Death is a Word (18 page)

He paused, presumably to give me an opportunity to take in all he had said. I made no comment and he went on, ‘William Benson lived on into his nineties and outlived his daughter and her husband so that the inheritance came to my parents. There was a sum of money, the house and a five-acre field adjoining it, which he had purchased some years back. It was a handsome house and my parents moved into it but did nothing about the field. I believe they sold the hay to a local farmer. The house was on the edge of
the village and gradually further houses were built, all substantial and expensive, and one day they were made an offer for the field by a developer. It was a very considerable sum and my father felt it would be foolish to refuse it. He used part of it to set me up in my own practice in Taunton.’

‘I see,’ I said.

‘You will have seen the implications of this. After my parents died, I inherited the remaining money – a small fortune, even in those days. I took a partner, a good friend of mine, and between us we built up the practice and made it a great success. As I have said, I had always known that my grandmother had a brother, who had gone away and had never reappeared. I also checked that he had been advertised for – though, not as thoroughly as I would have wished. Then I made a mistake; I thought that after all this time there would be no one to make a claim so I omitted to take out beneficiary insurance, which would have indemnified me in the case of another claimant.’ He paused.

‘Yes, I see,’ I repeated.

He nodded. ‘A foolish mistake. It was about this time that I became interested in genealogy. It was then that I discovered there was a line which had descended from the son who had gone away and, furthermore, that one of his descendants was actually here, living near Taviscombe. I decided to keep quiet
about the connection in the hope that Eva Jackson would never find out about it. But there was some talk of her looking up her family on the Internet and I began to feel uneasy. Then, when she died, I felt safe again.’ I moved my head in revulsion, not being able to look at him. ‘You see,’ he continued, ‘I had no idea that she had a son.’

He leant forward and spoke earnestly, ‘I would willingly have paid back the money if that had been possible; but it was not just the sum itself, but interest on it over the years. There was no way I could have raised that sum of money. It was all gone. Not all in extravagance, though our standard of living, with the girls and so forth, was high, but I had been obliged to pay out a very large sum of money. I can tell you about it now, since the person involved is dead. I discovered that my partner, who was also my best friend, had been embezzling money from several estates of elderly clients.’ He paused again but I made no comment so he continued, ‘Fortunately, I was able to put the money back without it being discovered. My partner went abroad. I gave him a small sum of money to help him get started – as I said, he was my best friend. But then I had to run the practice on my own and, now things have changed so much in the profession, I am not able to make the sort of money that would allow me to save even a fraction of what
I would owe. This discovery, about Eva Jackson and her son, would have meant they could have made a claim on the estate. I couldn’t risk that. I would have been forced into bankruptcy – the shame for Alison and the girls. I had to put a stop to things and so – I did what I had to do – what I thought I had to do …’ His voice died away and I could find nothing to say. The sound of that voice, going on and on, describing things in such a calm, matter-of-fact way, made me feel sick.

He said nothing for a moment, then he said, ‘I imagine you will communicate all that I have told you to the police?’ I remained silent. ‘Naturally, you will do so.’ He stood up and I turned to look at him. ‘So,’ he said, ‘if you will excuse me, I have things to do.’ He inclined his head in a sort of bow, turned and went out of the church.

I don’t know how long I sat there. When, eventually, I tried to get up I was very stiff from having sat so long in the hard pew. I went to the open door of the church and stood looking down at the view, trying to come to terms with what I’d heard.

‘Bob Morris gave me a very stern lecture,’ I said to Rosemary, ‘and I suppose it was foolish and dangerous, but, honestly, when I saw him there, something snapped and I couldn’t help myself.’

‘He could have killed you!’ Rosemary said. ‘I do wish you’d think before you plunge into things.’

‘I know, it was foolish,’ I agreed, ‘but I don’t think he was in a state to kill anyone, he was more or less broken.’

‘It was still foolish,’ Rosemary said sternly.

‘I felt so bad about not telling you what was happening, but Bob made me promise.’

‘That’s fine, I do understand. So what has happened?’

I was silent for a moment, trying to gather my
thoughts. ‘When he left me,’ I said slowly, ‘he went into his office and wrote a long and detailed confession and took it to the police station.’ I paused again. ‘Then,’ I went on, ‘he went home, got his shotgun, drove up onto the moor and shot himself, trying to make it look like an accident.’

‘Good God.’

‘I know. I feel very responsible.’

‘That’s rubbish! Of course
you
weren’t to blame.’

‘I know that really, but I can’t help feeling – well, responsible.’

‘Think of Daniel.’

‘Yes, I do, of course I do. But it seems wrong to sum up something so terrible just like that.’

‘What else is there to say?’ Rosemary said. ‘Well, I for one am glad he’s dead and you should be too.’

‘Yes, I know, it is right; justice has been done and all that – but poor Alison. I hope her daughters will look after her.’

Patrick came to see me.

‘Now all this has been sorted, I’m going away,’ he said.

‘Oh no! Mrs Dudley will miss you dreadfully – we all will!’

‘I’m coming back, I like it here and I like all the people.’ He gave me a rare smile. ‘No, I’m going home. To Ireland. My father has died, so now I can.’

I looked at him enquiringly. ‘Years ago,’ he said, ‘when I “came out” my father disowned me, threw me out. My mother and sisters were too afraid of him to stand up for me and my brother was too young to understand what was happening. The only person who did stand up for me was my grandmother. She was a very difficult old woman, but she was, surprisingly enough, fond of me. Mrs Dudley reminds me of her. But even she couldn’t change his mind.’

‘But now you can go back,’ I said. ‘I hope she’s still alive.’

‘Oh yes. I kept in touch with her and she let me know about my father.’

‘That’s marvellous.’

‘All this – seeing you all, happy and at ease with your families – even Mrs Dudley – has made me realise how much I want my own family. Do you understand?’

‘Yes I do,’ I said warmly, ‘and I’m delighted that we’ve helped you to feel like that. Good luck!’

And for the first, and possibly the last, time I gave him a hug.

The next night there was a violent storm. Tris, who is afraid of thunder, and Foss, who never misses an opportunity, were both on my bed. With the noise
of wind and the rain outside and with the many, confused thoughts running through my head, I didn’t sleep well. I woke from a doze just before dawn. There was a splatter of rain against the window and I moved restlessly. Tris gave a little whine while Foss shifted to make himself more comfortable on my feet. I stretched out my hand and switched on the radio. The room was filled with a calm, steady voice:

I settled back on my pillow and let the familiar words wash over me.

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H
AZEL
H
OLT
was born in Birmingham and was educated at King Edward VI High School and Newnham College, Cambridge. She worked as an editor, reviewer and feature writer before turning to fiction in an attempt to keep up with her son, the novelist Tom Holt. She currently lives in Somerset, and her life is divided between writing, cooking and trying to cope with the demands of her Siamese cat, Flip.

Death in Practice

The Silent Killer

No Cure for Death

A Death in the Family

A Time to Die

Any Man’s Death

A Necessary End

Death is a Word