Chapter 9
‘The colonel would have been pleased with the turnout,’ said Biddy, gazing out over the swelling sea of heads and hats towards the altar with the stained-glass window behind.
It wasn’t a funeral, as such, as the colonel’s body was not in attendance.
Julia knew that it had not yet been released from the police mortuary because of the autopsy and the investigation into his death, but she understood from the conversation buzzing around that the official family line was that there was to be a private burial once the body was released.
‘There certainly are a lot of people here. He must have been well known and well liked,’ said Julia, as people continued to file into the church. Emily was at the door handing out glossy leaflets with a photograph of the colonel on the front, and an order of service inside.
Biddy didn’t respond directly to Julia’s observation. Instead she turned her sharp eyes to observe the tide of humanity being sucked towards the wide oak doorway of the church, and identified them in categories.
‘All the local landowners are here. People from his tennis club, and from the golf club. Quite a few old colleagues came down from the City, judging by the cut of their suits.’
Julia couldn’t help wondering if someone at this memorial knew who had murdered the colonel.
Didn’t they say that the murderer was always likely to be at the funeral?
She looked around, thinking about this, and noticed a loose group of stiff-backed men, lightly sprinkled with medals and ribbons.
They’d been chatting outside, and now made their way into the church.
‘And those must be the men he served with in the army. I’ve seen one or two of them at the house.
There’s a good number of them, and look at all the medals,’ said Biddy.
She nodded approvingly at her tally. Julia had the impression that not only the size of the crowd but the calibre of the attendees was significant to Biddy.
All those suits and medals attested to the colonel’s good standing.
And, by extension, the standing of the family and the staff.
It was an odd sort of snobbery, especially since someone had disliked him enough to kill him.
Julia wondered again if whoever had done it was there, seemingly paying their respects. She looked around suspiciously.
The service started. In spite of the absence of a body, the occasion had all the trappings of a funeral.
There was a priest and flowers and mournful organ music.
There were prayers and hymns, and a eulogy from Greg in which he described his father’s bold character, his courage, his sterling military service.
His appreciation of tradition and cricket.
His love of card games and horse racing and ‘a bit of a flutter’ at the track.
Beth sobbed loudly throughout Greg’s speech, earning her an irritated look from Clara.
The vicar made nice but rather unspecific comments about the deceased, which made Julia wonder if he had, in fact, ever met the man.
Absent too was any reference to how he had died, or reflection on a life taken too soon.
Julia knew that it would perhaps not be tasteful to mention that the deceased had been murdered, but surely some small nod to the awful circumstances could be expected?
Even Beth remained unmoved by the vicar’s words.
Outside, after the service, people were milling about, greeting each other and chatting quietly as they made their way across the road to the Swan for tea. Julia joined the flow, finding herself stuck behind the army buddies. She listened idly as they chatted.
‘I say, isn’t that Garforth?’ said one man. He was a tall, angular fellow with a sharp air, who reminded Julia of a geometry set. He was looking over to where Garforth was helping an ancient woman up the path into the Swan.
‘Indeed, I think you are right. He’s got rather less hair than when I last saw him. But then haven’t we all?’ said a portly man as bald as an egg, raising a chuckle from five other bobbing heads, themselves in various stages of baldness.
‘He worked for Loxton for years, you know, after he left the forces,’ said another. ‘He was a sort of butler or batman, or some such.’
‘Really? You’d think Loxton would have given him a better posting after what happened,’ said the geometry set, pointedly.
‘Clarence never wanted to talk about that. I got the feeling his family might not know the full story.’
Julia was listening less idly, more actively, by this point. It was all rather intriguing. What was it that the colonel had been reluctant to talk about? What was it his family didn’t know? she wondered.
‘People don’t like to talk about war. Makes people uncomfortable,’ said the bald man.
‘In the eulogy, his son did talk about his war record. And his brave actions with regard to his fellow soldiers. Called him a war hero.’
‘As are we all. Or should be, at our own funerals, in the words of our own sons,’ said the egg-headed man, with a bark of laughter.
‘True enough, true enough. I’m not one to sully a dead man’s reputation,’ another man muttered, as they disappeared into the hall. ‘And after all, it was a long time ago…’
Inside the Swan, the large function room had been given over to the funeral guests.
The place had been nicely decked out, the white tablecloths sparkling, and bountiful flower arrangements all over.
The gathering had the air of a subdued cocktail party.
The clinking of forks on plates, and cups and glasses on tables.
Voices were respectfully low, with the occasional laugh stifled or hastily silenced.
Food had been laid out at one end of the room, and a good spread it was, too.
As well as the usual sandwiches and sausage rolls, there was smoked salmon on rye, and bruschetta topped with a variety of delicious things.
There were even platters of sushi. In the sweet section, very superior cakes and cream scones looked like something off the Cooking Channel.
There was a small bar, with whisky and wine, which was already quite eagerly attended.
Julia helped herself to a plate of food and a cup of tea, and moved away from the thronging food table, scanning the crowd a little awkwardly.
She didn’t know many people, other than the family and the staff she had met at the house, and she didn’t want to impose on them.
She had tried to persuade Jess to attend the funeral, but her daughter had been reluctant, and Julia hadn’t wanted to push it.
She looked for a spot to sit, but the tables and chairs had mostly been occupied with savvier, quicker people, or people so obviously frail and elderly that other people got up for them.
She spotted a high cocktail table at the edge of the room, near a window, and moved quickly to claim it.
There were no chairs, but she could at least put her cup and plate down, and it was a little out of the fray.
She put down her plate and picked up a little bruschetta topped with Emmental and roasted red pepper, and bit into it.
‘That’s the trouble with these sorts of things.
Hard to eat and drink when you’re standing, and there are never enough tables,’ said a woman in what Julia believed was called a twin set.
She had come up to share the table. ‘And you even found one with a view.’ From their position, they looked out onto a magnificent yellow rose bush, and the garden and lake beyond.
Julia chewed and swallowed and said, ‘Yes, that rose is certainly a beauty, isn’t it?’
‘It is. Bonemeal, that’s the trick with roses. Feed them regularly.’
‘Quite right, Mavis, they bloom and bloom,’ said another woman, appearing from nowhere and putting her cup and her piled plate down firmly on the little table. She looked rather similar to the other woman, the same practical-yet-stylish jaw-length bob, although more heavily streaked with blonde.
‘Oh, hello, Bron. Didn’t see you in the throng.’ Turning to Julia, Mavis said, ‘Bron is my sister.’
‘Hello. I’m Julia.’
‘Now, tell me dear, bride or groom?’
Julia started at the odd question, and then caught on and laughed a small guilty snort. ‘I knew Colonel Loxton only a little. I was doing some work in the house.’
‘What sort of work is that?’ Mavis asked. She was one of those rather forward people who just came out and asked you things.
‘I volunteer at Second Chances, a charity shop in Berrywick. I was clearing out some rooms to take things away to sell at the shop. And you, how do you both know the family?’
‘We were friends of his late wife, Trish. Lovely woman. Gosh, it must be eight years or so since she died.’
‘The three of us girls were at school together, although Trish was a year or two older. And my husband Dick and her Clarence were in the army together,’ said Bron.
‘They had lost contact, but it turned out when we moved here about eight years ago that Clarence and Trish were in the next village. Dick and Clarence didn’t see much of each other, but you know those old army connections.
There’s a special bond that never really goes away. ’
She gestured to a group of the military men Julia had noted earlier. The whisky had come out, and they were toasting each other with amber-filled tumblers. That might explain why the noise level in the hall had increased significantly, and the sombre air had been replaced by chatter and laughter.
Mavis took up the story: ‘When we moved here, the couples played mixed doubles at the Hayfield Tennis Club. Clarence wasn’t much for tennis, though, so they dropped out after a year or two.
The rest of us are still at it, believe it or not.
First it was on Saturday afternoons, and since everyone retired, we play every Wednesday, too. ’
‘With an occasional brief break, usually when someone has a problem with a joint,’ Bron said with a laugh. ‘Dick had his knee done a couple of months back.’
‘We’re nothing if not creatures of habit. Wednesday, four o’clock on the dot.’
‘And a G&T on the terrace promptly thereafter.’
Julia said, ‘I know that terrace. I’ve been there on occasion, but not for a while.’
‘It’s lovely. You should go for a G&T on a summer evening, without even the excuse of playing tennis.’
Mavis popped a little smoked salmon nibble into her mouth in one go and chewed it efficiently. ‘That was jolly good,’ she said.
‘This coffee cake is excellent, too,’ Julia agreed.
‘I do like a funeral tea,’ said Bron, tucking into her stash. ‘In fact, the whole spread is excellent. Top catering. And the flowers, too. I recognise them. They come from Blooming Marvels. Must have cost a pretty penny. They really pushed the boat out.’
‘It seems the family fortunes are intact,’ said Mavis. ‘After the tricky patch.’
‘Indeed,’ said Bron. ‘Dick was saying the same.’
The portly egg-headed fellow Julia had seen earlier detached himself from the military group and came over. ‘Did I hear my name?’ he said. His face was ruddy, whether from long years on the battlefield, or from the whisky, was unclear.
‘You did. I was just telling Julia that I was married to the most charming, handsome man in all of the Cotswolds,’ said Bron, wryly. ‘And here you are, before our very eyes.’
Dick guffawed and gave Bron a squeeze.
‘Actually, Dick, I was saying that, happily, things seemed to have been going well for the Loxton family these last few years.’
‘Yes, indeed. The fellows were saying the same. It’s been at least five years since anyone got an awkward phone call from our old friend the colonel. And everyone is square and sorted.’
Bron gave him a look. He raised his eyebrows to indicate he had not the faintest idea what her problem was.
Julia, who had met these people not an hour before, could see that the woman was annoyed and embarrassed at her husband’s rather-too-forthcoming comment about the deceased’s financial affairs.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Julia said to break the awkward moment. ‘I hear you were old army buddies.’
‘We were, we were… We were in the Gulf together. A lifetime ago.’
‘And Garforth too, I believe,’ she said, remembering the odd conversation she’d overheard earlier. ‘I suppose you all knew each other, too.’
‘He was a bit younger, and more junior, so I didn’t have anything much to do with him or even know him until…’ He stopped, distracted. ‘Ah, there’s old Tubby. Haven’t seen him in years! Excuse me.’
He stopped and glanced back at Julia. ‘There’s no point gossiping about the dead,’ he said.
What on earth did he mean by that?