Murder by the Sea (21 page)

It wasn’t until the tea was poured that the phone rang.

‘What happened?’ asked Libby.

‘She was – well, she was –’

‘Gobsmacked?’ suggested Libby.

‘You could put it like that! Anyway, she confirmed that she hadn’t known anything about it, and was going straight upstairs to check it all out on the computer.’

‘So what about her mother?’

‘She wants to talk to her herself.’ Fran made an irritated sound. ‘Which I really didn’t want. I don’t

suppose the mother will talk to me after that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Oh, Lib, can you imagine? Jane saying, “well, now you’ve told me all about it there’s this strange psychic woman who wants to talk to you”?’

‘If she’s a sceptic Jane will convince her.’

‘I haven’t given Jane much reason to trust me, have I?’

‘What about your blackout on the
Dolphin
?’

‘Not much to go on, is it?’

‘Buck up, Fran,’ said Libby. ‘At least Jane might find out a few more facts for you. And then you can tell Ian in the morning.’

‘That’s if her mother tells her anything, and if she does it tonight.’

‘Well, there’s nothing else you can do, now,’ said Libby, ‘so just get on with having a nice Sunday evening and forget all about it.’

‘That’s rich, coming from you,’ said Ben, when she switched off the phone.

‘I shall,’ said Libby. ‘I shall sit on the sofa with you and watch mindless television all evening.’

‘There’s a charity quiz at the pub,’ said Ben.

‘Even better,’ said Libby. ‘Let’s go and win.’

The red light on the answerphone was winking when they returned, having come a respectable third in the quiz. Libby pressed the button.

‘Lib, Jane phoned back and says her mother will talk to us,’ came Fran’s voice.

‘Us!’ said Libby to Ben.

‘So I’ve to ring in the morning to arrange a convenient time. Can you ring first thing and tell me when you’ve got time to go up to London? Bye.’

‘She doesn’t say what Jane told her,’ said Libby, following Ben into the kitchen, where he was collecting whisky and glasses for a nightcap.

‘She’ll tell you in the morning. Don’t worry about it,’ said Ben. ‘You’ve got your wish, you’re on the investigating trail again, so just relax and enjoy it.’

‘Is that your way of telling me I’m a pathetic, obsessive nerd?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Ben.

‘You haven’t yet told me what Jane said about her mother,’ said Libby, as Fran turned what Guy called her roller-skate onto the Canterbury Road the following morning.

‘I haven’t had time, have I?’ Fran changed into fifth gear and settled back. ‘It isn’t much.’

‘Well, what did she say when you told her about Jessica?’

‘She was angry at first. She started telling me off for prying into her business, until I said it was all available on the internet and I’d come across it accidentally because I was interested in the house.’

‘Which was true,’ said Libby.

‘In a way, yes, it was. So then she calmed down and asked me about it. You remember she said her mother didn’t like Jessica? Well, she said she first thought that when she was a child and heard this vague mention of a man. It would make sense, wouldn’t it? It was dreadful in those days to live in sin, and especially if the man was known to be a spy.’

‘But he wasn’t known as a spy, then,’ objected Libby. ‘He was only known as a Fascist sympathiser, and follower of Mosley.’

‘Well, even worse,’ said Fran. ‘I expect most ordinary people thought any Fascist sympathisers
were
spies.’

‘We can put her mind at rest about that, anyway,’ said Libby. ‘He was a spy, but on our side.’ She looked out of the side window. ‘I wonder what happened to him?’

It was lunchtime by the time they hit London and Fran made her way along the Embankment towards Battersea.

‘Where is it?’ asked Libby.

‘Somewhere between Battersea Park and Wandsworth Road,’ said Fran. ‘Not my side of the river.’

‘It is mine, but I don’t think I could find my way round there any more. Wandsworth and Wimbledon, possibly, but not this bit. And even if I could, they’ll have turned all the roads one way and shut them off, won’t they?’

‘True. Anyway, you’ve got the road map I printed off, so once we get across the bridge you can direct me.’

Libby glowered at her, but took the maps and tried to figure out where they were. Across the bridge, and Battersea Park looked familiar, but that was about all. However, they eventually found 31 Jubilee Road, one of the Edwardian terraced houses that proliferate all across London, where Jane’s mother lived in the downstairs flat. After finding a parking space several streets away, by the time they rang the doorbell they were nearly fifteen minutes late.

‘Mrs Maurice?’ said Fran, as the door opened. ‘I’m so sorry we’re late. We couldn’t find a parking space.’

The woman gave a very small smile. Libby could see traces of Jane in her face, but it was stronger and less good-humoured. Flawless make-up could not disguise the crêpey lines, and the rigidly set hair could not completely cover the glimpses of pink scalp beneath. Only a few years older than Libby and Fran, she seemed like a completely different generation.

‘I understand you want to talk about my husband’s Aunt Jessica,’ she said, after ushering them into a sitting room at the back of the house, whose tall French windows opened onto the garden, as rigidly arranged as Mrs Maurice herself.

‘If you don’t mind,’ said Fran. Libby was wondering why this woman had even allowed a phone call about Jessica, let alone a whole interview. The answer soon became clear.

‘First you must tell me why, and how you much you already know,’ said Mrs Maurice.

Fran took a deep breath and glanced at Libby.

‘I’m sure Jane has told you about the attack on one of her tenants?’ she began.

‘No,’ said Mrs Maurice, looking surprised. Libby wasn’t.

‘He was attacked last week, and it appears that the attacker wanted to search the house. There had been an attempt over a year ago, before Jane moved in, as well.’

Mrs Maurice said nothing, but gave a slight nod.

‘Mrs Sarjeant and I researched Peel House on the internet to see if there was any reason that the house could be important, or hold some sort of secret. That was when we came across the fact that it was owned by Jessica Maurice and had, in fact –’ and here Libby saw a slight involuntary movement of Fran’s hands ‘– been bought for her by her lover Simon Madderling.’

Mrs Maurice’s face had tightened into even more of a mask than it had been before. Scored a hit, there, Fran, thought Libby.

‘Then there is very little else I can tell you.’ The woman fixed her eyes on a point above Fran’s head. ‘Jessica Maurice worked for some sort of civil service branch in London during the war as many women did. She met this man who apparently worked for the same service but who was a follower of Mosley.’ She spat the name out of her mouth like a bad taste. ‘I believe she lived with him in London until he bought the house in Nethergate.’

Result! thought Libby.

‘But did you know,’ Fran said, ‘that Simon was a British spy?’

‘Even worse,’ said Mrs Maurice. ‘He betrayed his country doubly, then.’

‘No, not at all,’ said Fran hurriedly. ‘He was posing as a Fascist to infiltrate the organisations.’ She glanced briefly at Libby for support. ‘Did you ever know a friend of Jessica’s called Joan Miller?’

‘I wasn’t even born then,’ said Mrs Maurice. ‘How would I have known any friends of Jessica’s? And where did you get that nonsense about that man?’

‘It was published a few years ago,’ said Fran. ‘You must remember when the 50 year rule came to an end? When all the wartime documents were released?’

Mrs Maurice shook her head. Fran sighed and glanced again at Libby.

‘So you never knew or met Simon Madderling or Joan Miller?’ said Libby.

‘Of course not. I wasn’t born until the end of the war.’

‘Oh?’ said Libby.

Faint colour crept up Mrs Maurice’s unlovely neck. ‘1942, actually, if you must know. But I was far too young to know anything of this. I didn’t meet Jessica until after I met my husband.’

‘Of course,’ said Fran. ‘Did he tell you anything about his aunt?’

‘I heard all about her from his mother,’ said Mrs Maurice. ‘He always supported her. Jessica Maurice, that is.’

‘Yes, we heard she treated him like a son,’ said Libby innocently. Mrs Maurice’s lips clamped together and her colour flared.

‘So there is, in fact, nothing you can tell us,’ Fran put in hastily. ‘Nothing we don’t already know.’

‘You don’t
think
you know. She was no better than she should be, that woman. A bad influence on my husband and my daughter. I warned Jane about going to live there. That house was bought from immoral earnings.’ Mrs Maurice’s voice had risen considerably, and noticing a blob of spittle at the corner of her mouth, Libby was uncomfortably reminded of Peter’s mad mother Millie.

‘It was good of you to see us,’ said Fran, rising quickly.

‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Maurice,’ said Libby, following her example. ‘We’ll say hello to Jane for you.’

They made their way silently through the hall, across the blue and green floral carpet, past the gold painted ironwork mirror and hall table and through the reeded-glass inner door. Jane’s mother closed it firmly behind them without another word.

‘Whew!’ said Libby as soon as they reached the pavement. ‘No wonder Jane wants to live in Nethergate.’

‘I wonder why she didn’t warn us,’ said Fran, looking up at the house. ‘She must have known what would happen.’

‘Perhaps she thought she would open up to us,’ said Libby, gesturing with her head towards the flick of a net curtain in the bay window. Fran nodded and turned to walk away.

‘No,’ she said, ‘I think it was to punish us for finding out facts she thought supported her mother’s dislike of her aunt.’

‘Eh?’ Libby turned a puzzled gaze on her friend.

‘We found out about her having a wartime lover who was supposed to be an enemy of the state. Jane’s mother had always disapproved of Aunt Jessica, and this may have seemed to Jane to explain it. Then she probably felt guilty for blaming her mother for her dislike of Aunt Jessica.’

‘Oh, I see! Thinking it must have been justified, you mean?’

‘Exactly. And the thing is, until those documents were published, in her own lights she probably was justified.’

Libby shook her head. ‘I can’t believe her attitude, though, can you? I mean, she’s only a few years older than we are –’

‘Ten,’ said Fran.

‘All right, ten years older than we are, but she’s only in her sixties. She sounds as though she’s still in the fifties.’

‘Nineteen fifties?’

‘Of course nineteen fifties! Immoral earnings indeed!’

‘Yes, but Libby, until comparatively recently, people thought Madderling
was
a fascist spy.’

‘It doesn’t excuse her completely out-dated attitudes, I’m sorry.’ Libby trudged along with a mulish expression on her face.

No.’ Fran glanced at her friend with amusement.

‘So what did we learn? Precisely nothing. Waste of time and petrol.’ Libby exhaled gustily.

‘We had our suspicions confirmed. Simon did buy the house for Jessica.’

‘That’s about all, though.’ Libby frowned, deep in thought. ‘I reckon we ought to find out more about this Joan Miller.’

‘I think we’re in danger of digging too deep,’ said Fran.

‘What?’ Libby stopped and turned to her friend. ‘You were the one who had a thing about the house. You were the one who thought Terry’s attack was the result of something hidden there.’

‘I know, but I really don’t think we’re looking for something that’s of national importance, and going into Joan Miller’s life takes it into that sort of realm.’

‘Was she that important?’

‘Even I’d heard of Joan Miller,’ said Fran. ‘She left MI5 to get married before the end of the war. She wrote a book about it all. I think the powers that be tried to get it suppressed. I don’t know how true it was.’

‘Oh.’ Libby began walking again. ‘I suppose it does seem a bit far-fetched. But you were certain yesterday.’

‘I know,’ sighed Fran, ‘but now it looks a bit pathetic. Am I trying to justify myself?’

‘Oh, don’t start that again,’ said Libby, ‘if only for my sake. Let’s go home, go and tell Jane what her ma said, and then go and have a nice soothing drink at The Sloop or The Swan. Ben can come down and pick me up.’

‘All right,’ said Fran. ‘And Peel House can keep its secrets.’

‘Whatever happens,’ said Libby darkly.

Chapter Twenty-one

SETTLED AT A TABLE in The Sloop overlooking the harbour, Libby ordered drinks while Fran talked to Jane on her mobile.