An Open Window Page 5

  ‘So that when his wife died…’

  ‘Paul was right out of it, with very little attention from his father. The only one Walter noticed was Clare.’

  ‘And Donald?’

  ‘There was nothing left for poor Donald. How could I give him a mother’s affection? I tried. It seemed to confuse him. I do believe he’s never really known where he stands in this world. Spends all his time hunting around for some sort of security. Never finds it, of course. It’s not the sort of thing you can find, hiding round a corner. The point about security is that it’s there. Poor Donald. Every time I see him—which isn’t often—he seems more down-at-heel and more hopeless. He still…’ She stopped.

  I looked up from my cup. She was stirring, stirring, her eyes vacant.

  ‘Yes?’ I asked.

  ‘Still calls me mother. I never did break him of that.’

  ‘Did you try?’ I smiled.

  She shook her head, lower lip caught in her teeth. ‘Not very hard.’

  It seemed likely I’d be meeting them all on Sunday, in this house. ‘I’ll be seeing them.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘When Mr Carne reads the will.’

  I considered that quietly, and we sat in amicable silence. It was strange that we had reached this relationship.

  ‘I don’t think you’ve been completely honest with me, Mary.’ I said that with a smile, indicating I wasn’t taking it seriously.

  ‘I don’t understand—’

  ‘You know exactly who I am and what I’m here for. You know the contents of Walter’s new will.’

  Her lips tight, she nodded.

  ‘Not in detail, perhaps,’ I suggested.

  Another nod. She wasn’t going to give me any help.

  ‘But you knew a new will was being made, and he would surely have given you some idea of its contents…’ I left that hanging, waiting for her response.

  She spoke, at last, with reluctance. ‘I didn’t agree with what he was doing. He knew I disapproved of this silly business of locking himself in his room. Of course nobody was out to kill him. Why ever would they?’ She paused. I wasn’t going to say anything about that. ‘But he was determined. Said he would show them they wouldn’t gain by it. His death, he meant. He gave me the shudders. And he said there was a niece somewhere he was trying to trace. Give her a pleasant surprise, he said. But he didn’t tell me any details. He simply said there’d be no change in it as far as I was concerned.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘I’m not telling you that.’

  ‘I shall hear on Sunday.’

  ‘Then wait, like everybody else.’

  Fair enough. I was being just as close with my own information. ‘Let me guess that it would be a sum of money and no roof over your head. Am I right?’

  ‘That’s all I expected.’

  ‘After all these years? After bringing up his family, looking after his home and his welfare! Damn it, you were virtually his wife.’

  She gave me a thin smile. ‘You put it exactly. For the past twenty years I’ve lived with him as his wife.’

  ‘Then don’t you see…’ In my agitation, my anger at the way she’d been used, I got to my feet and looked for something to throw. But you can’t do that in other people’s kitchens. Unless it was now Amelia’s and mine! I turned back to face her. ‘Why didn’t you get married, for heaven’s sake? You were already only a couple of signatures away from it.’

  ‘And have to face the hatred of all three?’ she asked placidly. ‘Oh, you can be sure, over the years they’ve known I slept in his bed, and all I ever got from them was hints and taunts that I was looking after myself—’

  ‘As you should have been.’

  ‘No. I was doing a job and I was paid for it. If I was giving Walter comfort, he was giving me love. Don’t try to soil it for me, Mr Patton. Please don’t make it into something sordid.’

  ‘That was not…’ But how could I get through to her? Marriage, she was implying, might have ruined their relationship? No—she thought I was blaming her for enjoying the relationship without the blessing. ‘Very well, Mary,’ I said, breathing out gently. ‘We’ll leave that for now. But you witnessed his signature on his new will, knowing that if he died you’d be homeless.’

  ‘So you see,’ she said sourly, ‘I would hardly have killed him.’

  ‘You know I was not being serious—’

  ‘But you don’t expect me to have my little joke?’

  ‘Ah!’ I said. I grinned at her. ‘Your point.’

  ‘And of course, I didn’t witness it. Mr Carne wouldn’t allow that, because I was a beneficiary.’

  ‘However minor!’

  ‘Now, now.’

  ‘So who did?’

  ‘He brought his articled clerk along, and Mr Leyton was the other witness.’

  ‘This is the Kenneth Leyton you mentioned, Walter’s life-long friend? There was nothing for him, then? Not even a painting and the grandfather clock?’

  ‘Now you’re being facetious.’

  ‘I’m becoming a little annoyed at the behaviour of your wonderful Walter.’

  ‘Then don’t be. Kenneth and I knew it was only a phase. Give Walter time, and he’d realise he was being foolish, thinking somebody was going to…’ She stopped.

  ‘But somebody did, didn’t they?’

  ‘No they didn’t. It was an accident. Nobody could have done such a thing.’

  I was shaking my head. ‘I can show you how it could have been done. But that hardly matters now. He didn’t get time to change his new will…so, I take it, Kenneth Leyton lost something.’

  ‘If you must know, they argued for hours over that new will. Kenneth wanted to put a stop to it. In protest, he said he wanted no part of it, and Walter could cut him right out, if he liked. And Walter took him at his word.’

  Very soon, I realised, I was going to be surrounded by a lot of angry people. There was, perhaps, some comfort to be extracted from Amelia’s injury; it was keeping her out of it.

  ‘What, exactly, was cut out? Do you know?’

  ‘Not for certain, but I always understood that he’d have got ten per cent of the company shares.’

  This was a company of a capital value of half a million, Carne had said. Not a fortune to some people, but a lot to others. Perhaps Kenneth Leyton would have treasured those ten shares.

  ‘There’s going to be high jinks on Sunday,’ I said ruefully.

  ‘I thought I ought to tell you the background. Kind of to prepare you. Now you run along and have a look at that car. Oh, don’t look like that. I saw the expression in your eyes. And you never know, that could be all he’s left you.’

  ‘My wife, in practice.’

  ‘Same thing. Isn’t it?’

  And, you know, I was surprised to realise I’d assumed this. But perhaps Amelia, as a wealthy woman, would cast her eyes elsewhere. I wasn’t much of a catch, my only expertise being an ability to back a caravan all over the place.

  ‘You’ll have to ask my wife about that.’

  ‘Mr Carne told me she’s in hospital.’

  ‘When she hears what’s going on around here, I’ll have difficulty keeping her there. I’ll see you on Sunday, Mary.’

  She was on her feet. ‘But…you can stay here.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be a good idea, would it?’ I asked, smiling.

  She was nodding, her eyes huge with contained amusement. ‘Perhaps not,’ she agreed.

  I left abruptly, because there was a strong desire to remain with Mary Pinson and get to know more about her. But there were things to be done, such as the drive back to Aberaeron and a conference to be held with Amelia. Yet already it was too late for that. They’d hardly welcome me in their wards at ten o’clock at night.

  So I went to look at the Stag.

  5

  It may seem strange that a man of my age should have a fixation for a sports car called the Triumph Stag. But it’s unique, a car built for a specific market, which turned out to be quite limited. Why limited? Well…you design a sports car, open, with a folding hood. You realise that the weather in this country will probably provide, in an average year, seventeen suitable days for driving with the hood down. So you design it to take a removable hard-top, converting it into a neat little closed coupe. But the snag is: when the top is removed, where to put it? The thing’s quite bulky, and will need storage room. This is an important point if the price you’re aiming for does not include people who would naturally possess large garages. Add to this the fact that it was available with six or eight different engines, and you’re on to something unique, even though the uniqueness possibly lies in the fact that the designers were trying to get it right. I’ve heard it called the Triumph Snag. With affection. Mind you, these cars are getting a bit elderly now. All the same, you see them around, long after the small saloons of that era have dissolved into rust. They’re preserved, you see, nurtured and revered by their owners.

  I’d had mine from a pup, and parting from it had been painful. The Volvo’s a nice drive, but the Stag’s an experience.

  I opened the first garage door. A Mini. Mary Pinson’s, no doubt. The middle door, a Ford Granada, two years old. The third…and there it was.

  I’d looked after mine carefully. This one had been restored to perfection, and made mine seem a wreck. It squatted there, gleaming, a low, purposeful shape. I didn’t know whether Walter had been an engineer, or someone else had done it for him, but it had clearly been a labour of love. I sighed, standing back from it, noting it had the twin exhaust stacks of the 31/2-litre Rover engine. Mine had had the straight six two-litre.

  A voice said behind me: ‘A beauty, isn’t she?’

  I turned. It was the young woman from the garden. I’d seen her at a dista
nce with her corn-coloured hair caught in the sun. Close-to, it seemed untidy, held down by a red ribbon above her forehead and fastened at the nape of her neck, the ends flying all over the place. She would have been twenty, perhaps. You can’t be sure these days, with those ubiquitous blue jeans, and a short man’s shirt dangling its tail behind. There was a leather jacket over it, reaching her waist. Her blue eyes—where had I seen such blue eyes before?—were sparkling, her elfin face seeming too small for them. Small, pert nose, pointed chin, a smile a mile wide. She stood with her slim legs apart, her hands on her lips.

  ‘You’re Mr Patton,’ she informed me, jutting her lower lip and blowing hair out of her eyes. ‘Philip said I’d probably find you here.’

  So that was where I’d met the blue eyes. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Heather Carne, Philip’s sister.’

  ‘You felt you had to meet me?’

  She grinned. Her cheeks rose to it and her tiny white teeth peeped through. ‘He said you’re a policeman.’

  ‘I was. What else did he tell you?’

  ‘That you’re too old for me.’

  ‘The cheeky devil! It seems to me he told you too much.’

  She cocked her head, almost in challenge. ‘He mentioned you’re married.’

  ‘Ah! Warning you.’ I considered her warily. I had already decided it would be prudent to keep very silent about the will and its contents until it was read. ‘I hope he hasn’t been completely unethical. A solicitor’s supposed to keep secrets.’

  ‘I can keep a secret.’

  ‘If he’s trusted you with any, you ought to be careful what you say.’

  Then she laughed. It would have disarmed anybody. If I’d been her age it would have completely unmanned me. Or the opposite.

  ‘I’m at his office,’ she explained. ‘I’ve finished my degree, and I’m working out my articles with my brother. I know,’ she told me in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘everything.’

  I scratched my neck with the stem of my pipe. ‘Shall we walk down to the cars?’ I was assuming she had one there, and I was playing for time.

  ‘Mine’s a motorbike,’ she said. ‘But I don’t mind walking to it.’ I closed the garage doors and we strolled away together to the front of the house. The sun had now gone round far enough to slant a ray or two on the facade, so that it looked less gloomy. Her motorcycle was propped in front of my Volvo, a 500 cc Honda twin, her crash-hat on its seat. Her long legs matched my stride, though her head came barely above my shoulder. I’d decided I already had enough information for one day, and hoped she wasn’t going to offer more.

  ‘The idea was,’ she said, ‘to give you enough time to see how things stand, then ask you to help us.’

  ‘You and your brother?’ What was she talking about?

  ‘Me and Chad. We’re sort of engaged, though all that’s a bit archaic now. He wants to get married, but I don’t see why. Anyway, whatever it is, we can’t do it if he’s in prison, can we?’

  I was determined to be flippant. This young lady seemed set to involve me with something. ‘No, they won’t let you do it in prison.’

  ‘You!’ she cried, stopping and turning to me, and remarkably with a blush on her cheeks. ‘If you’re not going to take me seriously…’

  ‘Perhaps that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m seriously advising you not to involve me…in whatever it is.’

  ‘But you are involved.’

  ‘I’m completely unreliable.’

  ‘You just won’t listen!’

  ‘I heard the word prison. That implies law-breaking, and I’m no longer a policeman.’

  ‘Philip warned me,’ she told me fiercely. ‘He said all you could think about was what you were going to get out of it.’

  I lowered my head, tapping out my pipe on my heel, the other hand reaching for my pouch. When I looked up, she was pulling a face. Pugging, we used to call it, like a naughty child. ‘I don’t believe he’d say that,’ I told her quietly.

  ‘Of course he didn’t,’ she said firmly, as though it was my fault. ‘It was me being bitchy. Chad says I ought to grow up. Don’t you think I’m grown up, Mr Patton?’

  ‘Physically, without question.’

  ‘You will not be serious!’ she complained.

  ‘I’m being patient. If this Chad person, whom you don’t intend to marry, is in danger of going to prison, then he needs a good solicitor—’

  ‘He’s got one. My brother.’

  ‘Very well. If there are enquiries to be made, then he needs a private investigator, a professional. Solicitors usually have their own contacts.’

  ‘But we can’t afford a real one!’ she burst out.

  I had to laugh at that. The blood ran from her face and her mouth went tiny. No trace of lipstick or any other make-up, I noticed. Then the colour flooded back, and she laughed. ‘Didn’t that sound dreadful?’ she asked, and I had to agree it had.

  ‘This Chad,’ I asked. ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘It’s what he hasn’t done. And it’s Chad Leyton.’

  ‘Leyton? I know that name. Kenneth, I think.’

  ‘He’s the office manager at the factory. Kenneth Leyton. Chad works in the research lab. Ken’s his father.’

  ‘Still works there?’

  ‘They adjourned the summary hearing, and he’s out on bail. My brother persuaded the magistrate he wouldn’t abscond, and that he’d keep an eye on him. He meant I would, of course.’

  ‘Yes. I get the point.’

  The sun was slanting orange light on the right side of her face, casting hollows beneath her cheeks, cutting purple shadows into her hair.

  ‘This crime,’ I ventured cautiously, afraid to hear. ‘Of what is he accused?’

  She seemed to relax. Even her ears were less tense. ‘You’ve heard of Aleric Tolchard, Clare’s husband?’

  ‘Oh no!’ I whispered.

  ‘He fell down an iron staircase at the factory, and broke his neck. That’s what Chad’s accused of. Pushing him.’

  If he was out on bail on a murder charge, there must have been something not satisfactory about the evidence. That much was encouraging. I concentrated on my pipe and finally managed to light it. ‘And?’

  ‘He didn’t do it. Mr Mann…’ She nodded towards the house. ‘…was certain he hadn’t done it.’

  That was not surprising, considering that Walter had been convinced the death should have been his, and that the culprit was one of his family. ‘Don’t tell me.’

  ‘He put up the bail.’

  ‘Break it gently.’

  ‘A hundred thousand. Which of course would come out of the estate, if Chad does abscond.’

  ‘I’m ahead of you.’

  ‘But I’ve managed to persuade him not to, seeing that we’ve got an expert on hand.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘I’ve promised to bring you to dinner.’

  How could I refuse? I was being offered a fee of one hundred thousand pounds, which would rightly be Amelia’s.

  ‘You know something?’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘When you’re qualified—if you’re ever fully qualified—you’ll be a whizz in court.’

  She smiled. For one terrible moment I thought she was going to kiss me. ‘Thank you, kind sir. Just follow me.’ Then she spoiled it. ‘I’ll drive as slow as I can.’

  ‘Just one promise?’ I asked. She nodded. ‘You’ll let me use the phone when I get there.’

  She nodded, satisfied. ‘I knew you’d want to call your wife.’

  She fastened on her helmet, and became an alien creature. I went to the car. She swept round and waited, engine throbbing. I admit to a sigh when I fastened the seat belt. It was for my lost youth.

  If that was her version of slow, I should not have liked to be around when she was in a hurry. From time to time I lost her, but all I had to do was look for a helmet with a bit of red ribbon flying at the back. I felt she was teasing me, and wished I’d been behind the wheel of the Stag, so that when we arrived I drew to a halt nonchalantly, climbed out, and said: ‘That the best you could do?’

  We had turned away from the river before we reached Boreton, driven past the entrance to a safari park, and very nearly reached a village, judging by the lights ahead. But she’d signalled, then turned in at the entrance without gates in a low, confining wall, and swept up a short drive. The bungalow, in the declining sunlight, looked old and weathered, complacent in its security. The porch was on the near corner, and the front door was open as soon as her engine had died. She swept off her helmet, and the ribbon with her other hand. A wash of blonde hair flowed free.