Cotswold Mystery, A Read online

  ‘I see,’ said Thea dubiously. The switches were high on the wall, well beyond her reach. Ron, at six feet one, could just touch it, standing on tiptoe. ‘I’ll need to climb on a chair to switch it on and off, won’t I?’

  He grinned again. ‘You’re going to quote health and safety, aren’t you,’ he said. ‘If you fall off the chair, you’ll sue us – right?’

  Yvette interposed. ‘We had to put it high, to prevent Granny from fiddling with it,’ she explained.

  ‘So she knows it’s there? But I thought she didn’t come into this part of the house?’

  Yvette and Ron exchanged a glance. ‘In theory she doesn’t,’ said Ron. ‘The thing is – when we first had the buzzer installed, she was acting up rather. It’s much better now. As to whether she realises it’s there – well, who knows what the old dear knows?’

  This piece of sophistry felt deeply unhelpful to Thea. She tried to sum up her situation. ‘So you want me to stay indoors pretty well the whole time, making sure she stays put?’

  Yvette grimaced, showing small regular teeth. ‘We realise that’s a bit unreasonable – but if you could keep outings to a minimum, we’d be grateful. We’ve tried to supply lots of entertainment for you. About fifty thousand TV channels, for a start. Books. DVDs. Jigsaws. You can use the garden, of course, if the weather’s nice. It’s very sheltered, with walls on all sides. And it’s only for ten days,’ she finished brightly. ‘We’d have liked to go for longer, to be honest, but—’

  ‘India, you said?’

  ‘That’s right. We’ve always wanted to go. Ron’s grandfather was there, and we want to see the places he used to talk about.’

  ‘Will I be able to contact you?’ Another crucial question that Thea had learnt to place high on the list.

  ‘Not really,’ Yvette’s face crumpled again. ‘We did wonder about setting up email and using internet cafes, but we decided against it. It would take up so much precious time, you see.’

  ‘So who—?’

  Yvette produced a sheet of paper. ‘My younger sister, Frances. We don’t have much to do with her, but in an emergency, she is the next of kin. She’s in Cambridge. And our son, Alex. He would come if there was a real crisis. He’s fond of Granny and is terribly good with her. Ideally, he’d have stayed here while we were away, but he can never get time from his work. And they’ve got three little children, so you can imagine how busy they always are.’

  ‘Where does he live?’

  Yvette flashed her teeth in another grimace. ‘Aberdeen,’ she admitted. ‘It’s a long way to come.’

  The message was loud and clear. Thea, old pal, you’re on your own was about it. Except that she’d already taken precautions against having to endure too much solitude.

  ‘Would it be all right if I had somebody here with me?’ She had saved this little bombshell, hoping for an opportune moment to introduce it. This seemed to be it.

  Yvette’s eyebrows rose. ‘Well – we’ve only set one room aside for you. Do you mean – well, is it somebody you’re in a relationship with?’

  Thea laughed lightly. ‘Well, yes. My daughter. She’s twenty-one, and a police probationer. We’d be happy to share a room. She has some leave that week, and I thought it would be nice for her to see some of the Cotswolds. Especially in the spring, when it looks so fabulous.’

  Ron gave a shrug. ‘There are twin beds in the spare room,’ he said. ‘It wouldn’t matter to us, would it, Vetty?’

  It had been readily agreed to, although Thea could see the Montgomerys were worried that showing Jessica the local attractions would necessitate an uncomfortable level of absence from the house. ‘I can send her off on her own,’ she’d assured them. ‘With the dog. I mentioned the dog, didn’t I?’

  Ron had inhaled slowly and deeply. Then he looked at her down his nose. ‘We’re trusting you on that,’ he said sonorously. ‘One small well-behaved dog isn’t a worry to us. So long as it keeps off the furniture and never ever goes upstairs.’

  ‘No problem,’ Thea had assured him.

  There followed a quick tour of the lovely Georgian house, wonderfully elegant in its proportions, with large high rooms and a lot of very nice furniture. Despite the hi-tech burglar alarm, they seemed relaxed about the possibility of crime. ‘It’s the confounded Neighbourhood Watch crowd,’ Ron grumbled. ‘They nagged us into having the thing. But—’ he grinned conspiratorially ‘I disconnected it from the back door. There’s no point at all having that Fort Knoxified when nobody can get in anyway.’

  ‘They could,’ Yvette argued mildly. ‘If they came across the two gardens on our right, over Julian’s little wall.’

  Ron snorted. ‘The point is, you don’t have to lock it to activate the alarm. If you want to, you can bolt it. It’s up to you. As far as I’m concerned, you only need worry about the front.’

  Yvette was already moving to other considerations. ‘Would you mind doing a bit of dusting?’ she asked. ‘Is that part of your job description?’

  In the absence of cats, guinea pigs, sheep or ponies, this seemed a very reasonable request. ‘No problem at all,’ Thea had said. ‘It sounds as if I’ll have plenty of time.’

  ‘Don’t be too sure,’ Ron had chuckled. ‘Granny can be a full-time job, when she’s in one of her moods.’ Yvette’s quick glance of reproach at his tactlessness went blithely unheeded.

  Now Hepzie was defiantly curled up in one corner of the luxurious leather sofa, one eye half open, watching her mistress. If there was a way of preventing a spaniel from sleeping on furniture, Thea didn’t know what it was. Simpler, then, just to ensure that every hair and fleck was brushed away before the Montgomerys came home. They had settled in easily, after a leisurely tour of the back garden, which sloped gently upwards away from the house. It was a generous size and a peculiar shape. A confusing jumble of houses showed their backs or sides, with small gates and narrow pathways between them. The property to the east was apparently much narrower and extended further back than the Montgomery house, so its side wall blocked the morning light from part of the garden. Where it stopped there was a low stone wall dividing the two gardens, and the neighbouring side was screened with a row of vigorous-looking bamboo. To the west, Granny’s back door opened onto a small area that had been created for her own private use. A rather ugly chain link fence had been erected to enclose it, giving it the appearance of a cage. Three or four plant tubs sat forlornly on a paved patio and a wooden bench was placed in a corner which looked as if it got some afternoon sun, at least. There was no way out of the cage into the main garden.

  How mean, thought Thea. And how strange to bar your own mother from using your lawn and perhaps taking part in some small garden tasks. She entertained a distressing image of the old woman peering through the fence, fingers hooked into the links, watching Ron and Yvette strolling amongst the hollyhocks and flowering shrubs, forever prevented from joining them.

  But perhaps they had their reasons. Perhaps in certain phases, Granny was prone to chopping down the annuals or digging in the borders. Sometimes, she supposed, you had to be cruel to be kind.

  Jessica was due to arrive early on Monday: day three of the assignment. By then, Thea hoped to have got the measure of Granny and her jangled memory, and perhaps have an idea of when it might be safe to venture out for an hour or two, into the classic beauty that was the village of Blockley.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A thorough tour of the house revealed expensive contemporary tastes unexpected in a retired couple of late middle age. A small study behind the main living room boasted a new computer and all the peripherals. Ron, it seemed, was keen on digital photography, with a state-of-the-art colour printer and laminator to prove it. Evidence of his work was everywhere – strewn over a desk and taped to one of the walls. He obviously favoured textures and subtle gradations of colour, with pictures of stone walls and furrowed fields among his favourite subjects. Yvette’s interests lay more in the direction of music, as far as Thea could tell. A
picture of her playing the flute was the first clue, framed and hung in the study among the more temporary displays. There was a neat collection of sheet music on a music stand, and a number of books about classic compositions on a shelf in the living room.

  It was two in the afternoon, and there were no sounds emanating from Granny’s quarters. Probably the person named Julian had arrived, and an intimate lunch was in progress. Outside it was a fairytale spring day. From one of the large windows overlooking the steep slope of one of Blockley’s surrounding hills, she could see young lambs leaping and racing, their vivid white legs flashing in the sunlight. Cotswolds, Thea observed – a local breed of sheep boasting thick fleece and eccentric frizzy fringes flopping over their eyes. In the past year, since house-sitting a succession of properties in the area, she had learnt quite a lot about Cotswold sheep.

  The assignment she had been given this time was worrying in its contradictions. Watch over Granny, but don’t let her into the main house. Listen for her door opening and get her back indoors if she steps into the street. Don’t believe a word she says. Let her be as independent as you can, while keeping her safe. Thea’s experience so far had suggested a physically fit woman betrayed by her deteriorating mind. Truly appropriate caring would surely include letting her benefit from exercise and fresh air beyond what she could get from her miserable prison of a back garden.

  The idea bloomed slowly, one of those obvious links that has to smack you in the face before you see it. Instead of them both suffering unreasonable confinement indoors, why not go outside together? So simple, and yet so subversive. Granny clearly liked Hepzie – the three of them could walk together through the countryside, or ride to more distant spots in Thea’s car. It was so liberating a notion that she clapped her hands like an excited child. The spaniel, still dozing on the sofa, jumped up as if whipped.

  ‘We’re going out,’ Thea told her. ‘For a lovely walk.’

  Again she stood on the doorstep of the cottage for several minutes, waiting for Mrs Gardner to respond to her knocks. ‘I’m not going to keep on doing this,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Next time I’m going through that connecting door, whether or not it scares the old bat. This is just ridiculous.’

  ‘Julian?’ came a quavering voice that had changed dramatically from that of the morning. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘No,’ Thea shouted. ‘It’s me again. Please let me in.’ The strategy of convincing the woman that she was a familiar visitor seemed worth a try.

  The door opened a few inches. ‘The spaniel woman?’ Granny said doubtfully, looking at Thea’s legs as if searching for Hepzie.

  Thea almost cheered. ‘That’s right! She’s waiting for us next door. Now listen. We’re going for a walk, and I wondered whether you’d like to come as well. Just to the end of the village and back – unless we feel like going a bit further. What do you think?’

  Granny looked down at herself. She was now wearing dark blue trousers and a polo-necked jumper in a colour that echoed the ubiquitous Cotswold stone. She looked completely respectable, except for the bare feet. ‘Shoes,’ she said. ‘I need shoes.’

  ‘You do,’ Thea agreed. ‘And some socks. Can you go and find them? I’ll wait for you.’

  It was a gamble, but it worked. Almost instantly, the old woman was back wearing sensible black shoes with elasticated sides, the door thrown wide and a smile on her face. ‘What a treat!’ she said. ‘Melanie used to take me for walks. A great walker, Melanie was. I wonder where she is now.’

  A key had been hanging on a hook on the back of the door, and Thea used it to secure the cottage behind them. Granny was still enthusing about going for a walk, her eyes wide and bright.

  Thea led the way along the pavement to the next door. She opened it and out jumped Hepzie. Carefully, Thea locked up, deliberately deciding to forget the burglar alarm.

  ‘Can I hold the lead?’ Granny asked, as they set out towards the centre of Blockley. ‘I won’t let her go.’

  Thea handed it over unhesitatingly, in spite of the old woman’s small stature. She had a birdlike energy, her movements sharp and crisp. ‘It won’t matter much if you do,’ she said. ‘She won’t run off, and she’s fairly sensible with traffic. Not that there is any to speak of.’

  It was Saturday afternoon. There were sounds of lawnmowers and smells of garden bonfires. Children shrieked from somewhere some distance away. Glimpses of bright daffodils in gardens came and went as they passed several beautiful old houses. ‘Have you lived here long?’ Thea asked her companion.

  ‘I believe I was sixty when I came here. Quite long ago, yes.’

  ‘When you retired?’

  ‘Retired,’ Granny repeated the word thoughtfully. ‘In a way. But Julian was here, you see. Then Yvette wanted to have the house and Julian said I should let her. I can remember all that quite well today.’ She looked at Thea, who realised with a slight shock that Granny was in fact much the same height as she was herself, which was only slightly more than five feet. And yet there was a shrunken look to the old woman. Heavens, thought Thea worriedly. If I shrink when I’m old, there’ll be nothing of me left. ‘I can remember the important things, usually,’ Granny prattled on. ‘Like how to make a pot of tea and where I keep my clean pants. But I’m very bad with people. They tell me things and expect me to carry every word in my head. Words – that’s where the problem lies, you see. I’m not so good with words.’

  Thea tried to grasp this, with little success. Surely words were crucial to everything. How did you find clean pants without an inner voice naming them? Maybe pictures took their place. An image of the drawer containing the garments that worked just as effectively. ‘That’s very interesting,’ she said, meaning it sincerely. ‘But you’re using words now, quite normally.’

  ‘Yes, I am now. But often I don’t. Or I say the wrong thing.’ There was a disarming tone to this apparent self-knowledge. The soft old face was the picture of blameless innocence, openly presenting her shortcomings for better or for worse. ‘People are generally very kind,’ she added. ‘Very patient.’ She smiled trustingly, and Thea was moved. She reproached herself for her own lack of patience. How could anybody fail to be affected by the poor old thing?

  ‘So you remember coming to live here?’ she said. ‘When the whole house was yours? Where did you live before that?’

  ‘Oh, it’s too complicated.’ The tone had changed completely to one of irritation. ‘My father died, and Yvette had that baby boy and they all told me what to do. It’s the doctor that was to blame, you know. I was all right before then.’

  Thea tried a mental cut-and-paste exercise, rearranging these remarks in an effort to form a coherent story. The result was something very incomplete, but potentially interesting. She risked another question, already aware that it could prove worse than useless. ‘Have you known Julian a long time?’

  The old woman smiled at her, something impish in her expression. ‘He always comes to me, even now. We watch out for each other. The work, you know. There’s still the work to be done.’

  ‘Oh?’

  A gloom seemed to fall. ‘Trouble. There’s some trouble about the site. I forget what it is.’

  ‘Site?’ Thea wondered whether the word was actually sight, and if so did that mean Julian had eye trouble?

  But the flow of confidences had dried up. Hepzie had relaxed into a better rhythm, matching her pace to the old woman’s, as they came to a junction.

  ‘Shall we go down here?’ Thea suggested, indicating a steep downward-sloping lane to their right. ‘I imagine we can find a circular route back past the church, then.’ She scanned the area in question, hoping there wouldn’t be quite so steep a climb back up again. She was expecting to find the renowned Blockley silk mills, down by the river, if not today then sometime during the week.

  ‘Oh, no,’ Granny shook her head. ‘The big road is down there – the dog would get killed.’

  Well, she should know, thought Thea, and amended their course, aim
ing for the church. Before they reached it, another downward-sloping road forked to their left, and before she could do anything, the old woman had started down it. The shop and Post Office stood at the bottom of the short hill.

  ‘Ooh,’ shrilled Granny, as the dog dragged her quickly down the slope. ‘I need roller skates for this.’

  Thea laughed, and grasped her companion’s arm. ‘Slow down,’ she ordered. ‘You’ll fall.’

  They were quickly on more level ground, with the Bowling Club and children’s playground coming up on the right. Looking around, Thea could see houses of all eras, some with informative historical detail carved into stone plaques. Just over a low wall she found a memorial to the Coronation of Queen Victoria. But there were also a number of very new houses, made of the same yellow stone as the others, but starkly clean, with machine-cut edges. It was hard to believe they would ever mellow and settle to blend in with their centuries-old neighbours. ‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’ she said, thinking the word a feeble expression of her true reaction. Like many another Cotswold settlement, the overt self-consciousness detracted from a wholesale enjoyment. It was as if an eye was forever open to the American tourists in their coaches, cameras clicking and whirring. Thea could not prevent herself from wondering what the fate might be of a resident who let weeds grow in their garden, or paint peel on their woodwork.

  The pace slowed to a crawl as they savoured the scene. ‘I was once a painter, you know,’ said Mrs Gardner. ‘I sold a lot of pictures of these houses, a long time ago. To the visitors. Some celebrity woman bought eight of them, and paid me two hundred and fifty pounds each. Can you believe that? But I gave it all up. It got boring quite quickly.’