The Claresby Collection: Twelve Mysteries (24 page)

Rupert nodded his agreement and decided to file the matter away for future consideration.

On a Tuesday morning, the Reverend Veronica Dahl ran a playgroup in the James Mortimer Rooms – a small extension at the back of the church which included a kitchen and toilets as well as a meeting room. Since the room was named after Laura’s father, she thought it appropriate to take his granddaughter along once in a while. There were never more than a dozen mothers and grandmothers in attendance, with a selection or under-fours, who could play with a couple of boxes of toys whilst their carers drank coffee and chatted. The relative popularity of the group was put down to the fact that Veronica always provided generous supplies of chocolate biscuits and homemade cakes. As soon as Laura arrived, Florence made a beeline for a farm set, which was a particular favourite, and started setting up the somewhat chewed plastic animals. With half an eye on her daughter through the hatchway, Laura began to make tea and coffee whilst Veronica chatted to some of the mothers. Just as she was slicing the Victoria sponge, her attention was caught by the arrival of a rather flustered looking middle-aged woman who entered, exchanged a few words with Veronica, and left a small child of about two holding hands with the vicar. Laura recognised the little girl, who sometimes played with Florence, and her grandmother, Pam Holmes. Veronica gently led the little girl over to Florence, and the two of them seemed to settle to playing with the farm animals in an agreeable manner. Veronica came over to help herself to a coffee, and she and Laura went to sit in a quiet corner whilst one of the other mothers passed some biscuits around. It was generally a scene of content and friendly chatter.

“What was the problem with Pam?” inquired Laura.

“Well, she always babysits her granddaughter on a Tuesday – her day off work – and usually brings little Chloe along here. However, there has been some unpleasant gossip about her recently, and she pretty much said that she didn’t want to deprive Chloe of playing with her friends as usual, but wasn’t prepared to make friendly conversation with some of the other women, who had been so spiteful about her.”

“Ah, I see. Rupert mentioned about the gossip surrounding Baines and Hayes.”

“It makes me mad!” said Veronica, her green eyes flashing. “She actually came to see me after church on Sunday and showed me all the documentary proof that she had inherited money from an aunt. I assured her that I did not require to see anything of the kind, but she insisted. I think she thought that if I put it around that it was all legal and proper, people would stop attacking her. Of course, I will mention the facts when appropriate, but I also pointed out to her how hard it is to stop malicious gossip. Remember when Arthur first came up to my house to take a shower and to have dinner with me? I could tell people he was my brother and needed a bit of help until I was blue in the face, but it didn’t stop some of them drawing their own conclusions and calling me “harlot” and other nice things.”

Laura nodded understandingly.

“I did suggest that she showed the documents to Bill Baines, so as to remove any suspicion that she had taken money from his company, but I think she was just too angry with him. I can’t say I blame her. She’s still doing her job – mostly out of bravado, I think – but she said that all the pleasure has gone out of it. The girls from the office used to be really friendly – they even had weekly pub lunches out together – but I think all that has changed. She’s had the same job for twenty years and carried on there more for the comradeship than the money in any case. She even showed me an album she kept of some of their lunches at The King’s Head just down the road from where they work: I think it’s all been a bit traumatic for her.”

Laura nodded again and stored away all these snippets of information to pass on to Rupert – knowing that where there was mystery or misunderstanding, he would want to dip his fingers in. Sure enough, when she relayed these facts to him over their supper that night he said,

“I wonder if I could persuade Pam to show me those pictures of the pub lunches.”

“Well, you’d have to be sensitive if approaching her, as she’s feeling pretty sore at the moment. What do you expect the photos to show anyway?” asked Laura.

Rupert shrugged his wide, angular shoulders, “I don’t know. I never know what will provide helpful information and what won’t; but I am curious about the goings-on at Baines and Hayes, and if Veronica has seen evidence that Pam was not in any way responsible for a possible cash-shortfall, it makes me wonder who else might be.”

“As it happens, I’ve arranged to take Florence to have lunch with Chloe at Pam’s on Saturday, so I’ll see if I can borrow the album.”

True to her word, Laura managed to tactfully request a viewing of the photograph album of the girls from Baines and Hayes, and passed it into the hands of a curious Rupert, who flicked through the pages with intense interest.

“So; does it tell you anything?” asked Laura, as she watched her husband stoop his long frame over the coffee table on which the photograph album was placed.

“Well, yes – it tells me who was taking money from the company; why, what happened to that money – and why no suspicion fell on them!” declared Rupert. “What it doesn’t provide is one scintilla of proof of these assumptions!”

Laura looked at her husband with a doubtful expression, her pretty oval faced creased in concern.

“Really, Rupert, sometimes I can’t tell if you are serious or not. How can you possibly glean all that information from a few photos of a group of women having a pub lunch?”

“Quite simply – because I started off with a bit of background information and put two and two together. Let me show you...” He shifted companionably along the chintz settee until he was sitting close to his wife and placed the album between them. “You will recognise some of the women from Claresby village. There’s Pam, obviously – and that is Susan Hamble and Ellen Finch.”

Laura nodded. Claresby was a small village and everyone met up from time to time either at the church, outside the village school, at the post-office, or in the pub: so these were all familiar faces.

“I don’t know who those two are,” continued Rupert, pointing to some figures in a smiling group, “but that is Amy Phipps, née Price, just after her honeymoon.”

“Yes – she does look well in that picture,” acknowledged Laura.

“Doesn’t she just,” agreed Rupert. “Something to do with the glowing suntan, perhaps: which is interesting, because Veronica told us that she spent her honeymoon in Eastbourne.”

“Maybe it is just the glow of a happy newlywed.”

“More like a Caribbean tan!” rejoined the unromantic Rupert. “If you remember, Veronica told us that Amy seemed to have grandiose plans for her wedding – to include a honeymoon in Bermuda – but in fact settled for a modest wedding and a week in rainy Eastbourne.”

“Well, she certainly didn’t get that suntan is Eastbourne this July – but she might have used a sun bed to get a pre-wedding tan.”

“Maybe – except that Pam happens to have been a guest at Amy’s wedding: and here is the picture of Amy with a classic English pallor. She is also wearing the lovely white lace veil which doesn’t match her cream dress.”

“Didn’t Veronica say that it had belonged to her grandmother?” said Laura.

“Yes; and that may explain the difference in style and quality.” Rupert’s voice expressed scepticism.

“You have a different explanation?” said Laura.

“I do. I think the veil was meant to go with another dress altogether – in fact, the very dress we found in the Rolls Royce.”

“It would seem to have been designed to match that dress,” agreed Laura, studying the veil in the photograph with care.

“So, let us assume that Amy had started off with the lavish wedding plans and the extravagant dress – what would make her change her plans?”

“The fact that her friends from work would wonder where she had found the money to pay for such an event,” said Laura, following Rupert’s train of thought.

“Exactly. Suspicion had been raised by Pam’s spending, and the boss at Baines and Hayes thought that money had been siphoned off.”

“But there was no evidence of Pam doing anything amiss.”

“But Amy might have been taking the money to fund her dream wedding and exotic honeymoon.”

“Then she panicked and decided to play things safe and settle for a modest wedding,” continued Laura.

“She dumped the dress, but couldn’t resist wearing the lovely veil.”

“And hung on to the honeymoon in Barbados – but lied to everyone about where she was going.”

“Precisely,” said Rupert.

“In that case, Dean must have known what was going on – or he would have wondered where the money came from. But, Rupert, this is all the merest speculation; and I wouldn’t want to spread unfounded rumours about Amy and Dean.”

“No more would I,” agreed Rupert. “But I have an idea how we might prove the connection between Amy and the dress. I’m guessing that she wants it back – it is her design and her dream. As it happens, on the walk between Baines and Hayes and the pub where the ladies from the office lunch, is a charity shop. I’m going to arrange for the wedding dress I found to be displayed in the window at a very modest price. The lady in the shop will inform anyone interested that the dress is reserved, but to leave their name and telephone number in case the buyer changes her mind. I want to see if Amy Phipps tries to retrieve her dress.”

“It wouldn’t prove anything.”

“No, but it would make me sufficiently suspicious of her to feel justified in letting Bill Baines know that he should be checking out Amy, not Pam,” concluded Rupert.

October was mellow and lovely, delivering more sunshine than the summer months, and Laura and Rupert were able to enjoy walks in the grounds of Claresby Manor, looking back at the medieval house nestled serenely amidst its shrubberies and walled gardens. The blackberries were over, but Florence always managed to pick up a few more conkers for her vast collection. Despite the warmth of the weather, the draughty and dark interior of the manor required log fires to make it welcoming, and Rupert even picked up a few fallen branches from their woods to add to the fire in the Great Hall, where they crackled and spat wetly. Shortly after they had returned, and Laura had taken Florence to the kitchen to make hot chocolate, the phone rang. Laura could hear Rupert’s voice for a few moments, and then he came to join them, declining the chocolate and making himself coffee.

“That was the lady in the charity shop,” he informed Laura. “Not only did Amy Phipps come in to buy the dress, but she became pretty agitated when it was explained to her that someone had already tried it on and reserved it and was going to come back with a friend before making a final decision. Apparently Amy insisted that no one had any right to reserve something when she was ready to buy it upfront with cash – twice as much as the asking price if necessary. The lady held her ground, however, and promised to phone her up if the dress was not sold.”

“Did Amy give any explanation as to why she would want to buy a wedding dress a few months
after
her wedding?”

“She said she was getting married at Christmas – which my lady found pretty unconvincing as she could clearly see her wedding ring!”

“What a pity,” said Laura, adding cold milk to Florence’s drink. “It does suggest that the dress was hers – and I can’t think of any reason why she would have hidden it other than that we surmised.”

“Well, I’ll suggest to Bill that he takes an unobtrusive look at what she’s been up to at work. As it happens, he’s going to be at the vicarage for dinner on Sunday night, so perhaps we’ll find out what transpires.”

“I hope it turns out to be a case of another rich Australian aunt,” said Laura.

Florence had been left with a babysitter and Rupert and Laura had taken the short walk to the vicarage so that they could enjoy the excellent red wine that Keith always brought along to Veronica’s dinners in liberal quantities. The group around the table enjoying roast beef and Yorkshire puddings included the bluff and somewhat rotund Bill Baines and his plump, friendly wife, Louise. Initial conversation turned on Rupert’s progress with the Rolls Royce.

“I’m going to have the entire chassis rebuilt,” Rupert was saying happily. “And Laura wants it painted in navy blue with silver accessories.”

“It has precisely two thirds of its engine, at present,” added Laura, “so it will be quite a mission to find authentic working parts to complete it. Rupert’s been scouring the internet, but some things will have to be custom made.”

“You don’t expect to be driving around in it anytime soon,” said Bill Baines, with a wink.

“I think we are talking more fun than function,” said Laura. “And I will be keeping the Range Rover for everyday purposes.”

The plates were dexterously cleared by Veronica who soon returned with a large apple crumble and jug of custard.

“Claresby Manor apples,” she announced. “Laura let me scrump in her orchard.”

“It was a particularly good year for apples,” explained Laura. “I have boxes of them in the cellar, so just drop round, Louise, if you want any.”

“I like apple crumble,” said Bill, his mouth full.

“Oh, well, I’d better take up the offer,” smiled Louise.

“So,” said Keith, addressing Bill, “did you tell Rupert and Laura the outcome of your office investigations?”

Bill’s pleasant, round face creased into a frown at the memory. “No; but I will give you an update – in confidence. Unfortunately Rupert was quite right to tip me off about Amy Phipps. It seems she’s been siphoning money off for several years by the simple expedient of double and triple ordering various items of office equipment. It was her job, you see, to keep the place up to date with coffee makers, photocopiers, fridges and even hanging baskets and tubs for out the front. Apparently her husband, Dean, was selling things on over the internet. Amy was signing off all the orders and we didn’t have an adequate system of double checks.”

“Bill’s paying the price of being too trusting by half,” said his wife.