The Corpse on the Court (29 page)

‘Did Piers tell you?'

‘Not really. He told me some things, but I'm not sure that they were all true.'

‘He would have been lying to protect me,' said Felicity. ‘He's a very honourable man, Piers.'

Jude was not sure that she would have fully endorsed that description, but this wasn't the time to take issue.

‘Look, I do want to say,' the former ambassador's wife went on, ‘that I hold nothing against you, Jude. Yes, I still love Piers, but I've known for a long time that I was not in a position to offer him the full-time support and attention that he needs. Whereas with you I think there's probably a strong chance he'll be able to find that.'

Though that was another statement from which Jude's opinion might now diverge, again she said nothing.

‘But I can't deny that Piers' announcement that he'd fallen in love with you was a profound shock to me. I don't think I'd ever realized how much his presence in my life meant. Because I knew he could never be central to my everyday doings, perhaps I underestimated his importance. The knowledge that Piers was somewhere there in the background gave me the strength to get through times that were fairly tough for me emotionally. And when he said it was over between us . . . I think I went a little mad.'

There was a silence. For a moment Jude felt tempted to apologize for the unwitting disruption she had caused to Felicity Budgen's life, but she curbed the instinct.

‘When did you decide you'd have to kill Reggie Playfair?' asked Carole, practical as ever.

‘Well, it was strange . . .' Felicity's manner, as it had been from the start of their conversation, remained politely matter-of-fact, as if she were hosting a charity tea party rather than confessing to a murder. ‘I suppose I had been suppressing it all the years since I started the relationship with Piers Targett but once it ended, all the guilt and paranoia I should perhaps have felt earlier came flooding in. I suppose, standing back from the situation for the first time, I realized the size of the risk I had been taking . . . you know, the threat I had been posing to my marriage to Donald.

‘And I became more than ever afraid that the news of what had happened might get out from someone who knew about it.'

‘Someone like Reggie Playfair?' Carole suggested.

‘Yes.'

‘You had some history with Reggie, didn't you?' asked Jude.

‘How do you mean?'

‘Well, the speed with which he answered your texted summons to come down here to the court. Your message also included the words “like we used to do”.'

‘Ah. I understand. Yes, Reggie and I had met on the court a few times – and at night because he didn't want Oenone to know. Those meetings also started around that period when I had abandoned my youngest to the joys of Eton. Reggie was in a bad way around that time too.'

‘Oh?'

‘He never really got over the grief of losing their baby. Reggie wasn't the sort to share emotional pressures – I don't think he and Oenone ever talked about what happened – but somehow he seemed able to discuss it with me. Donald and I also lost a baby – a late miscarriage before we had Harry – so maybe Reggie found me empathetic about his suffering.

‘Also he had this strange fantasy about seeing the ghost of his dead daughter. And I had experienced similar hallucinations about the child Donald and I lost. So Reggie and I talked about that too.'

‘Do you believe in ghosts?' asked Jude gently.

‘I don't see why they shouldn't exist. Everything else in life is so untidy and unfinished. It doesn't seem to me totally beyond the realms of possibility that some part of a dead person lingers in the world they are meant to have left behind.'

‘So you knew the story about Agnes Wardock's ghost?'

‘Of course. Cecil Wardock told me.' She spoke of him without any reference to – or perhaps memory of – the fact that she had only recently been trying to brain him with a blunt instrument.

There was a silence. Then Carole asked, ‘So how many times did you and Reggie meet here?'

‘Oh, maybe a dozen over the years.'

‘And there wasn't any sexual element in your relationship?'

‘On my side, certainly not. I'd known Reggie for years. Very fond of him, but I'd never felt about him in that way. Besides, I do have standards. Oenone's a friend. I would never do that to a friend.'

Jude couldn't help saying, ‘It didn't stop you with Piers.'

‘The situation was entirely different. Jonquil had effectively walked out of that marriage. And she continually put Piers through the kind of purgatory that . . . Well, let's just say, I didn't feel any guilt about Jonquil.'

‘Do you think,' asked Jude, ‘that Jonquil ever had an affair with Reggie?'

‘No,' Felicity Budgen replied firmly. ‘He wouldn't have done that. I think even with me, though it was a sexual thing he felt for me, he wouldn't have . . . I mean, if I'd been more accommodating, if I'd offered him any encouragement . . . No, he was devoted to Oenone.'

Carole picked up the interrogation. ‘You said there was no sexual element on your side between you and Reggie. But for him you've just said it was “a sexual thing”.'

Felicity Budgen grimaced. ‘Yes, sexual at some level, but . . . not real. I think in some strange way he did live in hope of my changing my mind about him at some point. But no, he was just infatuated with me.' She spoke as if infatuation was a tiresome inconvenience that she had had to go through more than once during her life. Maybe it was an occupational hazard for women who went through life being as beautiful as Felicity Budgen, thought Carole.

‘And that infatuation continued right through to his death,' she suggested.

‘Maybe. It wasn't something I encouraged.'

‘I think you knew it was still there, though' Carole persisted. ‘You knew he would immediately respond when you texted him to join you here “like we used to”.'

‘Perhaps.'

‘So,' said Jude, ‘could we go back to what Reggie said after he'd had that fall at the Sec's Cup?'

‘Very well.'

‘You thought he was threatening to spill the beans?'

‘Exactly. And it was at that moment that I knew I had to kill him.'

‘But why,' asked Carole, ‘did you set up that elaborate way of doing it?'

‘Well, would you believe that in my previous life I have very rarely been faced with the challenge of how to kill someone.' A half-smile played around Felicity Budgen's lips as she said this. ‘I have many competences – most of which have been necessary to my life as the wife of an ambassador – but murder is not one of them.

‘Also I was looking for a method that could look like an accident, and I knew from Oenone about Reggie's history of heart trouble. As I say, he'd talked to me about his interest in ghosts . . . we'd even discussed the story of Agnes Wardock. And then when I mentioned the idea of dressing up as a ghost to Jonquil, she absolutely leapt on the idea.'

‘Oh, it was you who mentioned it to Jonquil?' said Jude, relieved that at least one thing Piers had told her hadn't been a lie.

‘Yes.'

‘But you didn't tell her the aim of the exercise was to kill Reggie?' asked Carole.

‘Good heavens, no. I just said it was a bit of fun. You know, Reggie Playfair had been going on about the supposed ghost of Lockleigh House tennis court . . . wouldn't it be jolly to set up a special viewing for him? Jonquil thought it was a hysterically funny idea.'

Felicity Budgen smoothed a delicate hand across her fine brow. ‘I think I've been in a rather strange state recently. There are things I've done that I can't really believe. I mean, what I've just said I did to Reggie . . . was that really me? Did I do that?'

‘I don't think there's much doubt about it,' said Carole firmly. ‘Within the last hour you were also about to brain Cecil Wardock – and you threatened to kill Tonya Grace.'

‘Yes. Yes.' She nodded as if reminding herself. ‘It all seemed terribly important then. It doesn't seem so important now. I must have had a lot bottled up inside me. I think the reason that murder appealed was that I was
so sick of being nice to people!
' The venom with which these last words were spat out seemed to surprise the speaker as much as anyone. ‘Yes,' she repeated more calmly, ‘I have been in a very strange state.'

‘You're not well,' said Jude. ‘You need help, psychiatric help.'

‘What, a one-way ticket to the funny farm? Donald wouldn't like that. Donald doesn't believe in mental illness. He thinks all problems can be sorted out by a strong drink or a game of golf.'

‘Then Donald needs to change his ideas,' said Jude. ‘Felicity, you definitely need help.'

‘Yes,' she said, almost gratefully. ‘I think I do.'

Sir Donald Budgen was extremely put out when Carole Seddon rang and said he should come and collect his wife from Lockleigh House tennis court.

‘She's got her car there,' he protested. ‘And I've got a dodgy back.'

‘She's in no state to drive.'

‘Then she can organize a bloody taxi.'

‘You should come and collect her,' insisted Carole.

With bad grace he gave in.

Carole, Jude and Lady Budgen didn't talk a lot more. They just sat together in the club room, in a silence that seemed perversely companionable. When the doubles players came off the court at eight fifteen, Felicity joshed with them about their game and agreed it was a pity that nobody had taken the last booking of the day. Given the small number of real tennis courts in the country, it was a shame that any time-slot should go unfilled.

The doubles players had changed and gone by the time Sir Donald Budgen arrived. ‘What is this nonsense, Felicity?' he demanded. ‘You “in a state” – what on earth does that mean?'

‘She's had a shock,' said Jude gently. ‘She's not well.'

The ex-ambassador looked at his wife and something he saw in her face seemed to unnerve him. ‘What's all this about, darling?' he asked in a milder tone. ‘You can't be ill, can you, old sausage?'

And the idea that she might be really frightened him.

C
arole and Jude might have known that Cecil Wardock would have been very neat in his record keeping. He had always been an efficient man in his professional life and he brought that efficiency to the log he kept of nocturnal comings and goings at Lockleigh House.

They had gone straight back to the nursing home after the Budgens had left. In the interim since they had last been there the residents had had their evening meal. The woman on reception was of the view that it was rather late for another visit, and rang through to check Cecil Wardock's own views on the subject. It was only with his enthusiastic say-so that Carole and Jude were allowed upstairs.

Jude felt pretty stupid as they approached the old man's room. She should have made the connection. After all, hadn't Tom Ruthven described his distant relative as ‘the eyes and ears of Lockleigh House'? Jude herself had seen from his window how perfectly placed an insomniac Cecil Wardock would be to witness the arrivals and departures at the main gates of Lockleigh House. If they'd asked him earlier, they could have saved themselves a great deal of trouble.

‘It was when I first arrived here at Lockleigh House that I started it,' the old man explained. ‘I was not in a very good state of mind at the time. My wife had not died long before and the step of moving into a nursing home seemed to me a huge one, an acknowledgement that, to all intents and purposes, my life was over. My sleeping patterns were completely destroyed and it was then that I embarked on my career as a nocturnal chronicler.

‘I was also at that time suspicious that certain of my possessions seemed to have disappeared in the course of the move from my own house. So initially my vigilance was directed towards the tracking down of thieves. In retrospect, I think that too was just a symptom of my general malaise. I don't probably think anyone was stealing from me. It was my overriding misery that made me paranoid.

‘Anyway, as I settled down into the routine of my new life I came to terms with accepting that some things had gone forever, and I got into the pattern of reading –' he gestured to the bookshelves – ‘which has provided me with such intellectual sustenance.' He chuckled. ‘Do you know, I have only three more books to read before I reach the end of my entire publishing
oeuvre
.'

‘And then of course you start again at the beginning,' said Jude.

‘That indeed has been my invariable practice, so there is no reason why the cycle should not be repeated one more time.' But as he spoke the old man sounded distant and thoughtful.

Then with an effort he brought his concentration back to the present. ‘I did not, however, break the habit of making entries in my log.' He tapped a black-covered notebook on the table beside him. ‘An old man's idle diversion, you may say, but I derived some harmless satisfaction from the record keeping.'

‘You only did it during the night time?' asked Carole.

‘Oh yes, just while I was wakeful in the small hours. Frequently there was nothing to record. Weeks would go by with no after-hours visitors to the tennis court.'

‘And you never mentioned to anyone at the tennis court what you were doing?'

Cecil Wardock spread his thin hands wide in a gesture of ignorance. ‘I don't know anyone at the tennis court. Well, except for Tom Ruthven and I certainly didn't mention what I was doing to him. No, I don't know the names of any of them . . . though I did make up names for some of the ones who appeared regularly.'

‘Oh?'

‘There's a young man – I think he might work at the court, he's certainly around there a lot . . . and he's certainly around a lot after hours . . . him I nicknamed “Lothario”.'