Chapter 4 #2
‘Oh she was!’ Lara said with great feeling ‘I was so lonely and felt so useless. I knew lots of people were talking about me behind my back – but she made me laugh and forget everything for a while.’
‘Did she know Julian?’ Abigail asked – she was interested to hear what Lady Porter had to say about him.
‘I think that’s one of the few times I ever heard her say anything remotely crude,’ Lara reminisced, ‘she said “Darling, he was a snotty little boy, he was a greasy teenager and he has grown up to be a complete wanker.’” As Lara finished she fervently hoped that her guest did not ask her what a wanker was.
She also knew that even though she criticised Julian, Lady Porter never made her feel foolish for not being able to get over him.
‘Tell me about how Lady Porter died,’ Abigail suggested, moving on.
‘She died of an overdose of sleeping pills – that was about two months ago, at the end of August. The coroner concluded a probable suicide. There was talk of “deterioration consistent with a woman of her age” but no cancer or heart problems that might have killed her. And there was nothing to suggest a suspicious death. She was found by her son, Richard, who had been trying to ring her but hadn’t got any answer.
It was Mrs M’s day off. He said as he was worried he decided to walk over at lunchtime.
He runs a solicitor’s practice in town and his office is in the High Street,’ Lara explained.
She sighed, ‘I remember that afternoon as it had turned suddenly cold. When I heard the news I remember thinking that as she slept and died the season died with her.’ Lara’s hands were shaking as she spoke.
The two women sat watching the fire for some moments. Abigail was the first to speak, ‘Did Lady Porter have a husband?’ She hated to be commonplace, but experience had taught her that one should never ignore husbands when it came to suspicious deaths.
‘No,’ Lara told her, ‘well that is, she did, but Lord Porter died about thirty years ago. I don’t think he was that old.
And I do know Lady Porter was devastated.
He made his money in printing and the main printing works they had at that time were in Nottingham.
When he died, Lady Porter sold the business and moved to this part of the country to get away from the memories.
’ Lara paused. ‘Mrs M told me some of this.’
So much for the husband, Abigail thought. ‘You mention a son, Richard. Were there other family?’
‘No grandchildren,’ Lara confirmed. ‘But Richard is married to Penny, one of our local artists. She’s not bad, if you like paintings of dogs and horses. She’s quite a few years younger than him and runs her studio from their house.’
Lara looked thoughtful.
‘Was Lady Porter’s death completely unexpected?’ was her next question. ‘For example, do you know if she left a note of her intentions?’
Lara shook her head. ‘I definitely know there wasn’t a note.
I would have heard if there was. That’s the thing about being a florist, you spend a lot of time in other people’s homes and offices, in restaurants and hotels, churches, even at the undertakers – everywhere really.
You would be astonished at what I overhear.
And I would certainly have heard if she’d left a note or letter. ’
Abigail considered this. ‘That is extremely interesting. I have observed in the past how people ignore the staff around them. To many people, servants and waiting staff simply form part of the inanimate landscape. So short sighted, I have always felt. I recall in a previous investigation how Doris, who worked at Betty’s tearoom in Harrogate, helped to apprehend Tubby Macgillycuddy in ’44,’ Abigail warmed to her subject, ‘but in 192 years I had not considered just how useful a florist might be.’
Lara did not know whether to be proud or disconcerted by her rise in status, so just continued, ‘I always say to people if they want to know where to eat in a town, ask a florist – we will have seen all the kitchens.’
‘Fascinating,’ said Abigail.
The room fell silent as Abigail gazed off into the distance for some time, apparently distracted.
Through the red wine haze that surrounded her, Lara had a sense of looking down on the two of them as she vaguely contemplated how odd and how natural it all felt at the same time.
Perhaps it was like that with a Kindred Spirit.
The warmth from the wood burner was making her sleepier and sleepier.
‘Well,’ Abigail said suddenly, making Lara start, ‘so there was no note, which is suggestive. But not, in itself, conclusive. Tell me why you think Lady Porter was unlikely to commit suicide?’
‘It’s not one significant thing,’ Lara conceded, ‘and on their own, each means very little. But put them all together…’ her words petered out.
‘Go on,’ said Abigail.
‘There were all the things she had planned for the future; what she was going to do with her garden, a Christmas cocktail party she was going to hold to raise funds for the church roof. She loved that idea. She thought it would really irritate the vicar’s wife as she’d think it was ungodly.
She was even planning to have a full-sized roulette table at it.
’ Lara continued in a small voice, ‘We were planning to go to Chelsea Flower Show together. She wanted to visit all the shops on Sloane Street that decorate their windows with flowers for Chelsea week.’ Lara sighed, curling up more comfortably on the sofa and laying her head on the arm.
‘They sound so unimportant now I say them out loud. It wasn’t as if I’d known her for years, I first started getting friendly with her last Christmas, so had only known her for nine months or so when she died.
If she really was depressed, the small things I’m talking about wouldn’t make a difference. ’
‘Nonsense!’ said Abigail bracingly, as she got up and started pacing about the room.
‘What you describe is a woman with a great appetite for life who was clearly enjoying planning her future. Not only that, but in my experience strong friendships can be forged in a relatively short period of time when one meets…’ Abigail suppressed a smile, ‘… a kindred spirit.’ She paused, thoughtfully.
‘Either something drastic happened that we do not yet know about, or she did not administer that fatal overdose.’
As Lara watched her she was overwhelmed with tiredness.
‘I feel like I’ve been trudging for days through thick snow,’ she murmured, ‘I can’t seem to concentrate but there is so much I want to ask you.
’ Lara tucked one foot more comfortably under the other.
‘Oh God!’ she groaned, as the room swam before her in soporific waves.
‘I’m going to feel disgusting in the morning.
’ Lara’s chin slipped down until it was hidden in the top of her jumper.
‘It can all wait,’ Abigail said reassuringly, turning to look down at her.
Lara raised her eyes to Abigail’s. ‘You’re not going anywhere are you?’ she asked a little anxiously.
‘No,’ Abigail reassured her with a small smile, ‘I am not going anywhere.’
Abigail watched over Lara in the flickering firelight as she fell asleep. The last thing she heard her say before her head finally dropped into the cushions was a muffled ‘I don’t even know your name…’