Murder in Abbot's Folly (20 page)

On her return to Medlars Georgia found an email from Jennifer, which took her hotfoot over to Stourdens on the Wednesday morning. Jennifer had found some phone numbers jotted down that might be of interest if she wanted to look at them. She said that the police had already seen them, but a double-check would do no harm, Georgia thought.

When she arrived, however, she was taken aback to see that the world and his wife seemed to be visiting Stourdens. She recognized one car immediately, although as it was completely out of context it took a moment or two to convince herself she hadn't made a mistake. She was sure it belonged to Jill, Luke's daughter-in-law. Others were also easily identifiable, including Barbara Hastings' van.

Jennifer answered the door and immediately apologized. ‘Sorry, Georgia, I couldn't stop you coming in time. Everything's gone pear-shaped.'

‘What's happened?' Georgia asked in alarm. ‘Shall I disappear?'

‘No way. I'm glad you're here. It's getting a bit heavy.'

‘Because of Amelia Luckhurst's death?'

‘That hasn't helped, but it's not that. Tim laid on a big planning meeting for Jake's film shoot today, and neither told me about it nor wants me present. I'm pretty annoyed. Philip and Jake are with him.'

‘And I saw Jill Frost's car.'

‘The girl with the baby? Oh yes, she's one of the experts Jake's interviewing during the film.'

‘Really?' On reflection Georgia wasn't so surprised. Jill had lectured in English literature in the States and could well have a soft spot for Jane Austen.

‘It was Phil's idea to rope in Jill,' Jennifer added as she ushered her inside. ‘Do you know her?'

‘My stepdaughter-in-law. Tell me, what's so pear-shaped?' Georgia asked.

‘Chiefly Tim. He's behaving like a petty Hitler, running rings round Dad. And me,' she added ruefully. ‘He'd been living here, but we've agreed he should move into the Dower House now, as the previous rental ended early. I'm relieved because it makes Stourdens seem more like mine and Dad's again. What's not so good is that Tim's throwing his weight around even more.'

‘Can't you and your father sidetrack him? Who's formally running Stourdens?'

‘Dad and me with the back-up of the trustee, but with Tim buzzing around like a mad wasp it's in theory only. Tim's in his office two days a week, but the other five he'll still be around here.' She pulled a face. ‘I suppose it's weak of me to let him – the reason is that I still want him around. Crazy, isn't it? Anyway, once I knew about the meeting this morning, I rang the Clackingtons and Jill. Tim went berserk. The meeting was not for every Tom, Dick and Harry it seems, but only for those involved in the actual planning of the documentary, which does not include Dora, Gerald, Jill – or me,' she added crossly.

‘But—' Georgia broke off as Tim hurried past them in the entrance hall on his way upstairs, presumably to rejoin his meeting.

‘Quite a regular, aren't you, Georgia?' The charm was growing thinner now, Georgia noted.

‘Jennifer asked me to come over,' she said.

Tim gave his fiancée a cool look. ‘Right. I'll leave you ladies to chat then.'

‘Sorry,' Jennifer said, after he had left. ‘He and Dad seem really shaken by Amelia's death. I find it all a bit odd. The circle seems to be closing in on me. Amelia, Esther, Barbara and Craig, solicitors, Douglas Watts—'

‘And Tim,' Georgia supplied.

‘I know everything must have a rational explanation, but sometimes I wish I could turn the tap off.'

‘And can't you? You could always be brave and tell Tim to leave Stourdens completely, if only for a while.'

‘It would mean two major battles, one with him and one with Dad. I'm not up to it at present. And there's Barbara, going around so grim-faced because of the wedding postponement. She was doing the catering.'

‘She must be very disappointed. Is that why she's here?'

‘No, solely because of the documentary. She's doing the catering for it. I persuaded Jake to call her in as a compensation for not doing the wedding. He wasn't best pleased, but he gave way.'

‘Is the filming still taking place in the week of the twenty-third?'

‘Yes. Two days at Edgar House, then it begins here on the twenty-fifth.'

As if on cue, Jake came down the stairs. ‘We're knocking off for the day, Jen. We've tidied up the loose ends.'

‘So pleased to hear it,' Jennifer said ironically.

Jake looked somewhat abashed. ‘Amelia was going to feature in the documentary to talk about the Luckhurst inheritance, but it looks as if my humble film seems to have an evil star over it. Jen, are you sure you're still happy about going ahead with this film? I know Tim is dead set on it but—'

‘One hundred per cent,' she cut in. ‘Mum would never have forgiven me after all the work she put into it.'

‘Good. What about you, Georgia? Still on the trail of Bob Luckhurst's murderer? Tanner or otherwise?'

The question seemed more casual than loaded, and so Georgia answered it lightly. ‘Another one hundred per cent. Amelia—'

‘She was a troublemaker,' Jake cut in unexpectedly. ‘Ask Philip.'

‘Her husband said she spoke about meeting you at the Gala.'

‘Did she? I don't recall.'

‘Maybe it was Phil she talked to,' Georgia said. ‘Is Jill up there? I'll pop up and have a word with her before I leave.'

‘Take care. Tim says no outsiders,' Jake said awkwardly.

Georgia was taken aback. ‘What on earth do you mean? I only want a brief word, and it's semi-police business.'

‘They're still talking in there, and you know what Tim's like. Strictly
his
business.'

‘
My
business too, I might point out, Jake,' Jennifer said icily. ‘If I damn well want to talk to Jill and take Georgia with me, then I will.'

He groaned. ‘Look, I'm sorry, both of you. Let's cool it. It'll only be another twenty minutes or so.'

Jennifer said nothing, but her face was very white, and after Jake had left she told Georgia, ‘That's it. I'm going to talk to the solicitor and trustee in the morning. I'm going to run this damned development proposal myself. Including Jake's film.'

When Georgia reached Haden Shaw later that day she found Peter in his garden, to which there was a ramp from his office. It was clear that his mind was not on his work, although there was a file or two strategically placed on a table at his side. She had left Laura Fettis's notebook with him yesterday evening, so that he could study the scribbled phone numbers, and was eager to find out whether there was anything useful amongst them.

‘Bad time?' she asked.

He roused himself and looked pleased to see her. ‘On the contrary, bullseye. Most of the numbers had already been contacted by the police and had either never heard of Laura Fettis or lived nowhere near Canterbury. But one of them was a Howard Osborne, who said he had been away for some days and probably missed the police call. Yes, he'd arranged to meet Laura, and, yes, she had duly arrived, and, yes, he would talk to us about her if we cared to drive over there tomorrow morning. He lives in Sturry, not Canterbury itself.'

‘It all seems too straightforward,' she said. So what was wrong about that? she wondered.

‘Sometimes life is obliging in one way and then annoyingly reclaims its generosity,' Peter commented. Then a pause. ‘Elena rang. Lucien Marques is coming to London next week and would be pleased to welcome us at his hotel.'

‘All of us?' she asked doubtfully, knowing that even if driven there by car Peter was not fond of visiting the capital.

‘Yes, all. Wheelchairs are no problem at the hotel. I checked. The only problem we have is the way the meeting is going to hang over our heads until it happens.'

‘Which it will only do if we let it,' she said firmly. ‘After all, we know that nothing he says will alter the truth about Rick. We just have to nerve ourselves up to hearing about it in detail from a horse's mouth.'

‘And what then? Have you considered the nightmares might grow
worse
when we have a graphic image in our heads? That it might be better not to know?'

‘Yes, I have.' And she had been dreading the possibility. ‘But we're so far in now that the images will come anyway if we allow them to.'

‘How do you propose to stop them?'

‘Throw ourselves into the future. Work, Rosa, even Elena's move here. How do you think she'll react to hearing about Rick?'

‘Badly. At the moment it's not real to her, but as soon as it becomes so – if for instance he describes Rick's last moments – I'm afraid she'll collapse again.'

And so may we, she thought. So may we.

She struggled with her feelings. Her mother had brought this on them, albeit with the best of intentions, but now they had to see it through together – not only for Rick's sake, but for Elena's. What would Rick have done in the same position? Georgia struggled to think. Rick was tolerant and kind. He had inherited Peter's quick flashing temper, but also his essential humanity. From Elena he had received his whimsical and artistic side. Do it and survive, he would surely say, only survive. Last year she and Peter had met the girl Rick had loved, and she had survived. Married, flourished in her career, had children – but never forgotten Rick. Peter and she had to carry on too, if only to keep alive that hidden place inside them in which Rick still lived.

‘Why, even though it's about Laura Fettis and not Bob Luckhurst, do I have the feeling that meeting Mr Osborne is going to be a watershed in this case?' Peter asked.

‘Don't know, but I share it.' Georgia had negotiated the Canterbury road system, and they were rapidly approaching Sturry Hill, behind which was Roberts Street, home to Howard Osborne. The level crossing brought the car to a halt, and Peter began to strain at the leash with impatience. Finally, she was across but then had to face Peter's own style of navigation.

‘Right here,
here
.'

Easier said than done in this racing traffic, and Georgia was forced to turn higher up the hill than she'd intended and weave her way back through the mass of small roads until she found Roberts Street. She turned into it with a sigh of relief.

Not for long.

‘This can't be it.' Georgia frowned. Roberts Street looked far too short to accommodate a Number 82. She stopped the car and walked down the street to find out whether she was right, and then returned to Peter. ‘It ends at Number Eighteen, and there's no sign of any continuation road after that. Are you sure you took down the number correctly?'

‘Positive.' Peter was looking apprehensive.

‘I'll try Numbers Two and Eight,' Georgia said.

Number 2 produced a harassed young mother and child, but no Howard Osborne. Number 8 produced an old lady and no Mr Osborne living there with her. Moreover she claimed to know everybody in the street and not only was there no Mr Osborne here but there never
had
been a Mr Osborne in the thirty years she'd been living here.

Peter must have been watching Georgia's progress and diagnosed it correctly, because when she returned to the car, he said without preamble: ‘He deliberately gave us a false address.' All Georgia's fears resurfaced. A fine watershed this was. The niggle at the back of her mind then took tangible form.

‘And a false name too,' she added.

‘How do you know that?' Peter asked.

‘He was having a joke at our expense. Mr Howard and Lord Osborne are two of the main characters in Jane Austen's
The Watsons
.'

A pause before Peter replied, ‘Not, I think, a joke.'

TWELVE

‘
V
oicemail again,' Peter reported gloomily. ‘The final frustration.' The fictitious Mr Osborne's number had failed to produce its owner for the last twenty-four hours. ‘
And
it's Friday the thirteenth,' he added.

Georgia sighed. ‘At least it's still a live line. He can't merely have chucked his mobile away.'

‘Why not? I could ask Diane Newton to get a fix on it.'

‘No.'

‘It's part of a police investigation, and at least we'd know the area where the damn thing was ringing.'

‘We can't risk notching up a black mark with her until we're sure there's no other way.'

‘And what other ways would you propose?'

She tried to speak calmly and reasonably. ‘Consider the possibility that Mr Osborne might not have chucked his phone away. Consider the possibility that he might assume we would try his number again in the circumstances. Consider the possibility he would keep it on voicemail.'

‘I follow,' Peter said grumpily. ‘How long do we wait?'

‘Two days?'

‘Twenty-four hours?'

‘Done.'

Twenty-four hours, Georgia reflected, can be a long haul when one's champing at the bit. She decided to take up a suggestion made by Barbara Hastings after she had finally emerged (or been thrown out of) the Stourdens' meeting that she should come to see her product range. Georgia wasn't that interested in the products, but she was in Barbara Hastings herself, so this seemed a good opening to follow up. When she turned up later that afternoon, however, she found Barbara in gloomy mood.

‘I talked to His Nibs,' she said darkly. ‘That being Mr Tim Wilson. Thinks it a good joke that he had us all fooled not knowing he was Max's son. Thinks it gives him a special relationship to me. Even hinted Craig might be his half-brother. The nerve of the man. As if I would do it with Max when—' She broke off.