Snow Angel Page 12

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Right then. We played poker. Table of six, high stakes and Vaughan made a lot of money out of all of us. Everyone thought we could beat him but that sly old git never – not once – ended up on the losing end. Susie thinks I lost over a grand to those games, but she could add a nought and get closer to the truth.” He pressed his finger to beer-moistened lips.

  Adrian approached the bar and looked around the room as the server prepared his order. Beatrice elbowed her notebook to the floor and ducked to retrieve it. She spent so long digging about, Gordon bent down to offer assistance.

  “Got it, thank you.” She sat up in time to see Adrian returning to his table. “Now, to return to my questions. When did you last see Mr Mason?”

  “The Friday before he died. As usual, he was one of the last to leave, hoping for a lock-in. I kicked him out at half eleven because it was Francesca’s birthday and they were waiting for me upstairs. She wouldn’t come down to the bar. The old drunks get on her nerves, she says. All I wanted was to go upstairs and have a birthday drink with Frankie. Vaughan must have had four or five pints and at least two whiskies. His speech was just starting to slur, so I told him to go home. Sometimes, Suze will give him a lift if she’s in a good mood, but that’s not very often these days. Anyway I just wanted him out so I could lock up and spend some time with my girls. I thought a brisk walk in the cold was exactly what he needed.”

  “Francesca was home that weekend? I thought she was busy with her gallery.”

  Gordon drained his beer. “She is, but she always comes home for her birthday, even if it is just overnight. I got staff to cover the bar so they could have some mother and daughter time. She misses her little girl more than she lets on. So do I, if I’m honest.” His eyes grew soft and misty. “I’m so proud of her, you know.”

  “So you should be. You raised a lovely young woman. Who do you think...”

  Gordon hadn’t finished. “Never wanted kids, you know. But when I met Susie, Francesca was part of the package. I fell in love with her mum but that little angel also captured my heart.” He sighed.

  Beatrice wondered how many the man had already drunk if he was getting sentimental at seven o’clock in the evening.

  As if he’d heard her thoughts, Gordon picked up his glass. “Ready for another?”

  Beatrice panicked. If Gordon went to the bar, he may well spot the party in the bay window or they see him and the ensuing awkwardness would be unbearable. She couldn’t propose leaving just yet as she’d only scratched the surface of his knowledge. Another pint or two would loosen his tongue but how to achieve that when they couldn’t risk going to the bar? She sipped at her wine, playing for time. A noisy party entered the pub, baying and shrieking with laughter. They were all gussied up and well-oiled, presumably post-Christmas lunch, judging by the synthetic Santa hats and cardboard reindeer antlers. Time to make their exit.

  “Yes, I am ready for another, but not here. Let’s find somewhere more conducive to conversation. Come on now, quick!” She grabbed her coat, bag and gloves, left the light bulb on the table and scurried towards the door. Gordon obediently followed at her heels.

  Weaving her way through the drunken throng, she excused herself politely at first, until the complete indifference of the people began to inflame her temper. She elbowed and shoved and barged people out of her path, arriving at the doorway to find another group blocking her exit.

  Will saw her first. “Beatrice! What are you doing here?”

  They all turned to her, every single face a mask of guilt and embarrassment. Matthew reached out a hand.

  “Listen, Old Thing, we just...”

  “Hello, everyone. Fancy seeing you! Sorry, can’t stop. Promised Gordon a lift home. See you all later.” She barrelled her way through them and headed out into the snow.

  Her enthusiasm for interrogation had faded away entirely. When Gordon opened the passenger door, she gave him a tight smile. “Would you mind if we called it a night? I’ll drop you off and if you have any other questions, you can give me a ring in the morning.”

  He fastened his seatbelt. “Um, yeah, sure. Is everything all right?”

  Beatrice started the car and flicked on the wipers to clear the screen of its gauzy white veil. “I’m sure it will be. There must be an innocent explanation of why I’ve been excluded from the family meeting with the wedding party. No need to take it personally. Maybe I was just surplus to requirements.”

  They drove in silence back towards the village, snowflakes coming out of the navy-blue night like a cloud of moths, the countryside softening to a festive fairyland.

  Gordon cleared his throat. “No one can make you feel inferior without your permission.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I meant that it’s up to you. You can choose your own reaction.” Gordon inhaled and released a huge beer-scented breath. “I don’t really know what I’m talking about, Beatrice. Just one of those phrases that hit me in the right place. Vaughan, Mungo and, sorry, even Matthew make me feel insecure, you know, unsophisticated and a bit of a peasant. Them being such intellectuals and all I do is pull pints. Thing is, Francesca saw a therapist for a while, when she was having a few teenage problems, and that was one of her, what would you call them? Mantras?”

  “Yes, mantras or affirmations.”

  “You know about this stuff?”

  “A little. Go on.” She drove slowly through the lanes, alert to reflective blue eyes of foxes or cats and the subtext of Gordon’s ruminations.

  “Inferiority is a state of mind. Depends on your measurement of people’s worth. I don’t pretend to get all of it, but Francesca came back from every session with live ammo. You know, stuff she could use immediately. I admit to being a bit sceptical at first but anyone could see it made a massive difference. That counsellor made her look at things with a new perspective. She changed Francesca’s life. Which in turn had an effect on me and Suze. You know, I’ve completely revised my opinion on therapy and I’ve got a lot of time for that woman.”

  “She sounds quite wonderful. Is she local?” asked Beatrice, indicating left to the village green and the lights of The Angel.

  “Hellfire, the pub’s packed already. I’d better get in and give Suze a hand. Yeah, Gaia’s sort of local. She lives in the back of beyond round Appleford way. Thanks for the pep talk, Beatrice. I’ll let you know how it goes. G’night and don’t fret too much. It’ll all come out in the wash.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The front door opened. Huggy Bear yipped with excitement and rushed into the hallway to greet Matthew. Beatrice told herself to stand up, to get busy and do something. Yet she remained slumped at the kitchen table, staring at her notes, which seemed to have no more significance than the scuff marks on the floor.

  She looked up to see him standing in the kitchen doorway, still with his coat on and snowflakes in his hair. His expression was sombre. “I’m so sorry. That should never have happened.”

  Beatrice shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Have you eaten?”

  “No. As I said, I’d be back for dinner. But before I start cooking, I need to explain.”

  “Don’t bother. I had a sandwich earlier and I honestly couldn’t care less about your secret meeting. Adrian’s made it quite clear he has no further need of my help, which is his prerogative. It’s fine. In a way, it’s a relief. I’m going to run myself a bath and get an early night.”

  “Please just wait a minute. The reason for all this skulking about is quite simple, but in my opinion, also quite unnecessary.”

  “Whatever it is, I’m not interested.” She gathered up her papers in an untidy pile. “I have other things on my mind. By the way, I’ve fed the animals.”

  He blocked her path. “Just one moment. The problem is Pam. She’s Head of Event Management at Silverwood Manor and thus in charge of these last-minute wedding arrangements. Will and I take the view that you are both adults and can comport yourselves with enough dignity not to ruin A
drian’s big day. However, the girls are quite convinced you two must be kept apart.”

  She said nothing. The idea of meeting Pam again after all these years left her at a total loss. No idea what to think, how to feel or whether it was actually something she wanted or not.

  “So the reason we met this evening was to work out a military-style operation to ensure we arrive at the rehearsal after she’s gone home for the night, guarantee she will be Christmas shopping on Sunday while the celebrations occur and keep both of you in the dark about each other’s proximity.”

  Beatrice swallowed. “She ... Pam doesn’t know either?”

  “No. The girls are scrupulous in equal treatment. If they tell white lies to one of you to spare feelings, they do the same to the other. Part of me respects that strategy but it backfired this evening. Now you feel excluded and side-lined which is absolutely not the case. Adrian is distraught. And I...”

  “You what?” Beatrice noticed the lines on his face and the pallor to his skin tone. As if he needed any further stress.

  “I think it’s time we all grew up. This is not about us, it’s about Adrian and Will. We’ve wasted a stupid amount of time chasing our tails and I’ve had enough. On top of all that, I’m hungry. Did you really have a sandwich earlier?”

  “No,” she confessed.

  “Shall I heat some French onion soup?”

  “Good idea. I’ll make the cheesy croutons.”

  Friday morning dawned grey and cold, an echo of Beatrice’s mood. She lay in bed running through all the things she had to do, with the deflating conviction they were all pointless. Matthew’s gentle snores made her envious. If she could only sleep for the next 72 hours and let them all get on with it. She didn’t want to go to the rehearsal later that day. She didn’t want to run around hiding and ducking behind curtains as if this were some kind of Brian Rix farce. On the other hand, neither did she want to meet Pam after all these years. What on earth could she say?

  If she were honest, she no longer had much interest in going to the wedding. It all seemed far too much effort. And as for pursuing ‘Who Killed Vaughan Mason?’, what was the point? The police would have far greater access to all the evidence so all she was doing was wasting her own and other people’s time. What she really wanted to do was grab her passport, pack a case, drive to the airport, get on the first flight somewhere sunny and disappear for a week.

  She slid out of bed and scooped up Huggy Bear, so the yips and barks of delight at waking up to another morning didn’t wake Matthew. In the kitchen, she made coffee and stared out at the blank whiteness. There was so much to do! Christmas presents to be wrapped, cards to be delivered, the food shopping, her hair appointment, Matthew’s suit to be pressed, Adrian and Will’s wedding gift, the pudding to be made ... a jittery electricity ran through her veins and her chest seemed to contract. It was too much. Whose stupid idea was it to have a wedding the day before Christmas Eve? She was exhausted even thinking about it. The idea of going back to bed and curling up with Matthew crossed her mind but Huggy Bear’s tufty eyebrows suggested an alternative.

  She dressed in her gardening clothes and laced up her walking boots, her limbs heavy and fingers slow. As she reached for the lead, she saw the blinking light on the answer machine she’d ignored when she got home last night.

  Three new messages. One from James, asking her to call him. He wants to tell me off for missing the Gaia appointment. She resolved not to call until the New Year, when she may or may not have met the woman. The second was Adrian, apologising for last night and entreating her to call. He hoped Matthew had explained they’d only been trying to protect her. The third was a voice she didn’t recognise.

  “Hello, Beatrice. Sorry you couldn’t make it yesterday but thanks for letting me know. I’m not sure you got my reply? I emailed you back saying I’d be happy to meet you either today or Friday. I know it’s a busy time of year, so if it makes things easier, I can come to you or we could meet in a local coffee shop? Have a good evening.”

  Gaia. So she and James were both bullying her into a meeting. She shook her head and retreated from the phone. When people ganged up to force her into something she didn’t want to do, she turned mulish. The sound of the cistern flushing upstairs galvanised her into motion. She clipped the lead onto the dog’s collar, grabbed a coat and opened the front door. A long walk was exactly what she needed.

  An hour later, two weary females trudged up the drive. Huggy Bear’s delight at the weather had lasted for about half an hour, until they turned onto the lane. The salt and grit got into her paws and she began to limp. Beatrice picked her up and rubbed her feet, but carrying her for more than a few minutes made her arms ache. Cold wind and snow flurries battered them both and every time Beatrice stopped and put her down to rest, Huggy Bear shivered, her tail tucked under her legs, snowflakes sticking to her eyebrows. Beatrice added buy a dog coat to her list of things to do and wretched helpless tears increased her discomfort by chilling on her cheeks. Her mind wandered to a beach in northern Germany and a huge hairy man carrying a fully grown Husky as if she were a cuddly toy. That was back when she was DI Stubbs, an international expert in solving crime, in demand all over Europe.

  Now she was plain Ms Stubbs and surplus to requirements. At least the dog needed her. She wiped at her face with a damp and dirty glove.

  The house came into view and Beatrice continued her reassuring tone. Who she was reassuring was not clear. “Not long now, pooch, we’re nearly home. Nice warm house, see, there it is! Cosy blanket by the Aga for you and maybe some milk. Cup of coffee for me and dry trousers. Oof, you weigh a ton.”

  Once on the drive, she released the dog and caught a strange smell of burnt caramel. Huggy Bear hared away to the door and stood scratching till Beatrice caught up. Caramel or coffee? Whatever it was, it was burnt. She fumbled for her key and let them both in. The stench of smoke hit her instantly. The house was only a degree or two warmer than outside as all the windows were open and the carpet soaking wet.

  Matthew, still in his bathrobe, was mopping the kitchen floor.

  “What on earth?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Absorbed in her own thoughts, she’d put the Moka pot on to boil and completely forgotten about it. Matthew indicated the hob, a charred wreck, and the blackened mess of once-white splashback tiles. Using an oven glove, he fished out the pot from the sink. No longer silver and elegant, it was covered in crusted brown stains. The pot let out an angry hiss which Beatrice took personally.

  “The coffee. I forgot.”

  “Yes, I gathered that. The spillage caught fire and set off the sprinklers. We have a clean-up operation to deal with but my primary concern is Dumpling. When I heard the fire alarm, I rushed down here to open the door and he shot out like ... well, like a scalded cat. I have no idea where he went. No amount of shaking a box of GoCat has persuaded him to emerge from his hiding place. I’ll keep clearing up in here and Huggy Bear can stay with me while you look for the old boy.”

  Beatrice’s throat contracted. She wanted dry clothes, a warm house, a cup of coffee and a massive, uncontrolled crying jag. Instead she muttered, “I’m sorry. It was an accident.” She returned to the hallway to remove her wet coat, gloves and boots.

  Her mobile rang. Adrian again. She declined the call, shoved it back in her pocket and went in search of the cat.

  There were no sprinklers in the cellar, so that was a logical place to start. In the laundry room, the cat carrier was empty. The doors to the pantry and wine cellar were both shut but between them sat empty several cardboard boxes left over from the Christmas delivery.

  Beatrice took up her reassuring tone again. “Puss, puss? Come on, Dumpling, it’s all over now. Come on out. You must be hungry. Puss?”

  Even if he was responding, she wouldn’t be able to hear him. His miaows were visible but never audible. She went into the pantry and rummaged around until she found some cans of sardines. She peeled back the lid of one and took it to the boxes.<
br />
  “Fishies. Sniff that, Dumpling! You like fish, remember?” She smacked her lips. “Mmm, delicious.” She placed it on the floor and waited. From above, the doorbell rang and the smothered feeling enveloped her like a damp duvet. I can’t deal with it, whatever it is, not today. Please go away and leave us alone. She sniffed and swallowed the lump in her throat.

  Male voices drifted down the stairs and she guessed it was Adrian and Will. Part of her wanted to escape, to crawl into some hole and hide, far away from weddings and enquiries and relatives and obligations. Perhaps she and Dumpling could find a cosy cardboard box, curl up together and live on sardines till it all blew over.

  A soft sound came from the empty carton of Cava nearest to the laundry room. Beatrice sat very still. The light was poor and Dumpling’s grey form could have been a shadow or a ghost. Yet the glint of his eyes was corporeal.

  “Hello, Dumpling,” she whispered. “Come and have some food. Sorry about all the fuss and drama. My fault. Tell the truth, I think I may be losing it. Come out of there, pusscat.” She pushed the tin a little closer to his cat cave. “Sardines for you, all the way from Portugal.”

  He took a cautious step forward, nose twitching. With pea-green eyes on her face, he opened his mouth for one of his silent miaows and approached the tin. His fur seemed dry so perhaps he had escaped before the sprinklers. She backed away at the speed of a sloth and settled herself on the bottom step. Footsteps approached from the floor above.

  “Don’t come down here!” she said, her tone low but firm. “I’m trying to coax the cat out of his hidey-hole.”

  No reply came, but neither did any indications someone was descending the stairs.

  “Beatrice?” Will’s voice was muted. “Can we talk?”

  She shook her head, although he couldn’t see her. She composed herself. “Not now, Will. As you can see, I’ve made a mess of things again. I’ll talk to you later, at the rehearsal. I will be there, don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried. Adrian, on the other hand, is climbing the walls. I keep telling him you wouldn’t let him down but he won’t take my word for it.”