Blood at the Bookies

Thirty-Two

Jude grinned with satisfaction. “I think we’re looking at an old-fashioned love triangle,” she told Zofia. “Sophia Urquhart is loved by two men. Your brother Tadek who we now know met her in Leipzig during her gap year, and Andy Constant who came on to her once she became enrolled in his Drama course.”

“OK, let me write this down,” the girl responded excitedly. She took a biro, opened a clean page of her notebook and drew three separate crosses. “Here are the corners of our triangle. We have Sophia Urquhart…” She wrote the names as she spoke them. “Tadek…and Andy Constant…We draw a line here…Tadek to Sophia…” She scribbled down, “He loves her.”

“And the same thing from Andy Constant to Sophia…” She wrote that down too, and nodded with satisfaction. “It’s beginning to make sense.”

“Yes. Of course, the one side of the triangle you haven’t filled in is the relationship between Andy Constant and your brother.”

“You think…it is hatred perhaps? Hatred enough to kill someone?”

“It’s possible, Zosia. At last we’re getting somewhere.” Jude beamed. “I think this deserves a celebration. How about a glass of wine before we go to bed?”

“I would like that very much.”

The buoyant certainty Jude had felt the night before received a predictable inundation of cold water the next morning. “I don’t see how you can be sure she’d even been to Leipzig,” said Carole, reverting to her customary wet blanket role.

“Carole, of course she was there. She was the woman Tadek talked to his friend Pavel about, the one he followed to England.”

“I don’t understand how you can make that assumption.”

“I can make it because I heard Sophia sing in Rumours of Wars, and now I’ve heard the song she recorded with Tadek in Leipzig. I’d put money on the fact that it’s the same voice.”

“You’d put money on anything.”

Jude grinned. She reckoned her neighbour was behaving like this because it was not she who had made this latest leap of logic. Carole could be very competitive at times and that quality, coupled with her recurrent paranoia, could make her a difficult companion.

“I’m not so sure,” Carole went on sniffily. “Anyway, if what you say is true, who’s our murderer?”

“Well, having seen the kind of anger Andy’s capable of when he’s thwarted, I think he has to be way up the top of the list.”

“You think he killed the boy?”

“Two rivals for the love of the same woman. Wouldn’t be the first middle-aged man who’s felt his virility challenged by a young upstart.”

“But…But, Jude, there’s so much we don’t know, Tadek came to England to follow Sophia Urquhart…all right, it sounds from what his friend Pavel said that that’s true. So he was in love with her. But was she in love with him? And what did she think about her Drama teacher? Or him about her? It all seems terribly vague. You don’t know Sophia was having an affair with her teacher.”

“I’ve told you, Carole. I overheard Sophia apologizing to Andy that ‘Joan’ could not go back with him, because she was getting a lift home with her father. And that made him angry because he ‘wanted’ her. We now know ‘Joan’ didn’t exist, but was a nickname for Sophia. And I actually travelled in the car from the university with Sophia, so it was her father who was giving ‘Joan’ a lift home. It can’t be plainer than that.”

“I don’t know,” said Carole, infuriatingly unconvinced.

“Anyway,” Jude looked at her watch, “I’ll soon be able to find out about whether Sophia went to Leipzig or not.”

“How?”

“Because her brother Hamish is due here in ten minutes.”

“Why’s he coming?”

“To value the house.”

“Oh.” Carole also looked at her watch. She had already exercised her dog on Fethering Beach that morning, but she said curtly, “I must go. Gulliver needs a walk.”

There was something of the play-actor about Hamish Urquhart. His manner was studied rather than spontaneous. Maybe, Jude reflected, being an estate agent was similar to the professions of lawyer, doctor and teacher, where young recruits took on the manners of people much older than themselves. In Hamish’s case, of course, he took on the manners of his father, becoming a hearty facsimile of Ewan Urquhart.

He was dressed in a gold-buttoned blazer and mustard-yellow cords. Under’his arm was a brown leather briefcase, from which he produced a clipboard, some forms and a pocket-sized laser distance measure. He also handed Jude his business card and some stapled sheets of details from houses Urquhart & Pease had recently sold.

“The property market’s still very buoyant at the moment, I’m pleased to say. Particularly down here in the south-east. We could sell every house that comes on to the market three times over. Just not enough product, that’s the problem. No, we’d have no problem in getting you a very good price for this.” He looked without total conviction around the clutter of the Woodside Cottage sitting room. Jude reckoned he was thinking, ‘even in this condition’. But he was too courteous to vocalize the thought.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d just like to go around the property, take some details, make some notes. You may accompany me if you like, or…”

“No, you just wander round at your own pace. The place is empty apart from me. I do have a friend staying, but she’s out this morning. Anyway, I’ve got some stuff to put in the washing machine.”

“Fine. Well, I’ll have a look at the kitchen first, and then be out of your way doing the rest of the house.”

“Yes. Would you like a cup of coffee or something?”

“No, thanks. Just had some at the office.”

He quickly checked out the dimensions of the back garden and the kitchen, then said, “It’s not pivotal at this juncture, but when you do sell, you’ll have to decide whether you’d want to take or leave your kitchen equipment. Oven, washing machine, what-have-you…”

“Oh, I’m not definitely thinking of selling. Just sort of…testing the water, trying to find out where I stand financially.”

“Yes, of course, Mrs…er, Miss…”

“Just call me Jude.”

“Right. Jude.”

She had decided that she’d question him about his sister after he’d finished the valuation, so she set her load of washing going while he surveyed the house. It didn’t take long. Soon he was downstairs again, tapping at the kitchen door. They sat down either side of the kitchen table for him to give his verdict. Jude told him to push aside some of the clutter so that he would have room for his clipboard. She noticed that Zofia had left her notebook open on the table from the night before.

“Well, to be quite honest, Jude,” said Hamish cheerily, “Urquhart & Pease could get you a buyer for this property tomorrow. No problems at all. Fethering is quite a property hot-spot, a much sought-after area, because it’s still one of those villages which has kept its…Englishness.”

“I’m sorry? What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean, most of the people…Not to put to fine a point on it, you don’t see too many coloured faces in Fethering…and you don’t hear too many Eastern European accents when you’re shopping in Allinstore.” The guffaw which followed this, not to mention the sentiments expressed, made him sound exactly like his father.

Jude didn’t approve of what Hamish had said, but made no comment and let him continue. “So, as I say, very much sought-after. And you’d be surprised how many wealthy city folk are looking for that ideal of a country retreat. Woodside Cottage would tick all the boxes for them. So far as I can tell, the structure’s very sound, though…” A blush spread across his face and down to his thick neck “…not everyone might share your taste in decor. Some of the windows are getting a bit shabby, and the exterior paintwork needs to be done. So I think any potential purchaser would be looking to spend a bit of money on the place. Or you could have some of the work done yourself before you put the place on the market. Mind you, having a house redecorated with a view to selling doesn’t always work, either. In a lot of cases, the new owners are going to want to redo everything, anyway.”

“Yes, it’s supposed to be a natural human instinct. Marking one’s territory. Like dogs peeing at lampposts.”

“Really?” The young man looked puzzled. “I hadn’t heard that.”

“So what sort of price would we be looking at?” Although she’d had an ulterior motive in asking for the valuation, Jude was still intrigued to know how much her property was worth.

After a bit of professional hedging and prevarication, Hamish Urquhart named a figure. It was considerably in excess of what Jude had been expecting. Of course she’d read the constant newspaper reports about the inexorable rise in house prices, but was still shocked to hear the sum spelt out for Woodside Cottage. She was sitting on a little gold-mine.

“That’s very gratifying,” she said.

“Yes. As you say, you’re not looking to sell at right this moment, but, you know, when you do make the decision, I hope you’ll remember Urquhart & Pease. There are, of course, other estate agents around, the area’s bristling with them, but many are branches of big chains, and I think you’re guaranteed a more sympathetic experience dealing with a family firm like Urquhart & Pease.” He reached once again into his briefcase. “I do have a sheet here, spelling out the terms of our business transactions, fee structure and so on, and I think you’ll find Urquhart & Pease are competitive with…” He looked, puzzled, into the recesses of his case. “Damn, I don’t seem to have brought it with me.”

“Never mind, Hamish. I’m sure we can take those details as read. I’ve just put the kettle on. Are you sure I can’t tempt you to a coffee?”

“Oh, well…” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got a bit of time before my next appointment. Why not?”

Making the coffee gave Jude a good excuse to change the subject. “Very interesting seeing that play your sister was in last week…”

“Yes. Pretty damned odd, I found it. I mean, I don’t pretend to know much about the theatre. Like a good musical…you know, Lloyd Webber, that kind of thing. Something where you don’t have to think too much. But that thing of Soph’s…can’t say I got all of it. I mean, she was very good, but…Also, the message it seemed to be putting across…I’m not sure I went along with it.”

“In what way, Hamish?” asked Jude as she put the coffee cup in front of him.

“Thanks. Well, the show seemed to be saying that war is always a bad thing.”

“And you don’t agree with that?”

“Good God, no. I mean, I’m not recommending that countries should go around invading and bombing other countries whenever the fancy strikes them, but sometimes action has to be taken. Every country needs to have an army, and I reckon we’ve got one of the best in the world. So I don’t like it when I hear our brave boys being mocked. They do a damned fine job in extraordinarily difficult conditions. And they’re bloody necessary. Always have been. I mean, if Mr Hitler had been allowed to go his merry way in 1939 without anyone trying to stop him…well, we’d probably now be conducting this conversation in bloody German!” Again he sounded as if he was quoting his father verbatim.

“Talking of Germany…” said Jude, snatching at the most tenuous of links, “your sister was saying she’d been there in her gap year.”

“Yes. Lucky old Soph, actually getting a gap year. I didn’t have one. Straight out of school into the family business. None of that university nonsense for me.” Hamish made it sound as if he had made a choice in the matter, but Jude remembered Ewan Urquhart saying it was lack of academic ability that had kept his son out of university.

“And she’s such a good singer,” Jude went on, worming her way round to what she really wanted to ask. “Do you know if Sophia did any singing while she was in Europe?”

“I think she did, actually. I know she went to some music festivals and things. She kept sending Dad postcards.”

“Where from?” Hamish seemed so innocent and unsuspicious in his answers that Jude didn’t worry about pressing him.

“Berlin, certainly. I remember she was there. And Frankfurt, I think…and Leipzig. I remember that, because Dad made some comment about my sister being in the land of the Commie Krauts!” He guffawed once again at his father’s wit.

Still, Jude had got what she wanted. Proof positive that Sophia Urquhart, in spite of her denial when asked about it, had actually been to Leipzig. So now Jude had a solid fact to underpin her conjectures.

“Are you musical too, Hamish?” she asked.

“God, no. Can maybe join in the chorus of some filthy song down the rugby club, but that’s the extent of it. No, Soph’s the one in the family with talent.” He spoke this as an accepted fact, one that he had been told about so many times that it caused him no resentment.

“And she’s very pretty too,” said Jude, still angling the conversation in the direction she wanted it to go. “She must be surrounded by boyfriends.”

“She hasn’t had that many, actually.”

“Seems strange. I’d have thought the boys’d be after her like bees round a honey-pot.”

“Maybe some’d like to be, but they don’t get far.” He let out another hearty laugh. “You see, none of them can pass Dad’s quality control.”

“You don’t know whether she met anyone on her gap year?”

“No,” Hamish replied shortly. Then he clammed up. For the first time, he looked suspicious of Jude.

“Or what about at college? Drama students traditionally are supposed to have colourful love lives.”

“No, I don’t think…I don’t know…” He looked confused. “I don’t think she’d got anyone special, but…Why, have you heard anything?”

Jude shrugged, in part at the incongruity of the question. So far as Hamish knew, she had nothing to do with Clincham College, and yet here he was asking her for information about his sister’s relationships there.

“Just rumours,” she replied airily. “As you know, the main product of this entire area is gossip.”

“Yes,” said Hamish thoughtfully.

At that moment the doorbell rang. Jude went through to the hall to let in Ewan Urquhart, who with unctuous smoothness held her hand for slightly longer than was necessary and asked, “Sorry? Is my idiot boy still with you?”

“Hamish is here. Through in the kitchen.”

Ewan Urquhart marched through, brandishing a couple of stapled printed sheets. “Only forgot to bring the terms and conditions, didn’t you, Hamish?”

His son admitted his error, looking like a guilty schoolboy. But once again he didn’t seem genuinely shamed. His incompetence was an essential part of his personality. Perhaps within the family it was what made him lovable.

Ewan handed the sheet to Jude. “Sorry. The old adage that if you want something done, you’d better do it yourself has never been more true than when it comes to dealing with Hamish. As I have learnt, to my cost, over the years. Anyway, I hope he’s done a proper valuation for you.”

“Yes, he’s been excellent,” said Jude, who was getting sick of hearing the young man constantly diminished.

“What price did he give you?”

Jude told him. The older man rubbed his chin sceptically. “I think he may have overstated it. Exuberance of youth, eh? To be on the safe side, I’d say five thousand less.”

“Well, it’s still a huge amount more than I paid for it.”

“I bet. Oh, you can’t go wrong with property. Just sit at home and watch the money grow around you.” He let out a guffaw, exactly like the one Hamish had copied from him. Then he turned to his son. “Come on. We’ve got a business to run. Can’t sit around drinking coffee all day.”

The young man was on his feet before his father had finished speaking. Ewan Urquhart focused on Jude again. “Just whenever you decide you want to sell, remember Urquhart & Pease. There are, of course, other estate agents around…the area’s bristling with them, but many are branches of big chains, and I think you’re guaranteed a more sympathetic experience dealing with a family firm like Urquhart & Pease.”

So Hamish had actually learnt the spiel word for word from his father.

Before he left the kitchen, Ewan Urquhart paused for a moment, looking at the clutter on the table. Jude couldn’t be certain, but it looked as though he had seen the open notebook on whose page Zofia had spelt out his daughter’s love triangle. Something certainly seemed to have changed his manner. As he said goodbye, there was a new beadiness in the older estate agent’s eyes.

Next door at High Tor, Carole Seddon sat in a state of bleak desolation. Her lifelong instinct had been never to trust anyone, and once again it had been proved right.

Drop your defences, allow another person inside your comfort zone, and you’re just inviting them to betray you. Only a matter of time before it happens.

Jude was selling Woodside Cottage. She hadn’t thought it necessary to impart that decision to her neighbour. And Carole, who didn’t have many, had thought they were friends.