Chapter 7
Julia had no sooner walked back to the Coach House and got stuck into emptying out the linen cupboard, when Hayley Gibson phoned her back. Julia could see she was calling from her office phone line. Julia put down a stack of new and neatly folded towels and answered.
‘The man’s name was Kingston, you said?’
‘Hello, Hayley. Yes, Kingston.’
‘Any chance you are mistaken? The registration I put into the system belonged to a car hire company, and it was rented by someone called Neil Peckham.’
Julia wondered for a moment if she had, in fact, muddled up the names – the surnames were both names of London suburbs, after all. But she was certain she’d got it right.
‘No. I’m sure it’s Kingston.’
‘Well, can you read me the car registration number again?’ Hayley asked. ‘It doesn’t seem to be a match.’
‘Hang on a sec, I’ve got a pic of the car here on my phone. I can send it to you now.’
‘Thanks, Julia.’
There was a long moment of rather stressful fumbling while Julia found the photograph she’d snapped as Mr Kingston’s car exited the Topsy Turnip car park at speed, and then forwarded the pic to Hayley. She heard the ping announcing its arrival in the detective’s hand.
‘Hmmm,’ came Hayley’s musing. ‘Well, that’s the number I had, which means either someone else was driving the hired car, or Mr Kingston or Mr Peckham is not the right name.’
‘He would have had to show his driver’s licence at the car hire company,’ said Julia. ‘So it’s likely Peckham is the right name – or at least the name and photograph that matches his driving licence.’
‘Thinking like a detective, Inspector Bird,’ said the real detective inspector, dryly. ‘Now, tell me, why would Mr Peckham check in to the inn as Mr Kingston?’
‘Ah, that is a high-level detectiving problem which I’ll leave to you, Hayley. I’ve got to get back to work. Although I would say that nobody who gives a fake name at a hotel is up to any good.’
‘Right then…’
‘Hayley,’ Julia cut in before Hayley put the phone down. ‘I know this isn’t my business, but have you got the forensic report in yet? Did the colonel die from that blow to the head?’
‘There will be an official statement shortly, Julia. I’m sure you understand that I need to speak to the family first. I’m going to see them later this afternoon.’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Well, good luck with tracking down the car.’
The detective killed the call as Julia’s ‘Goodbye’ left her lips.
Hayley’s answer had been strictly non-committal, but to Julia’s ear it sounded as close to a ‘yes’ as you can get without using the actual word.
Which meant that the bruise she’d spotted in the colonel’s hairline had been the result of the blow that killed him.
Julia heaved a long, sad sigh, and reached for another pile of bath towels.
‘Mum?’
Julia jumped a mile high at the sound of her daughter’s voice.
‘Sorry, Mum, didn’t mean to startle you, but is there another black marker pen? Mine’s run out.’ Jess waved the offending pen.
‘That’s annoying; I don’t have a spare. Here, use this one, and I’ll go and ask Biddy if she’s got one, or at least a felt tip or something we can use to write on the boxes.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
Julia walked across the courtyard towards the kitchen in search of Biddy.
Clouds had gathered while she’d been packing, and the place had an ominous air.
It was probably Julia herself who was responsible for the ominous air, she thought.
After all that had happened, she was eager to get the job done and to leave Greystone Manor for good.
Jess was going great guns in the kitchen, and the linen cupboard was clear.
The bathrooms and the spare bedroom were all that still needed clearing.
At the rate they were going, they should finish on Monday.
She’d ask Wilma to confirm the Man With the Van to come and fetch the boxes.
When she entered the manor, the kitchen was empty. Julia hovered there, not wanting to wander around the house uninvited. But she needed that marker pen.
‘Biddy?’ she called, tentatively, into the empty house. It was a house in mourning, after all, it wouldn’t do to call ‘Tootle-oo’ down the passage. There was no answer. She walked quietly towards the living room and then the study, hoping to come upon the housekeeper.
She passed the oil-painted ancestors – the expressionless, ruddy-cheeked old gent in what looked like ceremonial army dress, bedecked with ribbons and medals.
The old lady with her powdered, half-smiling face, her pale blue two-piece suit, and the hairstyle favoured by the late Queen Mother.
Were they husband and wife, she wondered?
And were they the colonel and Marigold’s parents? Or grandparents?
Distracted by her musing, she found herself at the study door.
It was half open, and while she couldn’t see in, she recognised Garforth’s voice, and the sound of his feet pacing on the wooden floor.
She raised her hand to knock on the doorframe, but stopped when she heard his harsh words: ‘This is hardly the time for you vultures to circle… I have assured you the matter is well in hand.’
Julia hated to be caught eavesdropping. She knocked and called cheerfully, ‘Hello, anyone there…?’
She peered round the door in time to see Garforth pushing something into the bookshelf.
‘Mrs Bird,’ he said, absolutely calmly. ‘A moment, please.’
He spoke into the phone, his voice smooth and even: ‘Well, thank you for your help, I’ll be in touch to confirm… Goodbye.’
He turned his full attention to Julia. ‘Funeral arrangements. There’s a lot to do, and we do want everything to be just right for the colonel. Can I help you with something?’
‘Yes, please. Such a silly little problem, especially when you have so much to organise, but I’m afraid our black marker pen has run out. Do you have a felt tip or something we could use?’
‘Of course.’
Garforth opened a desk drawer and immediately pulled out a black marker, which he handed to her. Julia felt mildly ashamed, knowing that such a request in her home would necessitate quite a lot more rummaging and scrambling through drawers.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘We’re making good progress.’
‘I won’t keep you from it,’ he said, rather pointedly. ‘I’m expecting someone.’ On cue, the doorbell rang. ‘That’ll be him now.’
They heard the door open, and muffled voices and footsteps.
‘Thank you for your help, Garforth. I think we’ll be finished in the Coach House tomorrow, and out of your hair.’
‘Good day, Mrs Bird.’
At that moment, Biddy popped her head round the door.
‘Garforth, the lawyer’s here, I’ve shown him into the sitting room.
The family knows to all be there at two o’clock.
And then it’s just you and me and Ian, which is interesting; I suppose that means…
Oh, hello, Julia. I didn’t see you there. Everything all right?’
‘I came to borrow a pen. I’ll be getting back to work now. Goodbye.’
She stepped into the passage to find Gregory and pregnant Beth just ahead of her.
It was the first time that Julia had seen Gregory Loxton, and she took in his old-fashioned look.
A full suit, despite being at home. His thinning hair paired with the suit to give him the look of a man much older than he possibly could be, and Julia felt rather sad for him.
He looked to be in his early thirties but he was dressed like he was in his sixties – and a rather old-fashioned sixty-year-old at that!
A woman Julia didn’t recognise got to the sitting room door just as they did, resulting in a slightly awkward knot of people. She had a clever, lively face, and wore her chestnut hair in a tousled pixie cut.
‘Clara,’ Greg said, ‘I didn’t know you’d arrived. Weren’t you in… Africa somewhere…?’ He waved his hand about, presumably to indicate the vast unknowable continent.
‘I’ve been working in Malawi. Magnificent country.
The lake! The gorillas! Magnificent! Anyhow, I got in this morning.
I took the train from the airport. I have literally just walked in,’ said the woman, leaning in to give her brother a hug.
There was a small day pack slung from her shoulder.
‘Oh, Greg, I can’t believe Dad’s gone. It’s all so sudden. And shocking. What happened?’
‘We don’t know exactly. We’re waiting for the medical report.’
Clara hugged her sister-in-law with more warmth, and held her palm to her belly, saying, ‘At least we have this happy event to look forward to! What is it, two months to go?’
‘Four weeks exactly,’ said Beth. They moved towards the sitting room, arm in arm, still talking: ‘Once we’ve finished with the reading of the will, let’s have tea and a proper talk about everything. It’s been such a shock.’
‘You can catch up later,’ said Gregory, impatiently. ‘It’s two o’clock. The lawyer will be waiting.’
Julia slipped past them – she might have been invisible for all the attention they paid her – and out the kitchen door.
She rejoined Jess and went back to work.
They put their shoulders to wheels, their backs into it, and their best feet forward.
By the time 3.30 p.m. came, they had finished the bathrooms, and most of the kitchen.
Jess stood up from the box she had finished packing, pulled her shoulders back and stretched her neck left and right. ‘It’s surprisingly hard physical work for a soft student who’s been hunched over a laptop for two years,’ she said. ‘I’m ashamed to say I’m quite stiff and tired!’
‘Me too. Let’s call it a day,’ said Julia. ‘We’re almost done. I reckon a couple more hours should do it. We can finish up the last few things later in the week.’
‘Great.’ Jess looked relieved.
‘I’ll go and let Biddy or Garforth know we’re off.’
Not finding Biddy in the kitchen, Julia went into the house to see if she could see her or the butler about. It was very quiet. They might still be in their meeting, in which case she would make a quick and quiet exit, and send Biddy a message later.
Footsteps in the passage made her stop in her tracks.
It wasn’t Biddy or Garforth, but someone quite unexpected.
It was Oscar, who had been in the am-dram company for the fateful production of A Night to Remember.
He stopped when he saw her, and she watched a momentary panic cross his face as he tried to place her.
‘Julia!’ he said. He looked relieved and pleased at remembering her name.
‘Hello, Oscar. Fancy seeing you here. Oh! Of course! You are a lawyer in real life. You must be the colonel’s lawyer.’
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘When I’m not an amateur thespian.’
She smiled. ‘I heard the lawyer was coming to read the will, and it turns out it’s you! Well, that’s a coincidence. I’ve been fetching some things for Second Chances, the charity shop. I just came to let Biddy, the housekeeper, know I was going. Have you finished?’
‘We’re finished with the legal part, but I suspect they have a lot more to talk about amongst themselves.
’ He pursed his lips and gave her a sort of meaningful look.
She had no idea what meaning it was meant to convey, and solicitor-client privilege meant he’d never say, but from the look of him she suspected it wasn’t particularly good.
‘Good to see you, Julia. I’ll be on my way.’
Julia stood in the passage, unsure whether to leave or to go on and see if she could find one of the staff. She heard the door slam open and footsteps, followed by more footsteps, and a man’s voice dripping with sarcasm and infused with fury.
‘Well that’s very modern, I must say. Very Women’s Lib and all that.’ She recognised the voice as Gregory’s.
‘Very Women’s Lib?’ came a woman’s voice, incredulous. ‘Did you actually say that?’
Eager to avoid witnessing a scene, Julia ducked into the loo.
She washed her hands splashily to alert the speakers to her presence, and give them time to shut up or move away.
But they did neither. She cleared her throat, but even though they were right outside the door, they just kept talking.
The woman continued, ‘By that, do you mean giving women the same rights and privileges as men? Daughters the same as sons?’ She snorted.
‘Sorry to break it to you, Greg, but that’s what it’s come to.
The old everything-to-my-son-and-heir tradition has gone out the window. ’
‘It’s all right for you, Clara. You don’t have the responsibilities I do. Beth and I are starting a family. You’re just gallivanting around the planet doing who knows what.’
‘You know what I do, Greg. I work in public health.’
‘Whatever that is—’
‘I don’t know why you’re angry, Greg. What did you expect?’
‘Quite how I’m meant to keep the family home running and shipshape on half the money, I don’t know. The roof needs replacing for a start. Garforth’s tidy little bundle would have covered it. God knows why Dad had to give him such a big chunk of change and his war medal. The repairs—’
‘You think you’re getting the house?’ Clara’s voice rose in disbelief.
‘Well, yes. I’m the firstborn, and the son. And Beth and I…’
‘Yes, you mentioned. You’re starting a family. Well, your reproductive status has no bearing on the inheritance. Dad’s will is clear – he says “my entire estate, split equally between my children”.’
‘But the house is—’
‘“My entire estate”, Greg. There is no ambiguity there. The house is part of the estate.’
‘Clara, Greystone Manor has been handed down father to son for as long as there have been records,’ Greg said confidently. ‘The reason the will is silent about the house, obviously, is that everyone knows that it is established law that the oldest son gets the house.’
Julia was fairly sure that wasn’t true.
‘Or arguably the oldest child, if you want to get all feminist about it,’ Greg said, with somewhat less confidence. ‘Either bloody way, that is me. The eldest child, the eldest son. Me.’
Julia flushed the loo, coughed loudly, and opened the door noisily to alert the two of them to her presence. When she exited, she made a bit of a show of being surprised. ‘Oh! I didn’t see you there. I was just leaving. I’ll be in touch with Biddy about finishing up.’
‘Thank you,’ said Greg, distractedly.
The doorbell rang.
‘That must be the detective,’ he said, walking towards the front door. The two women followed.
‘A detective?’ Clara asked. ‘Why would there be a detective at the house?’
Julia was fairly certain she knew the answer to that question.