Chapter 19
‘Helloo?’ Julia called, as she opened her front door.
Jake scrabbled to his feet and came over, happy to see her, as he was every time she left the house, and – hooray! – returned. He moved more slowly than usual, trotting rather than barrelling towards her. He didn’t love the heat.
Jess’s voice came from inside: ‘We’re in here!’
Julia found Jess and Dylan sitting on cushions on the floor of the sitting room, with notebooks and papers spread around them. Chaplin had taken up a position as a paperweight, anchoring a pile of notebooks under his shiny black and white body, his tail twitching languidly.
‘Ah, you’re looking at Marigold’s notebooks!’
She felt a twinge of awkwardness at the invasion of privacy, even though the colonel and Biddy had told them to do whatever they wanted with the papers.
‘Her sketches are very good,’ Jess said. ‘I really think her daughter should have them. Look here – look at this one of Emily.’ She handed an open notebook to her mother.
Julia perched on the armrest of the sofa and looked at the book.
It was a diary of sorts, a small page-a-day appointment book with a blank page across from the appointment page.
Marigold had filled the appointment blocks with scrawled notes, and on the opposite pages had made sketches, lightly and quickly drawn, some in pencil, some in ink.
Jess had opened the book to a drawing of a young Emily playing the piano with a look of contented absorption on her face.
It was only a few spare lines but it captured her essence.
Julia turned over a few pages. She realised that the writing wasn’t just appointments and to-do lists, but observations and commentary, and light gossip about life at Greystone Manor a decade ago.
The lilacs bloomed late this year, but now that they’re out, they are the best I’ve seen them, Marigold had written next to a drawing of a small stand of trees, bursting with spring.
She flicked back and opened another page at random. There was a drawing of a tall fellow leaning against a gate, his face tilted up as if speaking or calling to someone out of view. Julia recognised the strong, lithe body and handsome face of a fifteen-year-younger Ian.
‘It’s quite a skill she had,’ she said. ‘It really captures him, doesn’t it? It’s so… so alive.’
Lively indeed, judging by a note on the next page.
Puppy’s making eyes at the new gardener. He is very handsome. Luckily, he’s also rather shy, and dear Puppy is rather flighty! I hope I don’t regret taking him on.
Julia wondered who Puppy was. Clara, perhaps, or Emily? Did one of them fancy a flirtation with the hot new hire? Or Puppy might have been one of the staff. She imagined her as a cheerfully flirtatious, pink-cheeked chambermaid, perhaps in one of those lacy caps you saw in period dramas.
‘You’re right, we’ll hang on to these notebooks for Emily.
That little drawing of her is a gem; she should have it.
I’ll get in touch with her and see if she would like them after all,’ Julia said, closing the book.
‘She might have been in a rush to get rid of things, and not realised how special they are.’
‘Dylan’s got a theory that Emily didn’t get on with her mum – that’s why the house was cleared out so fast,’ said Jess.
‘Yes, and that’s why she didn’t want all her mum’s stuff. All that stuff that went to Second Chances, and the notebooks and diaries she was going to just chuck out,’ said Dylan.
‘Could be,’ said Julia, although she hoped not. The thought of the mother and daughter being estranged made her sad. She treasured the easy, close relationship she had with Jess.
‘I’m going to have a little rest before I go to book club,’ she said. ‘I want to finish the book I took last time; I’ve only got a chapter or two to go.’
‘Okay, Mum. We might take Jake for a walk when it’s a bit cooler.’
Julia was off the hook for book club catering, because Sean was making his trademark home-made crunchies. She was pleased to be able to put her feet up for an hour or so before Sean arrived to fetch her, and pleased not to be slaving over a stove or running the oven in this heat.
Sean arrived on the dot, as always. And, as always, Julia was pleased to see him. He opened the car door for her. A plate covered in foil was on the passenger seat.
‘Could you hold the plate? It was sliding around a bit on the way over here.’
‘Sure. Wouldn’t want to put the crunchies in jeopardy. I’ve been looking forward to one of those all day.’
‘Oh.’ His face fell. ‘I actually didn’t make crunchies. Changed my mind. I hope you’re not disappointed.’
‘Not at all!’ said Julia, not entirely truthfully. She had been very keen for the crunchies. ‘I’m sure whatever you made is delicious.’
‘Little tomato tarts,’ he said proudly. ‘The tomatoes are madder than ever, absolutely thriving and full of fruit. I spotted the tomato tart recipe online and it had five stars, so I gave it a try. Dead easy to make: you use bought pastry, and they are jolly good, even if I say so myself. But they are not crunchies.’
He walked around the car and got into the driver’s seat.
‘Great idea, tomato tarts. I bet they’re good,’ said Julia, who would not be eating one if she could help it. Much as she believed in clear and honest communication, she wasn’t going to tell Sean that the very last thing she wanted was a tomato-based snack.
In the last month, since her tomatoes had begun to ripen rapidly, she had eaten tomato pasta sauce and tomato soup (both hot and cold) as well as various takes on the tomato salad, and every other tomato-related food she could think of making.
She would quietly make a beeline for one of the other plates of snacks.
She hoped Jane had made her trademark carrot cake. A slice of that would be nice.
When they arrived, Tabitha greeted Julia with a hug. It had been more than a week since they’d seen each other. Between the Greystone Manor clear-out, and then the murders, and having Jess at home, Julia had been busy and the time had flown by.
‘How are you?’ she asked, looking closely at her friend’s face.
‘In good health and spirits!’ said Tabitha. Indeed, she did look well and happy, and there was something different about her.
‘You’ve had a haircut!’ Julia said. Tabitha’s soft greying curls had been cut shorter and now sprang up around her face. In a bright orange summer dress and pretty, dangly gold earrings in the shape of leaves, she looked fresh and summery.
Sean put his plate on the tea table and removed the foil. The tomato tarts looked very professional and tasty, with a spoon of basil pesto on each one. Maybe Julia would be tempted after all.
‘Hello, Julia, hello, Doc,’ said Dylan, getting up from the chair he was sprawled in.
He had been a patient of Sean’s since he was a kid, and he had not yet come round to calling Sean by his first name, although he had recently stopped using Doctor O’Connor.
‘Doc’ was his compromise position. He had clearly popped home to change after his walk with Jess, and Julia found something endearing about the seriousness with which he treated book club.
‘How’s the new job?’ asked Sean.
Dylan had, that month, started a new job working on the online version of the Southern Times.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Getting the hang of their system. Learning a lot. I already have some ideas. And the people are great. Never a dull moment.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that. You must get to hear all the local news and gossip, I suppose,’ said Sean.
‘Yeah. I see everything that comes through for uploading to the website. And all the comments. Most of it is about dogs or fences or traffic, to be honest. And the hot weather, of course. People are mad interested in the heat.’
Julia couldn’t help but think it was a bit of a pity that access to such quality inside info and trivia was wasted on Dylan, who cared not a fig for that sort of thing.
‘Oh, and the murders, of course,’ Dylan said, glancing at Julia. ‘Everyone’s interested in that. And today there was big excitement because the police found—’
‘Hello!’ It was Jane, who interrupted Dylan’s revelation. She had a handbag over her shoulder, a tote full of books in one hand, and a plate covered with foil in the other. She was a short, gently plump woman, and was manoeuvring through the furniture to the table.
‘Let me help you,’ said Julia, reaching for the plate, which was tilting precariously. What was on the plate wasn’t big enough to be a carrot cake, but Julia remained hopeful – Jane sometimes made individual carrot cupcakes, as they were easier to serve.
‘Ah, thank you. You’re a dear,’ said Jane, with her usual warm good cheer. ‘Wouldn’t want to drop them; they’re still just warm.’
‘Oooh yum, I always love your carrot muffins, Jane.’
‘Well, in that case, I think you’ll love these tomato muffins. Made with tomato and basil, both fresh from the garden.’
Julia smiled encouragingly, even as her hopes were dashed horribly.
She put the tomato muffins down on the table with the tomato tarts, trying to remember who else’s turn it was to bring snacks, and what they might be.
Even if the carrot cake wasn’t forthcoming, something chocolatey would be nice.
Or fruity. She wouldn’t mind fruity. Unless you counted tomato as a fruit, that was.
She walked back to Dylan, who was browsing the new releases, and asked quietly, ‘Found what? What did the police find?’
‘They found a poker, you know, like you’d use for a fire?
It was dropped in the undergrowth near the gate at Greystone Manor.
They reckon it was the murder weapon. It was probably used in both murders.
’ His face fell as he realised his indiscretion.
‘Gosh, I don’t suppose I should be spilling the beans.
The police have actually asked us to kill the article – not even the family knows about it.
We just got lucky that one of our reporters was there when they found it.
But we can’t tell anyone. Except, now I have! ’
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, patting his hand. ‘I won’t say a word.’
So Julia’s hunch had proven correct. The poker was the murder weapon, and it had been tossed after the second murder. Julia felt a warm flush of pride at being right, followed by a warm flush of shame at her pride. Two people had died, after all. It was no time to be revelling in her cleverness.
‘I don’t know where the others are, but let’s get started,’ said Tabitha, who kept the book club to a precise schedule.
As they took their seats, Diane arrived, followed by Pippa, pink and shiny and puffing.
‘So sorry, one of the puppies got into the pantry, and into the cake flour, and it was like Christmas in there. I had to do a bit of a sweep.’ Pippa often showed evidence of her volunteer work hosting would-be guide dog puppies – tooth marks on the car seats, fur on the furniture, bruises to the shin – and this evening she did indeed have a small white paw print on the bum of her jeans and a dusting of flour down the back of her left leg.
‘Anyway, I’m here now,’ she said, cheerfully.
‘And I did bring some lovely sandwiches.’
Oh happy day! Diane was carrying a plate of little triangle sandwiches. Julia loved nothing more than a little triangle sandwich. Egg, or ham, or…
‘Cheese and tomato!’ said Diane, proudly. ‘Made with my home-grown tomatoes.’
When they broke for tea an hour later, there was a less-eager-than-usual rush for the tea table.
‘Oh, I nearly forgot,’ said Dylan. He reached into his backpack and brought out a box of shortbread.
It was just the bog-standard supermarket stuff, but it lifted Julia’s spirits enormously.
She noted that all eyes followed the modest offering as it was opened and took its place on the table with the tomato delicacies.
With an alacrity she feared might be rude, Julia grabbed one.
Talk had turned once more to the murder of Ian Glenn.
‘He caused quite a stir when he arrived in Berrywick,’ said Jane. ‘He can’t have been more than nineteen years old, but he was so good-looking, the girls could hardly look at him. We used to call him Brad Pitt’s better-looking brother. Remember, Pippa?’
Pippa nodded. She was unusually silent.
Jane went on, ‘And the funny thing was, he seemed to have no idea. No idea about anything, in fact. Except gardening. The girls were flinging themselves at him! He seemed to just accept that as the way things were, take what was on offer. He went through them like a dose of salts, remember, Pippa? You were closer to his age and set than I was.’
Pippa nodded. ‘That I was,’ she said, dryly.
‘Oh my God, sorry, Pippa! I’d forgotten. You had a…’
Pippa blushed and stammered, and then laughed.
‘Well, you’ve outed me now, Jane. Yes, Ian and I had a…
thing. Me and half the girls my age. But despite that, Ian was a good chap.
Not the sharpest pencil in the box – he wasn’t a fellow you dated for the sparkling conversation – but not a drop of malice in him.
I can’t think who on earth would have wanted to hurt a hair on that man’s head. ’
But someone, thought Julia, clearly had.