Echoes in the Cotswolds Read online

  Echoes in the Cotswolds

  REBECCA TOPE

  Dedicated to Friendship in the abstract, and Liz, Margot, Sally and Flo in the particular.

  They’ve all stuck with me for over fifty years.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Map

  Author’s Note

  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

  By Rebecca Tope

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Author’s Note

  As with all titles in this series, the action is set in a real village. But the houses and characters are my own invention. The Updike sonnet ‘Iowa’ is well worth looking up, as are his other poems.

  Chapter One

  Drew was busy. Beyond busy, in fact. Seven funerals in one week was almost too much for a very small alternative undertaker with limited storage space and an assistant who could hardly move thanks to a vicious bout of lumbago, with the added woes of sciatica for good measure.

  ‘I’ll have to turn at least two of them away,’ he wailed, whilst knowing the idea was unthinkable. It was five to eight on a Monday morning and already the week was looking impossible. The weekend had bristled with phone calls about dead people.

  ‘You can’t,’ said Thea firmly. ‘We’ll get somebody else to help. Call Maggs and Den.’

  ‘They’re too far away and we need somebody now. This afternoon. There’s a man to be removed from the nursing home at Stow, and somebody from the hospice. And nowhere to put either of them. We’ll have the council onto us at this rate. Somebody’s going to complain. We can’t hope to keep it discreet if there are bodies lying around the garden.’

  ‘Calm down. Can Andrew drive at all? If he goes to Stow, there’ll be people at the care home who’ll do the heavy lifting. That’d be a start. If tomorrow morning’s is coffined-up, he can spend the night in the hall.’ Thea looked at Drew’s children, who were very much involved in the conversation, to the point where Stephanie was liable to be late for school. ‘Just don’t tell anybody, okay?’

  Stephanie had already suggested they ask Mike, the window cleaner, if he had any free time for digging graves. He came every two months to do the windows, and the twelve-year-old had taken to chatting to him. It had, however, come as a surprise to Thea that her stepdaughter had his mobile number. Mike was over thirty with a wife and three children and was not at first sight a threat – but you never knew, as people would insist. ‘He left his card here, remember,’ said the child patiently. ‘And last time he came he said he was worried about losing some customers.’

  ‘So what did he say about digging graves?’ asked Drew.

  ‘I think he thought I was joking. You’ll have to call him.’

  ‘It’s an idea,’ said Thea. ‘Think how much time that would save. Get him to do all seven.’

  ‘Five. We only need five. I’ve done the first two already.’

  ‘So can Andrew drive?’ Stephanie asked.

  ‘Barely. But he might struggle as far as Stow, I suppose. I don’t want him to do anything that makes him worse. It was lifting that big coffin ten days ago that set it all off in the first place. The man weighed sixteen stone, Lord help us.’

  ‘Well, just being able to drive is better than nothing,’ said Thea, who had her own reasons for wanting everything settled. ‘And has tomorrow’s person got some sturdy relatives who can do the lowering?’

  ‘Luckily, yes. A sister and two daughters, all pretty well-muscled.’ The whole family giggled at the picture this conjured – Timmy loudest of all.

  ‘Don’t laugh,’ said Drew. ‘None of this is funny.’

  ‘It is, though,’ said Thea, with a glance at Stephanie. Her stepdaughter generally shared her subversive sense of humour. ‘So long as we can laugh about it, it’ll all work out fine.’

  ‘At least tomorrow seems to be okay,’ Drew conceded. ‘But on Wednesday I’ve got another two, and on Friday there are three. Not to mention the big one on Thursday.’

  ‘Big in what sense?’

  ‘Thirty mourners at least, most of them wanting to say something. It’ll last for ages.’

  ‘But not really any extra work,’ Thea pointed out. ‘Just a bit time consuming.’

  Drew was in no mood to be mollified. ‘I just can’t see how it’s all that going to be possible.’

  ‘You must have thought it would be when you arranged them all,’ Thea said, with dwindling patience. ‘Couldn’t some of them have waited a bit longer?’

  ‘The two o’clock on Friday isn’t definite, but I did say I’d pencil it in. She only died on Saturday.’ One of Drew’s selling points was that families did not have to endure the excessively long hiatuses that mainstream undertakers inflicted on them. A week without embalming fluid could be a long time. ‘But they’d be very disappointed if we moved it. Plus, I thought I’d have Andrew. He said he was getting better. And all three families really do want it to be Friday. It’s always the favourite day.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Which leaves you quite a lot of Thursday to get everything sorted. Think positive – think of how it’s going to boost the coffers. I’m already planning a celebratory trip to Waitrose with the proceeds.’

  Timmy laughed again, but nobody else did. It was a somewhat anxious laugh, revealing the child’s unease at a situation he couldn’t trust to turn out well. Timmy, more than anyone, remembered all too clearly that his stepmother was planning to go away in the middle of the week, taking the dog with her, and would very likely be gone all weekend as well. This, he knew, was why she was so eager for Drew to get his funerals under control, so she wouldn’t feel too guilty about going. Not that she was ever much use with Drew’s work – and there wouldn’t be any actual funerals at the weekend. So she wouldn’t really be missed. There had been a full-scale family discussion about it, back in February, and everybody had agreed that there wouldn’t be a problem. Now it was almost April, with only a week left of the school term, and Thea’s person in Northleach was going for her operation on Wednesday. Probably. ‘You can never say anything for definite when it comes to medical matters,’ said Thea cynically. ‘She wants me to keep it flexible.’

  The person in question was called Lucy, and Thea had worked for her before when she’d looked after an assortment of animals in a remote barn conversion and it had snowed. ‘I went to a children’s party,’ she reminisced. ‘And there was a very sad dog. Lucy says he’s dead now, and all the rabbits have gone, but she still wants a house-sitter.’

  ‘Rabbits?’ queried Timmy.

  ‘They were very sweet. Baby ones. Gladwin helped me with them.’

  Gladwin was a detective superintendent, who had first befriended Thea years ago in Temple Guiting, during her – Gladwin’s – very first murder investigation in her new role. She came from Teesside and had an unorthodox streak that appealed greatly to Thea.

  ‘Why does she want a house-sitter?’ Timmy had persisted. It unsettled him when Thea went away, mainly because something awful always happened, and everybody ended up scared and cross.

  Thea had rolled her eyes and sighed. ‘She just does, okay. She’s got some nice things and doesn’t w
ant to get burgled. Anyway, I won’t be there all the time. Just enough to make it look as if the house is still lived in. I told you – I’ll pop back here at least once over the weekend.’

  Drew had noticed something in her tone and took over from Tim. ‘There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?’ he said with a frown. This was after the initial discussion, during which he had been characteristically resigned, and Thea was sorry to have the subject raised again.

  ‘There really isn’t,’ she promised. ‘Some people just hate to leave an empty house.’ She wasn’t exactly hiding anything, she told herself. There were no hard facts to be concealed – just an impression that all was not well with Lucy Sinclair, regarding not just her physical health, but her mental welfare. She had been restless and distracted when Thea had visited her in February. She left sentences unfinished and constantly threw worried glances out of the window. ‘Are you expecting someone?’ Thea had finally asked.

  ‘What? No – I hope not. I was just wondering about the neighbours …’ She had tailed off with a shrug.

  The Northleach house was semi-detached, its partner being a smaller dwelling than Lucy’s. Thea had conscientiously described it to Drew as being a considerable change from Lucy’s Hampnett home. ‘Talk about downsizing,’ she said. ‘The rooms are about a quarter the size of the ones she had before.’

  ‘Easier to heat,’ said her husband absently.

  ‘Right.’ In fact, the converted barn had boasted a highly efficient heating system that had kept Thea perfectly warm throughout the snowy and icy time she was there. ‘I think it’s her bad back that’s forced her to move,’ she added. When she had known Lucy before, there’d been nothing wrong with her back, as far as she could tell. The main detail she recalled was that the woman was freshly divorced and determined to celebrate.

  But the funerals were the only topic that Drew currently wanted to think about. He had roamed around the house muttering about schedules and removals and giving a decent service, since seven o’clock that morning. Only Stephanie gave him any attention, remembering names and making suggestions. And then, at eight-fifteen, the phone rang.

  All the funeral business was conducted on the landline, unless everybody was out, when calls were diverted to Drew’s mobile. If he was at home, only he would answer it – at least in theory. Now he visibly tensed, clearly afraid that here was a final feather that would break his back.

  ‘Shall I get it?’ asked Thea, on the third peal. She had been standing on the doorstep watching her stepson trotting up the lane to the bus stop, thinking how much better it was now the mornings were getting lighter. Timmy was still at primary school, entitled to a seat on a bus. Stephanie’s transport arrangements were more complicated, generally requiring Drew or Thea to take her there and back in the car.

  ‘No, no.’ Drew answered the one in the hall, rather than going into his office at the back of the house. Automatically he switched into his professional voice: kind and approachable, while also businesslike and reassuring. Thea always relished the sound of him soothing a newly bereaved person, remembering why she loved him and what was so exceptional about him.

  ‘Of course,’ he was saying. ‘Would four o’clock be all right? Sorry I can’t manage anything sooner, but …’ Clearly the person at the other end found this quite acceptable, with no call for excuses. ‘All right, then. I’ll be here … Don’t worry about that. It’s all part of the service.’

  He put the phone down and looked at Thea. ‘It’s the husband from Saturday. The Friday woman at the hospice. He sounds nice.’

  Thea had no difficulty in interpreting the shorthand. A woman had died at the hospice – and was to be removed that afternoon, if at all possible, by the suffering Andrew. Her husband would be coming in at four o’clock to make arrangements for the funeral, which had already been booked for Friday of that week. ‘Will Andrew have her back by then?’ she wondered. ‘If so, where’s he going to put her?’

  ‘Good question. I think she’ll have to stay in the vehicle till he’s gone. Otherwise, there’ll be coffins in the passageway and we don’t want that. Actually – there’ll be people coming tomorrow as well, about the other Friday ones.’ He looked harder at Thea, as if trying to summon courage to ask a favour. She knew what he wanted to say – Can’t you do something practical to help? Like sitting down with a family and arranging the funeral? She had only done that once and found it far beyond her comfort zone. She didn’t have the right skills for it and didn’t think she ever would have. Stephanie would do a better job.

  ‘I could probably do a removal if you’re desperate,’ she said with a little laugh. ‘So long as I don’t have to actually carry anyone.’ She was five feet one, and not especially strong. The well-muscled females detailed to lower their relative into his grave the next day were a very different species from Thea Slocombe.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Drew with a sigh.

  ‘Listen – we’ve already figured out how it can all work. People will understand if you tell them how busy you are. They’ll be glad to step up and do more themselves. Didn’t you say one of them’s already got their own coffin? Things like that. You can make a virtue of it – which is all part of your ethos, anyway. Holding back so the families can be really hands-on. You might even find one or two of them would be happy to dig the grave as well.’ She looked at him hopefully, waiting to see if she was saying the right things.

  ‘Thanks,’ he smiled, much to her relief. ‘I needed that.’ He pulled her into his arms and rubbed his face against the top of her head. ‘There’s nobody in the world who could have made me pull myself together like you’ve just done,’ he mumbled.

  She squeezed him tight, thinking that his former partner Maggs would have done just as good a job, and probably Stephanie too. But it was nice that he said it. They’d been married less than two years, having met right here in Broad Campden. They had all too short a history for the kind of risks she had been taking with the marriage. She had forced Drew to be supremely tolerant at times, frightening him and then neglecting him. This time she was going to be a lot more careful. ‘Mmm,’ she said.

  ‘But what about you?’ he asked, pulling back to meet her eyes. ‘Going off to Northleach, I mean.’

  ‘Well,’ she began, ‘it’s not for a few more days. I’ve got time to make sure everything’s okay here. I’ll take the dog with me, and I’m probably only staying two or three nights. If you need me here, I can come home – I told Lucy that.’

  ‘I know. I didn’t mean … at least …’

  ‘What? What are you trying to say?’

  He was starting to look wretched. ‘Thea – darling – I keep getting the feeling I’m in your way. That you’d be having a far more interesting life if it wasn’t for me and the kids. All this agonising about burying people is hardly thrilling, is it? The Frowse business at Christmas seems ages ago now, and I was pretty boring about it, I know. I’m just a hopelessly dull person.’

  She had heard this, or variations of it, before, and felt just as miserable as usual on hearing it again. ‘I wish you’d understand how awful that makes me feel,’ she said. ‘What sort of horrible person wants constant excitement? It’s childish. And honestly, Drew, it isn’t true. I’m perfectly happy here with you, ninety per cent of the time. At least ninety per cent. We’ve got the best two kids in the world, and just about everything we could wish for. If I get a bit antsy now and then, that’s not your fault, and it’s not important. Think of it as a sort of psychic malaria that strikes me down three or four times a year. It doesn’t do any permanent damage. Not if we don’t let it.’

  He obviously felt a similar self-reproach to hers. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked. ‘Really really sure?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘What do I have to do to prove it? Other than break the speed limit to get Stephanie to school on time.’ The child was waiting on the doorstep pretending not to notice the adult intimacies going on in the kitchen.

  ‘I don’t know. Mayb
e if you came back saying that Northleach is even duller than Broad Campden, that would be a start.’

  ‘Right then,’ she said recklessly. ‘I’ll do exactly that.’ She grabbed the car keys. ‘Come on, Steph.’

  Chapter Two

  But almost immediately the brief harmony was disrupted. Shortly before midday, Thea got a call on her mobile from Lucy Sinclair. ‘Just to confirm that the hospital say I’m definitely on the list for Wednesday. There was a risk that I’d be bumped off until Friday, but that’s been sorted. I’m assuming Mr High-Up Surgeon wants to play golf or something instead of hacking into my lumbar region.’

  Thea had only the most slender grasp of Lucy’s medical arrangements. She was going private to have an operation on her back – that was the whole story as far as Thea knew. She would be in a private section of the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford, and had hoped to be in control of the schedule as a result. But even private surgeons had constraints and conflicting calls on their time, it seemed. ‘Oh,’ she said, feeling an entirely inexplicable rush of apprehension flood through her. ‘So what does that entail, exactly?’

  ‘It entails me going in either last thing Tuesday or first thing Wednesday – if I go on Tuesday it’ll cost more for the extra night, so I decided to make it Wednesday. I might not be home until next Monday. They keep telling me, all reproachful, that I’m making it worse for myself by insisting on general anaesthetic. Slower recovery and all that. They don’t believe me when I say it would take even longer to recover my sanity if I had to listen to them chiselling away at my poor bones. And it strikes me that the site for an epidural is dangerously close to the area he’ll be operating on. You’d think he’d be glad to have me completely out of it.’

  ‘Mm,’ said Thea, thinking there would probably be headphones available to block any gruesome sounds and that the surgeon would already have considered the implications of the proximity of an epidural. ‘So – when would you want me, then?’