A Crowded Coffin(8)

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she shrugged. ‘We don’t even try to heat it these days, of course – it’s too expensive – but it only smokes if the wind is in the east.’ She grinned and waved a hand to the far end of the room. ‘Though I must admit the fireplace at the other end tends to smoke if the wind is in the north, south, east and west.’

As she spoke there was a clanging at the front door. Neither of them had noticed the sound of wheels approaching on the gravel drive but when Edith ran through the house to open up, she was confronted by an ambulance with its open rear end facing her. The driver and his mate were helping an elderly white-haired man into a wheelchair.

‘Grandpa?’ Edith rushed to give him a brief hug and to help settle him. ‘What on earth are you doing out of the hospital? Harriet and Karen said you weren’t due home till tomorrow. You really ought to do as you’re told.’

‘I’m sorry, love,’ put in the patient transport ambulance driver, looking sympathetic. ‘He insisted on discharging himself and apparently there was no way they could prevent him. He wouldn’t let anyone ring up for you to fetch him and he wangled a lift with us. The best they could manage was to insist on the wheelchair in and out of the ambulance, and they nearly had to tie him in before we could set off towards the lifts.’

‘Oh, I know.’ Edith shot him a smile of fellow feeling. ‘He’s an awful, pig-headed old devil and it’s much easier to give in when he’s got a bee in his bonnet.’

‘Well, of all the unfilial things to say….’ Edith ignored her grandfather’s remonstrance and cajoled the driver and his colleague into carrying him, plus the wheelchair, up the stairs to his bedroom on the first floor. Rory had stayed in the background during this exchange and took no part in getting the old man upstairs, which surprised her slightly.

While Rory saw the ambulance crew off the premises Edith helped Walter Attlin into an armchair in his room. She gave him a brief run-down on her sudden arrival back in England and her fortuitous meeting with Harriet at the airport, while she carried on scolding.

‘Why have you done this, Grandpa? You’re not usually so headstrong and you know a broken collarbone and shock aren’t something to be ignored.’ She looked up as Rory hovered in the open doorway, carrying the old man’s overnight bag. He gave her a slight, diffident smile as he dropped the bag on a side table and turned to leave the room. Then the old man answered her.

‘Didn’t Harriet tell you about my “accident”?’

Edith could almost hear the inverted commas round the word and as she stared at him he pulled himself upright in his chair. ‘I’m not leaving Penny in danger. If someone could do this to me, God knows what they might try with her, she’s so frail.’

‘Harriet said you believed someone drove at you deliberately,’ Edith said flatly and Rory halted in the doorway and turned a surprised glance at them. ‘Are you sure, Grandpa?’ Edith shook her head slightly, to clear her thoughts. ‘But that would mean it was attempted … murder, wouldn’t it?’

As the word dropped ominously into the silence Rory drew a startled breath. Edith looked up at him with fear in her grey eyes while Walter Attlin gave him a measuring glance, appeared satisfied with what he saw and nodded briefly to himself.

‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘However, that’s not the only reason I came home. You haven’t been told yet, I gather, that your grandmother hasn’t cancelled the Rotary dinner?’

‘What?’ It was a shriek of protest, hastily subdued as Edith recalled that her grandmother was asleep on her sofa in the converted bedroom next door. As Rory turned to her, looking puzzled, she explained. ‘It’s a charity do,’ she said. ‘We don’t have to do more, in theory, than provide the venue. The Rotary Club does the rest; they bring most of the food, drink, music, decorations and so forth. The wives move in on the day and take over the arrangements and all we have to do is put in an appearance and look gracious. That’s the theory. In practice, of course, it’s a whole lot of hassle.’ She frowned and looked suspiciously at her grandfather, who was looking studiously innocent.

‘Tell me I’m wrong,’ she demanded. ‘Tell me it isn’t tomorrow night.’ He looked mulish and said nothing. ‘So that’s what Harriet meant when she said she and Sam Hathaway would definitely see me tomorrow night, if not before. And that’s why Karen’s been cooking up a storm downstairs. That would be Gran’s doing; she always insists that we contribute towards the dinner.’