Cotswold Mystery, A Page 4

  ‘Are you Julian?’

  ‘No, no. I’m Giles Stevenson. I live opposite and a little way down the street.’ He pointed towards some smallish houses, below the level of the pavement. Curious little alleyways led down to one or two of them, and Thea was momentarily distracted by this detail. Giles Stevenson brought her back to reality. ‘Not answering again, eh? He’s a bit of a recluse, to be honest. Is it something important?’

  ‘Do you know Mrs Gardner? Mrs Montgomery’s mother.’ Thea pointed at the cottage.

  ‘Of course! Poor old Gladys. I knew her when she was a real force to be reckoned with. Brilliant mind, creative, sure of herself. It’s shocking the way she’s gone downhill. Mind you, she is ninety-two.’

  ‘Ninety-two! She can’t be.’ Thea was stunned.

  ‘It’s true, just the same.’

  ‘But I’ve just marched her all round the town.’ Thea’s insides quivered with the enormity of what might have happened. No wonder Granny’s poor old legs had given up on her. ‘Though it wasn’t easy to get her home again,’ she added, with a rueful laugh.

  ‘Well, well. Brave old you. For all we know, you might have started a whole new trend. I surmise that you must be the lady Yvette’s asked to come and keep an eye on things? Did she tell you her mother needed to be taken out for walks?’

  ‘No. It just seemed like a good idea,’ Thea said weakly. ‘And yes, I’m the house-sitter. Thea Osborne. What shall I do about Julian, do you think? Mrs Gardner does seem quite worried about him.’

  ‘Not a lot you can do. He might have gone out, I suppose. You never know with Julian.’

  ‘Is he—? I mean – how old is he?’

  Giles Stevenson laughed. ‘He’s a chicken in his late seventies, and yes, all his wits are completely intact. Local historian and archaeologist, traveller, bit of a celebrity in an old-fashioned way. He and Gladys have known each other almost for ever. She worked with him on his excavations for quite a while. There was even a little bit of a scandal at one stage. If it hadn’t been for that wife of his, well…’

  ‘There’s a wife?’ Thea looked at the door again.

  ‘Not any more. She died last year. Look – don’t worry yourself about all this. You’ll never get to the bottom of all the goings-on around here. The thing about Blockley, you see – we’re one of the few genuine communities left in this area. Guiting Power’s another one. You only need to glance at all the posters around the place, to see how many clubs and activities we’ve got going. True, we get a lot of weekenders, but even they seem to blend in pretty well. We all watch out for each other here. Tell you what – Julian’s almost certain to be out somewhere with young Nick – that’s his grandson. They’ve got some project on the go, from what I can gather.’

  ‘So he’s around, you think? Mrs Gardner seems to think he’s missed some regular appointment. Of course, it’s difficult to be sure…’ She paused, not liking to cast aspersions on the old woman’s mental state if this was a friend of hers.

  ‘He does drop in on her a lot, I know. But as you’ve seen for yourself, it’s impossible to make firm plans. She gets confused about time. But don’t make the mistake of thinking she’s completely addled,’ he advised. ‘She’s clever enough when she needs to be.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Thea, not sure what she ought to do with this information.

  ‘Don’t mention it.’ Giles scratched his large nose absently. ‘Though I haven’t seen Nick’s car here since last weekend. He’d usually park it just about here.’ He nodded at the street just below them. ‘It’s possible that Julian has decided to buzz down to see the lad. He likes a bit of a jaunt if the weather’s favourable.’

  Thea began to think her quest for the missing Julian was altogether hopeless. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Where does Nick live?’

  ‘Dorset, somewhere. Julian takes his jalopy there and back, when the spirit moves him.’

  ‘Jalopy?’ Thea found herself filing the word as a promising one for Scrabble. Although she played much less than she used to, the habit of collecting anything with a good collection of high-scoring letters was still with her.

  ‘It’s actually a magnificent vintage Rolls, worth about as much as a house. He keeps it in a lock-up garage the other end of town.’ Giles sounded envious. ‘It makes anyone who sees it go weak at the knees,’ he added.

  ‘Well,’ Thea summarised to Hepzie when they were indoors again. ‘So far we’ve met a stout old man called Thomas, a tall middle-aged one called Giles and a very peculiar young one called Ick. Not too bad for a first day, I suppose.’

  She debated whether or not to report to Granny that Julian had almost certainly gone to see his grandson, driving a car to die for. On reflection, she came to the conclusion that it was best to leave well alone for the time being. She could hear a radio or television through the connecting door, suggesting that Mrs Gardner was contentedly settled. So Thea went out to the garden at the back of the house, and sat on a wicker chair, drinking in the view. Although Julian’s house had no windows looking into the Montgomerys’ garden, Thea could sense that it was empty. No sounds or smells wafted over the dividing wall, and she suspected that virtually no normal person would be able to resist a quick word to the strange house-sitter and her dog if he’d been there.

  There were buildings at all angles around her. The High Street houses were mainly Georgian, if she was any judge, and several rose to three storeys in height. The Montgomerys’ home was smaller, but the rooms were generous and the value of the property obviously shockingly high.

  The sun was setting behind a patch of woodland that rose to a plateau which she could just glimpse behind more houses. All she could hear was birdsong, and the low mutter of televisions or radios from the surrounding houses, with sporadic car engines in the streets around her. A slight scent of frying onions mingled with the spring blossom in the garden.

  Her thoughts repeatedly turned to the old woman next door, and the heavy responsibility she was already proving to be. The arrangement with Yvette and Ron seemed bizarre – a very inefficient means of ensuring that Granny was all right. Surely there must be times when they went out and left the house empty? Did they lock the street door somehow? Did they sedate her, or call someone else to watch over her? Or was the whole thing much more relaxed than Thea was assuming? After all, Granny’s wits were not as addled as all that, and she seemed to be remarkably healthy in body. In most obvious respects, she showed every sign of being able to take care of herself.

  Strange, Thea thought, how different a place always became once you’d embarked on a spell of being in sole charge. In every case, her initial interview with the owners of the houses she was sitting had gone perfectly smoothly, the tasks enumerated, trust accorded with no apparent reservations. Only later did the complications emerge. This time, she had made every effort to anticipate difficulties. She had asked for a list of useful names and phone numbers to be displayed prominently. She had even requested an introduction to Granny before the Montgomerys departed, but this had never taken place. ‘She’ll be dozing now,’ Yvette had said, when Thea had visited. ‘Besides, she’ll have forgotten you by the time you turn up at the end of the month.’ When the details of the takeover had been arranged, it had become clear that Thea would not be able to arrive until after the couple had left for a morning flight to Calcutta. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she said, ‘but I’ve got an appointment I can’t break on that morning.’

  The truth was that Phil, her bloke/boyfriend/lover – whatever you called them when both parties were in their forties and the relationship had been far from formalised – had stayed the night, Friday into Saturday, and she had no intention of throwing him out before first light in order to wave the Montgomerys off. They had given her a spare door key and the code for the alarm and seemed to be quite happy with the plan.

  Thea and Phil had met during her first house-sitting assignment in Duntisbourne Abbots, and had been thrown together again at Frampton Mansell. Between the two encounters
, some alchemy had taken place, and the second meeting had felt like being reunited with a missing possession of considerable emotional value. Their bodies behaved as if strong magnets had been implanted in them, and the resulting pull was beyond resistance. That had been eight months ago now, and the first heady pleasures were ebbing and transforming into something quieter. ‘Reason is prevailing,’ Thea had noted sadly. ‘This is a lot less easy than I thought it would be.’

  But they had parted that morning with reluctance. He was due back at the Cirencester police station where he held the post of Detective Superintendent, she to earn some useful cash watching out for a senile old lady. She had twined herself around him, just inside her front door, before he pulled it open and strode to his car. ‘I’ll miss you,’ she’d whimpered, suddenly not wanting to do the Blockley job at all.

  ‘I’ll phone,’ he said. ‘Keep your mobile where you can hear it.’

  Now she glanced at her watch. Six o’clock. He’d be back in his flat by this time, cooking himself one of his all-in-one-pan concoctions. She dug for her mobile in the bottom of a large bag and switched it on, feeling guilty. She had disobeyed his instruction, unable to train herself into the habit of leaving it on and charging it up regularly to keep it alive.

  A message flashed onto the screen. Change of plan, Momma, it read. Can I come Sunday about6pm? Phone for explanation.

  She tried to guess what the explanation might be for Jessica bringing forward her arrival time. It felt unusual, but not quite alarming. It was, after all, good news. The company of her daughter was always a treat, a return, somehow, to the way things ought to be. The maturing and separating of a girl from her mother was presumably a healthy and natural process, but it mainly felt violent and painful. It was a sadness layered on top of the grief for Carl, killed on the road only two years earlier. It was the loss of these two best-beloved people that had sent her out on the series of adventures that the house-sitting turned out to be. Anything, she had decided, rather than moulder away indoors getting old before her time.

  And now, instead of phoning Phil, she called Jessica. There was no need even to pause to question which one took priority.

  Jess sounded terrible. Her voice was low and thick as if she was half asleep. ‘Something happened at work,’ she said. ‘I made a ghastly mistake, and there’s to be an inquiry about it. Mike says it will all blow over, but I think he’s just being kind. I don’t want to be here on my own tomorrow night. I hate this place.’

  ‘So come now,’ Thea urged. ‘It’s only an hour and a half’s drive at most.’

  ‘I would, but I’ve arranged to visit Uncle Damien this evening. They asked me ages ago and I can’t let them down now. I’m staying the night, and there’s something fixed for tomorrow as well. I won’t get back here till nearly four, probably. I’ll try to leave again within the hour, so it should be just after six, if I’m lucky.’

  Jessica’s capacity for complex planning astonished her mother. Damien was Thea’s older brother, living in Derbyshire and steadfastly fond of his niece. Jessica was on an attachment with the Manchester police, renting a small flat in Altrincham. The zig-zag driving she would have to achieve over the coming twenty-four hours was impressive.

  ‘I won’t ask you to tell me exactly what happened,’ she said. ‘Soon enough tomorrow. I’m glad you’re going to Damien’s – he’s a good listener.’

  ‘They’ll all be so disappointed in me,’ the girl wailed. ‘I’ve let everybody down – you as well.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I can’t believe you’ve done anything as bad as all that. You’ve only been with them a few months. What do they expect?’

  ‘You won’t say that when you hear the whole story. And Uncle James! How am I ever going to face him again?’

  James was Carl’s brother, another doting uncle, who had warmly encouraged Jessica to follow him into the Police Force. Like Thea’s Phil, James Osborne was a Detective Superintendent. It felt, at times, as if rather too many of her nearest and dearest were dedicated to law enforcement.

  ‘He’ll stick by you, darling, you know he will. It isn’t as if you’ve killed anybody.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Jessica’s voice rose hysterically.

  ‘Because I know you.’

  ‘I’ve got to go, Mum. I’ll see you tomorrow. I hope it’s a nice place.’ Thea could hear tears thickening her daughter’s voice. Against all her instincts, she made no attempt to offer consolation. Instead, she adopted a falsely bright tone. ‘It’s amazing,’ she said. ‘Absolutely beautiful. You’ll love it.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ said Jessica miserably. ‘See you, then.’

  Saturday evening was ruined for Thea after that. She flicked through television channels, and then began to watch a DVD of an old movie favourite, The Belstone Fox, which she had been thrilled to discover on the Montgomerys’ neatly arranged shelf. She had watched it a dozen times as a teenager, unable to account for its appeal, but enduring the mockery of her siblings to watch it whenever she could seize control of the equipment.

  But the thought of her daughter suffering from something that sounded like a ghastly mix of guilt, humiliation and foreboding clouded her ability to concentrate on anything. The knowledge that Jessica would now be under the temporary care of Damien did little to console her. Damien and Shirley had no children, after an early miscarriage had apparently put them off the whole idea. They were therefore moderately affluent and surprisingly interested in their nieces and nephews, of which there were a healthy nine in number, thanks to Jocelyn who had no less than five and Emily with her three.

  ‘Interest’, however, covered a wide spectrum of attitudes and practices. In the case of the fatherless Jessica, Damien had clearly taken it upon himself to exert what he saw as paternal control. The thing that amazed Thea about this was that the girl seemed to appreciate being told what she should do, how she should think, where she should aspire to reach in the future. Damien was infinitely more prescriptive than Carl had ever been – a fact that Jessica seemed to regard as immaterial.

  At least she would not be alone to obsess over her misdemeanour, whatever it had been. To Thea’s knowledge, Jessica did not have a boyfriend or a close female confidante. And when things got seriously rough, there was, in any case, no substitute for family.

  Methodically, she performed the usual end-of-day routines. Not so much from any worries about electrical fires, but more from a growing social pressure to reduce use of power in general, she switched off all the gadgets at the wall. She washed and put away the cup and plate and cutlery she had used. Then she took the dog out into the garden for a widdle. The air was nippy, with a bright starry sky overhead. Walking down to the further end, she looked back at the houses, noticing with relief that a light was on in Julian’s house next door. He must have come back from wherever he’d been, and with any luck would visit Granny the next day. The cottage was in darkness. Returning to the house, she locked the back door and left the key in the lock. Then she climbed on the hall chair to activate the buzzer attached to Granny’s front door, reminded briefly of her sister Emily’s neurotic habit of monitoring her children with a device that picked up their every breath and broadcast it around the house. Maybe that would be the Montgomerys’ next move, too – planting bugs in Granny’s rooms.

  She was in bed by ten thirty, letting Hepzie lie on the covers as usual. The dog was perfectly clean and only moderately moulting. With luck the shed hair would be confined to the blanket they’d brought for the purpose.

  She had expected to fall asleep quickly, after an early wakening that morning. Instead the events of the day swirled around her head, and the unfamiliar mattress militated against complete relaxation. She found herself thinking about Phil and the unspoken expectations from all sides that their relationship would soon be formalised in some way. They ought to move in together permanently or show themselves as a couple more regularly. They should do more of the things that couples did, like entertaining other couple
s, sharing joint hobbies, buying things. She and Phil did none of that. They talked and walked and had sex. They watched DVDs and ate food and had sex. As far as Thea could see, that was enough for the foreseeable future.

  The next thing she knew, there was a raucous buzzing filling the house. It continued on a maddening single note, like no alarm clock or doorbell she had ever heard before. She took several seconds to work out where she was, what time it must be and why there was such a ghastly noise. The light outside was pearly white, suggesting the sun had not yet risen. What was that noise?

  Then it came to her. Door! She remembered, abruptly, the system connected to Granny’s front door. The old woman was escaping, and it was Thea’s duty to intercept her. Muzzily, she rummaged for her dressing gown, still in her bag on the floor. Down the stairs and out into the street, where there was no sign at all of Mrs Gardner, the errant geriatric.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It promised to be another dry day in Blockley, with people already stirring. Thea had managed a glance at the clock beside the bed, noting the time as just after seven thirty. Two cars passed the house as she stood on the pavement in her nightclothes scanning the street for a glimpse of her charge. There was no sign of her, and with growing agitation she ran back upstairs and threw on the same clothes as she’d worn the day before.

  Followed by a puzzled spaniel, she galloped down again and clambered onto the chair to reach the ‘off’ switch for the infuriating buzzer. Then she went back out into the street to discover Granny’s door standing wide open. With fleeting hope, she went inside and called ‘Mrs Gardner? Are you there?’