More Than Meets the Eye (16 page)

This man seemed to appreciate finding a woman worthy of his steel. He smiled at her as he said, ‘We don't know yet whether this death is connected with its setting. But I can tell you that we were also told that you might know more about Dennis Cooper than most of the people who work here.'

‘I'm sure that won't be true. This place is all about plants and gardening. As head gardener, Jim Hartley must know more than me about Mr Cooper, for a start. He was in almost daily contact with him, I think. Indeed, I'm sure all the staff who live on site have had much more contact with him than people like me, who come here two or three times a week to act as guides and give our little talks to the public.'

‘You underestimate yourself, I think. The people who work here tell me that you are both enthusiastic and very knowledgeable. They turn to you when they have questions they cannot answer about the history of Westbourne Park.'

Lorna was pleased, despite her resolution to be low-key. ‘People exaggerate. But it's true I've always been interested in the history of National Trust properties. When you work here and talk to the public, there is every incentive to find out all that you can about Westbourne.'

‘And in doing so you must have come to know the curator quite well.'

She wondered if her tendency to correct Cooper in public had been noticed and reported by others. Perhaps they knew about her recent confrontation with the dead man. She looked hard at Lambert, but discovered nothing from that lined, enquiring face. ‘I think you exaggerate the importance of what I do here. I am part of a large group of voluntary, unpaid workers. We enjoy what we do and we make our contribution, but Mr Cooper had far more important issues to deal with than what we do.'

‘Nevertheless, his files show that he was well aware of the vital part you play here. You knew Mr Cooper for a long time, I think. For many years before either of you worked here.'

It was dropped in almost casually, as if it were a matter of small importance. The shock was all the greater for that. She wondered how they knew, who had told them, whether Dennis had left behind some record of their time together. For an absurd moment, she even wondered if she might be mentioned in his will. She tried to force her racing mind back to what she should do now. She heard herself saying in a low voice she could scarcely believe was hers, ‘Perhaps I should have told you that. I expect I would have, eventually. But one guards one's privacy. What happened many years ago had nothing to do with Dennis's death.'

‘I think you should tell us all about it, rather than leave us to prise it out of you by questioning. If it proves to have nothing to do with this crime, as you say, there is no reason why it should go any further.'

She fixed her gaze upon the picture of the Riviera garden on the wall; it was important to her concentration that she should not look at these two strangers who were about to hear about the most intimate relationship of her life. ‘Dennis Cooper and I were lovers, twenty years ago and more. It wasn't the only serious relationship I've had. It was quite certainly the most important.'

‘Did he also feel that?'

‘You'd have to ask him about that. But you can't now, can you? He said it was important. He behaved as if it was important, at the time.' She took a deep breath, determined to be the modern, detached woman she was, rather than the woman desperate to be a wife she might sound. ‘I think for a while we both thought we'd marry, but that never happened.'

‘And why was that?'

He was as quiet and sympathetic as a therapist, she thought. And no doubt just as anxious to have her speak frankly, but for his sake, not for hers. ‘I can't give you a convincing answer to that. I'm not going to pretend I didn't want to commit myself, because at the time I did. It was Dennis who shied away from the bond of marriage. That's what he called it, the bond.'

She kept her tone even and her gaze on the picture, even at this moment when she had most reason to sound bitter. It was left to Lambert to prompt quietly, ‘That must have been a time of great emotional stress for you. Perhaps for both of you.'

‘It was for me. I can't speak for Dennis. There was nowhere else for our relationship to go, once we'd considered marriage and rejected it. We broke up and moved on. We didn't see each other for a long time. Not until he came here, in fact.'

‘You were here before him?'

‘Yes. But only just. I took early retirement – it was offered to me when my firm was taken over by an international company and I was quite happy to take a generous package. I've always loved this place, so I grabbed the chance to offer my services and come to assist here on two or three days a week. I'd been here for about six months when Dennis was appointed. It meant I had the man I'd thought I'd never see again as my boss.'

She'd got through it, more quickly and with less emotion than she'd feared. She took her eyes from the painting and looked back at the keen grey eyes of Lambert and at the stolid man making notes beside him. She wondered what they were thinking. She'd been too preoccupied with her own account to take much notice of their reactions. Lambert said, ‘Would you have come here to work, if you'd known he would be in charge?'

‘I can't answer that, because things happened the other way round. I felt established here when I heard about Dennis Cooper's appointment. I didn't immediately resign, did I? I could have done that quite easily, as a voluntary worker.'

‘Indeed you could. Perhaps you wanted to have access to your former lover.'

How gently he inserted his daggers! The grim smile she gave him surprised her quite as much as it did him. ‘So that I could revenge myself on the man who had refused to take me to the altar, you mean? That's a pleasantly old-fashioned idea. I like to think I'm more a twenty-first century woman than that. I can assure you that I'd put my two-year relationship with Dennis Cooper well behind me and got on with the rest of my life once he was gone. I'm still not sure whether I welcomed his appointment here or not. I think at the time it seemed an interesting diversion.'

‘So how did you get on with him, when he arrived?'

She smiled a small, private smile. She was going to consider her answer. She wasn't going to be stampeded into indiscretions by their directness. She felt in control of this. ‘In public, we behaved as if we'd never met each other before.'

‘And in private?'

‘There was no “in private”. That was the way Dennis wanted it. He was probably right: he didn't want to compromise himself or affect his position here.'

Lambert caught the tiny whiff of contempt; perhaps she was repeating his phrases rather than her own. ‘But it must have been a temptation for you to do that. Or at least to have a little fun at his expense.'

It seemed a strange phrase to come from this very serious man. She would take it as a warning to her not to underestimate him. ‘There were in fact very few opportunities to do anything other than act out our very different roles here. He was the most important person in a thriving enterprise; this is one of the NT's most profitable properties, with many thousands of visitors each year. I was an enthusiastic, unpaid, voluntary helper. We were at opposite ends of the pecking order.'

‘So you didn't resume any private relationship?'

Again she paused, reviewing her options, deciding just how much she would tell him. ‘No. There were few opportunities and it wouldn't have been appropriate. Dennis was as far as I know a happily married man, with his wife living with him on site.' She paused on that, so that they wondered for a moment if she would offer something more. But she said only, ‘Both of us are different people now – sorry, I suppose I should say that Dennis
was
a different person. We had different lives and different responsibilities.'

‘So you scarcely acknowledged to yourselves that you had a previous history, let alone to those around you.'

He made it a statement, and she saw DS Hook making a note of some kind. She could have left it at that, but her inclination to have things exactly right tugged at the edge of her mind. She smiled to show them how relaxed she was. ‘I suppose it coloured our behaviour a little. I know a lot about the history of Westbourne and it is a place I have come to love. Dennis could be a little careless with his generalizations and he was never good with dates. I'm afraid I felt the need to correct him, on a few occasions.'

‘In public?'

‘I'm afraid so. It was rather naughty, I suppose.'

But this staid, fifty-five-year-old woman looked younger and more mischievous with the thought. She'd obviously enjoyed putting the man right in public. Lambert grinned conspiratorially at her. ‘Did it go any further than that?'

‘No. I was indulging one of my foibles. I like to have even small details correct. Anal, one of my friends calls me; she says I should become a proofreader. But I don't want people who've taken the trouble to listen to our little talks about the gardens to go away with incorrect facts.'

‘And did this habit cause any serious tension with Mr Cooper?'

She should have been used to it by now, but she still found it strange to hear Dennis called ‘Mr Cooper'. It made her think of bedrooms long ago and images which were much better wiped away. She said firmly, ‘Oh no, nothing like that. I suppose I'm just acknowledging one of my own weaknesses. I should have learned long ago to let small errors pass me by.'

Lambert studied her ageing but still handsome features for a moment. Then he said, ‘You obviously knew more about Dennis Cooper than anyone else we shall see, outside his immediate family. Who do you think killed him?'

She didn't show the resentment he would have expected. ‘I've thought about that a lot since I heard about his death. I have to say I've no idea. I should think someone who lives on site. But being only part-time and voluntary, I don't know the residents well. Most of the gardeners I hardly know at all.'

Lambert waited for a couple of seconds to see if she would add anything more, then nodded at Hook, who looked down at his notes before he gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Where were you on Sunday night, Ms Green?'

If she was shocked by the question, she didn't show it. Indeed, she answered immediately, as if she had been expecting it. ‘I was at home throughout the evening and night. That includes the hours from six to twelve, which I believe are the key ones.'

So she'd conferred with others before she came in here. Well, that was to be expected. You couldn't prevent people who were helping you in a murder enquiry from talking to others – indeed, they were usually besieged with questions after they'd been interviewed by CID. Hook smiled encouragingly and said, ‘We shall probably have a more exact time of death in the next few hours. In the meantime, is there anyone who can confirm that you were at home throughout these hours?'

Lorna looked for the first time unsure of herself. ‘My mother could do that. But I'd rather you didn't ask her, if it could be avoided.'

‘Why is that?'

‘She has Alzheimer's. We're coping with it, so far. But she wouldn't be a reliable witness. She'd probably be confused. And that would upset her. She used to be so precise. One of the few things I've inherited from her, I suppose.'

Her voice broke a little on that thought, and they caught the merest glimpse of her life away from Westbourne. Lambert told her gently that if she thought of any detail which might help them then she should get in touch immediately.

Lorna Green nodded and left them, walking carefully from the office of her former lover, preserving her suddenly brittle composure until she could be alone again with her problems.

At three a.m., Alex Fraser stopped at the Tebay services to let the engine of the little Honda cool off. She was too small a motorbike for a journey of this length, really. But she had done him proud so far, speeding up the section of the M6 north of Birmingham which was notorious as the most congested stretch of motorway in the country, gliding almost alone through the night between the Pennines and England's highest mountains in the Lake District. He'd give her a rest before taking her over the long rise of Shap Fell and north into Scotland. He wondered why boats and vehicles were always female.

He climbed stiffly from the machine, easing himself from the crouch he had used for so long to make him part of a streamlined unit. The long-distance lorry drivers nodded a friendly greeting to him in the café, grinning a little at the vivid red of his hair as he placed his helmet and gauntlets carefully on the chair beside him. They didn't speak. They'd nothing against bikers, but their camaraderie was with the other men who drove their leviathans of the road huge distances across Britain and Europe. They exchanged notes about the weather and the roadworks which lay ahead of them, grumbled happily about the ridiculous expectations of employers who had never driven a twenty-ton load in their lives, and ignored the slim figure in black leathers.

Alex listened to them happily enough for half an hour and more, enjoying this glimpse of a tough world he would never inhabit. It was hot in here with his full leathers on, but he wasn't going to take anything else off. He wanted to be warmed right through, even overheated, before he tackled what everyone said was the coldest stretch of motorway in Britain. The bike missed a couple of times when he restarted it, as if it had settled down for the night and was unwilling to be disturbed. But when he revved it, it roared more evenly, and he moved away easily and steadily, back on to the motorway and his route north. ‘Good girl!' he muttered to the gallant little machine, as if it had been a pony labouring beneath him.

Hours sped past. He was on automatic pilot, his speed steady, traffic non-existent save for the occasional heavy lorry he overtook. It was daylight and he was exhausted when he stopped at the greasy spoon on the outskirts of Glasgow. He had to lever himself off the bike and it took him several seconds to stand fully upright. This must be what it was like to be old, he thought. He reeled unsteadily towards the lights and the food, righting himself and moving more easily after a few yards, as his balance came back to him.