Three Little Maids(18)

Upstairs, he looked at his family photographs distributed around the flat. His mother had remarried fifteen years ago, and was content and happy with Don Palmer, his stepfather but the anniversary of Briony’s death still hurt and upset her even now. And he knew he could never forget his sister. Today’s experience had proved that so emotionally for him.

How much his sister Briony’s death had affected his decision to take on a police career, he wasn’t sure. But he was determined that he would get Maureen’s killer sooner than later. This past crime, he was reluctant to discuss with Viviane or anyone else, in case it was thought that it might affect his police work. It wasn’t likely then, that anyone would be curious when he looked up Terry Bolton’s release date and living area.

Raymond Perkins could possibly become a suspect. He would have to proceed carefully there must be no preconceived suspicion of the youth because Perkins was of an age and similarity in appearance to Terry Bolton. It mustn’t influence him in any way.

He found it difficult to sleep; he usually did once working on a case and this promised to be worse than ever. He made a mental note not to drink too much, it wouldn’t help. He tried counting and picturing his colourful collection of Toby jugs on the shelves instead of sheep but it didn’t work. He hoped he didn’t keep Viviane awake moving about in the bedroom and kitchen, when he decided to cook an omelette for an early breakfast at 5.am.





10




Gwynith Ludlam came into the library with her two small daughters. A quiet mannered, young woman, in her early thirties, she was simply dressed that morning in a dark blue sleeveless linen dress. Viviane guessed it was in deference to the Carey’s sad loss. Gwynith fussed to excess over her children’s clothes. But she could have done with some good advice on her own account.

For a wealthy woman Gwynith had little fashion sense and wore the wrong styles for her too thin figure and hard parlours which drained the parlour from her pale skin. With her high cheekbones and large expressive brown eyes; she was a doppelganger for Audrey Hepburn. Viviane longed at times to take her in hand and felt angry that Aiden didn’t advise her when he chose his own expensive suits and handmade shoes with style and flair.

‘Good morning, Mrs Sherlborne.’ Gwynith wanted to speak about the tragedy. ‘You’ve heard, haven’t you about the dreadful murder? The Carey girl, I still can’t believe it.’ She shook her head and sighed deeply. ‘We have just visited the Carey’s and my heart bleeds for them. Paula is in bed. I don’t know how we could ever recover from such a tragedy if it was one of our children, Tamsin or Adele,’ she said with her hand tenderly smoothing Tamsin’s fair cherub like curls.

‘Yes. It must be terrible for anyone to lose a young daughter,’ Viviane agreed smiling at the two little girls.

It wasn’t like Mrs Ludlam to express herself so readily, she was usually silenced by Aiden`s eloquent, charismatic presence when he accompanied her anywhere. This morning though, she was on her own. Aiden must be staying over to give Mr. Carey his support and making plans for the funeral service to be held in the chapel. How could Carey possibly hold things together having to deal with his child’s funeral arrangements? It must be a sad, sombre occasion for all the family. No one is prepared for the loss of a child especially in such terrible circumstances.

‘Thank you, I just had to get out of the house,’ Gwynith said taking the library card from Viviane. ‘It wasn’t fair to the children, to stay in and as the weather is so beautiful; I thought I would take the children into the park later. They like feeding the ducks and swans, don’t you, dears?’

‘Yes, Mummy.’ Adele the eight year old, a pretty little girl with soft brown curls and brown eyes like her mother, held up the basket filled with stale bread and a bag of bird seed. ‘We’re going to feed some of the budgies and love birds in the aviary too, Mrs Sherlborne. Aren’t we, Mummy?’

‘Yes, dear, hold onto Tamsin’s hand and take her into the children’s library. See if you can find a nice picture book for her to read.’

‘Yes, Mummy.’

‘They’re doing well with their reading, Mrs Ludlam. You must be pleased that they have taken to it so well.’

‘I am - oh-dear, Mrs Sherlborne. I can’t get that poor girl out of my mind, you know. I saw Maureen in the chapel only on Monday.’

‘You did?’

She sighed. ‘Yes - I was looking through the hymnbooks for Aiden. Some are very tatty now and we need to order some more. It was Aiden’s birthday, and Maureen came in with some flowers and a birthday card for Aiden. He told me that she seemed a bit upset about something. She was at a funny age and Tom Berkley’s son, Michael was with Aiden in his office. A nice looking boy and very polite. Michael was a bit too old for her, I think. She was obviously attracted to him but he wasn’t keen.’