A Crowded Coffin(27)

‘I wouldn’t say it was exactly common,’ Harriet began, only to be interrupted by Edith who had wandered into the conservatory.

‘Last week?’ She sounded almost fierce, Harriet thought, as she addressed the question to Mike. ‘I didn’t know you were here last week. What day did you arrive?’

He seemed unaware of any undercurrents as he answered. ‘I guess it was Monday evening when I blew in,’ he said mildly. As Harriet watched with interest she realized that Edith was still very tense, though she was trying to hide it. So what was all this about last week?

Harriet left the group, now augmented by Rory and Brendan, and wandered over to admire the view. Mike was right; the green landscape and the brilliant flower beds were wonderful, if a tad too immaculate for Harriet, whose own tastes ran to blowsy, uncorseted cottage gardens.

Now, why would Edith be worried about last week? She went back to considering her former pupil’s evident anxiety. Of course, it was Wednesday evening that Walter had his accident, Harriet remembered. So Edith is – what? Suspicious of Mike? Well, why not? Harriet had her own suspicions, even though Sam was dismissive. Any stranger in the village had to be looked at, however unlikely it might seem. And not just strangers, she thought, then scolded herself. Sam’s right, I’m trying to play Miss Marple again. It was probably joyriding kids who ran into Walter, and they’re either shaking in their shoes in case they get caught, or else they were too high to remember a thing about it. It occurred to her that this might also be the opinion of the local police, the case not closed but not high on their list of priorities either.

Edith, meanwhile, had ranged herself alongside Sam who offered shelter from the proprietorial arm Brendan Whittaker was trying to sneak around her waist. A couple of drinks in the local pub at Christmas when she was bored seemed to have had more of an impression on Brendan than Edith liked. Her conscience was more or less clear and he’d certainly not taken it seriously at the time, so why the present display of affection?

She was rescued by Lara, of all people, who took her back into the big drawing room. ‘I hope you’re looking after poor Rory properly,’ she cooed, settling herself in an elegant pose on a sofa and looking up at Edith.

‘Rory? Of course we are,’ Edith stared.

‘I do hope that’s so,’ was the surprising comeback. ‘But you can sometimes be a bit bossy, you know. I remember from school. And he does need a lot of TLC.’

‘What?’ Edith was frankly astonished. ‘I know he’s been ill with some fever or other, but he insists he’s fine now. Why on earth should I pamper a grown man? I’ve two elderly, real invalids to worry about.’ The (admittedly justified) crack about her bossiness rankled and she managed a laugh, but at the smug expression on the other woman’s face, the laugh tailed away.

‘You really don’t know, do you? I’m amazed.’ There was no doubt Lara was enjoying herself. ‘You didn’t know about him being held on a drug-smuggling charge in the Far East, then? He was in prison for about nine months until he was released a month or so ago. That’s why he’s so thin. I believe he had a very bad time. It was a trumped-up charge, of course, but one of the guys he was with was executed. Fancy him not talking to you, of all people.’

Edith was shocked, overcome with remorse at her bullying of Rory. No wonder he hadn’t carried tables and chairs for the dinner. Too shocked to care about Lara’s smirking triumph – they had always loathed each other, since Lara had picked on Edith at school until the younger girl learned to retaliate – she didn’t at first notice that last crack, then: ‘What do you mean, “me of all people”?’ she rallied belligerently.

‘Well, darling, I mean considering you’re related. It’s pretty amazing how much like your father he is, could be him all over again.’

‘What?’ Edith was dumbfounded. ‘You never met my father, you didn’t move to the village till after he died. How could you possibly know what he looked like?’

‘I didn’t,’ Lara smiled sweetly. ‘But when I was dressing for the dinner last night I was watching something Dad had recorded and he’d accidentally caught the last ten minutes of a documentary about local heroes in Hampshire. There was a beautifully clear shot of your father, with a mention of who he was and how he died in an attack just at the end of the Bosnian War. I had no idea how good-looking he was, and then, of course, I came across Rory an hour later. It was quite a shock.’

Edith had herself in hand now. ‘I know there was a programme,’ she admitted,. ‘but it was years ago. And besides, nobody else has mentioned seeing any such thing.’