Bunburry--Murder in High Places Page 7
There was silence.
Then David said quietly: “I didn’t know any of this. You’re right, the story I heard in the family was that the other driver was to blame. I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” muttered Alfie. “It’s not your fault. It was a shock to find him here this evening. I behaved badly. I started flirting with Isobel just to rile him.”
“So that’s what that dreadful policeman was talking about? I couldn’t understand it.” David looked stricken. “So they must have had an argument. He said he was sorry he had hurt her. But whatever he did, I’m sure it was an accident.”
“You know,” said Alfie conversationally, “ever since I found out what happened to my grandparents, I’ve wanted him to suffer. This evening, I thought justice had finally caught up with him. He would be put away for a very long time, and that would be some sort of retribution. I’d get closure at last.”
He sat in silence for a time. Neither Oscar nor David said anything. Then he gave a sigh. “But how can I get any satisfaction from seeing a man grieving like that? I’m convinced that for once in his life, he was being honest tonight – Charlie Tennison loved his wife, God knows why, but he did. When he said he was sorry for hurting her, I don’t think he meant hurting her physically. I think he was talking about all his affairs. Wilson’s got it all wrong. Charlie didn’t kill her. So now we need to find out who did. Tomorrow, we work out where everybody was during the fireworks and-”
“No reason to wait,” said David. “I’ve got a guest list, and I’ve also got a list of staff. Between the three of us, we should make some progress.”
He walked over to an antique escritoire and unearthed the relevant papers. On his way back, he put a hand on Alfie’s shoulder.
“Thanks for saying what you did about Cousin Charlie. Both for putting me straight about the crash, and for believing that he’s innocent.”
Alfie could never have imagined giving Tennison the benefit of the doubt. But he had, and he knew he was right to do so.
The three of them pored over the lists, starting well with the people they had been standing beside, then flagging as they tried to describe other guests and staff to one another. Gradually, they lapsed into silence as they tried to remember more details that might be helpful.
“There was a very thin woman in a sort of peach-coloured outfit that had no back,” said Alfie.
He was surprised to get no reaction from either Oscar or David. When he looked, he found they were both fast asleep. He leaned his head against the cushioned back of the capacious sofa and wondered how Charlie Tennison was getting on in the cells. And after a while, he fell asleep as well.
8. The Morning After
Alfie was showering in the guestroom he should have shared with Betty when his phone rang. He ran to answer it, clumsily wrapping the towel round his waist. He had already tried to contact Betty another three times without success but hadn’t left a message – his apology had to be made in person.
He hadn’t known that Betty could drive at all, let alone drive a car with gears. And that had led to nightmare visions of the car overturned in a ditch.
“Take it easy,” Oscar had soothed. “Plenty of the waiting staff drove back after Betty left – they would have come across any accident. She’s fine.”
But she wasn’t fine, and that was due to him. He remembered Charlie’s Tennison’s agonised words: “I never meant to hurt you.” But he had meant to hurt Betty, and he couldn’t blame it all on alcohol. Part of it was his own hurt pride. And part of was trying to protect his own vulnerability. If she didn’t care about him, he had to pretend that he didn’t care about her. But he did care. He wanted to be with her.
He had never told her about his grandparents, about Charlie Tennison. It was time to be honest with her, to explain that he had never had the slightest interest in Isobel. When she understood, she would forgive him.
He reached for the phone. It wasn’t Betty.
“Alfie, where are you?” asked Marge. “You’re not answering the door.”
That was troubling. Marge thought he was in Windermere Cottage? He expected her to have a better grasp of things.
“I’m still at the Saviles’. I was staying overnight for Dorian’s party, remember?”
“I’m not an idiot, of course I remember. So what’s your car doing in the lane?”
His immediate reaction was relief. Betty was safe. She had left the car at his cottage.
“Betty’s plans changed,” he said quickly. “She couldn’t stay over.”
“That’s a shame,” said Marge in a tone suggesting she didn’t think it was a shame at all. “Anyway, what’s going on? People are saying Charlie Tennison’s just killed his wife. Is this like ‘send three-and-fourpence, we’re going to a dance’?”
“Isobel Tennison’s dead,” Alfie confirmed bleakly. “But I don’t believe Charlie had anything to do with it. Although Sergeant Wilson has arrested him.”
He heard Liz’s voice in the background: “If that man’s arrested him, it proves he’s innocent.” Liz’s placid temperament failed to cope with what she considered the sergeant’s outrageous exploitation of her great-niece.
“So, if it wasn’t Charlie Tennison, who was it?” asked Marge.
“Rosemary’s drawn up a list of everyone who was there for Sergeant Wilson,” said Alfie. “All he’s interested in is interviewing people he thinks will give him more evidence against Charlie. But David, Oscar and I have been going through it, and we’re going to talk to people and work out who was missing at the firework display – that’s when Isobel was killed.”
“David, Oscar and you?” Marge scoffed. “Not exactly the Bunburry Triangle. Sit tight, my boy, help is on its way.”
“No, stay where you are,” said Alfie. “Sergeant Wilson has already warned me that the Bunburry Triangle mustn’t interfere.”
“And what exactly do you think you and your two Old Etonians are doing?” Marge sounded distinctly hostile.
“I’m not trying to exclude you,” Alfie said quickly. “I just don’t want Sergeant Wilson to see you.”
“Oh, Alfie.” Marge gave a weary sigh. “Do you think I was born yesterday?”
Alfie didn’t know when either Marge or Liz had been born, but he definitely knew it wasn’t yesterday.
“Harry Wilson will never know we’re there,” Marge said. “I use the tradesman’s entrance, remember? I always deliver the fudge to the cook, and she and I are on the friendliest of terms. She’ll sneak us in through the staff corridors.” She suddenly gasped with excitement. “I’ll get to meet Dorian! Alfie, you have to introduce me – I want to get a selfie with him.” She rang off.
It was good to know where her priorities lay. But Alfie was glad the ladies were getting involved. What they gleaned through their impeccable contact system would leave Sergeant Wilson’s inquiries far behind.
The shower had woken Alfie up, but he still felt slightly fragile. A quick walk in the grounds would help clear his head.
The dining room had been set up for breakfast, looking less grand than the previous evening. Alfie preferred its relaxed charm, sunlight streaming in through the French windows and making the gilding glow. It was still early and nobody was in the room apart from two young waiters. Alfie accepted a black coffee and casually got them talking, but it turned out that they had been so busy clearing up after the dinner that they had no useful information to share.
He took the coffee outside, crossing the terrace and walking down the broad stone steps that flanked the cascade. Halfway down, he caught sight of movement among the nearby trees. Someone was there, someone who was trying to avoid being seen.
“Hello!” he called cheerfully. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”
Paige Stevens reluctantly emerged. She looked ghastly, the black circles under her eyes suggesting she had slept badly.
“Although awful about what happened.”
“Awful,” she repeated, not meeting his eye. And then she said abruptly: “Did you know her well?”
Alfie was startled. “Me? No. Yesterday was the first time we had met.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip. “I just thought – sorry, I didn’t mean anything, I just wondered if you might – no, nothing – excuse me.”
She hurriedly went off down a path leading towards a box hedge maze. She seemed so embarrassed that Alfie wondered whether she would go into it and never come out. And then he reflected that he was the one who should do that. Paige had been sitting beside him while Isobel Tennison fed him crème brûlée. He had kissed Isobel’s wrist – what in God’s name had he been thinking? He could no longer summon the rage he had felt towards Charlie Tennison. And it seemed incredible now that he had been trying to goad him into a fight.
What must Paige think of him? No wonder she had tried to avoid meeting him. And then to find he had been slobbering over a woman he had only just met – could he blame her for trying to hide in the maze?
“I’m not like that,” he wanted to call. “I’m one of the good guys.” Betty had told him that when they first met. Women could tell, she said. But apparently Paige Stevens couldn’t.
9. The Bunburry Triangle
Liz, Marge and Oscar were in the Saviles’ pink drawing room, with the list of guests and staff.
“So, you fell asleep in the middle of going over the names?” said Marge. “This is probably a complete mess. I think we should start all over again.”
“I can tell you who definitely wasn’t at the fireworks,” said Oscar. “Dame Evadne. I adore her almost as much as I adore Dorian, and I asked him to introduce me. But she’d scarcely finished her anecdote about how she nearly burned down the Oxford Playhouse in 1954 with a Balkan Sobranie cocktail cigarette, when she announced she detested fireworks and was going to bed.”
“I know everyone’s supposed to be a potential suspect,” said Liz. “But I really feel we can rule out Dame Evadne. I don’t think you can be a killer and a national treasure at the same time.”
Marge snorted. “Nonsense, Liz. Who knows what an actor’s really like? They’re better at pretending than anybody. But if Dame Evadne wanted to kill somebody, she would only have to fix them with that gimlet eye, and they’d shrivel up and disintegrate.”
Liz scored through Dame Evadne’s name, then Oscar’s. “Who were you with?”
“Dorian and his wife. Let me tell you the other actors I saw, and the people David says he knows were on the terrace. And, of course, Alfie was there.”
Liz began scoring through names.
“Oscar, I’m counting on you introducing me to Dorian,” said Marge.
“With pleasure. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to meet you.”
He jumped as Marge gave a sudden yelp.
“There he is, Oscar, he’s there! Oh. He’s shorter than I expected.”
She pointed out of the window. Dorian was striding across the lawn towards the back of the house.
“Quick, go and get him,” she urged. “No time like the present.”
Oscar obeyed. He unlatched the French window and ran down the stone staircase in pursuit of Marge’s quarry.
“Dorian!”
The actor halted. “Oscar. Have you seen Paige? I’m looking for her.”
“I haven’t.”
Dorian’s face was strained and he sounded uneasy.
“Is something wrong?” Oscar asked.
Dorian attempted a smile. “She just had a bit of a bad night. Not surprising. This terrible business with Isobel has shaken us all up.”
Perhaps some more than others, Oscar thought.
“She went out for a walk, but she hasn’t come back yet. I thought some breakfast would do her good.”
“The hazards of the countryside,” said Oscar. “All these wide open spaces and not a cab in sight. I’m sure you’ll find her soon.”
Dorian nodded and walked on.
Oscar returned to the drawing room to find Alfie had joined the ladies.
“You let Dorian go,” said Marge reproachfully.
“I make it a rule never to come between husband and wife,” Oscar said. “He’s looking for Paige.”
“She was down by the maze earlier,” said Alfie. “I didn’t see her come back while I was having breakfast.”
“Is she all right?” asked Oscar. “Dorian said she’d had a bad night.”
“She was a bit – she was fine.”
“I came to tell you that Sergeant Wilson’s here,” Alfie went on. “He’s got Rosemary’s list and he’s started interviewing people. But David got the impression he doesn’t want to hang around.”
“That man!” said Liz. “I don’t believe he’s done a full day’s work in his life.
“We’ve just been sorting out our list,” said Oscar, flourishing it. “We’ve got definite sightings of at least three quarters of the guests at the fireworks, but the terrace was so packed we can’t be sure about the others. The only ones we’re certain were missing are Cousin Charlie and Dame Evadne. Naturally, no suspicion falls on the national treasure.”
“I hope you’re not being ageist and sexist,” said Marge.
“Perish the thought, dear lady,” said Oscar. “I imagine you would make the most magnificent murderess.”
Marge beamed at him.
“It’s a long shot, but I wonder if it could be someone on the staff?” said Alfie. “Isobel treated them appallingly, and if she was here a lot during the filming, maybe one of them had a grudge against her?”
“Wouldn’t they just spit in her soup?” asked Oscar.
“The cook certainly detested her. I dread to think what ended up in her soup,” said Marge. “But no, Alfie, we’ve checked whether any of the staff had disappeared at the crucial time, and nobody did. They were run off their feet with all you lot. It was organised like a military operation, and it would have been noticed right away if someone had gone missing.”
“Of course, there was the glue,” said Liz.
Oscar wondered what would happen if you put glue in someone’s soup. He imagined it could be quite unpleasant.
“Glue?” asked Alfie.
“Yes, the girl who played Lydia Bennet, the daughter who eloped with the unsuitable officer, what’s her name?”
“Anthea,” said Oscar. “I was sitting next to her. She’s just as scatty in real life as she was in the film. Great fun.”
Marge rolled her eyes. “Well, when I spoke to my friend the cook, she said Anthea wandered into the kitchen before the dinner and asked if anybody had any glue.”
“Why?” asked Alfie.
“How should I know? Ask Liz, she’s the one going on about it.”
Oscar wondered whether Anthea sniffed glue as well as vaping. He had heard of worse behaviour among film stars.
“It just seemed to be the only thing anybody mentioned that was out of the ordinary,” said Liz apologetically.
But that turned out not to be the case. As they finalised the list, scoring off some more names and marking others with an asterisk for future interview, David came into the drawing room looking weary and dispirited.
Alfie made the introductions – Oscar hadn’t realised his old school friend had never met Liz and Marge. David duly complimented them on the fudge, but Oscar could see he was unhappy to find two newcomers in the room.
“These ladies are here to help,” Oscar said. “They’ve been having a word with the staff, and nobody noticed anything relevant.”
“If only that were true,” said David, sinking into an armchair. “Things look really bad for Charlie. One of the waiters who was organising coffee in the library last night has told the po
lice sergeant that Charlie wasn’t there, he was on the stairs arguing with Isobel. The waiter’s got no reason to lie, so I can only conclude it’s Charlie who’s lying.”
“Not necessarily,” said Alfie. “You’ve already told us he and Isobel had a stormy relationship. Just because they had a row doesn’t mean that Charlie attacked her, and doesn’t mean that Charlie didn’t go into the library afterwards.”
“But if he was in the library and somebody else attacked her, why didn’t he know?” Marge objected. “You said he claimed he came out of the library and found her on the ground. Why didn’t he hear her fall?”
“It’s a very heavy oak door,” David conceded. “The library’s virtually soundproof. But I’m afraid we’re just clutching at straws. The lawyer hasn’t been able to get Charlie out of custody. The police say there’s sufficient evidence to detain him.”
He grimaced. “The sergeant took great satisfaction in telling me that the forensic evidence shows Isobel fell backwards down the stairs, and now he’s got a witness to Charlie being on the stairs with her.”
“Still circumstantial,” said Alfie.
It was astonishing to hear Alfie defend Tennison like this, but Oscar was relieved. His friend’s obsessive desire to see Tennison suffer had been positively unhealthy.
“Sergeant Wilson believes it’s conclusive,” David said. “He’s left without conducting any further inquiries.”
“Then we’ll just have to conduct our own inquiries,” said Alfie.
“We’d better be quick,” said David bitterly. “Now that the fun’s over, most of them are packing up and heading off. Rosemary’s sorting things out – I can’t bear it. They’re a bunch of ghouls. I can hear them all gossiping about it as though they’re in the middle of a murder mystery weekend. But Isobel’s dead. I know she and Charlie weren’t to everyone’s taste, but that’s no excuse to treat this as some form of entertainment.”
“It’s reaction,” said Oscar. “They don’t mean any disrespect.” He knew this wasn’t true. Isobel and Charlie had made few friends among the other guests.