The Seven Stars (14 page)

‘
But if he hadn’t your phone number —’

‘
I didn’t give it to him,’ she admitted after a moment, ‘because I — needed a bit of space.’

‘
Yet you rang him.’

‘
Yes. That evening I was —’ But how could she explain the unease which, increasing all week, had been accentuated by the phone-call during dinner and Terry Pike’s interrogation afterwards? For Michael was himself part of that scenario, and had compounded her anxiety with his comment that the hit-and-run might not be an accident.

‘
You were what?’ he prompted, when she didn’t continue. Unable to explain, she simply shook her head. He laid a hand over hers.

‘
Helen, I don’t want to pry, but if it would help to talk, I’ve been there myself.’

She gave in suddenly
, needing to talk about it.

‘
Did you see that woman?’

‘
Yes.’

‘
She was with him.’

‘
Yes.’

‘
Why didn’t he want us to meet her?’ For
us
, read
me
, she thought bitterly.

‘
There could be a number of reasons. If she’s his colleague —’

‘
If
?’

‘
— she might be trying to keep a low profile.’

‘
But he’s not in MI5, for God’s sake! I’ve met his colleagues before.’

‘
Women?’

She thought back.
‘Not that I remember, but there are plenty in the firm.’

There was a silence while they both thought of one in particular. She
’d been quite young — mid-thirties, probably — and her brisk stride had given an impression of determination. She’d worn a loose tweed coat with the collar turned up and her hair was short, curly, and chestnut-brown. Remembering, Helen was surprised she had taken in so much in that fleeting glimpse.

The waiter returned and began to unload his tray. The teacakes were crisp and golden
, glistening with butter. Michael waited till he moved away. Then, as Helen poured the tea, he said quietly, ‘You’re wondering if there’s something between them?’

Her eyes flew to his face and he said quickly
, ‘I’m sorry, I’d no right—’

She gave a little shake of her head.
‘From the way he behaved, it’s a possibility.’

‘
But only a possibility. He might be having the same doubts about us.’

Remembering Penelope
’s comments, Helen’s cheeks burned; but she said lightly, ‘In less than a week?’

‘
It has been known.’ He paused, then added gently, ‘But the mere fact that you’re wondering shows there’s something wrong. Was that why you came on the course?’

‘
Partly, but also because I genuinely want to get back to working with antiques.’ She reached for a teacake, not looking at him. ‘You’re right, though; things have been strained for a while.’ It seemed disloyal to talk about it, but her emotions were now so mixed up it was a relief to voice at least some of them. She almost hoped Michael would probe further, but instead he said, ‘If he’s working on the Stately Home break-ins, he must have a lead in this area.’

‘
Not necessarily; he’s on several other cases, too.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘And whether or not that woman is his mistress, it would have been a genuine business meeting. This is the last place he’d choose for an illicit weekend, with both Pen and me in the vicinity.’

She looked at Michael
’s reflective face and, since they were discussing personal matters, asked curiously, ‘What went wrong with your marriage?’

He shrugged.
‘Incompatibility. Sounds like legal jargon, but it’s the best way I can describe it. We got to the stage when everything we did either hurt or irritated the other. God knows how we stuck it so long, but as soon as the children were self-reliant we parted, with much relief on both sides.’

‘
Our children are self-reliant, too.’

‘
It’s not an obligatory time to separate,’ Michael said with a smile. ‘Look, you’re having a brief spell apart to take stock, right?’

She nodded.

‘Then the meeting was no bad thing. His suspicions, if any, are unfounded. Yours might be, too, but at least it’s jolted you both, forced you to consider how you feel.’

Outside the window a soft
, steady rain had started to fall, drawing a gauze curtain over the river below. Undeterred, a line of swans swam majestically downstream and Helen watched their progress, her thoughts still chaotic. Even if the woman were no more than a colleague, the pretence of normality she’d maintained over Christmas had been exposed as a sham. Her next meeting with her daughter would not be easy.

Quite suddenly
, she needed to be alone, to come to terms with such facts as had presented themselves. She said abruptly, ‘Can we go now?’

If Michael was surprised by her mood swing
, he made no comment, simply called for the bill and led her out of the over-stuffy room into the rain-chilled afternoon. They hurried to the car, waited till the windscreen wipers had cleared a space to see through, and drove up on to the main road.

After several minutes
, Michael said wryly, ‘I hope you’re not regretting having invited me to join you.’

‘
Of course not, we were glad of your company.’ She was careful to include Penelope in that gladness. ‘And your comments added a lot to the sightseeing — about the old window tax, for instance, which I’d forgotten.’

They swung off the road at the Seven Stars and had to negotiate a car parked in front of the house.

‘It’s Dominic’s,’ Michael said resignedly. ‘He always parks there — too bone idle to go round the back like everyone else.’

Helen hoped she wouldn
’t be challenged to another sparring match. At the moment she felt incapable of holding her own, but perhaps after some time to herself, she’d be better company.

‘
Thanks for lunch,’ she said as they hurried inside out of the rain. ‘See you later.’ And she went up the stairs to her room.

*

Webb sat in his favourite armchair, a mug of tea cooling rapidly at his side. Dammit, there must be
something
they could do. Over a million’s worth of art and antiques nicked, a peer of the realm murdered, and still, though large portions of the country’s police forces were working flat out, barely a clue with which to start hunting the perpetrators.

So what
had
they got? Ten country house burglaries over two years, the last couple, Plaistead and Buckhurst, only two weeks apart. And there was the foiled attempt at Beckworth, which would have made three in as many weeks.

That was on the debit side. On the plus
, all they had were a few microscopic hairs, and tyre marks of a vehicle allegedly parked near the scene. Big deal. Not unnaturally, the vague description offered by the couple who’d seen the car had been little help.

Since there
’d not been so much as a sniff of the stolen goods, it seemed likely that the jewellery at least had been broken up and reset, possibly on the continent. But what of the other, equally identifiable, items — miniatures, porcelain, clocks, silver — all of which had disappeared without trace? Had the transactions taken place immediately, before the authorities could be put on their guard?

The other possibility
, that the thieves were stealing to order for specific buyers, was even more worrying, since such a set-up was almost impossible to penetrate.

He leant back and stared at the ceiling
, mentally running through the articles stolen and experiencing the usual stab of frustration at the inconsistency in their value. When the pride of the collection was taken, that was at least understandable. It was the other times, when the theft was of little more than a trinket, that really irked him.

What game were the thieves playing
, and for what stakes? Why lay themselves open to such risks for items of little consequence? True, in themselves they were charming enough — Lady Cleverley’s statuette, a Victorian mourning ring, a couple of snuff-boxes. It was the fact that they were surrounded by priceless pieces, which the thieves ignored, that was incomprehensible. Why, in God’s name, take the incalculable risk of neutralising alarms and forcing entry, then not ensure that such a gamble was worthwhile?

Grimly
, Webb hoped that when they finally did catch up with them, it would be on one such frivolous errand.

Then there was the Randall Tovey theft
, which Hannah had mentioned again the other evening. Another case of searching for needles in haystacks, and pretty sensitive needles, at that. The threatened arrest of the Chief Constable’s wife still sent shivers down his back, though John Baker had been within his rights. Yet again he went through the possible suspects: Lady Soames, the duchess and her daughter, and some five dozen of the wealthiest and most influential women in the country.

It had been hard to explain to Hannah
, understandably concerned for her friend’s reputation, that they couldn’t afford the manpower necessary to fingerprint such a large number for a ten-thousand-pound ring. Which consideration, he’d been careful to stress, would have applied equally had the people concerned been considerably less illustrious than in fact they were.

All the police could do was hope local jewellers would keep their eyes open for any ring reported to have been
‘found by my little girl in the street’.

He sighed deeply. The year had not started well. He could only hope it would improve.

11

When Helen came down for dinner, Dominic was propped, as before, in front of the bar talking to Gordon, but there was no sign of Caroline. Since it seemed impolite to go and sit by the fire, as she’d have preferred, she tentatively approached them, conscious that they immediately broke off their conversation.

‘
Good evening, Helen,’ Gordon said with false heartiness. ‘And what can I get you?’

‘
A sherry, please.’

Dominic glanced at her with a silent nod. His previous lightheartedness seemed to have deserted him and his face looked drawn.

Gordon slid her glass across to her. ‘Had a good day?’

‘
Yes, thanks. We were exploring Steeple Bayliss. I’d no idea it was so old.’ She paused, then turned to Dominic. ‘Is Caroline with you?’

‘
No, she stayed with her father. He’s not expected to last the night.’

No wonder he was looking concerned.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said awkwardly. ‘What a difficult time for you all.’

‘
Will she stay on when you go back to London?’ Gordon asked.

‘
I imagine so. Even if Roderick’s still with us in the morning, he hasn’t long to go, and she’d only have to turn round and come straight back.’ He finished his drink. ‘Intimations of mortality are not my scene, I’m afraid. My instinct is to cut and run at the first sign of approaching demise.’

Stella had joined them in time to hear his last comments.
‘How’s Caro bearing up?’ she inquired.

‘
Not well. She’s very jittery and liable to burst into tears at any moment.’

‘
Poor girl,’ Helen said softly. ‘I remember how I felt when my father died.’

It seemed the cheerful evening which she
’d hoped would dispel her own problems was not forthcoming. Michael and Nicholas joined them, and after another drink all round — which Helen felt in need of — they went in to dinner.

The atmosphere continued sombre
, despite the excellent fare that Kate had prepared, and it was left to Michael to keep the conversational ball rolling, with Helen making sporadic attempts to help him.

It was as the main course was being served that
, glancing at Dominic opposite her, she noticed the gold buttons on his blazer. In the subdued light and at a distance of three feet it was difficult to make out the design, but they were certainly embossed and she was almost sure it was with an old-fashioned sailing boat.

She said casually
, ‘Those are very splendid buttons, Dominic. Is that a ship on them?’

He nodded.

‘What does CYC stand for?’

‘
Talk about 20/20 vision!’ Nicholas exclaimed with a laugh. ‘I couldn’t have made that out across the table.’

Helen kept her eyes inquiringly on Dominic.

‘Chardsey Yacht Club,’ he replied.

‘
Where’s that?’

‘
In Surrey, where my parents live.’

She took the plate that was handed to her and helped herself to vegetables
, her mind racing. As far as she could see, none of his buttons was missing, though he could have replaced it. Should she say she’d found an identical one? Something held her back and she decided to wait awhile and approach the subject from a different angle.

The meal continued
, with Michael regaling them about the day in Steeple Bayliss and lunch at the Barley Mow. He did not, to Helen’s relief, mention having met Andrew. The others nodded and smiled in appropriate places, making little contribution.

During the dessert
, Helen, helping Michael out but also putting her plan into effect, said brightly, ‘And yesterday I went to Beckworth House. Have you been there, Dominic?’

He looked surprised at again being singled out.
‘No, I can’t say I have.’

‘
It’s well worth seeing. I’m sure you’d enjoy it.’

He shook his head.
‘I’ve never been one for stately home visiting. With all due respect, the thought of traipsing slowly along a drugget with a crowd of gawping tourists fills me with horror.’

Helen joined in the general laughter and let the subject drop
, but her mind still circled round the button. It must have been lost fairly recently, since it was too shiny to have lain there since the end of last season. But the house was not yet open to the public and no one in their group had had such buttons. Perhaps another private party had been there, but it was certainly a coincidence if it had included someone from the same yacht club as Dominic.

The meal ended
, and he declined the offer of a brandy. ‘I think I should be getting back,’ he said, and they all moved into the hall.

Stella hovered anxiously.
‘Our love to Caro. Tell her we’re thinking of her.’

Dominic nodded and
, gripping the sleeves of his blazer to stop them riding up, let Gordon help him on with his raincoat. But not before Helen, with a queer little jerk of her heart, had seen the empty space on one sleeve where a second gold button should have been.

*

She did not sleep well that night. The mystery of the button, the meeting with Andrew, even Pen’s comments about Michael being her admirer, circled endlessly in her brain, making her restless and wide awake.

Was Andrew having an affair with that woman? Was that why he
’d stopped her approaching them? What was he doing in Steeple Bayliss anyway? Should she tackle him about it when she got home? She’d been hoping her homecoming would be a time of reconciliation, not renewed hostilities, but their marriage stood no chance until these questions had been answered.

Her overactive brain veered to another problem. Why had Dominic lied about visiting Beckworth? There was little doubt that he had; coincidence couldn
’t be stretched indefinitely and the remaining button on his cuff exactly matched the one she had found, even to being slightly smaller than those on the front.

So
when
had he been there? Recently, certainly. Yet if he so disliked visiting stately homes, he was unlikely to have joined a private party for that purpose. Perhaps he knew the Hampshires? But if so, why deny having visited them?

There could be only one reason for the lie; he did not want anyone to know he
’d been there. Again, why?

A voice in Helen
’s head stated flatly,
There
was
an
attempted
break
-
in
at
Beckworth
on
Monday
,
and
the
would
-
be
thieves
escaped
across
the
grounds
.

A wave of heat washed over her and she immediately dismissed the idea.
Dominic
a thief ? Whatever reason could he have, with his apartment at St Katharine’s Dock and his highly paid job in the City?

Then an even more preposterous thought encroached.
If
he was involved in the Stately Home burglaries, was he also responsible for Lord Cleverley’s murder?

She sat up abruptly
, swung her legs out of bed and paced agitatedly about the room. If this fantastic scenario were true, did the Cains and Warrens know of Dominic’s activities? Did Terry? Did Michael? And what of the horoscope column — how did that fit into the puzzle?

She stood in the middle of the cold room
, her hands to her head. All at once the little niggling queries that had worried her had swelled into one great, overriding question mark, and one which she could no longer keep to herself. She dared not confide in Michael, nor, in the present circumstances, could she approach Andrew, even if she knew where he was. There was only one course open to her: she must go to the police.

The seriousness of the step appalled her. Would they
, like Pen, think she was overreacting? But even if they did, at least she’d have handed over responsibility.

The decision reached
, Helen took a deep, steadying breath. Then, suddenly aware of the cold night air on her sweating body, she climbed back into bed and determinedly closed her eyes.

*

Helen was heavy-eyed the next morning and it took an effort to dress, go down to breakfast and behave as though nothing were wrong.

But it was quite possible nothing was. The lucidity with which she had viewed the situation in the night had
dissipated, leaving her muddled and confused as though it had all been a bad dream. She even began to wonder whether she would, after all, go to the police. She’d simply make a fool of herself, pouring out half-baked suspicions like a neurotic middle-aged housewife.

Warily she watched them under lowered lids — Stella
, pale but composed with her coffeepot, Michael behind his newspaper. It was a normal Monday morning, she told herself; everyone was preparing for the start of the week. Michael would go to his office and Terry Pike would be on his way back from Blackpool. She thought of his searching eyes and the persistence of his questioning about Andrew and his work. Why was he so interested? Was he working with Dominic?

Her eyes followed Stella as she moved about the room. Dominic was a family friend; surely the four of them must know what he was up to?

If, Helen reminded herself carefully, he was up to anything.

‘
Helen?’

She started and turned to Michael.

‘I said, are you all right? You look a bit under the weather this morning.’

‘
I didn’t sleep too well,’ she admitted.

He nodded gravely
, no doubt thinking she’d been fretting about Andrew. As, in part, she had.

‘
Remember I’m here, if you want to talk about it.’

‘
Thanks.’ She pushed away her uneaten roll and stood up. ‘What are you tackling today?’

She stiffened
, then realised he was referring to the course. ‘English watercolours in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.’

He smiled.
‘That should keep you busy. You’ll be back for dinner?’

‘
Yes.’

What would have happened by dinner-time? She had decided to attend all the day
’s lectures, since to miss one would cause comment, and to drive into Steeple Bayliss at the end of the afternoon. No doubt someone would direct her to the police station — if her nerve had not failed by then.

Michael pushed back his chair and accompanied her out to the car
, waiting while she unlocked it.

‘
You’re sure you’re all right to drive?’

She forced a smile.
‘Of course I am!’

‘
You look decidedly shaky to me. Take care, then.’ And he bent and kissed her cheek.

Hardly knowing what she was doing
, Helen clambered inside, her hands fumbling at the controls. The engine started with a surprised whoosh, the wheels spurted gravel and the car shot forward. Frantically she spun the wheel just in time to make the turning into the narrow passageway leading to the road. A supreme example of how not to drive, she thought, furious with herself. It would have convinced Michael she was in no fit state — unless he attributed her performance to his kiss.

Cheeks flaming
, she put her foot down hard on the accelerator and sped towards Melbray.

*

Somehow, the day crawled by. At one point, Rose Chalmers startled her by saying suddenly, ‘Did you remember where you’d seen that button?’

‘
I — yes, on someone I met at the digs.’

‘
I’m sure he was glad to have it back.’

Helen smiled and made no reply. Would he have been? What would have happened if
, at the dinner-table, she had unzipped her purse and handed Dominic the button she’d found? He could hardly have denied it was his, with the space on his cuff. Would she have met with an ‘accident’, like Molly?

She shuddered and
, at Miss Chalmers’s raised eyebrows, gave an embarrassed little laugh. ‘Someone walking over my grave!’ she said, and immediately wished she hadn’t.

Valentine Perry joined her again at lunch.
‘Did you compare notes on Beckworth with your hosts?’ he asked her.

‘
I told them about the visit, if that’s what you mean.’

‘
Cain did a feature on it last year. I remember him saying he’d lugged the whole family along with him.’

Her flicker of interest died. Neither Gordon nor Nicholas belonged to Chardsey Yacht Club.

The hour between three-thirty and four-thirty was the longest she could remember. Countless times, despite the interesting lecture, her eyes wandered to the grandfather clock that ticked the day away. Once or twice she was sure it had stopped, but four-thirty came at last and Helen, excusing herself from the usual questions and chat, hurried out to her car. There was a heavy weight in her stomach and she felt slightly sick at the prospect ahead of her. Suppose she was entirely wrong? Could she be charged with false accusation? Would her comments be treated as confidential?