Murder by the Sea (17 page)

‘No, all right, but if I want to think of it as a wedding, I can, can’t I?’

‘Stupid old trout. Yes, you can. I give you permission.’ Harry took off the hat and waved it in front of his face before returning it to his head. ‘Now, come on. Tell all.’

Libby glanced up at the open spare room window. ‘Quietly,’ she said. ‘I don’t want her to hear.’

‘I’ll whisper, then,’ said Harry.

Libby told him everything that had happened yesterday, including Fran’s decision to “retire” and finishing up with Jane’s story.

Harry frowned. ‘And you want me to say what?’ he asked in a stage whisper.

‘It all seems too much of a coincidence to me,’ said Libby. ‘All of it. You agreed with me the other day. About Jane being involved.’

‘Ah, but
you
didn’t agree with
me
at the time,’ said Harry, fanning himself with his hat again.

‘No, I know, because other stuff hadn’t happened. Anyway, what do you think?’

Harry looked up into the cherry tree. ‘Not sure why you’re asking,’ he said.

‘Because I want to know if I’m barking up the wrong tree,’ said Libby.

‘Was that a pun?’ laughed Harry, tapping the trunk behind him.

‘No.’ Libby scowled at him. ‘Be serious.’

‘I am. And again, I’m asking why you want to know? Fran has decided not to be involved any more, therefore you aren’t either. Not that you ever had any official standing, anyway. So – why do you want to know what I think?’

Libby stared at him.

‘Don’t look so taken aback, Lib.’ Harry leant forward and patted her arm. ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Libby, glumly.

‘You just can’t break the habit, that’s the problem,’ continued Harry. ‘The Miss Marple persona’s gotcha!’

‘I told you, I’m not a Miss Marple.’

‘You said that to Ben when we had those accidents at the theatre,’ said Harry, ‘but look what’s happened since.’

‘Not my fault,’ said Libby, looking like a sulky child.

‘You needn’t have got involved with Fran’s auntie last summer, or all the stuff last December.’

‘But Fran was
asked
,’ insisted Libby. ‘And I’m better at ferreting things out than she is. I
had
to be in on it all.’

‘All right, I’ll give you that,’ said Harry, ‘but now Fran’s given up, no one’s going to ask you, so you can stop ferreting.’

Libby glowered at him. He laughed.

‘So now what do you want to know?’ he said.

‘Am I seeing connections where there aren’t any? Jane’s Terry’s been attacked, Fran thinks there’s something about her house and was she actually
supposed
to see the body? That’s all,’ Libby finished plaintively.

‘I think you
are
seeing connections where there aren’t any, old love,’ said Harry. ‘I know I wondered about Jane when you first told me about it all, but I can’t really see it. Just let it alone. You’re providing a shoulder for missus upstairs, if anything else happens she’s bound to tell you, but until then just get on with being our nice old trout. Why don’t you and Ben go away for a few days?’

Libby sighed. ‘I can’t leave Sidney.’

‘Do that walking stomach good to starve for a few days,’ said Harry.

‘And Ben doesn’t feel he can leave the estate. Hetty couldn’t manage and Greg’s too poorly.’

‘I didn’t think there was that much of the estate left.’

‘There isn’t, but what there is has to be managed. We might be able to get away in the autumn, perhaps, before panto rehearsals start.’

‘Nah, that’s daft. You want to go away now, while the weather’s good.’ Harry looked at his watch. ‘Well, if you’re not going to offer me any refreshment, I’d better get back to the caff. Have to prep up for lunch. Can’t do anything in advance in this heat.’

‘I thought yesterday’s rain would have cooled things down.’ Libby stood up. ‘Do you want tea? Is it too early for a beer?’

‘Regretfully, I must decline, fair lady. But if you’re at a loose end when your guest goes you can pop down for a livener with me.’ Harry stood up and jammed his hat back on his head. ‘Put those roses in water or they won’t last.’

‘Thanks for the advice,’ said Libby, as she opened the front door for him.

‘Don’t be sarcastic,’ he said, dropping a kiss on her cheek. ‘See you later.’

Well, that’s that, thought Libby, after putting the roses into a pretty china jug. An unbiased opinion. Leave it. With a sigh, she went back into the conservatory and prepared to paint.

Jane woke an hour later full of apologies and thanks.

‘I’ll go home and change now,’ she said. ‘You were right – I couldn’t have made it earlier. Then I’ll go back to the hospital.’

‘Don’t forget to let me know what’s happening,’ said Libby, standing in the doorway once more.

‘I won’t.’ Jane got into her car and waving, began reversing slowly down Allhallow’s Lane.

Libby went back to her painting for another hour, then reproving herself for alcoholic tendencies, washed her brushes and set off to The Pink Geranium for a drink with Harry.

‘Ben and Pete are coming in,’ he told her, polishing glasses on his apron. ‘Lunch trade was pretty non-existent, so I sent Donna off. She’s off tonight anyway, so she might as well have a nice long afternoon.’

Libby sat down at the table in the window and reached behind her to pull down the blind.

‘Is this a council of war, or just a warn Libby to stop ferreting party?’ she asked.

‘Just a get-together.’ Harry brought a bottle of wine and the glasses over to the table. ‘The old gang. Also, I think there’s something Pete wants to talk to us about.’

‘That sounds alarming,’ said Libby, accepting her wine.

When Peter arrived, Libby was surprised to see him followed closely by Lenny, Hetty’s brother, and his partner Flo Carpenter, with Ben bringing up the rear.

‘Me, it was actually,’ said Lenny, when they were all settled round the table, and Peter had supplemented the wine with some from his own stock. ‘My idea.’ He looked proudly round the table.

‘What was?’ asked Libby, when nothing else seemed forthcoming.

‘The party.’ He raised a triumphant glass. ‘For Het.’

Ben smiled. ‘Birthday party.’

‘Blimey,’ said Harry.

‘Golly,’ said Libby.

‘She’ll kick up,’ said Peter.

Ben nodded. ‘That’s why Lenny’s going to do it,’ he said.

‘I don’t understand,’ said Libby. ‘Won’t she like it?’

‘You know my mum,’ said Ben. ‘Don’t hold with no fuss.’

‘But she always does the tenants’ party,’ said Libby, ‘and she loves having loads of us to entertain.’

‘That’s different, gal,’ said Flo. ‘It’s not for her, is it. She feeds us all, looks after old Greg, loves it. Not when it’s her, though.’

‘So how did this come about?’ asked Harry, tipping back on his chair until Peter told him off.

‘I arst Len what we was doin’, and he arst Ben,’ said Flo.

‘And he says she don’t want no party. So I says, that’s what she thinks.’ He beamed round the table. ‘And I says to young Pete, what about the theatre? Then we could do it for a surprise, like.’

‘And I says yes,’ said Peter, ‘but I still say she’ll kick up.’

‘No, she won’t,’ said Ben. ‘She’ll be thrilled to bits. Nobody ever does anything for my mum, and she’s had a lot to put up with over the last eighteen months.’

Everyone looked solemn and sipped their drinks in silence.

‘So when is it?’ asked Libby, after a decent interval.

‘Saturday week,’ said Ben. ‘Not much notice, I know, but Lenny’s only just thought of it. I asked mum ages ago, and she said I could take her and Greg to the pub for a meal.’

‘Not The Pink Geranium?’ said Libby, laughing. ‘How dare she!’

‘Doesn’t like veggie food,’ said Harry.

‘Bet you’re doing the food, though,’ grinned Libby.

‘If I’m arst,’ he said, looking down his nose.

‘I thought,’ said Peter, ‘we could do up the stage like a marquee.’

‘What, with chairs and tables?’ Libby was alarmed. ‘There won’t be much room.’

‘A couple of tables with a few chairs and a long table at the back with the food and booze. People can go and sit in the auditorium.’

‘We’ll get food all over the seats.’ Libby wrinkled her nose.

‘Don’t be a kill joy,’ said Peter. ‘If we don’t mind, why should you?’

‘Oh, OK.’ Libby finished her wine. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Think of some entertainment,’ said Flo. ‘You know, songs, an’ that.’

‘Ooo!’ A smile spread across Libby’s face. ‘Yes!’

‘Oh, dear,’ said Harry.

‘Shut up.’ Libby gave him a poke. ‘A piano. That’s what we need. Well, we’ve got a piano, haven’t we? What we need is a pianist.’

‘Piano?’ Puzzled looks were exchanged, but Flo and Lenny looked delighted.

‘That’s it, gel,’ said Lenny. ‘You ’it the nail on the ’ead!’

‘A joanna! A pianna player,’ said Libby. ‘Real pub piano, with all the old songs.’

‘War-time songs,’ said Flo, ‘like we used to sing down hoppin.’

‘We could do a proper set, too,’ said Libby, warming to her theme. ‘An old pub.’

‘Brilliant.’ Ben slapped her on the back and made her splutter. ‘Fantastic idea. I could get on to the brewers –’

‘I’ll download lyrics,’ said Peter. ‘We can have song sheets for those who are too young to remember.’

‘’Ave you got that old hoppers’ hut you had for that play?’ asked Lenny.

‘No, that’s all broken up, now,’ said Ben, ‘and anyway, I don’t think Mum would be too pleased with that, one way and another.’

Lenny looked crestfallen. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Spose yer right.’

‘We’ll stick with the pub,’ said Peter. ‘Now, Lib, all you’ve got to do is find your proper pianna player.’

‘Oh,’ said Libby.

Chapter Seventeen

LIFE FOR BOTH LIBBY and Fran slipped slowly back into routine. Libby called everybody in her phone book trying to locate a suitable pianist and came up with no one. By the end of the week, she was panicking.

They had both visited Jane a couple of times to keep her spirits up, as Terry was still in hospital. Libby was smug about her role in bringing them together, but Fran pointed out that living in the same house they probably would have done anyway.

‘What, like you and Guy?’ scoffed Libby. ‘I know you said you would have got the cottage regardless of me and therefore met Guy, but you didn’t even know it was there, did you?’

‘I’d have worked it out,’ said Fran, looking grumpy. ‘And you don’t
know
that Terry and Jane have got it together, do you?’

‘Well, look at how this has affected her. I’d say it was a safe bet.’ Libby grinned and jabbed Fran in the shoulder. ‘I’m going to set up as a dating agency. Just call me Dolly.’

Saturday morning saw a meeting at the theatre to discuss progress on the party so far. The “pub” set was coming on nicely under the aegis of Ben, with considerable input from Lenny and Flo, Harry had decided on bangers and mash as being appropriate food, with a quantity of vegetarian sausages for those who wanted them.

‘Then it isn’t too complicated,’ he told Libby.

‘We can’t have authentic deserts as what there were during the war and just after were horrible, so it’s jelly and ice cream as a suitably nostalgic substitute, and a big birthday cake.’

‘So what about the pianist?’ asked Peter, as they all admired the piano decked in red white and blue bunting.

‘I can’t find one,’ muttered Libby.

‘Oh, hell,’ said Ben.

‘If anyone takes up the piano these days it’s classical or Elton John,’ Libby said. ‘No one knows the old stuff. Why would they?’

‘But they could read the music, surely?’ said Peter.

‘I’m not sure I could afford to download about a hundred songs,’ said Libby, ‘and there would be bound to be at least a dozen you’d forget.’

‘I thought you could download songs free from the internet?’ said Harry.

‘Lyrics, yes, but not music.’ Ben sat down on one of the benches. ‘I don’t know why, but I thought it would be easy.’

‘I wonder if any of the other drama societies could come up with a pianist? They’d be the best bet,’ said Libby. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.’

‘Have you got any contacts with other societies?’ asked Peter.

‘I can try,’ said Libby, ‘but it will have to wait until I get home and get my phone book.’

But the next call on her mobile put pianists right out of Libby’s head.

‘It’s Jane,’ said a breathless voice as Libby was walking back down The Manor Drive.

‘Hello, Jane,’ said Libby. ‘How’s Terry?’