Trouble in the Cotswolds (The Cotswold Mysteries) (15 page)

‘Probably not. That’s west. You came from the south.’

‘It was far from straightforward,’ he said ruefully. ‘We got very confused around Cheltenham.’

‘Everybody does.’

‘Now who’s being reassuring?’ he laughed. ‘But seriously – that view’s like something from a fairy tale. Look at those roofs!’

‘It’d be better in the summer. But they are nicely chaotic, I agree. Not a whisker of symmetry. That’s the Cotswolds for you – never a straight line to be seen.’

Timmy was squinting in the same general direction, trying to grasp what the appeal might be. ‘There are
lots
of straight lines,’ he objected. ‘The tops of the roofs are all straight.’

‘Very true,’ Drew conceded. ‘But that’s pretty much it. Most places build all their houses in a nice tidy row, but not here.’

‘Winchcombe,’ Thea sighed. ‘Winchcombe’s amazing in that respect. It ought to be a World Heritage Site, or whatever they call it. And nobody even knows about it.’

‘It’s your own special secret,’ said Drew, in the same voice he’d used for his child. ‘Oh.’ He suddenly focused on a silver-grey car with text on its door, on the far side of the parking area. ‘That says Callendar Logistics, look. Must be something to do with the man who drowned in his bath.’

‘His wife’s probably here,’ Thea concluded with a shiver of apprehension. ‘What a pain.’

‘I’ll protect you,’ said Drew stoutly. ‘Now come on. It’s chilly out here.’

The pub was lavishly decorated inside, with a warm aroma of mulled wine and burning logs to add to the atmosphere of festivity. The two bars were festooned with dried hops, entwined with shiny streamers and coloured lights. The noise level was moderately high, with a medley of Christmas carols playing in the background. People were mainly standing in groups near the bars, leaving enough empty seats for Drew to choose a table near the window that looked over the same view he had just been admiring and settle the three of them around it.

‘Pricey,’ he gasped, on inspecting the menu.

‘I’ll pay,’ said Thea. ‘You’re my guests.’

Drew’s objections were half-hearted, but he selected the cheapest items he could find. ‘Saving ourselves for tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Do we order at the bar or will somebody come?’

‘You have to go to the bar, I expect.’ She eyed the menu without enthusiasm. Food still held little appeal for her. ‘Have you got a turkey?’ she asked Drew.

‘Big chicken, actually. And mince pies. Even if Stephanie had been on top form, we’d never have got through a whole turkey. And chicken’s actually tastier, let’s face it. None of us like Christmas pud, either. Steph and Maggs made the pies last week.’

‘You don’t all get together, then? You and Maggs and her husband. What’s his name?’

‘Den. We haven’t ever established much of a routine. Den’s mother and stepfather usually go to them, and
sometimes Maggs’s parents as well, so they do their own thing. It’s all collapsed this year because of the flu. Nothing definite’s been planned, although Maggs did invite me and the kids to go round there for the main meal, a few weeks ago. I had to rush out yesterday and find a chicken, when I realised that wasn’t going to happen.’

‘Is Den working?’

‘He is, actually. He’s finally bitten the bullet and got a job at Bristol airport. Security. It wasn’t what he wanted, really, but it pays well. He hates having to wear a uniform, and it’s a fair bit of driving every day, but in spite of himself he finds it interesting.’

‘Absolutely fascinating, I should think.’

‘There’s a huge amount of nonsense, of course. Maggs never stops making fun of it all. She thinks it’s institutionalised paranoia, and no self-respecting terrorist would ever dream of attacking poor old Bristol.’

‘She’s probably right.’

‘He likes the people – the general travelling public. So many crazy stories about lost kids and broken cameras and harassed tour guides cracking up and screaming at some daft American asking too many stupid questions.’

‘Oh!’ Thea interrupted him with a small yelp of surprise. She was sitting with her back to the window and could see most of the people in the two adjacent bars.

‘What?’

‘That’s Cheryl Bagshawe over there. With the man in the furry hat. She’s the one with the Great Dane. She told me she was going to be away. What’s she doing here?’

‘And who’s the man?’ asked Drew in a low voice.

‘Ralph Callendar, son of the man who died. I think he said he was the youngest one of the three. The one who made me cry. He must have come in the car outside.’ Too late, she remembered that she had omitted the crying from her account of events over the weekend.

‘The swine! Shall I go and punch him?’

She giggled. ‘Don’t be silly. He didn’t mean to. He was being nice – sort of.’ She frowned. ‘But I didn’t think Cheryl knew the Callendars well enough to fraternise. She doesn’t live in Stanton.’

‘I imagine everybody knows the Callendars, one way or another, from what you’ve said. Big employer, big house, wife a magistrate, girlfriend a murder victim. I feel as if I know them myself.’

‘She hasn’t seen me. She
definitely
said she was going away.’

‘Maybe she’s having one last drink for the road. Maybe the person she was going with has got flu? What’s the big deal?’

‘I don’t know. It’s just a bit unsettling, that’s all.’ Gradually it dawned on her that she was taking the discrepancy personally, suspecting that Cheryl had lied in order to avoid any further involvement with the
flu-ridden Thea. That was a lunatic idea, she told herself crossly. What possible obligation could the woman feel to devote herself to tending a sick house-sitter she’d only just met? Why would she bother to lie to get out of it?

‘I see,’ said Drew, uncertainly. ‘I think.’

‘I’m hungry,’ said Timmy in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘And thirsty.’

‘Drinks – yes,’ said Drew purposefully. ‘What are we all having? We can’t just sit here, can we?’

Thea ordered a chunky winter soup and a fruit juice, and Drew went off to place the order and start a tab. She was relieved that he hadn’t put up much of a fight about paying, even though her own credit rating wasn’t particularly healthy. ‘Well, this is quite an adventure, isn’t it?’ she said to the child across the table. ‘I don’t suppose you get out like this very often, just you, without your sister.’

Timmy considered carefully. ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘But I think Daddy wanted to come, and he had to bring me with him, because nobody else would have me.’

‘I can’t believe that. It’ll be fun for him, just having you two men together.’

‘Yeah,’ he said politely and without conviction. The gap where his mother should have been was achingly apparent. Other children might be taken out by their father for all kinds of reasons, under all kinds of circumstances, and some might even have absent mothers, living far away with new partners. But very few indeed had such totally permanently absent
mothers as Timmy and Stephanie did. The tragedy of it was plain on the little boy’s face, even after so many months. He might join in with jokes and eat with a hearty appetite, but the truth of his bereavement never quite left his eyes.

‘It’s nice that you like rats,’ was all she could think of to say. ‘You can play with them again when we go back, if you want. My dog can stay in Daddy’s car, to be on the safe side.’

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘The rats are really cool. And can I stroke the other dog? The white one?’ He had hardly glimpsed Blondie, in her corner of the kitchen, but she had evidently made an impression.

‘Course you can. She’ll like that.’

‘There’s a lady …’ he said, looking past Thea with interest.

She turned, expecting to see Cheryl Bagshawe approaching. Instead, she found herself face to face with Rosa Wilson, mother of Juliet and Cordelia. And Rosa was plainly not happy.

‘What have you been saying about my Juliet to the police?’ the woman said, without any polite preamble. ‘They came round asking questions first thing yesterday, as if we were a family of criminals. I wasn’t there, which made it a lot worse. From what Juliet told me, it’s a wonder she wasn’t marched off to the station and questioned there. All thanks to you. You’d think they’d have known better with her history.’ She shook her head as if in disbelief at the
lack of police sensitivity. ‘They never get it right – you know that? Never have the least idea how a person might be feeling.’

‘Um …’ Thea looked at Timmy, partly for rescue and partly out of concern that this unprovoked censure would upset him. Rosa was unsettling chiefly because she managed to present herself both as victim and aggressor at the same time. She had iron-grey hair curling around her face and down her neck. Her cheeks were flushed and one eye was bloodshot, which gave her an aura of wildness, even dissipation. On their previous encounter, she had seemed much less forceful – rather disorganised, if anything, but essentially normal. Thea floundered for a reply to accusations that were manifestly unjust. Juliet had materialised in front of DI Higgins, behaving sufficiently oddly for him to have little choice but to investigate further. ‘It really had nothing to do with me,’ she defended. Timmy simply sat there, glancing from face to face and then out of the window.

‘Don’t give me that,’ Rosa hissed, coming closer. ‘You must have told them something about Friday, because they knew all about it.’

Thea rubbed her head. ‘I can’t remember,’ she admitted. ‘But I hope they didn’t upset her.’

Rosa shook her head. ‘She’s past being upset, after everything she’s been through. This sort of thing just sends her further into herself – which is worse.’

‘What is her trouble, exactly?’ Thea found herself
asking, doubtless with the same indelicacy that Rosa had found in the police. ‘Is she bipolar or something?’

‘I hardly think that’s any of your business. What sort of question is that, anyway? Have you the slightest idea what you’re talking about?’

‘Not much. But I like her. She’s got character and obviously isn’t stupid.’ Where the hell was Drew when she needed him? She did not want to continue this conversation. But she saw the older woman soften. ‘So you see,’ she insisted, ‘it isn’t really my fault that I got involved. I can’t help it if people turn up in the house without invitation, twice.’

‘All right,’ Rosa accepted. ‘But let me tell you, it’s not just me with an axe to grind. They’re all talking about you over there.’ She tipped her head towards the far side of the room where Thea had already seen Cheryl and Ralph. None of the others in the loose group was familiar to her. She hoped Rosa was exaggerating.

‘Nothing I can do about that, is there?’ she said. ‘I promise you I’m not very interesting.’

‘All right,’ said Rosa again, with a glance at Timmy as if seeing him for the first time. ‘Is he yours?’

‘No.’

‘Well, I can’t answer your questions here. Let me just say that Juliet was viciously attacked as a girl, and had a breakdown as a result. She’s never entirely recovered.’

And then Drew came back at last, eyeing Rosa with frank interest. ‘Hello,’ he said, and deposited three glasses on the table.

Thea gave her head a little shake, instead of making any attempt at introductions. Timmy grabbed his drink as if dying of thirst. ‘The food will be half an hour,’ said Drew. ‘They’re terribly busy.’

‘No problem,’ said Thea resignedly. The prospect of sitting in full view of people who were already discussing her was not very appetising, but she couldn’t see much alternative. ‘At least we’ve got somewhere to sit.’

Rosa grasped that she was being cold-shouldered, and marched away without a backward look. ‘Who was that?’ asked Drew.

‘She was cross,’ said Timmy. ‘Cross with Thea.’

‘Uh-oh. What’ve you done, then?’

‘Shopped her daughter to the police, the way she sees it. She got it all wrong. I think I pacified her a bit, luckily.’ She spoke softly, but the noise level in the bar was more than enough to ensure that nobody could overhear. ‘If she’s annoyed, I dread to think how Marian Callendar must be feeling. I
really
dropped her in it.’

‘And that’s her son over there – right? Should we expect him to come over for a shout as well?’

‘Probably.’

‘And they’ll all be wondering who I am.’ He seemed to relish the idea.

‘You’d think they’d have better things to do on Christmas Eve, wouldn’t you? What about last-minute shopping and peeling chestnuts and taking the kids for walks in the woods? Don’t people do that stuff any more?’

‘Not the shopping. Not the men, anyway. Nor the chestnuts. And the woods are dripping wet today. There’s nothing left but a good old-fashioned pub lunch. And it’s a very nice pub, with the view and everything.’

‘Oh, Drew,’ she sighed.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘It’s all so much
trouble.
And I forgot to call about my car – again. That’s your fault. It’s probably too late now. How will I manage for three more days without it?’

He reacted with impressive concern. ‘Oh gosh, yes. That’s a serious problem, isn’t it. Did you say you have no idea where it is? Who
does
know, then?’

She explained again and Drew paid close attention. ‘I’m surprised the AA took it without you to authorise it. Did Higgins give them your mobile number?’

‘They already had it, from when I first phoned them.’

‘Have you checked for messages?’

‘Um … sort of. I mean, I switched it on sometime yesterday and it didn’t warble at me like it does when there’s a message.’

‘Let’s see. Where is it?’

She rummaged in her bag, where the neglected gadget habitually lived. However much other people
might become addicted to their phones, Thea had never acquired the same dependency. She could see its usefulness in a general sort of way, but at heart she quite disliked the thing. Having found it, she handed it to Drew. He took it warily. ‘What is it?’

‘A BlackBerry. You must have seen it before. I’ve had it a year already. Jessica gave it me last Christmas. I expect it’s more or less obsolete by now.’

‘Where does it keep text messages? How do you turn it on?’

Thea looked at Timmy and raised her eyebrows at him. ‘Maybe your son can do it,’ she suggested.