The Unburied Past (11 page)

‘Kirsty,' he acknowledged briefly, and would have continued on his way had she not moved to block his path.

‘Lance, this is silly. We live in the same town; we can't go through life ignoring each other. Can't we at least be civilized?'

He met her eyes unwillingly. ‘You're not suggesting we kiss and make up?'

‘No, I'm not,' she answered steadily. ‘I'm suggesting we behave like a couple of adults.' She paused. He was still hesitating, seemingly anxious to escape. ‘How are things? How's your mother?'

‘Almost back to normal, thanks.' Mrs Pemberton had suffered a heart attack some six months previously. After a moment he added, ‘You're looking tired.'

‘Well, thanks!' she said with a half-laugh. ‘You know how to make a girl feel good!'

He didn't smile and she added, ‘Actually, I'm fighting a headache, and at the moment it's winning.'

‘Business booming?'

‘It's going well, yes, thanks.' She paused, memories of the flowers and chocolates surfacing again. ‘You … haven't been trying to get in touch with me, have you?'

His face closed. ‘I have not. You made it pretty clear that would be unwelcome.' He frowned, searching her averted face. ‘Why do you ask?'

‘Nothing, it's just—'

‘Kirsty, you must have had a reason. What is it?'

‘Just that I've received one or two … things … lately and I don't know who's been sending them.'

‘What kind of things?'

‘Well, it started with an email—'

‘A threatening one?' he broke in sharply.

‘No, no. Quite the reverse, actually, but it was unsigned. Then some flowers and chocolates arrived, again with no indication as to who they were from.'

‘And you thought I'd sent them?'

She couldn't tell from his tone if he resented the inference. ‘Not really, it was just a process of elimination.'

‘Well, let me set your mind at rest. I didn't.'

She gave a small smile. ‘Unfortunately that
doesn't
set my mind at rest. If you see what I mean.'

There was a pause, then he said, ‘Sorry if this sounds obvious, but have you tried checking with the post office and the florist?'

‘Yes, to no avail.'

‘Well, you obviously have a secret admirer. Congratulations.' Again the searching look. ‘You're worried about it, aren't you? Why?'

‘Just that I don't like mysteries.' And there were enough of them in her life at the moment.

‘I shouldn't worry; if he doesn't get any reaction, he'll soon tire of it. But if it continues you should go to the police.'

‘That's what Angie said. I might drop in on the way home.'

Lance nodded. ‘Good idea.' After a pause he said awkwardly, ‘I really should be going; I've an appointment at three and I need to prepare for it.'

‘Yes. Sorry to have held you up.'

He shook his head, dismissing her apology. ‘Good to see you again,' he said gruffly. ‘Take care, and don't let this anonymous bastard get you down.'

And he was gone. Slowly, Kirsty walked on down the path. Not Nick, not Lance, and though she'd never seriously considered either of them, it did leave her with no other candidate. Reaching the bench by the fountain she seated herself and sat for a moment staring at the sparkling water; but its brightness hurt her eyes, and with a sigh she put on her sunglasses and settled down to read.

‘Well?' Angie demanded, as Kirsty came slowly up the stairs. ‘Did you go to the police?'

‘Yes, for all the good it did. They suggested I set up a filter system so the emails go directly to Trash, but that wouldn't stop them coming and I'd rather know what he's saying than worry about it. Nor would it work for the deliveries. They asked if there were any CCTV cameras nearby but of course there aren't, so in the end they just took down details and said they'd keep an eye out, and I should let them know if there are any more “instances”.'

‘Then we'll have to hope there aren't,' Angie said.

Counting the hosts, there were eight at the dinner party, the guests being Lois and Johnnie, at whose wedding Kirsty had met Nick, Angie and Simon and herself. She'd been apprehensive that a blind date might be have been rustled up for her, and was relieved to find Chrissie's elder sister making up the numbers.

Alicia Penn (‘“Al-ic-ia”,
not
“Aleesha”, please!') was a local GP, a tall, striking woman whose sleek red hair was constrained into a chignon and whose green eyes looked out from behind very large spectacles. Neither Kirsty nor Angie had met her before; Chrissie and Matt themselves were relatively recent friends, having moved into the area two years previously as a newly married couple. They'd all met at the tennis club and became casual rather than close friends, and this was the first time Kirsty had been to their home, a modern bungalow just up the hill from Westbourne College.

After a day of threatening clouds, evening sunshine had broken through and on arrival they were shown into the garden. Kirsty, glass in hand, wandered to its lower end and stood looking down on the handsome college buildings and their grounds stretching down the hill.

Chrissie joined her. ‘We were crossing our fingers for the weather to hold so we could have drinks out here. Isn't it a lovely view? It was one of the reasons we bought the bungalow. Mind you, it gets a bit rowdy during school break times – we're just thankful their playing fields are out of town! Oh, and talking of the college, someone asked me for your phone number at the wedding – Nick Shepherd. He teaches there. I hope you didn't mind my giving it?'

One mystery solved. Kirsty shook her head and Chrissie asked curiously, ‘Did he contact you?'

‘He did, yes,' she acknowledged, and was saved from further disclosures by Alicia's approach.

‘I hear you run a cake company,' she remarked. ‘It sounds intriguing; tell me more. Lois says you were responsible for their wedding cake?'

‘And magnificent it was, too!' confirmed Matt, coming up with a jug to refresh their drinks. ‘To taste as well as to look at, which isn't always the case!'

‘Thank you, kind sir!' Kirsty smiled at him. She didn't know Matt as well as Chrissie since he seldom played tennis, which was their main point of contact. She gathered he was the author of a couple of well-received novels and was beginning to make a name for himself. At any rate, deadlines and research were frequently given as reasons for his absence from social gatherings. Now, though, he was the perfect host, charming and attentive to his guests, with a personal word to each in turn.

As he and Chrissie moved on, Alicia returned to the subject of the cake business, seeming genuinely interested in the way they operated and prompting with questions whenever Kirsty, feeling she was dominating the conversation, came to a halt.

‘Good for you!' she said at last. ‘I'm all for women running their own businesses. I'm only sorry you don't supply the general public – I'd certainly boost your sales, given the opportunity!'

Dinner was served in the conservatory – a perfect summer meal of watercress soup followed by salmon and ending with strawberry Pavlova, and talk continued over coffee as beyond the glass walls the sun went down and the lower end of the garden faded into the shadows. Lois and Johnnie told of their adventures on honeymoon in the Seychelles which included several amusing episodes; Simon kept them laughing as he recounted his experiences with a difficult client, and on a more serious note Alicia spoke of a medical conference she'd attended and a series of talks she'd given to local schools.

‘In fact,' she ended, ‘I've been asked to collate them into a booklet, so Matthew won't be the only author in the family!'

It was eleven thirty before the party broke up and the guests took their leave. Angie was spending the night with Simon so Kirsty drove home alone, very conscious of her single status.

She was also conscious, as she parked in their drive, of the darkness lying thick in the surrounding shrubbery, and it was with relief that she closed and locked the heavy door behind her. Lance's words about her ‘admirer' awaiting her reactions had lodged in her mind. Was he, she wondered with a shiver, actually
watching
her, rather than simply teasing from afar? It was an unnerving thought.

Despite his promise, Adam delayed his visit home until the last minute. He'd arranged the letting of his apartment, had farewell drinks with colleagues from school and spent an emotional night with Gina, who suspected – probably correctly – that his departure signalled the end of their relationship. Now his bags were packed and he was more than ready to go. There was this one farewell still to make, and it was potentially the most difficult.

In the event, it was uncannily like a rerun of the christening party. Little had he realized, then, that news of his sabbatical would give rise to such momentous disclosures. And here they all were again – Lynne and Harry, Charlotte and Bruce, Claire and Sandy, Grandma and Grandpa Franklyn, Ed and Nora Carstairs (who, since they weren't his grandparents, he refused to address as such) – all of them trying to act normally, but surreptitiously treating him with kid gloves as though he were a firework that could explode without warning.

As well he might; excitement was building in him, not only at the prospect of the seven-week trip through Europe visiting places he'd only read about, but the return to the country of his birth and to people who were, incredibly enough, related as closely to him as those present today. And underlying it all was his impatience to start working properly on the mystery of his parents' death.

Today's gathering took the form of a family lunch and, glancing round as they sat at table, Adam recalled as a child searching Lynne's face for any resemblance to his father, familiar from the photographs scattered about the house. He had searched in vain, and it was only when, on a visit to the UK, he first met his Franklyn grandparents that he understood why: Lynne had taken after her father, Mark his mother. It was a source of secret satisfaction as he grew older to recognize in the mirror his own likeness to his father – the narrow-shouldered figure of only average height, the deep-set grey eyes, even the way his hair grew.

‘So where are you planning to go in Europe?' his grandmother was asking.

‘In a nutshell, I'm flying to Oslo and making my way down to Italy and Spain, seeing as much as I can en route, with some places earmarked for a longer visit. But I've no hard and fast plans and can stay for as long or as short a time as I choose, provided I'm back in the UK a week before term starts on the fifth of September.'

Mention of school and the UK fell with the impact of a lead weight. Harry said with assumed casualness, ‘Have you been in touch with Janice and Roy, to let them know when you're arriving?'

‘No,' Adam answered steadily, crumbling the roll on his side plate. ‘I'm not expecting a reception committee. I'll contact them, of course, once I've settled in.' He paused and added deliberately, ‘Principally because I'll be wanting to sound them out on their memories of June, 'eighty-six.'

‘It will be very distressing for them,' Lynne murmured.

‘And for me,' Adam reminded them smoothly, ‘but it's a necessary first step.'

‘And Kirsty?' Thelma Franklyn asked after a moment.

He shrugged. ‘She won't remember any more than I do.' He glanced at their tense faces. ‘I might as well tell you that I'm planning to find out as much as possible about the murders during my first weeks in the UK. Then, at half term, I intend to go up to the Lake District and scout around there.'

There was total silence as everyone digested that. He looked round at them challengingly. ‘Did any of you go up there at the time?'

‘We flew up straight away with your other grandparents,' Bob Franklyn answered quietly. ‘To … identify Mark and Emma, and to bring you and Kirsty home.'

‘Did you go back later?'

Bob shook his head.

‘Then what happened to their things? And they must have had a car up there?'

‘Graham Yates kindly saw to all that for us.'

Adam seized on the name. ‘Yates? My godfather?'

‘That's right. He was a close friend of your father's.'

‘Then he'll be a useful contact. I must look him up.'

Harry said gently, ‘Don't set your hopes too high, Adam. The police have been working on this, off and on, for a long time and not been able to come up with anything.'

‘Then they should welcome a fresh pair of eyes, though I doubt they'd see it that way. Fortunately I don't need police cooperation; in fact, I'm probably better without it.'

Charlotte said, ‘You won't do anything rash, will you? I want my brother safely back next summer!' Her slight emphasis on the relationship and the smile that accompanied it was a deliberate reminder of their previous conversation.

‘I'll take all reasonable precautions,' Adam said, and the tone of his voice indicated that the subject was closed. Accepting it, conversation resumed on less personal topics and it was only as he was leaving that Lynne, clinging to him as she held back tears, again alluded to possible dangers.

‘Darling, take care,' she begged. ‘If you do find anything new, pass it to the police and don't attempt to follow it up yourself. Promise me that!'

‘I promise I'll be careful,' he said, and she had to leave it at that.

D
uring the week following the dinner party there were no unwelcome deliveries at the house in Springwell Road, and Kirsty was beginning to hope they'd played themselves out. Those hopes were dashed, however, when, ten days after the chocolates, another bouquet arrived – not, this time, delivered by a florist, but found lying on the front step after the doorbell had alerted them.