A Crowded Coffin(29)
Predictably, Sam exploded in righteous indignation. ‘I’m not staying to listen to this kind of gossip, Harriet,’ he said, rising and heading for the house. ‘I’d better go and get started on clearing out the flat. I know most of our—’ he pulled himself up short on the word and looked away, while Harriet blinked in sympathy. ‘My stuff is in store but there are hundreds of books still to pack and I’ve left it late to start. I’ll ring you tomorrow and hope you can drag your mind away from scandal and trivia.’
Harriet saw him off, hugging him affectionately. ‘You’re a pompous old prig, you know, but I forgive you. And regardless of your strictures, I’m going to do some poking around and see if I can find any clues to the local mystery.’
He sighed and returned the hug. ‘I may be pompous,’ he told her. ‘But you’re a nosy old biddy, Old Hat, and you need to stay out of trouble. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid like wandering about at night trying to catch villains?’
Her blue eyes gleamed with mischief and Sam wished he hadn’t spoken. ‘I’ll think about it,’ was all she said, but Sam was seized with foreboding.
chapter five
‘Edith? It’s Harriet. Sam’s just rung me to ask if you and Rory would like to join him for dinner at the new French bistro in town tonight.’ Harriet caught herself up with a faint giggle and went on, ‘Well, I’ll be there too, of course. Sam was cross with me earlier on but I’m obviously forgiven.’ She sobered quickly. ‘I hope you two can make it. Although he won’t mention it, today is his wife’s birthday and he finds it very tough going. Neither of us ever says anything, but Avril is always in our thoughts at this time and I know he’d welcome a bit of distraction.’
‘Oh, poor Sam.’ Harriet could hear the ready sympathy in Edith’s voice. ‘I liked Mrs Hathaway. She was always fair but you couldn’t mess around in her English classes. I expect you miss her too, don’t you? I’d better check whether Rory’s up for it and I’ll get back to you.’
Rory had disappeared immediately after the drinks party, muttering about ‘work to do’, so Edith busied herself by helping Karen around the house, as well as taking a pot of tea upstairs to her grandparents.
‘Tell me about Rory?’ she asked, as she poured out.
The silence that greeted this innocuous question made her look up. Her grandmother looked suddenly strained and very weary, while her grandfather was scowling.
‘The relationship is complicated; old sorrows, old anger, better left alone,’ he growled and Mrs Attlin nodded in corroboration. ‘As for discussing him, that’s his business. He doesn’t want it talked about so we’ll respect his wishes, if you please.’
She stared at him, feeling at a loss. There was a slight edge in his voice that warned her not to press the question. She felt his disapproval but ploughed on regardless.
‘What about his father? Is he still alive?’
The disapproval was marked now; she was encroaching on shaky territory but she had no idea why.
‘Rory’s father was killed some years ago, and his mother…. No, I told you, Edith, I’m not prepared to discuss this with you any further.’
Puzzled and slightly hurt, Edith shrugged and left the room, leaving the old people looking at each other.
‘Oh, dear,’ sighed Penelope Attlin. ‘Now her feelings are hurt. Do you think we should have told her everything after all?’
‘Nonsense, love.’ Walter shook his head. ‘Rory asked us not to discuss his affairs so it’s up to him to decide when – if – he tells her anything. Besides, it won’t do her any harm to have a check, bossy little madam. Always was.’
The bossy little madam stomped her way downstairs and relieved her frustration by peeling the potatoes Karen handed her. After a while her temper subsided and she wandered out to the stable yard. No point pushing for the story, she told herself. If Rory asked them not to discuss it, they’re not going to. I don’t like to ask Rory outright, but…. She sighed and shook herself. Lara’s mocking hint had disturbed her more than she cared to admit, even to herself, but surely there couldn’t be anything in it? Her father had always been her hero and the idea that he … no, it was preposterous.
She pushed open the stable door, knocking as she did so, and looked in – at images from hell. Huge canvases of red and orange light screamed at her from all sides of the open space. Jagged black wounds scored the searing nightmare colours. There were no shapes, no forms, no figures in this landscape of pain and fear.