Death and the Decorator

TWELVE

Jude’s phone rang about half past five that afternoon. It was a rather secretive and excited-sounding Vi Benyon.

‘Listen, Jude, Leslie’s away. He’s visiting his sister in Aberystwyth.’

‘Oh.’ This sounded like a bit of gratuitous information.

But its relevance soon became clear. ‘And, the thing is, Jude, that means I can talk more freely. Leslie’s a wonderful man but there are some things he doesn’t like me to talk about.’

‘Things you want to talk about?’

‘Yes.’

Jude didn’t just believe in synchronicity. She believed in other divine forces, possibly even a God. But she didn’t believe in coincidence. When, apparently fortuitously, things worked out, they were meant to work out. And, at that moment, they seemed to be working out wonderfully.

‘I was very shocked,’ said Vi Benyon, ‘to hear about Harry Lasalle’s death.’

‘I’m sure we all were.’

‘And it got me thinking about all that Anita Garner business again.’

‘Me too.’

‘So, I wondered if we could meet and talk about it …? You sounded very interested when we were in the Crown and Anchor last week.’

Jude couldn’t believe how serendipitously things were turning out.

‘Yes, I was very interested. Well, still am very interested.’

‘And, you see, Jude, with Leslie being away, as I say, I could talk about things more freely.’

‘That would be wonderful.’

‘So … what? Back in the Crown and Anchor?’

‘Perfect. Do you mind if my neighbour Carole comes along too?’

‘No. She was as interested as you were, wasn’t she?’

‘You can say that again.’

Mercifully, when Carole and Jude got to the Crown and Anchor round six, Barney Poulton was not present. Maybe his wife had dragged him back to the bridge table. Maybe it was the only way she knew of shutting him up.

In fact, apart from Ted Crisp behind the bar, there was only one other customer. Sitting demurely on a stool the customer side was, much to Carole’s annoyance, Brandie Neville.

She greeted Jude with a fulsome hug. About to offer the same to Carole, the potential recipient’s body language decided her against the idea. She sat back on her stool. The landlord looked at her soupily.

‘Have you been using your precious gift today, Jude?’ asked Brandie.

‘What, you mean healing? No, I’m having my treatment room decorated.’

‘“Treatment room”?’ Carole couldn’t stop herself from echoing. ‘You mean “sitting room”.’

Jude grinned easily. ‘Whatever.’

‘It is not the name of the room that matters,’ said Brandie. ‘It is the power that emanates from it.’

‘Yes, that’s so true.’ Carole couldn’t believe it – the words had come from Ted Crisp.

And he went on, ‘I may have been dismissive of the power of healing in the past but—’

‘“Dismissive”?’ said Carole. ‘One of your descriptions of it I remember was “a load of old cobblers”.’

‘Ah well,’ said Ted awkwardly. ‘One can be wrong about things.’

‘The truth is always out there,’ said Brandie. ‘And it will be there whenever a person comes to it.’

Carole seethed inwardly. Was every pronouncement of Brandie’s going to take the form of a gift-shop motto? Maybe Lauren Givens could start printing them on ceramic toadstools …? There’d undoubtedly be a market for them. There were, in Carole’s view, enough stupid people out in the world to buy any old rubbish.

‘You’re so right, Brandie,’ said Ted. ‘So many of us go through life, seeing only the surface of things, totally unaware of their spiritual dimension.’

Carole caught Jude’s eye and saw that her neighbour was having difficulty suppressing giggles. Though she treated her healing with great seriousness, and might share comparable thoughts with like-minded friends, she could recognize how incongruous they sounded coming out of the previously unreconstructed mouth of Ted Crisp.

Brandie smiled serenely. ‘That’s it, lovie.’

‘Lovie’! Carole’s mind echoed in appalled silence.

‘I’ve been introducing Ted to mindfulness,’ Brandie continued. ‘Haven’t I, lovie?’

‘Yes, lovie. I’m not quite there yet,’ the landlord admitted. ‘I’m getting myself better at living in the moment, you know, being aware of the present, but my mind does keep wandering to the past and the future.’

‘Early days,’ said Brandie. ‘You’ll get better at it, lovie.’

‘Yes.’ Ted looked earnestly at Jude. ‘I’m trying to learn mindfulness and meditation kind of … hand-in-glove.’

‘Often the best way,’ she reassured him.

‘And I’m learning to repeat a tantra.’

‘Mantra, lovie,’ Brandie corrected gently.

‘Yeah, right. I keep getting those two mixed up.’

‘You’ll catch on quickly,’ said Brandie, ‘if you just hang loose and let your thoughts flow free.’

The imminent implosion of Carole Seddon’s brain was prevented by the arrival in the Crown and Anchor of Vi Benyon.

Vi without Leslie Benyon was a revelation. She’d been garrulous on their previous encounter in the Crown and Anchor but, Carole and Jude realized now, she had only been going at half-speed. Without her husband’s restraining presence, she was a real motormouth. And she seemed to gain energy from being the centre of attention.

That was not the only change. When Carole offered her a drink, rather than the modest half-pint she’d made last for the whole of her previous visit, she asked for a large Scotch ‘with some ice, no water’.

Once the three of them were ensconced in one of the bar’s alcoves (mercifully out of earshot of spiritual endearments from the two ‘lovies’ at the bar), Vi started talking. In a way that suggested she had no intention of stopping.

‘I wanted to contact you two as soon as I heard about Harry Lasalle’s death. Terrible business. And in his own boat. Harry’s Dream. He loved that boat, built it up from just a shell, you know. And he knew it inside out. I can’t see him dying by accident in a boat he’d designed and built himself.’

‘No,’ said Jude.

‘There’s been talk round Fethering – heard it from one of my neighbours in Allinstore’ – the village’s uniquely inefficient supermarket – ‘that Harry topped himself.’

‘That’s certainly what his family seem to believe.’

‘Oh?’

Jude told Vi what she’d heard from Veronica and Roland Lasalle. ‘And when we last spoke on the phone, you were about to tell me who came on to Anita Garner in Footscrow House. Was it Harry?’

The old lady nodded. ‘That was the rumour I heard. As I say, I was so caught up with Mum’s final illness that I didn’t have much time to think about it, but that’s what people were saying.’

‘Veronica Lasalle came to see me …’ said Jude.

‘Lucky you. I’m sure she found something to bawl you out about.’

‘Certainly did. She accused Carole and me of driving her husband to suicide.’

‘Oh. Well. I suppose that’s quite a major accusation. But she would have found something else if she hadn’t had that. Veronica’s one of those women who can always find fault with everyone.’

‘But what she did tell me,’ said Jude, ‘was that Harry couldn’t have come on to Anita at Footscrow House because she was there. She, Veronica, was running the care home with her husband, so he couldn’t have got up to any hanky-panky with her there.’

‘Huh.’ Vi Benyon wasn’t persuaded by that. ‘Then she underestimated the deviousness of men … or particularly the deviousness of Harry Lasalle.’

‘Are you suggesting,’ asked Carole, ‘that he had a bit of a reputation for coming on to members of his staff?’

‘Yes, he did. But, of course, coming on to Anita Garner was especially cruel.’

‘Oh? Why?’

‘As I say, I heard a lot about Anita from my mum. They talked a lot, you know, during the last months. And the thing Mum kept saying to me was how young Anita was. Not young in age but young in experience. Wide-eyed and innocent. What’s that French word beginning with “n”?’

‘“Naïve”?’ Jude suggested.

‘That’s the one. “Naïve” – that’s what Anita was. Partly it was the Catholic thing. Her dad was very strict about all that stuff. Old-fashioned, like someone from fifty years before. If Anita had told him that she was having sex before marriage, or having an affair, he would have literally turned her out of the house. That’s why I said, if Harry was coming on to her – and the general view seemed to be that he was – it would have been very cruel.’

‘So,’ asked Carole, ‘Harry had always had a reputation for that kind of thing?’

‘I think it got worse as Roland got older. Happens with some men. They see their son working his way through girlfriends, without a care in the world, and they get kind of antsy, stuck with the original – and, it has to be said, ageing – wife. Basic jealousy. I know Leslie got a bit strange when Kent started having girlfriends.’ She chuckled throatily. ‘I had to use all my feminine wiles to make him realize nothing out there was as good as what he’d got at home.’

Carole and Jude joined in the chuckles. Neither had expected quite such frankness.

‘I believe,’ said Carole, quoting some survey that she’d once read in a colour supplement, ‘that men – and women – who’d grown up before the pill was available got very jealous of the sexual freedom enjoyed by their children’s generation.’

‘I’m sure they did,’ said Vi, ‘but I hope you’re not including me in that category.’

‘Sorry?’

‘I’m not that old. The pill was certainly around when I got to my teens. And I took full advantage of it. Let me tell you, there were a good few – very enjoyable – dry runs before I ended up tying the knot with Leslie.’

Jude grinned. Carole looked slightly shocked. Both reflected on how easy it is to write off the old and treat them as if they were always that age, showing no interest in the people they had been before. Vi Benyon hadn’t always looked like a cottage loaf. In her time, she had clearly been something of a little raver.

Jude had a thought – a long shot but worth asking. ‘Vi, going off at a complete tangent, do you remember which room your mother was in while she was at Footscrow House?’

‘Of course I do. I spent enough time visiting her there.’

‘Was it at the front of the building or the back?’

‘Front. Nice sea view. Mum appreciated that. She knew she was on the way out and kept saying how grateful she was that she’d go with the sight of the sea in her eyes. She enjoyed the whiff of salt and seaweed. Had always lived by the sea, always in Fethering.’

‘Could you describe exactly where the room was?’

Carole caught on to what her neighbour was doing and listened intently as Vi fixed the precise location of her mother’s last residence. ‘Of course, they was tiny little compartments. Big rooms divided up with partitions to fit in as many paying customers as possible. Not much better than rabbit hutches, really.’

‘And, in your mother’s room,’ asked Jude excitedly, ‘was there a sort of triangular alcove that had been boarded over?’

She was due for a disappointment. ‘No,’ said Vi Benyon firmly. ‘The room was just a rectangle, a bit of it partitioned off for the bathroom, of course. No secret compartments or odd bits sticking out anywhere.’

‘Oh,’ said Jude flatly. Carole looked equally deflated.

‘Mind you,’ said Vi, ‘your alcove could have been in the room next door.’

‘Did you know the resident who had that room?’ asked Carole. The moment she’d said it, she realized it was a rather useless question. They were talking about thirty years before. And the basic reason why people go to a care home is to die. They weren’t going to find any useful witnesses still extant.

But Vi Benyon’s reply was more helpful than she’d expected. ‘That room didn’t have any residents in it. It was a staff bedroom. You know, if one of the carers had to stay overnight, that’s where they’d go.’

‘Did you ever go into the room?’

‘No, Jude. It was always locked. And visitors weren’t encouraged to go wandering round other residents’ rooms, anyway.’

‘Did you ever hear people inside the room?’

‘No. Well, I wouldn’t have done. It was a bedroom for overnight stays, and I was always visiting Mum during the daytime … until the very end, that is.’

‘And the room was narrow?’ asked Jude.

‘I told you. They all were. Like rabbit hutches.’

Carole could tell, from Jude’s expression, that these questions had a logical relevance for her. Frustratingly, she could also tell that the explanation wouldn’t come until the two of them were alone together.

But the momentary silence gave Carole an opportunity to redirect the investigation down a path of her choosing. ‘The other person, we’ve heard rumours, who might have had more than friendly designs on Anita Garner was Glen Porter. You say your son Kent was at school with him …?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Glen was popular with the girls?’

‘Popular at first. They couldn’t get enough of him. Less popular when he dumped them.’

‘Ah. And you think Anita might have been one of his conquests?’

‘According to Kent, Glen claimed she was. But I’m not so sure.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because of what I’ve just talked about. The Catholic thing. Fear of her dad. I’m sure a lot of the girls at school would have fallen for Glen Porter’s rather obvious charms. I’m not sure that Anita Garner would have done, though.’

‘But, according to Kent, Glen claimed to have seduced her?’

‘Kent didn’t actually put it in those words. Glen more “implied” than actually “claimed”. With boys round that age, there’s a lot of big talk, claiming they’ve had sex with lots of girls they’ve never been near.’

‘So, you don’t think Glen Porter did have sex with Anita Garner?’

‘I’d be surprised, because of the kind of girl I knew she was. Afraid of her father’s reaction, like I said. But a Jack-the-Lad like Glen would make all kinds of claims. Boys of that age can be very cruel. Say nasty things about girls which the girls themselves can’t deny. All kinds of rubbish. And I gather it’s worse now with all this social media they’ve got. Sending compromising photos to all and sundry – horrible. Thank God I’m too old to have anything to do with Facebook and Witter.’

Neither of the women corrected her. In fact, both thought the malapropism was rather appropriate.

Jude went off on another tangent. ‘Did your mother ever hear Anita mention a Spanish boyfriend called Pablo?’

‘No. Anita never mentioned any boyfriends to her.’

Carole offered more drinks. Vi was happy to accept another large Scotch. Jude didn’t have to spell out her order. Fortunately, the pub had filled up a bit since Carole had last been at the bar. Brandie was still there. She responded warmly to the strained smile she was offered. But Ted Crisp was busy with customers, so the ‘lovie’ dialogue was, at least temporarily, suspended.

Back in the alcove, Vi Benyon was silent for a moment. Then she said to Jude, ‘You know, this talk of Anita Garner brings it all back to me. That time, with Mum so ill. I sort of feel guilty sometimes.’

‘Why? Why should you feel guilty?’ asked Jude.

‘I just feel, had I been concentrating, had I been more aware of what was going on at Footscrow House, I could have maybe worked out what happened to the poor girl.’

‘You shouldn’t blame yourself.’

‘Shouldn’t, I agree. But I still do. And when I think about that time, it makes me feel uncomfortable. Strange sort of feeling … the feeling that there’s still someone around in Fethering who knows where Anita Garner is.’

‘And do you still feel that, now Harry Lasalle’s dead?’

‘Yes. It’s a kind of instinct, you know. And it’s an instinct that I feel more strongly than ever. Someone in Fethering knows what happened to Anita Garner.’

Pete was used to Jude’s morning routine, so when he arrived on the Thursday, one of his finishing-off days, he was surprised to find her up and dressed. She didn’t mention that she had woken early, excited at the prospect of seeing him. Not a sexual excitement, an investigative one.

But she did go through the ritual of providing him with a cup of coffee (white with one sugar) before she broached what she wanted to talk about.

‘Pete, remember when we found the handbag …?’

‘Hardly going to forget about it, am I? While no one in Fethering can leave the subject alone.’

‘You told me that, when you were doing that refurbishment of Footscrow House – prior to it ceasing to be a care home and becoming a boutique hotel …’

‘Yes,’ he said, puzzled. ‘So, what did I say?’

‘You said that you were only working on the ground floor at that time.’

‘Did I? Then perhaps I was. Or perhaps that’s what I remember. Jude, I’ve been working as a decorator for nearly forty years. You wouldn’t believe the number of properties in the Fethering area I’ve been in and out of. And when we’re talking about a place I’ve decorated lots of times, like Fiasco House … I had a call yesterday, confirming I’ll be back there on Monday, painting it yet again. But, like I say, my memory for whether I painted the upstairs or the downstairs of the place, way back at the beginning of my career … well, my recollection could be a little bit hazy.’

He sounded completely guileless, just mildly surprised at her line of questioning. And what he said was plausible. But Jude did want to be completely sure.

‘You said at the time we found the handbag, you’d never been in that room at Footscrow House before.’

‘Well, I hadn’t, had I?’

‘I wondered if, perhaps, you’d been in part of that room.’

‘“Part of …”?’ He looked even more bewildered. ‘What you on about, Jude?’

‘When Footscrow House was a care home, the big upstairs rooms must’ve been divided into smaller units.’

‘Yes, you betcha. Harry Lasalle was always trying to boost his profits. He’d fit in as many paying customers as he could. Their rooms were like rabbit hutches.’ That was clearly a favourite Fethering simile. ‘Mind you, he still couldn’t make a go of it as a business.’ The decorator chuckled.

‘So, what I’m thinking is, Pete … that when you painted the rooms, you didn’t paint the one with the boarded-off alcove, because that was then a separate unit.’ She couldn’t keep a note of triumph out of her voice as she said this.

‘So?’ Pete looked puzzled. ‘Yes, it probably was, but why’s that important?’

‘It’s important because you said that …’ Jude’s words trickled away. She realized she couldn’t go further without admitting the extent of the suspicions that she had been entertaining about Pete. And she didn’t want to do that. It would seem like a betrayal. Nor could she admit how ecstatic she felt to have proved that he wasn’t a liar.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, inadequately. ‘What is important is that, back when Footscrow House was a care home, that room with the alcove wasn’t for the residents’ use.’

‘Oh?’ said Pete, still searching for relevance in what she was saying. He took a long swallow of coffee.

‘It was used by the staff if they had to stay overnight.’

‘So?’ That hadn’t made it relevant either.

‘Well, I was thinking that Anita Garner might well have stayed in that room.’

‘She was on the staff, so yes, I guess she might well have done.’

‘In fact, it might well have been that room she was in immediately before she disappeared!’

‘How’d’you work that out?’

Jude was forced to admit that she had no logical answer to his question. But she knew from long experience that, for her, at times instinct was more powerful than logic.

‘Anyway, thank you so much, Pete.’ She enveloped him in a huge, warm hug.

The toothy grin reappeared. ‘What did I do to deserve that?’

She couldn’t give the true answer. She couldn’t tell him the magnitude of the relief she felt at having her suspicions of him allayed. So, she said, ‘Just the lovely job you’ve done decorating my sitting room.’

‘We aim to please, madam,’ said Pete, in a mock-subservient voice and with a finger-tap to an invisible cloth cap.

‘Now, could I get you another cup of coffee (white with one sugar)?’

‘Never been known to say no, Jude,’ replied the decorator.