Murder in Steeple Martin (15 page)

Chapter Nineteen

T
HE SILENCE AT THE
end of the scene said it all, thought Libby. Then Emma, as always slightly embarrassed, brushed down her jeans and came to the front of the stage without looking at her Gregory.

‘All right, Libby?’ she called into the dark.

‘Very good, Em. Both of you. Well done.’ She clapped her hands for attention. ‘We’ll call a halt tonight and carry on where we left off tomorrow. How many of you said you could be here? I’m sorry to upset your Saturday.’

After some initial resistance born of an atavistic reluctance to have fun in the presence of death, the traditional visit to the pub was approved. Fran trailed along behind Libby, who managed to get out of the building ahead of Ben and Peter.

‘Are they cross?’

‘Ben and Pete? I don’t think so. I still can’t make them out. I know Pete’s worried about his brother and the murder, but I don’t know …’

‘Peter’s brother’s James, right?’

Libby nodded and led the way into the pub.

‘And Paula trapped him?’

‘You wouldn’t think it was possible in this day and age, would you?’

Fran shrugged. ‘People don’t change.’

They were settled in a corner with their drinks when Ben, Peter and Harry joined them.

‘So, Fran, did you get anything from that?’ asked Peter, sitting down on the arm of Libby’s chair.

Fran glanced at Libby. ‘I’m not sure what you mean,’ she said, ‘or what you what you want me to reply.’

‘Well,’ said Peter, waving an airy hand, ‘feelings. Whatever.’

Fran’s lips tightened and Libby hurried into the breach. ‘There’s no need to be rude, Pete.’

Peter looked quickly at Harry and away again. ‘Sorry.’

‘What did you think of the play, Fran?’ asked Ben.

Fran repeated what she’d said to Libby. ‘And I thought the girl who played Flo’s character –’

‘Lizzie,’ put in Libby.

‘Lizzie, then, will be really good.’

Peter smirked. ‘I said she should have had it in the first place. Paula was far too old.’

A nasty little silence fell. ‘Well, you know what I mean.’ He sighed. ‘Sorry.’

‘We can’t keep not saying things just because they’re about Paula,’ said Ben, ‘life hasn’t changed completely.’

‘Not for you, maybe,’ muttered Harry, which earned him a look from Peter. Libby gave them an anxious glance.

‘Ben’s right,’ she said, ‘your opinion of Paula won’t change just because she’s dead. It won’t matter to her now.’

‘Anyway, I thought it was good,’ said Fran. ‘As I’ve said, better than I expected.’

Seeing Peter’s expression, Libby leapt hastily into the breach. ‘And that’s good from a professional,’ she said.

Fran glared at her and Libby blushed. The whole conversation was littered with trip-wires.

‘I didn’t know that,’ said Ben, looking interested.

‘I don’t talk about it. I was young.’

‘Right.’ Harry was looking at her speculatively.

With rare intuition, Libby knew what he was thinking. ‘And the psychic ability is so
not
a theatrical trick, Harry.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘Shut up,’ said Peter suddenly, ‘look who’s come in.’

They all turned.

‘Is that David?’ whispered Libby.

‘Sure is. He looks bloody awful.’ Ben pushed back his chair.

‘So would you if you’d had to attend a murder victim,’ said Harry.

‘That was yesterday,’ said Peter, and turned to Fran. ‘David is our local GP and Ben’s brother-in-law.’

Fran didn’t answer, but stared at the back of David’s head.

Ben had reached the bar and put an arm round David’s shoulders. Libby watched as he gave a tired smile and ran a big hand through his greying bush of hair. His jacket, as usual, looked rumpled and his tie was askew under the open collar of his shirt.

‘Every inch the country doctor, isn’t he?’ said Libby, watching Fran’s face.

‘Is he genuine?’ said Fran under her breath.

‘Genuine? What on earth do you mean? He’s a bloody doctor, you don’t get much more genuine than that.’

Fran looked back at her, her cheeks slightly pink. ‘Sorry. I don’t really know what I meant. He just looks almost too good to be true – as you said, every inch a country doctor.’

‘Central casting?’ Libby was amused. ‘Yes, he is. All bluff good nature, slightly shy, absent-minded and very kind.’

‘Quite a paragon, then,’ said Fran.

‘You’re not convinced,’ Libby stated.

‘Of course I am – you know him, I don’t.’

‘But you can feel something?’ Libby persisted.

Fran’s face took on its regular expression of discomfort. ‘Oh, hell, I hate this. Everything I say is open to misinterpretation.’

Ben and David appeared at the table, David with a pint of bitter in one hand and a pipe in the other. Fran and Libby exchanged glances.

‘He needs cheering up, folks,’ said Ben. ‘Have my chair, David.’

‘Hello, David,’ said Libby. ‘How’s Susan?’

‘Oh, you know,’ grunted David, squashing into Ben’s chair. ‘Doesn’t much like this business.’

‘Which business?’ asked Harry.

David looked startled. ‘The murder. Of that girl. You all knew her.’

‘It’s OK, David,’ said Peter, leaning forward, ‘we know what you mean. We’ve just had a bit of trouble at the theatre as well.’

‘Oh? The theatre?’

Ben looked exasperated. ‘Yes, Dave, the theatre. I converted it, remember?’

‘Oh, ah. Of course I remember. Millie didn’t like it.’ He looked at Fran as if suddenly registering her presence.

‘This is my friend Fran Castle, David,’ said Libby. ‘Fran, this is David Dedham.’

Fran leant forward and held out her hand. ‘How do you do?’ she said politely.

David shook her hand and nodded. ‘Fine. Nice to meet you. Staying with Libby, are you? Good. Not a nice time to be on your own.’ He thought for a moment. ‘For a woman.’

Libby cleared her throat. ‘No, David. I agree.’ She didn’t look at Ben or Fran. ‘I think Peter feels the same about his mum.’

It was Peter’s turn to look surprised.

‘There’s nothing we can do there, though, is there?’ said David, taking a pull at his pint. ‘She can hardly move in with Peter and Harry.’

Harry growled.

‘James is with her at the moment,’ said Peter, with a warning look at Harry, ‘he’ll be staying around for a bit.’

‘James, yes.’ David shifted in his chair. ‘Poor chap.’

The others round the table all looked at each other.

‘Yes,’ said Libby.

David looked up. ‘Don’t you agree? Poor chap’s lost his – er – his –’

‘Paula. We know. And the baby,’ said Peter.

‘Well, I wouldn’t know about that,’ said David, looking uncomfortable. ‘I wasn’t her GP.’

‘Weren’t you? I thought everybody in the village was your patient,’ said Libby.

‘No, no. I couldn’t cope with everybody. Andrews and Court in Steeple Mount take a lot of the newer residents.’

‘But Paula’s been here longer than I have,’ said Libby.

‘And you’ve never registered, have you?’ smiled David, patting her arm. ‘Not that I blame you – friend of the family and all that. But you must do it, you know. If not with me, with Andrews or Court. You couldn’t exactly call your old doctor all the way out here, could you?’

‘I suppose not,’ said Libby. She looked at Peter. ‘What about you?’

‘Me? Oh, am I registered? Yes. Always have been. Whole family. We were with David’s predecessor, so he just took us over.’

‘Really? Was that before you married Susan?’ Libby asked.

David grinned, looking down into his beer. ‘Yes. I had to get her registered somewhere else so I could court her.’

‘Court her?’ gasped Harry. ‘
Court
her? Good lord!’

‘Shut up, Harry,’ said Ben, Libby and Peter together. Fran laughed.

‘Oh, well, we’ve always been a bit old-fashioned, haven’t we, Ben?’ said David comfortably. ‘It suits us.’

‘It certainly does,’ said Ben, winking at Libby. Winking is
so
crass, thought Libby, trying not to smile.

‘Not often we see you in here, David,’ said Peter, leaning back against Harry. ‘Did you get a late pass?’

David frowned. ‘Susan’s not like that. We are both free to do whatever we like. If I want a drink on the way home I pop in here.’

‘On the way home? Bit late for surgery, isn’t it?’ asked Harry.

‘House call,’ said David, and drank the remainder of his pint in one go. ‘Must go. Don’t want Sue on her own for too long. Not at the moment.’ He surged to his feet, causing seismic upheaval to all the drinks on the table. Everyone grabbed their glasses and murmured goodbye. David smiled vaguely and shouldered his way to the door, accompanied by a chorus of goodnights from the regulars.

‘He’s hard work, isn’t he?’ said Harry. ‘I know he’s your brother-in-law, Ben, but …’

Ben nodded. ‘An upright, unimaginative salt of the earth countryman. I don’t know how he got through medical school.’

‘Oh, I expect he was quite different then,’ said Libby. ‘Rugby and rag week, I can just see him heavily involved with those.’

‘Apparently, he was quite a ladies’ man at that time,’ said Peter. ‘Wasn’t there some talk of him hiding away in the country to avoid someone, Ben?’

‘Come to think of it, yes. Not that I heard much about it at the time, I was only about seventeen.’

‘I would have thought that was just the age to hear about all the scandal, especially jack-the-laddish sort of scandal,’ said Peter. ‘It was the year I was born they got married, wasn’t it?’

‘I think so. Can’t remember your mum being pregnant at the wedding, though.’

‘I didn’t realise they were so close in age,’ said Libby.

‘My mum and dad only got married a couple of years before Susan,’ said Peter. ‘Mum must be about the same age as David and four years older than Susan.’

‘So your mum missed all the competition for David, then,’ said Ben. ‘I remember that, all right. New young doctor – the women in the village were discovering all sorts of things wrong with them. I think Susan was really surprised when he – um – came
courting
.’ He grinned at Harry, who flounced back.

The bell rang behind the bar and Jim called time. Libby drank the last drop of her drink and stood up.

‘See you all tomorrow, then, shall we?’

‘Not me, sunshine. I’m busy in the caff all day,’ said Harry.

‘Well, perhaps we’ll come in for a meal later, then, if you’re not booked up?’ said Fran. ‘My treat,’ she added to Libby.

Harry cheered up. ‘Nine o’clock too late? Then you can have the table for the rest of the evening,’ he said.

They agreed nine o’clock was perfect, said goodbye to Ben and Peter and, refusing offers of an escort home, set off down the High Street.

‘Peter and David don’t get on, then?’ said Fran, as they turned into Allhallow’s Lane.

‘What?’ Libby turned to her in surprise. ‘What makes you think that?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Take no notice. I’m going to have to learn to shut up,’ said Fran, frowning.

Libby unlocked the door and warned Fran about the step. Sidney looked on from his favourite stair and when he spotted Fran leapt down and tripped her up anyway.

‘Coffee?’ asked Libby, throwing her cape towards a chair. ‘Or whisky? I’ve even got some red wine.’

‘Tea? I’d really prefer tea,’ said Fran. ‘If I drink any more I’ll start saying all sorts of things I shouldn’t.’

‘Is that what happens, then?’ asked Libby, interested.

‘Like just now.’ Fran perched against the kitchen table. ‘I say things that come into my head, without knowing why, and people attach all kinds of meanings to them. I told you, it’s as if someone has told me these things. I have no spooky sensations of being spoken to from beyond, or anything like that. It’s just there.’

‘I wonder why Peter and David don’t get on,’ mused Libby, pouring water into a teapot for Fran. ‘I suppose their lifestyles are so different, and Peter’s young enough to be his son. But if David was a bit of a lad in his youth, you’d think he’d have some sympathy, wouldn’t you?’

Fran watched Libby pour herself a whisky. ‘No, that generation were raging homophobes, weren’t they? In the fifties they were still putting people into clinics to “cure” them.’

‘Really?’ Libby poured Fran’s tea and led the way into the sitting room. Sidney appropriated Fran’s lap and sneered at Libby.

‘Oh, yes. There were very exclusive private clinics where they used to do the most unspeakable things. And David would have done his training at a time when that wasn’t very far behind.’

‘I’ve never noticed any particular disapproval,’ said Libby. ‘Peter makes fun of David sometimes, but very gently. Harry’s more abrasive, but he’s only young, and not really used to village life yet.’

‘Well, it’s probably nothing,’ sighed Fran. ‘Just my peculiar brain.’

‘Doesn’t matter, anyway,’ said Libby, ‘it’s nothing to do with the theatre, after all.’

‘No, of course not,’ said Fran, but Libby was sure she detected doubt in Fran’s voice. She raised her eyebrows, but Fran didn’t look up from stroking Sidney, who was purring like a banshee.

‘And there was nothing else? About the theatre?’

Fran looked up. ‘I don’t think so. Just the play. As I said, I don’t think I’d get struck with a blinding light or anything.’

‘Then how do you
know
?’ asked Libby in frustration.

‘I said, it’s just facts in my head.’ Fran picked up her mug and moved an indignant Sidney on to the floor. ‘For example: you’ve told me quite a bit about your life, which I now know as facts. If I suddenly came out with – oh, I don’t know – the fact that you had a fourth child, it would seem as though you’d told me that, but you probably hadn’t.’

Libby’s mouth was open. ‘I haven’t.’

‘No, that was just an example.’

‘But I had a miscarriage.’

Fran looked startled. ‘I’m sorry. I really didn’t know that.’

‘Hmm. A bit odd though,’ said Libby. ‘I think I need another whisky.’

Fran heaved a deep sigh. ‘I think I’ll join you.’

Libby looked over her shoulder and grinned. ‘And then I’ll wait for you to come out with something scandalous.’

Fran laughed. ‘OK. I’ll see what I can dredge up. How about that chap who came up to talk to you at the beginning?’