A Cotswold Mystery Part 2

'Let me help,' he said, sounding almost normal.

As if a lost spring had suddenly reappeared, Granny drew her legs together, took hold of the proffered hand with her good one, and was miraculously resurrected. Thea moved closer, and inspected the injured wrist. 'Let me see this,' she said, with authority. Granny cooperated meekly as Thea manipulated the joints, prodding and questioning. 'It's not broken, that's for sure,' she announced. 'Very slightly sprained, at worst, I'd say.'

'You a nurse, then?' said the man.

'No, but I can tell when a wrist is broken,' she snapped. Then she remembered herself. 'Thanks again. I think we'll be OK now, if we take it slowly.'

He smiled, a wide display of wonderfully even teeth, accompanied by a complicated expression. He seemed to be waiting for something with a degree of puzzlement.

'We mustn't keep you,' said Thea, feeling ruffled by his look.

'OK, then,' he said. Disappointment was manifest in his drooping shoulders. Thea frowned. 'You were really very kind,' she repeated. 'It was obviously silly of me to bring Mrs Gardner so far. I don't think she ever really goes out.' As an afterthought she added, 'My name's Thea Osborne. I'll be here until the middle of next week. Maybe I'll see you again.'

He shrugged. 'Don't set your heart on it, lady. Not a lot of folks see Ick twice in a single week.'

Ick? Thea laughed awkwardly. 'Oh, well. Thanks again.' Thea laughed awkwardly. 'Oh, well. Thanks again.'

Granny was a pale shadow of the exuberant self who had charged down the hill with the dog's lead in her grasp. Now she leant heavily on Thea, and mumbled something about bread and sausages. Thea made no attempt to engage in conversation, being too busy reproaching herself for the rash adventure and worrying about the consequences. Hepzie ran free ahead of them, keeping to the pavement, obviously following their scent back the way they'd come for the final few yards.

Safely indoors again, Thea heaved a deep sigh of relief. She doubted whether she'd have the courage to repeat the experiment certainly not before Jessica arrived, in any case.

Brooking no arguments, she made a pot of tea in Granny's little kitchen, noticing that the place seemed tidy and clean enough to pa.s.s any casual inspection. There were tins of soup and ravioli and pilchards in one cupboard, packs of rice and pasta in another. 'Who does your shopping?' she asked, unwarily.

Mrs Gardner looked at her blankly. 'Shopping?' she said.

'Where does your food come from?' An even dafter question, no doubt.

'The van,' came the reply as if Thea had asked what the big hot thing in the sky was called. 'The van brings it on a Tuesday.'

'Right,' said Thea with a forced smile. 'That's all right then.'

'He's called Sid. He's a very nice man, Sid is. He always has a joke and a wink for me.'

Choosing to believe every word, Thea presented the old woman with a mug of well-milked tea. It seemed the milk came more often than once a week. Two pint bottles of silver-top were in the fridge. Blockley must be one of the last outposts where the milkman delivered every morning and the stuff still came in bottles.

There was essentially only one room on the ground floor, plus the kitchen and a small hallway which contained the stairs, the front door and the connecting door into the main house. The room was crowded with furniture: a table and three upright chairs, a two-seater sofa, an armchair, television, and a large antique bureau with a bookcase above it. 'That's nice,' said Thea, admiring the mahogany and briefly scanning the spines of the books. 'You have some interesting books, as well.'

Granny flapped a hand. 'Never been much of a reader,' she said. 'They were my father's mostly.'

Hepzie had automatically been included in the little tea party and was sitting up on the sofa, tongue lolling. 'The dog ought not to be on there,' frowned the old woman. 'Never let dogs on the furniture. My mother would have a fit.'

'Oh Lord, I'm sorry.' Thea lifted the animal onto the floor, knowing it would be a struggle to make her stay there. 'Down!' she ordered. 'Lie down!'

It worked for the time being, although large reproachful eyes were fixed on her face throughout the rest of the visit.

There was a neatly folded piece of canvas on the table, from which coloured wools peeped out. 'Oh, are you doing a tapestry?' Thea exclaimed. 'Can I see it?'

Without waiting for permission, she opened it out to reveal an exceptionally large piece of work. The picture was a mother and child, in the cla.s.sic pose of the infant Jesus with the Madonna. It was more than half completed, the st.i.tching neat and regular. But the colours were bizarre. The child had blue skin, and behind the figures a violent orange tree was taking shape. The Madonna's clothes were spattered with vivid patches of red which were a complete deviation from the colours stencilled onto the canvas. Her face and hands were yellow.

'Gos.h.!.+' Thea murmured. 'This must be keeping you busy.'

'Have to use up all my old wools before I die,' chirped the old woman cheerfully. 'And it upsets Yvette,' she added, as if that were a source of great satisfaction.

'I can see how it might,' Thea said. 'A bit different from your paintings, I imagine?'

'Paintings? What paintings, dear?'

Thea was learning quickly. She merely shook her head as if it didn't matter at all. 'Drink your tea,' she urged. 'Before it gets cold.'

'I'm worried about Julian,' said Granny, ignoring the tea.

Thea paused before taking her first sip. 'Yes,' she nodded. 'You said before. Can you telephone him?'

'What?'

'Give him a ring. See if he's all right.'

'But he lives here. Why would I do that? Anyhow, I hate the telephone. Always have. Nasty intrusive thing it is.'

Thea was trying to remember what she'd already been told about the man. 'Here?' she repeated. 'What do you mean? Where exactly does he live?'

Granny waved a hand towards the next house. 'Other side of them. The next building.'

'Julian lives next door to your daughter? That house with the railings? The one that overlooks the garden at the back?'

'Yes, yes,' snapped the old woman. 'But where is he now now? He always always comes for lunch. He hasn't come. Has he?' she creased her brow, staring hard into Thea's eyes. comes for lunch. He hasn't come. Has he?' she creased her brow, staring hard into Thea's eyes.

It was a quandary. For all she knew the man had not been in Granny's life for fifteen years. On the other hand, he did get a great many mentions; far more than Yvette or her husband. The old man they'd met had shown no surprise at Granny's reference to Julian, either. But she had detected no signs of life in the house in question since her arrival. It added up to a puzzle which she a.s.sumed would solve itself before much longer.

'Perhaps you made a note about it?' she suggested. 'On your notepad. Shall we try to find it?'

Granny Gardner narrowed her eyes. 'Who said you could look at my pad?'

'I don't want to look at it. I just thought it might help if we could find it.'

'In the bureau, of course. That's where it is.'

'Shall I...?'

But the old woman was already on her feet. She pulled down the front flap, and reached inside. The 'notepad' turned out to be a leather-bound book, the size of a hardbacked novel. Mrs Gardner flicked the pages, showing almost all of them to be blank. Thea stared at it. 'I don't think...' she began. 'I mean, you haven't written much in it, have you?'

Granny hugged the book to her chest. 'Too good to write in,' she said. 'Except the most special special things.' things.'

Thea knew when she was beaten. 'What about your wrist? Is it better now?' There had been no signs of pain or reduced movement since they'd got indoors.

The old woman had evidently forgotten the whole incident. She looked down at her hands, still holding the book, without any sign of understanding the import of the question. Then she carefully replaced the book in the desk and closed the flap. Thea made her twist and bend the wrist before judging it to be fully restored.

'You're very strong,' she said admiringly. 'You might easily have broken it, falling like that.' But then she realised how light the old body was, putting little real weight on the bones of the wrist as she fell. Mrs Gardner seemed to be composed of skin and sinew and not much else.

Hepzie was on the sofa again, and Thea judged it was time to leave. 'I'm just next door,' she said, speaking too loudly. 'Shout for me if you need anything.'

Granny didn't look at her as she went to the front door and let herself out. Just before she closed it behind her, she heard the familiar question: 'Who are are you, anyway?' you, anyway?'

CHAPTER THREE.

Armed with the information that the adjacent house belonged to the missing Julian, Thea decided she was fully justified in trying to locate him and tell him Mrs Gardner was worrying about his absence. It felt as if he could answer a great many crucial questions, at the same time. She shut the dog in the Montgomery house and strolled along the pavement to the next door.

There was no reply when she knocked. She stood at the solid oak door, with a feeling of deja vu after the long wait that morning outside Granny's cottage. For good measure, she moved to the street window and tried to peer in. The curtains were closed, but a small gap down the middle gave her a glimpse of a shadowy room with normal-looking furniture and no sign of habitation. As she stepped back to the door, and reached to knock again, a very tall middle-aged man approached her. 'Good afternoon,' he said with a friendly smile. 'Can I help you?' He looked over a large bulbous nose at her, and spoke in a hoa.r.s.e smoker's voice.

'Are you Julian?'

'No, no. I'm Giles Stevenson. I live opposite and a little way down the street.' He pointed towards some smallish houses, below the level of the pavement. Curious little alleyways led down to one or two of them, and Thea was momentarily distracted by this detail. Giles Stevenson brought her back to reality. 'Not answering again, eh? He's a bit of a recluse, to be honest. Is it something important?'

'Do you know Mrs Gardner? Mrs Montgomery's mother.' Thea pointed at the cottage.

'Of course! Poor old Gladys. I knew her when she was a real force to be reckoned with. Brilliant mind, creative, sure of herself. It's shocking the way she's gone downhill. Mind you, she is ninety-two.'

'Ninety-two! She can't be.' Thea was stunned.

'It's true, just the same.'

'But I've just marched her all round the town.' Thea's insides quivered with the enormity of what might have happened. No wonder Granny's poor old legs had given up on her. 'Though it wasn't easy to get her home again,' she added, with a rueful laugh.

'Well, well. Brave old you. For all we know, you might have started a whole new trend. I surmise that you must be the lady Yvette's asked to come and keep an eye on things? Did she tell tell you her mother needed to be taken out for walks?' you her mother needed to be taken out for walks?'

'No. It just seemed like a good idea,' Thea said weakly. 'And yes, I'm the house-sitter. Thea Osborne. What shall I do about Julian, do you think? Mrs Gardner does seem quite worried about him.'

'Not a lot you can can do. He might have gone out, I suppose. You never know with Julian.' do. He might have gone out, I suppose. You never know with Julian.'

'Is he-? I mean how old is he he?'

Giles Stevenson laughed. 'He's a chicken in his late seventies, and yes, all his wits are completely intact. Local historian and archaeologist, traveller, bit of a celebrity in an old-fas.h.i.+oned way. He and Gladys have known each other almost for ever. She worked with him on his excavations for quite a while. There was even a little bit of a scandal at one stage. If it hadn't been for that wife of his, well...'

'There's a wife?' Thea looked at the door again.

'Not any more. She died last year. Look don't worry yourself about all this. You'll never get to the bottom of all the goings-on around here. The thing about Blockley, you see we're one of the few genuine communities left in this area. Guiting Power's another one. You only need to glance at all the posters around the place, to see how many clubs and activities we've got going. True, we get a lot of weekenders, but even they seem to blend in pretty well. We all watch out for each other here. Tell you what Julian's almost certain to be out somewhere with young Nick that's his grandson. They've got some project on the go, from what I can gather.'

'So he's around, you think? Mrs Gardner seems to think he's missed some regular appointment. Of course, it's difficult to be sure...' She paused, not liking to cast aspersions on the old woman's mental state if this was a friend of hers.

'He does drop in on her a lot, I know. But as you've seen for yourself, it's impossible to make firm plans. She gets confused about time. But don't make the mistake of thinking she's completely addled,' he advised. 'She's clever enough when she needs to be.'

'Thanks,' said Thea, not sure what she ought to do with this information.

'Don't mention it.' Giles scratched his large nose absently. 'Though I haven't seen Nick's car here since last weekend. He'd usually park it just about here.' He nodded at the street just below them. 'It's possible that Julian has decided to buzz down to see the lad. He likes a bit of a jaunt if the weather's favourable.'

Thea began to think her quest for the missing Julian was altogether hopeless. 'Oh,' she said. 'Where does Nick live?'

'Dorset, somewhere. Julian takes his jalopy there and back, when the spirit moves him.'

'Jalopy?' Thea found herself filing the word as a promising one for Scrabble. Although she played much less than she used to, the habit of collecting anything with a good collection of high-scoring letters was still with her.

'It's actually a magnificent vintage Rolls, worth about as much as a house. He keeps it in a lock-up garage the other end of town.' Giles sounded envious. 'It makes anyone who sees it go weak at the knees,' he added.

'Well,' Thea summarised to Hepzie when they were indoors again. 'So far we've met a stout old man called Thomas, a tall middle-aged one called Giles and a very peculiar young one called Ick. Not too bad for a first day, I suppose.'

She debated whether or not to report to Granny that Julian had almost certainly gone to see his grandson, driving a car to die for. On reflection, she came to the conclusion that it was best to leave well alone for the time being. She could hear a radio or television through the connecting door, suggesting that Mrs Gardner was contentedly settled. So Thea went out to the garden at the back of the house, and sat on a wicker chair, drinking in the view. Although Julian's house had no windows looking into the Montgomerys' garden, Thea could sense that it was empty. No sounds or smells wafted over the dividing wall, and she suspected that virtually no normal person would be able to resist a quick word to the strange house-sitter and her dog if he'd been there.

There were buildings at all angles around her. The High Street houses were mainly Georgian, if she was any judge, and several rose to three storeys in height. The Montgomerys' home was smaller, but the rooms were generous and the value of the property obviously shockingly high.

The sun was setting behind a patch of woodland that rose to a plateau which she could just glimpse behind more houses. All she could hear was birdsong, and the low mutter of televisions or radios from the surrounding houses, with sporadic car engines in the streets around her. A slight scent of frying onions mingled with the spring blossom in the garden.

Her thoughts repeatedly turned to the old woman next door, and the heavy responsibility she was already proving to be. The arrangement with Yvette and Ron seemed bizarre a very inefficient means of ensuring that Granny was all right. Surely there must be times when they went out and left the house empty? Did they lock the street door somehow? Did they sedate her, or call someone else to watch over her? Or was the whole thing much more relaxed than Thea was a.s.suming? After all, Granny's wits were not as addled as all that, and she seemed to be remarkably healthy in body. In most obvious respects, she showed every sign of being able to take care of herself.

Strange, Thea thought, how different a place always became once you'd embarked on a spell of being in sole charge. In every case, her initial interview with the owners of the houses she was sitting had gone perfectly smoothly, the tasks enumerated, trust accorded with no apparent reservations. Only later did the complications emerge. This time, she had made every effort to antic.i.p.ate difficulties. She had asked for a list of useful names and phone numbers to be displayed prominently. She had even requested an introduction to Granny before the Montgomerys departed, but this had never taken place. 'She'll be dozing now,' Yvette had said, when Thea had visited. 'Besides, she'll have forgotten you by the time you turn up at the end of the month.' When the details of the takeover had been arranged, it had become clear that Thea would not be able to arrive until after the couple had left for a morning flight to Calcutta. 'I'm really sorry,' she said, 'but I've got an appointment I can't break on that morning.'

The truth was that Phil, her bloke/boyfriend/lover whatever you called them when both parties were in their forties and the relations.h.i.+p had been far from formalised had stayed the night, Friday into Sat.u.r.day, and she had no intention of throwing him out before first light in order to wave the Montgomerys off. They had given her a spare door key and the code for the alarm and seemed to be quite happy with the plan.

Thea and Phil had met during her first house-sitting a.s.signment in Duntisbourne Abbots, and had been thrown together again at Frampton Mansell. Between the two encounters, some alchemy had taken place, and the second meeting had felt like being reunited with a missing possession of considerable emotional value. Their bodies behaved as if strong magnets had been implanted in them, and the resulting pull was beyond resistance. That had been eight months ago now, and the first heady pleasures were ebbing and transforming into something quieter. 'Reason is prevailing,' Thea had noted sadly. 'This is a lot less easy than I thought it would be.'

But they had parted that morning with reluctance. He was due back at the Cirencester police station where he held the post of Detective Superintendent, she to earn some useful cash watching out for a senile old lady. She had twined herself around him, just inside her front door, before he pulled it open and strode to his car. 'I'll miss you,' she'd whimpered, suddenly not wanting to do the Blockley job at all.

'I'll phone,' he said. 'Keep your mobile where you can hear it.'

Now she glanced at her watch. Six o'clock. He'd be back in his flat by this time, cooking himself one of his all-in-one-pan concoctions. She dug for her mobile in the bottom of a large bag and switched it on, feeling guilty. She had disobeyed his instruction, unable to train herself into the habit of leaving it on and charging it up regularly to keep it alive.

A message flashed onto the screen. Change of Change of plan, Momma, plan, Momma, it read. it read. Can I come Sunday about6pm? Phone for explanation Can I come Sunday about6pm? Phone for explanation.

She tried to guess what the explanation might be for Jessica bringing forward her arrival time. It felt unusual, but not quite alarming. It was, after all, good news. The company of her daughter was always a treat, a return, somehow, to the way things ought to be. The maturing and separating of a girl from her mother was presumably a healthy and natural process, but it mainly felt violent and painful. It was a sadness layered on top of the grief for Carl, killed on the road only two years earlier. It was the loss of these two best-beloved people that had sent her out on the series of adventures that the house-sitting turned out to be. Anything, she had decided, rather than moulder away indoors getting old before her time.

And now, instead of phoning Phil, she called Jessica. There was no need even to pause to question which one took priority.

Jess sounded terrible. Her voice was low and thick as if she was half asleep. 'Something happened at work,' she said. 'I made a ghastly mistake, and there's to be an inquiry about it. Mike says it will all blow over, but I think he's just being kind. I don't want to be here on my own tomorrow night. I hate this place.'

'So come now,' Thea urged. 'It's only an hour and a half's drive at most.'

'I would, but I've arranged to visit Uncle Damien this evening. They asked me ages ago and I can't let them down now. I'm staying the night, and there's something fixed for tomorrow as well. I won't get back here till nearly four, probably. I'll try to leave again within the hour, so it should be just after six, if I'm lucky.'

Jessica's capacity for complex planning astonished her mother. Damien was Thea's older brother, living in Derbys.h.i.+re and steadfastly fond of his niece. Jessica was on an attachment with the Manchester police, renting a small flat in Altrincham. The zig-zag driving she would have to achieve over the coming twenty-four hours was impressive.