Hidden Depths

Chapter Sixteen

It was Saturday and the sun was still shining, but at Fox Mill there were no preparations for the picnic Felicity had been planning as an extra celebration for Peter’s birthday. Everyone had stayed the night and they ate a late, subdued breakfast in the kitchen. The four men seemed preoccupied and washed out. Perhaps they were suffering from a collective hangover. Even James was unusually quiet and mooched back to his room to watch children’s television.

She was glad when the guests left before lunch. Peter tried to persuade them to stay, but they must have realized she wanted them out of the house. Today even Samuel was no comfort. In the afternoon Peter locked himself in his office. He had a grand project. A book about the effect of weather on the movement of seabirds. One of the larger natural history publishers had expressed a vague, polite interest, but no firm offer had been made. They’d have to see the completed work, they said. Peter’s theories had grown more complex as he analysed the material. There were days when she thought she would never see it finished.

Felicity went into the garden and began weeding the beds at the front of the house. She enjoyed the methodical, mindless activity, the instant result. There was the sound of a car in the lane. She ignored it at first. Walkers sometimes parked on the verge before setting off on the footpath to the coast. Then she could tell it had turned into the drive and she straightened, pulling off her gloves, tucking her shirt back into her jeans, preparing to meet the visitor. She had thought it might be Samuel. He would have realized she was upset. It would be like him to think the matter over and come back to check that she had recovered. She was already planning the words she would use to him, the apology for being so crabby, so inhospitable. The lie. You know I didn’t mind you being here. It was the others. Just too much.

But it wasn’t Samuel. It was a car she didn’t recognize. She felt a sudden disquiet, then saw the big female detective from the night before struggle out from the driver’s seat. There was the moment of quiet superiority she always felt when she saw a woman of around her own age who had let herself go. The detective’s face could even be attractive if she made more effort. Her clothes were shapeless, her hair badly cut. Did she really not care what she looked like? Felicity couldn’t understand it. Somehow it made Vera Stanhope invulnerable. She’d always enjoyed being admired. She couldn’t imagine not caring what other people thought.

‘Inspector’ She checked that her hand was clean and held it out. The woman took it with a brief, sharp grip, but her attention was on the garden.

‘This is lovely,’ she said. ‘It’ll take a lot of work.’

‘Oh,’ Felicity knew she was being flattered but was still pleased. ‘We have help, of course. An elderly man from the village.’

‘Of course,’ the detective said.

Felicity heard the sarcasm, wasn’t sure how to respond.

‘Can I help you?’

‘Just a few more questions. You know how it is. Things come up.’

How can I know how it is? Felicity thought. I’ve never found a body before.

‘Your friends have gone?’

‘Yes, they had to get away. I think Gary is working tonight.’ She felt awkward standing there, grubby and unprepared.

‘What do they do? Gary told us, but what about the others?’ Vera had moved into the shade of the house and Felicity followed.

‘Samuel’s a librarian. Also a rather fine writer. Short stories, mostly. Clive works as an assistant at the Hancock Museum. The natural history section.’

‘Does he? I loved it in there when I was a kid. My dad used to take me. It had a smell all of its own. I haven’t been there for years.’ Vera seemed lost for a moment in the memory. ‘Is your husband at home?’

‘He’s in the office,’ Felicity said. ‘Come through.’

‘Is he working too?’

‘On his research, yes.’

‘I understand he’s a botanist. That must be useful when it comes to gardening.’ The voice was jolly, impressed. Felicity didn’t know what to make of it. She decided not to explain about the seabird book. It might be considered a hobby, not work at all, and she wanted the detective to take Peter seriously.

‘We often stop for tea at about this time. Perhaps you’ll join us? I’ll give Peter a shout.’

Felicity wouldn’t have been surprised if the detective had insisted on disturbing Peter in his office, but it seemed she’d decided to be conciliatory.

‘Why not? I’m gasping.’

‘We could sit outside, make the most of the sunshine.’

‘I’d rather not, pet. I have this allergy. Direct sunlight. Makes me come out in lumps and blotches.’

So they sat up to the kitchen table. Felicity had made to take the tea things through to the living room on a tray, but Vera had touched her arm to stop her. ‘Eh, we don’t want any fuss. I’m more the hired help than visiting gentry.’

Felicity knew the detective was playing with her and wasn’t quite sure how to take it. She just nodded her agreement, sliced the scones she’d fetched out of the freezer the afternoon before and spooned homemade jam into a pot. When Peter came out from his office, Vera had her mouth full, and spattered crumbs over the table as she tried to speak. Felicity wanted to say to Peter: Don’t be taken in by this woman. She wants you to believe she’s a clown. She’s brighter than she looks. But she could tell that Peter had already dismissed her as a fool. As she choked and coughed and swilled tea, he raised his eyes to the ceiling.

At last the pantomime was over and Vera began to speak.

‘I got interrupted last night,’ she said. ‘There are a few questions. You’ll understand. Formalities.’

‘Of course.’

‘You work at the university, Dr Calvert? Miss Marsh was a student there. On the post-graduate education course. You’re sure you didn’t know her?’

‘What did she take for her first degree?’

‘English. She did that at Newcastle too.’

‘However, I never met her, Inspector. My subject is botany. Our paths never crossed. I’m afraid it must be a coincidence. Her teaching our son, enquiring about accommodation and then our stumbling across her like that on the shore.’

A random occurrence, Felicity thought. Like sea watching. Like birds flying past just when you’re there to see them. Except, of course, it wasn’t chance which connected the birders and the birds, as Peter had described it in the watch tower the night before. They took steps to make sure they were there at the right time. They listened to the shipping forecast every night to hear which way the wind was blowing. They consulted tide tables.

‘The girl was murdered,’ Vera said suddenly. ‘Strangled. But you know that already. I told you last night. Something that elaborate, staged, you’d think it’d be easy to find out who did it. They’d leave traces. A jilted lover, maybe.’ She paused. ‘Jilted. That’s an old-fashioned kind of word. And it seemed like an old-fashioned sort of crime, at first. Something from a gentler age. Looked peaceful, didn’t she, lying there. The flowers. But there was nothing peaceful about her dying. I can’t believe she wanted to go.’

Felicity felt tears in her eyes. As if, somehow, she was being held responsible. She was pleased that Peter seemed moved too, that he kept quiet.

The detective continued. ‘And there are other complications. There was another victim. A lad was killed two days earlier. Name of Luke Armstrong.’ She looked at them both. ‘Are you sure you don’t know the name?’

‘You mentioned him before,’ Felicity said. ‘And I saw it on the local news. He came from Seaton.’

‘What I didn’t tell you was that he was put in a bath. Covered with flowers. Like I said last night, it could hinder our investigation if something like that became common knowledge. But you do see what I’m saying. It’s not simple any more. A jilted lover isn’t going to kill a sixteen-year-old boy as a sort of practice run. Why take the risk? Far too elaborate. I’m looking for links here. The mother’s name is Julie. Julie Armstrong.’

‘Wasn’t that woman Gary was raving about called Julie?’ As soon as the words were out of her mouth Felicity regretted them. It was such a stupid thing to say. Why point the inspector in the direction of Gary, who wouldn’t hurt a fly? She could feel Peter glaring at her and tried to rescue the situation. ‘I mean, it’s a really common name. I’m sure it doesn’t mean…’

‘Why don’t you tell me anyway, pet?’

‘He met this woman, that’s all. Some gig he was doing the sound for. A local band in a pub in North Shields. That place with the view over the river. Bumped into her in the bar after. They got talking and found out they’d been to school together. You know how it is.’

‘I’m not sure I do. Why don’t you explain?’

‘He talks a big game, Gary. I mean, to hear him, you’d think he had women all over the country. But since his fiancée left him, I don’t think he’s had a real girlfriend. He loved Emily, really loved her. When she went off with someone else, he was devastated. I just got the impression that he clicked with this Julie. He hoped to meet her again.’

‘Did he say any more about her? Like whether she had kids?’

‘No, nothing like that.’

‘What about you, Dr Calvert? Did he talk to you about this woman?’

‘I’m sorry, Inspector. It’s not really the sort of thing men talk about.’

‘Isn’t it?’ As if she was genuinely surprised. ‘Well, I can ask Gary about it, can’t I? Get it straight from the horse’s mouth.’

Felicity thought that the ordeal was over then. Vera Stanhope licked her finger, swept up the remaining pieces of scone from her plate, drained her teacup.

‘What were you both doing on Wednesday night? Late. Between ten and midnight.’

Felicity looked at Peter, waiting for him to answer first.

‘I was here,’ he said. ‘Working.’ He looked at his wife. ‘I was still in my office, wasn’t I, when you got in?’

‘And what were you up to, Mrs Calvert?’

‘I was at the theatre,’ she said. ‘The Live, down on the quayside. It was the work of a young local playwright. I’ve seen some of his stuff before. It’s very evocative. I think it’s important to support new writing.’ She stopped talking, realizing she was saying too much.

‘Were you on your own?’

‘No, I went with a friend. Peter doesn’t enjoy the theatre very much. Not that sort of play, at least. I was there with Samuel Parr. You met him here last night.’

‘Of course,’ Vera said. ‘Samuel the librarian.’ Felicity expected some sly comment, but none came. ‘What time did you arrive home?’

‘It probably was nearly midnight. We had supper after the show and it’s quite a trek from town.’

‘Thanks for that, then.’ This time Vera did get to her feet. ‘I’m sure you understand why I had to ask. I’ll let you get back to your work, Dr Calvert.’

Felicity walked the detective back to her car. The sun was covered by a thin layer of mist, but it didn’t look as if it would lead to rain. Gardening would be more pleasant now that it was a bit cooler. She didn’t think she would go back to it, though. A bath, she thought. That would relax her. Then she remembered what the inspector had said about Luke Armstrong being found in the bath and the image of a body, strewn with flowers, flashed in front of her eyes.

Vera stood by her vehicle. Felicity started to walk back into the house.

‘Just one thing, Mrs Calvert. Would you mind if I had a look at the cottage? The place you showed Lily Marsh the day before she died.’

Felicity had a moment of revulsion. She didn’t want to be in the space where she’d been close to Lily Marsh, close enough to see the stitching on the hem of her skirt as she walked ahead of Felicity up the stairs. Then she told herself that was ridiculous. She’d have to go into the cottage sometime. Why not now? Better, surely, to humour the detective than antagonize her.

‘Of course. I’ll just get the key.’

They walked through the meadow to the cottage door. Inside, it was all as it had been since her last visit, except the roses in the bedroom were dead. Felicity took them from the jug to take to the compost heap, held them carefully because of the thorns. Vera followed her down the stairs, but then she seemed reluctant to leave.

‘This was the last time anyone saw her alive,’ she said. ‘Last time anyone will admit to, at least. She didn’t go into school on Friday. We talked to the head teacher this afternoon, finally tracked her down.’ She looked sharply at Felicity. ‘And that’s not for public consumption either’ She looked out of the window. ‘What a beautiful place. You’d have thought she’d have jumped at the chance to stay here.’

‘I wondered if she thought she wouldn’t have been able to afford it.’

‘What rent were you going to charge?’

‘I don’t know. I hadn’t really considered it.’

‘Didn’t she ask?’

‘No,’ Felicity said. ‘She just said she’d think about it. Then she ran off.’