The Price of Butcher's Meat (29 page)

Was that observation, or did she say something to you?”

“No. It was just that Sid came out to the lawn where the tables were being erected and spoke to Teddy. Then from the house, through an open window, Aunt Daphne shouted, ‘Teddy, come in here if you please.’ And Teddy said, ‘I’m just making sure that they get these tables in the right position, Aunt,’ and she said, ‘I don’t know why you 2 0 6

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should imagine that the organi zation of my party is any concern of yours. Inside! Now!!’ ”

“Wow! Did she always speak to him like he was a pet dog?”

He got the April glory again, more sun this time than shower.

“That was how Aunt Daphne spoke to everyone some of the time and some of them all of the time,” she said. “But she seemed particularly out of sorts with Teddy today. In fact, it started the day before yesterday. I thought at first she was irritated because she hadn’t been invited to the Avalon meeting—”

“Whoa! I’m an off-comer, remember?”

“Sorry. There was a meeting at the Avalon Clinic. Something to do with putting the final touches to preparations for the Festival of Health launch next Saturday. That’s Tom Parker’s pet project; he’s very much into alternative therapies. In fact, the whole idea of health and healing is central to his vision of how things should develop here in Sandytown. Aunt Daphne is . . . was a little more commercially minded.”

“But they are partners in this development thing?”

“The consortium. Yes.”

“How did that work, then, if they didn’t agree on policy? Did they quarrel?”

She shook her head vigorously.

“Oh no. Nothing like that, nothing that would have led to . . . I mean, Tom Parker’s the gentlest of men. . . . Anyone who’s suggested that he would be capable of violence is really out of order!”

Pascoe put on his gently puzzled look and said, “No one’s suggested that, Miss Brereton, and I certainly wasn’t implying any such thing. I just want to understand how things stood between Lady Denham and her immediate circle of friends.”

“Well, as far as the consortium went, it was very much a matter of give-and-take, I think. As in most relationships. Today’s party, for instance. To start with it was going to be a small reception up at the hotel to show appreciation to the main people involved in getting the T H E P R I C E O F B U T C H E R ’ S M E AT 2 0 7

development plan moving—local investors, the council’s planning committee, that sort of thing. But I suspect that, because Aunt Daphne wasn’t hugely enthusiastic about the Festival of Health idea, Tom Parker went out of his way to make sure she took the leading role here. So it ended with her having the party at the hall, reviving her first husband’s traditional hog roast . . .”

She got the phrase out with only a slight shudder. Pascoe nodded encouragingly.

“. . . and generally acting as Lady Bountiful to everyone that mattered, and a few in her eyes who didn’t!”

“Very generous of her,” said Pascoe.

“Oh no. That was the beauty of it. She got all the credit, but the consortium picked up the bill.”

“I see. But despite this, she was annoyed to find she hadn’t been asked to this meeting at the clinic?”

“If it had just been a committee meeting, I don’t think she’d have minded. But Dr. Feldenhammer had laid on drinks and nibbles afterward, and various people not directly concerned with the festival organi zation were invited to that.”

“So what did she do when she found out?”

“She turned up, of course. And she made Teddy and Esther and me go with her. She liked a retinue.”

“But you feel that she was irritated with her nephew on some other matter?”

“I think so. Summoning him from Denham Park and making him go with her to the clinic was in part her way of cracking the whip.”

“And did you feel the whip was cracked over you too?” said Pascoe, smiling.

He got a glimmer in return as she said, “Oh no. A companion’s job is to accompany unless commanded not to. But she did seem very out of sorts yesterday. She went off first thing in the morning, I’m not sure where. And when she came back, she seemed very preoccupied.

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Then she tried to get hold of Sidney, but he wasn’t available, and that didn’t please her.”

“I see. You say she was still cracking the whip over Teddy today?”

he said.

“Yes. When she called him in, I must admit I was glad to see the back of him. He makes a lot of noise, giving directions, but really he’s pretty disorganized. Alan Hollis is quite different. He gets things done quietly and efficiently and we were just about finished by the time Teddy reappeared. Not that he showed any interest in resuming control.”

“No? How did he seem then?”

“He looked ready to explode. If I had to guess—sorry, you don’t want to hear about my guesses, do you? Just what I saw, that’s what Sergeant Wield said.”

“Sergeants aren’t allowed to go beyond facts,” Pascoe said gravely.

“Chief inspectors are permitted to hear a maximum of three guesses a day.”

That earned him another sunbeam.

“He looked to me as if him and Aunt Daphne had just had a big row about something—”

Suddenly she stopped and stared at him accusingly.

“Look, this is stupid. I’m not saying . . . I mean, they were always having rows, all of us did. That’s the way Aunt Daphne worked. I think she thought of it as keeping people on their toes. You got used to being her favorite for a bit, then you took your turn in the dog-house. It didn’t mean anything!”

“No one’s saying it did,” said Pascoe. “So just tell me what you saw.

What did Ted do when he reappeared?”

“He just went and stood with Sid Parker and they talked together, or rather Teddy seemed to be doing all the talking . . . Then Aunt Daphne came out to check that everything was in order, which it was.”

“How did she seem?”

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“Still a bit uptight, I felt. She gave Teddy and Sid a glower and they moved off out of range. Then she checked everything was ready and she actually said she was pleased with the way things were looking. Then she asked Alan Hollis if he had a moment to go over the paperwork relating to the bar with her and they went back to the house together. I finished off outside, then went back to my room to get cleaned up and changed into my party gear. And I got back downstairs a few minutes before the guests started arriving.”

“Tell me about that. Who was fi rst?”

“Miss Sheldon, the chief nurse at the clinic, showed up just a couple of minutes after two, a bit worried in case she was too early.

Then very shortly after, Miss Lee, the acupuncturist, then Dr. Feldenhammer, he’s in charge at the Avalon, and after that they came thick and fast. I’ve been trying to work out the exact order, like Sergeant Wield asked, but it’s not easy. In the end we just let new arrivals fi nd their own way round to the garden because we were too busy making sure everyone got drinks and so on.”

“
We
being you and who else? The Denhams?” suggested Pascoe.

“Well, not really. Teddy and Esther got caught up with talking to people, you see, and of course Aunt Daphne had to say hello to everyone. She was in a much better mood now. Very relaxed, all jolly and good hostessy.”

“So it was just you doing the work then?”

Smile again, a bit rueful this time?

“I suppose so. But very quickly, once people found where the drinks and nibbles were, they looked after themselves, so all I had to do was keep a general eye on things.”

“Of course. Did that include the barbecue area?”

The light died in her face, but it had to be mentioned sometime.

“No. I don’t much care for meat, Mr. Pascoe, particularly in a form which displays its source so graphically. Ollie Hollis was in charge there.”

“Tell me about him.”

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“He’s a gate man at the Hollis’s Ham breeding unit out at Denham Park. I think he’s a distant relative of Aunt Daphne’s fi rst husband, who founded the business. Aunt Daphne often gets him . . . got him . . . to do odd jobs around the garden, and I think he used to help with the hog roast in Mr. Hollis’s day. It was an annual event then.”

“And your aunt didn’t keep up the tradition? Why was that?”

“I suppose because second husbands don’t much care to be reminded of their pre de ces sors, and the annual hog roast was very much Mr. Hollis’s event.”

Pascoe noted the care with which she put things. She was no one’s fool, this girl, he judged, and very far from a sycophantic companion. He doubted if much escaped her. Presently she was too close to the horror of the events to be pressed to a full and frank assessment of what made her “aunt” tick. Later, however, she could be very useful.

“And when did you last see Lady Denham?” he asked.

“Like I told Sergeant Wield, the last time I can be positive about was around three thirty, give or take. She was having a rather intense conversation with Mr. Godley . . .”

“An argument, the sergeant said you said.”

“Did I? Well, yes, maybe it was, but I wouldn’t like to say . . .”

Frightened once more of seeming to point a fi nger?

“Mr. Godley’s a healer, I understand,” said Pascoe. “I gather from what you say that Lady Denham wasn’t as keen on alternative therapists as Mr. Tom Parker?”

“No, she wasn’t,” said Clara. “Frankly, I think Aunt Daphne would rather not have asked any of them to the hog roast, but as it was being paid for out of consortium funds, she didn’t really have a choice. Anyway, she was really very fond of Tom in her own way and wouldn’t offend him if she could help it.”

“And you didn’t see her again after this?”

“I don’t think so. But I was very busy, you see, helping Alan Hollis with the drink. You can leave people to help themselves to food, but T H E P R I C E O F B U T C H E R ’ S M E AT 2 1 1

unless you keep control of the bar, it gets chaotic. Alan couldn’t spare any of his staff from the pub—it’s the holiday season—so he needed all the help he could get. Then, when the storm started, we were working like mad to get the bar stuff into the house before it got washed away.”

“That’s very helpful. Thank you,” said Pascoe. He studied his copy of the guest list again and went on, “I notice that the Tom Parkers have a Charlotte Heywood at the same local address. She another relative?”

“No. A visiting friend,” she said. “Not a poor dependent like me.”

She spoke with a touch of self-mockery.

Pascoe smiled and said, “That’s not really how you see yourself, is it?”

“I suspect it’s how I appear in some people’s eyes.”

“But not perhaps for long,” he said, watching her carefully.

“I’m sorry?”

“I just meant that, with your aunt’s tragic death, your dependen cy, or its appearance at least, has ceased. As for being poor, I know nothing of your circumstances, nor indeed how Lady Denham’s death might affect them.”

“Oh God,” she said incredulously. “You think I’m at all concerned about that?”

“In the circumstances, it might be natural . . .”

“Natural for you in your line of work, maybe,” she said.

She sounded close to an angry outburst, but took a couple of deep breaths and when she spoke her voice was back under control.

“Aunt Daphne had many faults, and there’ll be plenty of people keen to point them out. All I know is, she was kind to me, and she invited me to live with her when I needed someone to be kind to me.

As to her will, whether she’s left me a lot or a little, or nothing, won’t make the slightest difference to how I grieve for her and remember her.”

“I’m sorry,” said Pascoe, impressed, though not certain whether it 2 1 2

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was by the power of her emotion, or the power of her performance. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You haven’t,” she assured him. “Look, I’m as keen as you to see the monster who did this dreadful thing brought to justice. Obviously you’ll want to talk to anyone who might benefit from Aunt Daphne’s death. I should hate for you to waste time by having me on that list, that’s all.”

“Very commendable,” murmured Pascoe. “Perhaps, having removed your own name from the list, you could suggest some names which ought to fi gure there?”

She looked at him with an expression which was very much more lady- of- the-house than poor-relative and said, “Knowing how it feels to be under suspicion, you don’t imagine I’m going to point the fi nger at some other poor devil, do you?”

“No? Then perhaps after all you’re not quite so keen as me to see the monster who did this dreadful thing brought to justice,”

said Pascoe.

He let her digest that for a moment, then went on, “Thanks for your help, anyway. Now, if Sir Edward and his sister are still around, I’d like a word with them, please.”

She held his gaze steadily for a moment, then rose and led him farther down the corridor to a large oak door. She pushed it open and walked away without a word.

Sulking, or just thinking? wondered Pascoe. More to Miss Brereton than meets the eye? And certainly what met the eye was very easy on it.

He pushed the thought to the back of his mind and advanced through the open door.

7

The room he entered was of a different order from the rather poky computer room he’d just left. It was generously proportioned, with a ceiling high enough to take a crystal chandelier, though all that depended from an ornately sculpted boss was the kind of four-bulbed wooden cross- piece fitment you could buy in British Home Stores.

The design on the boss and on the matching cornicing was picked out in gold leaf looking badly in need of renewal. Above a huge marble fireplace hung an oil painting of a man in hunting scarlet against a pastoral background across which ran a cry of hounds. The furniture looked old and rather shabby.

There were two people in the room. Stretched out along a chaise longue was a young woman with a tall glass in her left hand. Dressed in baggy patched jeans and what Pascoe thought of as a sloppy Joe sweater, she still contrived to look incredibly elegant as she turned a cold gaze on him and said, “Who the hell are you?”