Brought to Book (20 page)

‘Rona! What a pleasant surprise! How's the research going?'

‘Fine. Max and I are off to Spindlebury tomorrow, to spend the night at Harvey's cottage. I was wondering if it would be OK if I popped in this afternoon to return some of the books you lent me?'

‘There's no hurry, love. You might need to refer to them again.'

‘True. Any chance of a cuppa, then? I'll be up your end of town.'

‘By all means; I'd love to see you. Make it about three, could you?'

‘I'll be there,' she said.

As Rona was shown into her father's office and he came forward to greet her, she scanned his face anxiously. He seemed paler than usual, and there were pouches under his eyes.

‘How are you, Pops?'

‘Fine, fine,' he assured her, kissing her cheek.

‘I might as well tell you the family tom-tom's beating.'

He looked up with a grimace. ‘The episode at breakfast?'

She nodded. ‘Seriously, is something wrong?'

‘No, of course not.' He straightened and went back behind his desk. ‘My innards have been playing up a bit, that's all. You know how your mother fusses.'

‘She wants you to see the doctor.'

‘Not necessary. The tablets put it right.'

‘But she says you're always taking them.'

‘It comes and goes, that's all.'

‘
Will
you go to the doctor, Pops?'

‘No, my darling, I will not.'

‘Just to set our minds at rest? Please?'

‘It would be a waste both of his time and mine.'

‘Nothing to the time wasted if you collapsed.'

‘I'm not going to collapse, Rona. Ah, here's Mavis with the tea.'

When they were alone again, Tom Parish, adroitly changing the subject, asked, ‘How did you enjoy the books?'

Rona smiled. ‘I admire their pace, and the intricacy of his plotting, but they're not really my scene.'

‘And the last two?'

‘I haven't reread them yet, but I found them pretty disturbing the first time.'

‘Some poncey reviewer said he'd “come of age” with those books,' Tom remarked. ‘It would be interesting to know if he'd have continued in that vein, or reverted to his earlier style. Alas, we'll never know. Have you had any interviews yet?'

‘Yes, I've seen his father, his aunt and both his wives.'

‘That's a good start.'

Rona related some snippets that she thought might interest him. ‘We're hoping to get a different slant from the people up in Spindlebury,' she finished. ‘It was they who saw the most of him during his block; with luck, they might be able to throw some light on it.'

She stood up. ‘I mustn't take up any more of your time. But please, Pops . . .'

‘All right, all right, I'll think about it,' he said.

To her surprise, Max was already at the house when she reached home.

‘I couldn't settle,' he told her, ‘so I thought I might as well come back.' Friday was the only day of the week that he had no classes. ‘Where have you been?'

‘Taking tea with Pops. Mum's worried about him; she wanted Lindsey to look in this evening, but she's going out with Rob.'

‘So naturally she foisted it on to you.'

‘It was no big deal. I wanted to assess him for myself.'

‘And how was he?'

Rona shrugged, unclipping Gus's lead. ‘Much as usual. A little pale perhaps. He insists there's nothing wrong, though he admits to frequent indigestion. I think we'd all be happier if he saw the doctor.'

Max nodded, his thoughts returning to the weekend away. ‘I started to put some things into a carton – you know – matches, disinfectant, duster, torch. Then I remembered the sleeping bags, and broke off to look for them. I finally located them under the stairs, but they smelled a bit musty, so I've put them in the airing cupboard.'

‘Fine. I'll look out a couple of pillows and a duvet in case it's chilly.'

‘And perhaps we could take some of the diaries with us? We'll have time in hand between visits to the pub, and I'd enjoy having a crack at that code, if it's all right with you.'

‘Good idea.' She smiled. ‘I like the phrase “between visits to the pub”. Just your kind of research, isn't it?'

He grinned. ‘Well, I'd say it's the only likely source of information up there, and the lunchtime drinkers might be a different crowd from the evening lot.'

‘It's a lovely part of the country, too, so we should get in some good walks. As to the diaries: Theo was writing the book about the code in autumn '94, and began using another in the diaries soon after; so '94 and '95 would be the years to concentrate on. I'll look them out when I go upstairs.'

The phone interrupted them, and Max lifted it. He glanced at Rona with raised eyebrows, said, ‘Yes, of course. Just a minute,' and handed it to her.

‘Who is it?' she mouthed and he lifted his shoulders.

‘Rona Parish speaking.'

‘Ms Parish – this is Scott Mackintosh. I received your letter this forenoon.'

‘Oh – Dr Mackintosh. Thanks for getting in touch.'

‘I fear it's only to say that though your project sounds interesting, I'd be of little help to you; Theo Harvey and I lost touch years ago.'

‘But that doesn't matter,' she assured him quickly. ‘It's the early years I'm interested in – how he was as a young man.'

‘There must be others better qualified to tell you.'

‘But surely you were close friends over several years?' She waited, but he made no comment. ‘I'd be so grateful if you could spare me the time,' she added.

‘It's really not convenient. I'm away to the States at the end of next week, and I don't know when I'll be back.'

She really couldn't let him slip through her fingers. They'd be returning from Spindlebury on Sunday evening, and though she had plenty to follow up, she had so far made no firm appointments. ‘Would you be available earlier in the week, if I flew up?' she asked, holding crossed fingers up to Max, who raised his eyebrows.

There was a pause. ‘I repeat, I really don't think it would be worth your while.'

‘I'm prepared to risk it,' she said.

A sigh. ‘Very well. I'm tied up during the day, but if you think it so important, we could meet one evening. All things considered, it would suit me better if you came to the house. I'd offer you dinner, of course; I have an excellent cook.'

So he hadn't remarried, Rona thought. ‘Thank you, that's very kind of you.'

‘My flight's on Friday, so shall we say Wednesday evening? Phone me when you arrive, and I'll send a car for you.' He gave her his number and she scribbled it on the pad, aware of Max looking over her shoulder.

‘Thank you very much, Dr Mackintosh,' she finished. ‘I look forward to meeting you.'

‘Phew!' she commented as she put the phone down. ‘As you'll gather, I talked him round, but he wasn't exactly bursting with enthusiasm.'

‘I can't say I blame him; I wouldn't like some stranger raking up my past, either. Do I gather you're off to Scotland?'

‘Yes; things are rather tight – he's flying to the States on Friday, and isn't sure when he'll be back, but I'm really anxious to see him. He was a close friend of Theo's, both at school and university.'

‘How long will you be away?'

‘Only twenty-four hours: up on Wednesday, back on Thursday.' She patted his arm. ‘Sorry to miss our mid-week night together.'

‘No problem; we'll be together every night for a while.'

‘Ah – my change of lodging. I'd forgotten.'

‘I hadn't,' he said.

The next morning was bright and sunny and they were able to make a reasonably early start. Spindlebury lay some sixty miles due north of Marsborough, in an agricultural area of moors, uplands and smallholdings. Neither of them had been there before, though they'd frequently skirted it en route for towns in the north of the county and beyond.

After an hour or so, the road began to climb and the scenery on either side of them became more wooded. Then it levelled out again, the trees fell away, and they drove for miles between fields of crops with the occasional farmhouse at the side of the road.

‘Why would he want to bury himself out here?' Max grumbled, swerving to avoid an errant sheep. ‘It's not as though Cricklehurst is exactly the heart of the metropolis.'

‘I suppose they'd a lot of friends there to distract him.' Rona glanced at Meriel's directions. ‘The village should be only a few miles farther on. Then we have to turn left and follow what she refers to as the moorland road.'

‘I suggest we stop there for a coffee,' Max said.

‘Good idea, and I can start asking questions.'

It was just after eleven when they drew up in a small cobbled square in the centre of the village. Opposite them was the post office outside which Keith Bromsgrove had seen Harvey on the last night of his life. The petrol station where he'd stopped to fill up was to their right, and from behind it came the sound of children playing. No doubt break at the village primary, Rona thought. An array of shops filled the other sides of the square – a chemist, an ironmonger's, a mini-market, a fish and chip shop.

Max, who had cast a swift, disparaging eye over them, said disgustedly, ‘Not a café in sight.'

‘Perhaps the pub serves coffee,' Rona suggested.

He turned to study the small stone building on the corner. Its swinging sign proclaimed it to be the White Horse. ‘Is this the one Harvey patronized?'

‘Not his regular; that's nearer the cottage.'

‘Well, I suppose it's worth a try.'

The interior of the pub was cool and dim and smelt faintly of beer. A girl was seated behind the bar, filing her nails. Max approached her at his most charming.

‘Any chance of a couple of coffees for two weary travellers?'

She looked at him blankly, then, as his smile took effect, her face softened.

‘Strictly speaking, we're not open, but I suppose coffee would be all right.'

‘You're an angel,' Max told her, and, taking Rona's arm, led her to a table by a window, whose coloured pebble-glass threw red, green and blue patterns on the pock-marked surface.

It was an older woman, who, a few minutes later, brought their coffees. She was heavily built, with a round, small-featured face, and she wore an overall.

‘Just passing through?' she enquired pleasantly, as she put the cups down. Rona seized the opening.

‘Actually, we're spending the night at Theo Harvey's cottage. Did you know him?'

‘The writer gentleman who died? Only to nod to, like.'

‘But he did come in here?'

‘Sometimes he did, on Fridays, when he was down buying his groceries. Other times, he'd call in at the chippie. That was in the early days, mind. After he was ill, he didn't come at all, nor when he got better, neither. Doris at the Mini-Mart used to send his order up once a week.'

‘Yet he was here the night he died,' Max remarked.

The woman looked startled. ‘Here?'

‘In the village.'

‘Well, he never came to the bar, that I do know.'

Yet according to the post-mortem, he'd been drinking heavily. Rona said artlessly, ‘He was having an argument with a man called Myers.'

The landlady's face cleared. ‘Ah, now Mr Myers I do know. Leastways, he sometimes spent the night here.'

‘You have rooms?' Max was surprised. The place didn't look big enough.

‘A couple, that we let on a B&B basis.'

‘How often did he stay?'

The woman frowned, her eyes suddenly suspicious. ‘If you don't mind me asking, sir, why all these questions?'

Rona said quickly, ‘I'm sorry, we should have explained: I'm writing Theo Harvey's life story, and I'm trying to find out as much as I can about him.'

‘But Mr Myers—?'

‘Used to meet him up the road. I think that was the reason for his coming here.'

After a minute she nodded. ‘It said in the paper the police questioned him when the other gentleman died. Came as a surprise, I can tell you, them knowing each other. I mean, you'd never have thought it.'

Rona leaned forward. ‘Why was that?'

‘Well, Mr – Harvey, was it? – was a gentleman, and . . .' Her eyes fell. ‘I shouldn't be talking about our guests like this.'

‘Your impressions of him could be very important.'

Her reluctance easily overcome, she went on confidingly, ‘Well, he looked kind of scruffy. We were in two minds about putting him up, to tell the truth, but he always paid up and it was only ever for one night.'

Rona and Max waited expectantly, and after a moment she added, ‘He was – shifty, if you know what I mean. Wouldn't ever look you straight in the eye. Dick thought it was drugs . . .'

She broke off, her hand flying to her mouth, eyes wide. ‘I shouldn't have said that,' she whispered. ‘Dick would slay me.'

‘What you tell us is confidential,' Rona assured her. ‘Your name won't be mentioned.'

‘Do you know where he lives?' Max enquired.

‘Stokely, I think, but it'll be in the register.'

‘May!'

The woman spun round guiltily. A heavily built man was standing at the bar staring disapprovingly across at them.

‘Just coming,' she said hurriedly. Then, to Max and Rona, ‘That'll be two-fifty, please.'

The bulk of her body shielded Max from the man's gaze and he put a five-pound note in her hand. ‘That'll be fine,' he said quietly.

‘Thank you, sir. Enjoy your coffee.' She hurried back across the room, and as she approached the bar, the man turned and disappeared through a doorway.

‘Well, that's a start,' Max commented.

‘I hope she won't get into trouble for talking to us.'