A Crowded Coffin Page 11

  ‘Well?’ He had caught her studying him. ‘Do I pass muster? Have you been given instructions on how to handle a randy vicar?’

  She was annoyed at her involuntary blush but she grinned anyway and shook her head. In spite of Rory and Harriet’s strictures the vicar turned out to be a charming companion with a dry, sardonic line in humour and they laughed over their meal like old friends. Harriet was right, in a way, she thought. He was pleased with himself but it was quite an endearing conceit salted with self-deprecation. It came as something of a surprise to her that John didn’t drink.

  ‘I used to drink too much,’ he confessed. ‘Then – oh, I don’t know, I realized one day that a talkative drunk doesn’t make an ideal clergyman, so I stopped.’

  Edith was touched and wondered if there had been more to it; the shadow on his face suggested as much. She changed the subject and they swapped stories of student days, Edith filling him in on her experiences with the rich and famous in California, while he had her laughing helplessly at tales of some of the eccentrics he’d encountered in his first curacy.

  ‘I didn’t really want to enter the Church,’ he mused. ‘It was my grandmother’s idea and to be honest, she bribed me to do it.’

  Edith sat and stared at him, round-eyed, so that he burst out laughing.

  ‘Don’t look so horrified. It was one of those cases where Granny knew best. She insisted that I’d be happy in the Church and she was right, though I refused even to consider it to begin with. I read English but when she suggested I go to theological college with a view to taking orders, the incentive of having her leave me her not inconsiderable fortune weighed pretty heavily.’

  His eyes danced with cynical amusement. ‘Then she left the lot to the National Trust with a note to me, saying that, like cream and scum, I was the sort who would always bob up to the top, and that she knew I would prefer her to follow her conscience.’

  As they lingered over their coffee John leaned back in his chair, looking at Edith with a considered expression. ‘I’m intrigued by your friend, Harriet Quigley,’ he said. ‘She’s a real character, isn’t she? What’s her story?’

  A character? Edith had to hide a smile, picturing Harriet’s outrage at the description. ‘Harriet’s great,’ she said. ‘She was head at my school, but she’s also a distant cousin of my grandfather. What is it that intrigues you about her?’

  ‘She seems to know all about everyone,’ he shrugged. ‘Not that anyone’s accused her of being a gossip, but there’s a feeling that Harriet is a power to be reckoned with. And what about Sam Hathaway? Do you know him well?’

  ‘Harriet’s definitely not a gossip.’ Edith sounded indignant but settled her ruffled feathers. ‘I don’t know Sam very well but his wife was head of English at my school, and Harriet’s best friend too. I was upset when she died about four years ago and I should think Harriet was devastated.’ She thought for a moment, John was still looking interested. ‘I believe Sam was a parish priest before Mrs Hathaway died, that’s how he became an honorary canon of the cathedral, but now he’s working in the Diocesan Office. I suppose he gave up his parish when his wife died, but I don’t really know. He’s nice, though.’ She glanced at John. ‘Do you like him?’

  ‘I’ve not had any dealings with him,’ was the answer. ‘But he’s well regarded and certainly seems very pleasant.’

  That seemed to be the end of the conversation and Edith took a surreptitious look at her watch. Dinner had been delicious and John was good company, but she was finding it increasingly difficult to create an opening whereby she could find out about his interest in her home.

  Oh well, she decided. It’s now or never, but as she opened her mouth to speak, John leaned forward.

  ‘I’d like to tell you about my wife.’ He spoke abruptly, looking down at his coffee cup, then back at her. ‘Do you mind? Or would it bother you?’

  She was nonplussed; it began to seem as though he might be making a play for her, but there could only be one answer to such a question. ‘Of course, tell me whatever you want. I’m so sorry about your wife’s death. I didn’t meet her when I was home at Christmas but it was such a brief visit, only a few days, and then I went up to my mother’s in Scotland. I think your wife wasn’t well at the time.’

  He looked away from her, then began. ‘Gillian was a few years older.’ He shrugged and said, ‘Well, to be honest, there was nearly ten years between our ages but it never made any difference. A high-flying career in the City had done two things for her: it made her very wealthy but eventually it burned her out, so she was looking for a complete change of lifestyle when we met. She was extremely beautiful and I fell for her like a ton of bricks; it was only a month or so after my grandmother died, just over five years ago, and I suppose I had some idea of replacing the family I’d lost. My parents were killed when I was twelve and Granny brought me up so we were very close, even long after I was ordained.

  ‘Anyway, it was pushing it, at her age, to think about babies, and she always said she didn’t want them, but all of a sudden it somehow became the most important thing in the world to her. She had various tests and it was when it became clear she couldn’t have children that she began to change. By then I’d found that Granny was right and that being in orders suited me down to the ground, so I was happy in my job. I tried to persuade Gill that I loved her for herself, that we could make a life without children, but she wouldn’t believe me.’

  His face twisted and Edith broke in, anxious to deflect anything too heavy, ‘Don’t tell me any more,’ she said. ‘I can see it’s painful.’

  ‘No, I’d like to tell you. I haven’t talked about her to anyone else in the village; it hasn’t seemed the right thing to do, but….’ He frowned and picked up the cafétière to pour more coffee. ‘It was after she had the test results that she started taking drugs. Nothing too serious at first and I, stupidly, thought she was getting over the disappointment and beginning to look forward to a future that could still be good, but it didn’t last long, that phase. Soon she was shooting up regularly. I never managed to find out how she got her supplies – addicts can be incredibly cunning. It got worse after we moved here last autumn, but I could never catch her out.’

  He sighed and brushed a hand over his face, then went on with his story. ‘The saddest thing of all was that she refused to accept that she was a drug user. She used to insist to me, to the doctor, to anyone she met, that she was violently anti-substance abuse, that she would never take drugs, it was against her religious convictions. Even with the needle marks on her arms she still wouldn’t admit it, even to herself.

  ‘In the end it killed her, of course. I expect you’ve heard the bare bones of the story: I was at the last bell-ringing practice before the great New Year performance and I joined the ringers for a pint in the pub before going home. You know the vicarage, I’m sure, and you’ll know that the staircase is rather grand mid-Victorian and the tiles rather special. She was lying on the floor at the foot of the stairs; she’d broken her neck on those damned encaustic tiles.’

  ‘Oh, John.’ Edith was overcome with sympathy. ‘What a dreadful thing to happen.’

  ‘I don’t want you to have the wrong idea about Gillian. You know what the gossip mill is in Locksley and there have been some rumours about her behaviour. But we were married for five years.’ His eyes pleaded with her to believe him. ‘And she was a wonderful woman – when her demon didn’t have her in its grasp.’ He shook his head. ‘I loved her but life hasn’t been easy these last few years and I want you to know that I’ve never looked at another woman – until now.’

  She was grateful that he said no more but got up to pay the tab. It’s all getting a bit heavy, she thought, and I feel awful now. I’ll have to be careful what I say and not get into a situation where he and I are alone again, I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

  There were no awkward silences during the journey home and Edith began to breathe easy again until John pulled over in a leafy lane abou
t half a mile from the village. A shiver of excitement seized her, and the promises she had made to Harriet and to Rory flew out of the window. There was something irresistibly naughty about the idea of being kissed by a vicar, she thought, and kissing was definitely what was on his mind.

  Kissing was something he was well qualified to do, she decided, when she could draw breath. For a few moments she responded enthusiastically, then he drew back and smiled at her.

  ‘You’re the most delectable ex-governess I’ve ever kissed.’ His voice held a smile in the dark. ‘I’ve been wanting to do this ever since I set eyes on you at Gordon Dean’s party.’

  Mention of the party brought her to her senses and in spite of her resolution to find out what she could, she couldn’t help stiffening. The memory of the midnight treasure-seekers intruded and with it the recollection that, charming and sexy though he might be, John Forrester was a new widower and that Harriet, whose opinion she valued, had misgivings about him.

  ‘There’s something I ought to tell you,’ he began slowly, his tone portentous.

  She shifted away from him, back into her seat, seized with a sudden longing for the safety of home.

  ‘It’s about Brendan Whittaker; I know he’s a friend of yours.’

  ‘Huh?’ The anticlimax had her sitting up straight at once. ‘He’s not really a friend, just an occasional acquaintance. What about him?’

  ‘Oh, nothing concrete. It’s just that I’ve been getting the impression he’s up to something that might be illegal. I can’t give away too much, but as you’ll imagine, I’m pretty hot on drugs and so forth, and one or two of the things he’s said to me suggest there’s something pretty dicey going on. It’s very recent; I bumped into him at the pub the other day and stayed for a pint. He and that American, Goldstein, were thick as thieves and Brendan let slip a couple of things that made me wonder.’

  He refused to elaborate, in spite of her urgent questioning. ‘It’s too vague,’ he told her. ‘I’ll sound Brendan out again. Oh, don’t worry,’ he laughed at her expression, ‘I’m no hero, I’ll keep a low profile.’

  Edith was astonished. This was the last development she had anticipated. A cold dash of cynicism suggested that John could be deflecting suspicion onto the other two men, but why should he? Harriet was the only person who had articulated any misgivings about him, and then in the privacy of her own home. Besides, even Harriet seemed more dismayed at the idea of the vicar coming on to Edith, rather than engaging in some – what? – criminal activity.

  It was nearly half past nine. ‘I know it’s early, but I really ought to be getting back,’ she told him. ‘I love being at home but the downside is that the grandparents can’t get to sleep until I get safely back. It’s a bit like being a teenager again.’

  When he drew up at the front door, she was taken aback as he reached over and pulled her to him. This time, when he kissed her, there was a pent-up passion that shook her, and try as she might she couldn’t help a slight recoil. He let her go at once, with a rueful laugh,

  ‘Sorry, Edith. Snogging in a parked car is completely naff. It’s been a long time, is the only excuse I have; next time I’ll be a perfect gentleman, I promise.’

  Flustered, she scrambled out of the car, murmuring thanks for the evening and as he drove away, she was torn between slight indignation at his assumption that there would be a next time, and the lost opportunity to question him further about his keen interest in her family history.

  chapter seven

  There was only panic. Harriet held herself completely still, afraid to move, aware of pain and worse than pain: complete and abject terror. Whatever cradled her, some kind of metal framework she concluded, reaching out a tentative finger to touch, rocked and shivered precariously under her, frightening her so much that she could scarcely breathe. There was something else, its weight heavy on her chest and in the moments of consciousness she explored that too. Gradually, thankfully, she recognized her handbag and there, tucked in the bag’s front pocket and blessedly easy to reach, sat her phone.

  The darkness came and went, along with fragments of memory. Driving down the track, an impression of danger screaming down on her, then silence and the fearful rocking.

  ‘My head hurts.’ Harriet struggled to turn away from the bright light shining down on her. What was happening? Where…? ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not going to say it….’ But she did, anyway. ‘Where am I?’ Damn! ‘I was in the car….’

  A soothing voice hushed her. ‘Don’t worry, Harriet, you’re in hospital; we’re just taking you down to X-ray,’ it said. ‘You’ve been in an accident but you seem to be all in one piece and it looks as though everything is working. We think you might have had a bit of a bump on your head so we’re just making absolutely sure you’re all right.’

  There was a car; she definitely remembered a car coming full-on at her, headlights blazing.

  ‘Somebody drove into me.’ She was awake again and aware of a uniformed policewoman standing a few feet away. The girl’s face brightened into interest and she bent over Harriet. ‘Did you see who it was, Miss Quigley?’ she asked, pen poised over her notebook.

  Harriet tried to shake her head. ‘Ugh, that hurts,’ she muttered. ‘No, his lights dazzled me but I think it was a sports car, long and low, anyway.’

  She roused herself and was glad to see a cup of tea wavering into view. ‘Concussion?’ she asked the nurse who turned out to be holding it.

  ‘Only a mild one. You were incredibly lucky.’ The middle-aged man helped her to sit up to drink. ‘You went through the barricade and over into the quarry. You must have been very brave, managing to get hold of your phone, or you could have been there all night. The crew who brought you in said it was a miracle you survived at all. God knows what would have happened if you hadn’t been driving such a light-weight, ancient vehicle. As it was, the trees caught the car and held you up there.’

  ‘Car?’ She let out a cry of protest. ‘Oh no, not the Mini. My mother loved that car; she had it from new, back in 1960,’ she mourned.

  ‘’Fraid so,’ he sympathized. ‘It’s a write-off. I’m so sorry, but maybe you should look on it as having saved your life. A guardian angel Mini?’

  ‘Edith?’ The voice was urgent, slightly familiar, a man she knew but couldn’t bring to mind straight away.

  ‘Hmm? Yes? Who? What’s the matter?’ A glance at her watch showed a quarter to seven; a call at this time of the morning wasn’t going to be good news.

  ‘It’s Sam Hathaway,’ he said, his voice ragged with anxiety. ‘I had a call from Harriet. She’s in hospital, Winchester. I don’t know the details but she seems to have had an accident last night. She swears she’s all right, apart from slight concussion, but she’ll need a lift home.’

  He interrupted Edith’s cries of distress. ‘She sounded okay, honestly, Edith, just shocked and tired. The thing is, my plane is delayed with some technical fault so I’m still stuck in Belfast and won’t get back to Southampton airport till late this morning. Could you pick her up, do you think? You can? Great.’ His relief was audible. ‘She says any time after breakfast. And no matter how much fuss she makes, whatever she says, will you take her back to your place till I can get back? She shouldn’t be left on her own.’

  A call to the hospital confirmed Sam’s message. Miss Harriet Quigley would be ready for collection any time after half past nine, so shortly after nine o’clock Edith and Rory set out on their way to Winchester in Rory’s car.

  ‘You didn’t get any details, then?’ Rory was taking the winding lane steadily, too many tractors in these parts to be complacent. ‘No idea what kind of accident? Or where?’

  ‘Nothing. Only that she’s okay apart from mild concussion. We’re to take her home with us, which I’d do anyway, even without Sam saying so. She’s family after all.’ The treacherous memory of Lara’s hint slid unbidden into her mind and she shied away from speculating about Rory’s own relationship to the family.

&
nbsp; ‘How was your evening?’ she asked.

  ‘Fine,’ he shrugged, looking surprised at the abrupt change of subject. ‘I managed to dodge any suggestion of another date – she’s so not my type.’ He grinned at Edith. ‘I’m not a tight-arse but I’m not made of money either and she’s pretty high maintenance, financially and every other way, I should think. We went back to her place after dinner at the Hotel du Vin,’ he continued. ‘I managed to find out that her father does have interests in oil – North Sea, Middle East, mostly – but he’s also got some connections with a couple of on-shore drilling outfits.’

  ‘She surely didn’t tell you that, did she?’ Edith looked sceptical. ‘Oops, turn left here, sorry.’

  ‘Of course she didn’t. There were some papers left on a side table and I sneaked a look while she was getting the drinks. All I got from Lara was a hint that she and Brendan have an on-off thing going, whenever they both happen to be single. Apparently her father thinks highly of him, though whether he’d be quite as acceptable as a third son-in-law is open to question.

  ‘Anyway, I did find out that when Lara is otherwise engaged Brendan’s been lumbered with looking after their Texan visitor and that they were out on the town last night.’ He surprised her with a sudden laugh. ‘Apparently, both of them have been enthusing about you and are planning to ask you out, which Lara clearly doesn’t find amusing. She doesn’t seem to like Harriet much either, says she’s too inquisitive.’

  He concentrated as they turned into the hospital multi-storey and as they parked he asked, ‘How about you and the vicar? Did you find out anything?’