Authors: Minette Walters
Thursday, 11 March 1999, 4.00 a.m.
Siobhan had lain awake for hours, listening to the -- clock on the bedside table tick away the seconds. She *! heard Ian come in at two o'clock and tiptoe into
the spare room, but she didn't call out to tell him she
was awake. There would be time enough to say sorry
tomorrow. Sorry for dragging him home early . . .
sorry for saying Lavenham Interiors could go down .Ł{
the drain for all she cared . . . sorry for getting every- '*'
thing so wrong . . . sorry for blaming the English
for the sins of the Irish . . .
Grief squeezed her heart every time she thought
about Rosheen. But it was a complicated grief that
carried shame and guilt in equal proportions because
she couldn't rid herself of responsibility for what the
girl had done. 'I thought she was keen on Kevin,' she
told the inspector that afternoon. 'Ian never understood
the attaction, but I did.'
'Why?' he asked with a hint of cynicism. 'Because
it was a suitable match? Because Kevin was the same
class as she was?'
'It wasn't a question of class,' she protested.
'Wasn't it? In some ways you're more of a snob
than the English, Mrs Lavenham. You forced Rosheen
to acknowledge her relationship with Liam and Bridey
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because you acknowledged them,' he told her brutally,
'but it really ought to have occurred to you that a
bright girl like her would have higher ambitions than
to be known as the niece of Irish gypsies.'
'Then why bother with Kevin at all? Wasn't he just
as bad?'
The inspector shrugged. 'What choice did she
have? How many unattached men are there in Sower
bridge? And you had to believe she was with someone,
Mrs Lavenham, otherwise you'd have started asking
awkward questions. Still - ' he paused - 'I doubt the
poor lad had any idea just how much she loathed
him.'
'No one did,' said Siobhan sadly. 'Everyone thought
she was besotted with him after the incident in the
barn.'
'She was playing a long game,' he said slowly, 'and
she was very good at it. You never doubted she was
fond of her aunt and uncle.'
The believed what she told me.'
He smiled slightly. 'And you were determined that
everyone else should believe it as well.'
Siobhan looked at him with stricken eyes. 'Oh
God! Does that make it my fault?'
'No,' he murmured. 'Mine. I didn't take you
seriously when you said the Irish only really enjoy
fighting each other.'
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Thursday, 11 March 1999, 3.00p.m.
Cynthia Haversley opened her front door a crack.
'Oh, it's you,' she said with surprising warmth. 'I
thought it was another of those beastly journalists.'
Well, well! How quickly times change, thought
Siobhan ruefully as she stepped inside. Not so long
ago Cynthia had been inviting those same 'beastly'
journalists into Malvern House for cups of tea while
she regaled them with stories about the O'Riordans'
iniquities. Siobhan nodded to Peter, who was standing
in the doorway to the drawing room. 'How are you
both?'
It was three days since she had seen them, and she
was surprised by how much they had aged. Peter, in
particular, looked haggard and grey, and she assumed
he must have been hitting the bottle harder than
usual. He made a rocking motion with his hand.
'Not too good. Rather ashamed about the way we've
all been behaving, if I'm honest.'
Cynthia opened her mouth to say something, but
clearly thought better of it. 'Where are the boys?' she
asked instead.
'Nora's looking after them for me.'
'You should have brought them with you. I wouldn't have minded.'
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f
Siobhan shook her head. 'I didn't want them to
hear what I'm going to say to you, Cynthia.'
The woman bridled immediately. 'You can't
blame--'
'Enough!' snapped Peter, cutting her short and
stepping to one side. 'Come into the drawing room,
Siobhan. How's Ian bearing up? We saw he'd come
home.'
She walked across to the window, from where she
could see the remains of Kilkenny Cottage. 'Tired,'
she answered. 'He didn't get back till early this morning
and he had to leave again at crack of dawn for the
office. We've got three contracts on the go and they're
all going pear-shaped because neither of us has been
there.'
'It can't be easy for you.'
'No,' she said slowly, 'it's not. Ian was supposed
to stay in Italy till Friday, but as things are . . .' She
paused. 'Neither of us can be in two places at once,
unfortunately.' She turned to look at them. 'And I
can't leave the children.'
'I'm sorry,' said Peter.
She gave a small laugh. 'There's no need to be. I
do rather like them, you know, so it's no hardship
having to stay at home. I just wish it hadn't had to
happen this way.' She folded her arms and studied
Cynthia seriously. 'James told me an interesting story
yesterday,' she said. 'I assume it's true because he's
a truthful child, but I thought I'd check it with you
anyway. In view of everything that's happened, I'm
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hesitant to accept anyone's word on anything. Did
you go down to the farm one day and find James and
Oliver alone?'
'I saw Rosheen leave,' she said, 'but I knew no one
was there to look after them because I'd been - well watching
the drive that morning.' She puffed out her
chest in self-defence. 'I told you she was deceitful and
lazy but you wouldn't listen to me.'
'Because you never told me why,' said Siobhan
mildly.
'I assumed you knew and that it didn't bother you.
Ian made no secret of how angry he was when you
came home one night and found her with Kevin in
the barn, but you just said he was overreacting.'
Cynthia considered the wisdom of straight speaking,
decided it was necessary, and took a deep breath. 'If
I'm honest, Siobhan, you even seemed to find it rather
amusing. I never understood why. Personally, I'd have
sacked her on the spot and looked for someone more
respectable.'
Siobhan shook her head. 'I thought it was a one
off. I didn't realize she'd been making a habit of it.'
'She was too interested in sex not to, my dear. I've
never seen anyone so shameless. More often than not,
she'd leave your boys with Bridey if it meant she could
have a couple of hours with Kevin Wyllie. Many's the
time I watched her sneak them into Kilkenny Cottage
only to sauce out again five minutes later on her own.
And then she'd drive off in your Range Rover, bold
as brass, with that unpleasant young man beside her.
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I did wonder if you knew what your car was being
used for.'
'You should have told me.'
Cynthia shook her head. 'You wouldn't have
listened.'
'In fact, Cynthia tried several times to broach the
subject,' said Peter gently, 'but on each occasion you
shot her down in flames and all but accused her of
being an anti-Irish bigot.'
'I never had much choice,' murmured Siobhan,
without hostility. 'Could you not have divorced Rosheen
from Liam, Bridey and Patrick, Cynthia? Why did
every conversation about my nanny have to begin with
a diatribe against her relatives?'
There was a short, uncomfortable silence.
Siobhan sighed. 'What I really don't understand
is why you should have thought I was the kind of mother who wouldn't care if her children were being
neglected.'
Cynthia looked embarrassed. 'I didn't, not really. I
just thought you were - well, rather more relaxed than
most.'
'Because I'm Irish and not English?'
Peter tut-tutted in concern. 'It wasn't like that,' he
said. 'Hang it all, Siobhan, we didn't know what
Rosheen's instructions were. To be honest, we
thought you were encouraging her to make use of
Bridey in order to give the poor old thing a sense
of purpose. We didn't applaud your strategy - as a
matter of fact, it seemed like a mad idea to us--'
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IB
'If
#1
He broke off with a guilty expression. 'As Cynthia
kept saying, there's no way she'd have left two boisterous
children in the care of a disabled woman
and a drunken man, but we thought you were trying
to demonstrate solidarity with them. If I trust the
O'Riordans with my children, then so should the rest
of you . . . that sort of thing.'
Siobhan turned back to the window and the blackened
heap that had been Kilkenny Cottage. For want
of a, nail the shoe was lost . . . for want of a shoe the
horse was lost . . . for want of mutual understanding
lives were lost . . . 'Couldn't you have told me about
the time you went to the farm and found James and
Oliver on their own?' she murmured, her breath
misting the glass.
'I did,' said Cynthia.
'When?'
'The day after I found them. I stopped you and Ian at the end of the drive as you were setting off
for work and told you your children were too young to be left alone. I must say I thought your attitude
was extraordinarily casual but - well - ' she shrugged
- 'I'd rather come to expect that.'
Siobhan remembered the incident well. Cynthia
had stood in the drive, barring their way, and had
then thrust her indignant red face through lan's open
window and lectured them on the foolishness of
employing a girl with loose morals. 'We both assumed
you were talking about the night she took Kevin into
the barn. Ian said afterwards that he wished he'd never
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mentioned it because you were using it as a stick to
beat us.'
Cynthia frowned. 'Didn't James and Oliver tell
you about it? I sat with them for nearly two hours,
in all conscience, and gave Rosheen a piece of my
mind when she finally came back.'
'They were too frightened. Kevin beat them about
the head because they'd opened the door to you and
said if I ever asked them if Mrs Haversley had come
to the house they were to say no.'
Cynthia lowered herself carefully onto a chair. 'I
had no idea,' she said in an appalled tone of voice.
'No wonder you took it so calmly.'
'Mm.' Siobhan glanced from the seated woman to
her husband. 'We seem to have got our wires crossed
all along the line, and I feel very badly about it now.
I keep thinking that if I hadn't been so quick to
condemn you all, no one would have died.'
Peter shook his head. 'We all feel the same way.
Even Sam and Nora Bentley. They're saying that if
they'd backed your judgement of Liam and Bridey
instead of sitting on the fence--' He broke off on a
sigh. The can't understand why we allowed it to get so
out of hand. We're not unkind people. A little misguided
. . . rather too easily prejudiced perhaps . . .
but not unkind.''
Siobhan thought of Jeremy Jardine. Was Peter
including Lavinia's grandson in this general absolution,
she wondered.
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Seven
Friday, 12 March 1999, 9.00 a.m.
'Can I get you a cup of tea, Bridey?' asked the
inspector as he came into the interview room.
The old woman's eyes twinkled mischievously. 'I'd
rather have a Guinness.'
He laughed as he pulled out a chair. 'You and
Liam both. He says it's the first time he's been on the
wagon since his last stretch in prison nearly twenty
years ago.' He studied her for a moment. 'Any
regrets?'
'Only the one,' she said. 'That we didn't kill Mr
Jar dine as well.'
'No regrets about killing Rosheen?'
'Why would I have?' she asked him. 'I'd crush a
snake as easily. She taunted us with how clever she'd
been to kill two harmless old ladies and then have my
poor Patrick take the blame. And all for the sake of
marrying a rich man. I should have recognized her as
the devil the first day I saw her.'
'How did you kill her?'
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