘It’s a lovely idea,’ said Libby, ‘but how could I? Ben and his family might need me.’

  ‘He’s packed you off home, hasn’t he? He can always ring you if the circumstances change.’ Harry leant forward. ‘Look, petal. For once the incubus is right. You need a holiday. Even Fran’s been on honeymoon.’

  ‘But where would I go?’ Libby’s baser self was saying go – run away, while her more cautious self was telling her she couldn’t possibly.

  ‘Somewhere not too far away? But different?’ Adam was thinking.

  ‘This country,’ added Harry.

  ‘I know – Lewis is going somewhere this week – I told you.’ Adam let his chair, which had been teetering backwards, bang to the floor. ‘Somewhere nice, it is, I’m sure. He could find you a place.’

  ‘You can’t ask Lewis to do that.’ Libby pushed her plate away.

  ‘He wouldn’t mind. He thinks you’re great.’

  ‘What is this strange power you have over young men?’ said Harry, grasping her hand and looking deep into her eyes.

  ‘Gay men,’ said Libby.

  ‘A fag hag to her fingertips.’ Harry gave her hand a pat and stood up to take the plates away. On his way to the kitchen he stopped to speak to the last diners, who were preparing to leave. Adam dutifully went over to lend a hand.

  Libby watched them both with a feeling that she had suddenly got out of her depth. It was only the other day she had been wanting to run away, and now here were two of her nearest and dearest telling her to do it. Not that they knew she wanted to, but it provided some sort of validation for her feelings.

  The last diners had gone, Harry turned his sign to “closed” and Adam taken his apron off. Harry provided an ashtray. ‘Not a public place any more,’ he said.

  ‘That’s another thing,’ said Libby. ‘You can’t stay anywhere these days. No one allows smoking in hotels or self-catering.’