LIBBY’S HEART SANK.
‘I haven’t seen her since yesterday lunchtime. She stayed behind at Ashton Court with Colonel Weston.’
Ian swore. ‘What was she doing there?’
Libby told him. ‘We felt we had to go over there with her, or she was going on her own. She didn’t listen when we warned her to keep her mouth shut, so Mr Vindari and Weston both know she owns the barn. I don’t know what she thought she was about, asking to see over the Court, but it looked to Fran and me as if she was on a seduction mission.’
‘That woman hasn’t got an ounce of sense,’ said Ian. ‘When you think about her behaviour right from the beginning, when she approached you and Fran. I don’t know what she’s playing at.’
‘Hadn’t you better go and talk to Colonel Weston?’ asked Libby. ‘After all, he can’t deny she was there, when Fran and I were, too.’
‘Of course he can’t, and why should he?’
‘I don’t know. Will you let us know if you find her?’
‘Yes, yes. Do I need to call Fran? She was with you all the time?’
‘Yes, and got the same voice mail messages as me when we got home.’
‘What messages?’
‘I meant, when we tried to call Rosie all we got was voice mail.’
‘So she’s actually been out of contact since yesterday afternoon?’
‘Yes. Have you tried Andrew?’
‘No – I thought they’d had a row.’
‘I’ll call him, if you like,’ said Libby. ‘Oh – and why did you want her?’
‘We’ve broken through into the cellar. You might tell Ben. And you can come and look later, but not until I tell you.’ He rang off.
Libby sat looking at the phone. Ben came down from the bathroom ready to set off for the Manor.
‘Who was that?’
She told him. ‘And now I’m really worried.’
‘Call Fran and Andrew. And don’t go galloping off on your own, either. Ian’s on to it. He’ll do his best.’
But before Libby could call anyone, the phone rang again.
‘Libby, it’s Andrew. I don’t suppose you know where Rosie is, do you? Only I’ve been trying to ring her since yesterday afternoon, and I just went over there and her car was gone.’
With the feeling that the day was going to get much worse very soon, Libby told him, leaving out any reference to the possible seduction of Colonel Weston.
‘So Inspector Connell is trying to find her, too, so we can leave it to him,’ she concluded.
‘I think this is all my fault.’ Andrew sounded miserable.
‘How can it be your fault? For goodness’ sake, Andrew, haven’t you seen through Rosie yet? She’s a thoroughly manipulative woman with an agenda that no one knows.’
Andrew sighed. ‘I know she appears like that, but, believe me, she was very shocked when we found out about Paul Findon, and even more so about the legacy.’
‘How do you know about that?’ asked Libby sharply. ‘You weren’t there, and she had apparently cut all ties with you at that point.’
‘It was temporary. She called me later that night.’
Libby gasped. ‘You see? She’s been leading everyone to believe you were completely out of the picture. She told Fran and me that she’d made a fool of herself with you.’
‘Did she.’ Andrew’s voice was now grim. ‘I wonder why?’
‘I assumed,’ said Libby boldly, ‘that she’d gone to bed with you and regretted it.’
‘Oh, she went to bed with me, all right. But we’d both got rather drunk, all in the name of ameliorating Rosie’s shock, and she was quite mortified at both the drunkenness and the – well – intimacy.’ He sighed again. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this.’
‘So she obviously got over that?’ said Libby, ignoring this last statement.
‘She did. Even suggested that we should try again because…’
‘She couldn’t actually remember it?’ suggested Libby.
‘Yes. And we did. Have.’
‘Right.’ Libby thought for a moment. ‘And have you at any time got the impression that she would try and find out any more about what was going on at either the barn or the house itself? I mean, on her own.’
‘Yes. I thought she was going to ask you and Fran to help her.’
‘She did, I told you. But she was perfectly prepared to go to Cherry Ashton on her own, and both Fran and I thought she was quite likely to barge in where angels and all that, and could conceivably get into trouble.’ She sighed. ‘And now it appears that she has. What about Tybalt?’
‘Eh?’ Andrew sounded startled by the sudden change of topic.
‘Tybalt. The cat.’
‘Oh, Talbot. Of course, he won’t have been fed. What should we do?’
‘We?’ said Libby.
‘Well, I don’t know what one does about cats. Should we phone the RSPCA?’
‘I suppose we could,’ said Libby doubtfully. ‘And I don’t quite know what one does in this sort of situation. Is there a cat flap?’
‘I believe so.’
‘Then he can get in and out. That’s a relief. And if he’s really starving he’ll start catching food. Or you could go and put a bowl of food down near the cat flap.’
‘Me?’
‘You’re the one in a relationship with her,’ said Libby, suddenly irritated with the whole situation.
‘I thought you were her friend.’
‘I only met her a day or so before you did. And I’m not sure I want to be a friend now. I feel a bit used and abused. Although that isn’t poor Talbot’s fault.’
‘I suppose I could go and put some food down for him,’ said Andrew doubtfully. ‘What sort?’
‘Dried cat crunchies, then it won’t go off if the weather suddenly turns warm again,’ said Libby, glancing out at the drizzle.
‘All right. And will you let me know if you hear anything?’
‘I will. And the same goes if you hear.’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’
After Andrew had rung off, Libby sat and thought. It was apparent that something had happened, but quite what was unfathomable. Had Hugh Weston bumped Rosie off because he had something to do with the bodies in the barn? And if so, why? Murdering the owner of the property wouldn’t stop the police investigation. Anyway, how could Weston have anything to do with honour killings, if that’s what they were? Much easier to believe that smooth Mr Vindari had something to do with it. Which was far too convenient. She sighed and punched Fran’s number into the phone.
Fran was worried. ‘Something’s happened to her. I think she’s been pursuing her own agenda all the time.’
‘But she honestly didn’t know about Findon or the legacy,’ said Libby. ‘I really believe that.’
‘So do I, but it’s since she found out about it she’s become so strange.’
‘And flighty,’ said Libby. ‘Do you really think she was out to seduce Hugh Weston? After all that romping in the sack with Andrew?’
‘But again, why?’ Fran was silent for a moment. ‘Do you think we should go over and ask Weston?’
‘I knew you were going to say that,’ said Libby. ‘Ben told me not to go haring off on my own, that Ian would deal with it, but I can’t help feeling that we should try on our own.’
‘As long as he doesn’t think we’re chasing him,’ said Fran.
‘Who, Ian?’
‘No, stupid, Weston. Why should he? We’re just concerned about our friend.
‘Huh,’ said Libby. ‘Friend. She’s caused me more trouble than any real friend has in years.’
‘Shall I meet you at the pub again?’ Fran sounded as though she was already halfway out the door.
‘No, I couldn’t bear that. Let’s meet at The Red Lion. George will let me leave my car in his car park.’
‘OK. Twenty minutes?’
‘I’ll try.’
It was, in fact, nearly half an hour before Libby drew in to the car park of the Red Lion. The doors weren’t open yet, so Fran was still sitting in her car.
‘Off we go again,’ said Libby, climbing in beside her.
‘What do you think about Andrew’s confession that they’ve been having rampant sex?’ she asked a few moments later as they set off for Cherry Ashton.
‘What do you mean? Don’t you believe him?’
‘He seemed to be telling the truth.’
‘But you’re not sure? It is odd for a man to boast about it to a woman, I suppose.’
‘I thought blokes did that all the time? Or perhaps they don’t in these enlightened times?’ said Libby. ‘I’m out of touch.’
‘True or not, he knew about the legacy, so someone told him, and if not Rosie, who?’
‘Oh, don’t start suspecting Andrew of anything,’ said Libby. ‘He only came into the picture after we suggested an expert.’
‘I seem to remember you thinking he might be part of a plot at one time.’
‘Yes, yes, all right.’ Libby looked out of the window. ‘It’s raining again.’
‘Do we park in the pub car park again?’ asked Fran as they approached the crossroads.
‘Couldn’t we park in front of Ashton Court?’ said Libby. ‘It’s him we’ve come to see, after all, and he won’t be at the pub yet. It’s only just about opening time.’
‘It’ll advertise our presence, but yes, I suppose so.’
‘So would parking in the pub car park,’ said Libby.
Fran drove slowly under the arch and came to a halt behind a large Land Rover.
‘Here goes,’ said Libby, and climbed out.
Hugh Weston appeared at the door wearing his hat and coat as usual.
‘Ladies!’ he said genially. ‘Again! What can I do for you this time?’
‘We’re worried about Rosie,’ said Fran without preamble. ‘She’s been missing since yesterday.’
His face went blank. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, we just wondered if you knew where she went when she left here?’ said Libby.
‘No idea.’ He turned and pulled the door closed behind him. ‘I’m just off for a drink. Join me?’
‘No thanks,’ said Fran. ‘Are you sure she said nothing that might give us a clue?’
‘Nothing. Why should she have done?’
‘How long was she here?’ asked Libby.
He frowned. ‘Not long. I showed her the rest of the house and she left. Didn’t she come back to the pub?’
‘Of course not,’ said Libby, ‘or we wouldn’t be asking you. When we came out of the pub her car had gone.’
‘So why ask me, then?’ He was looking quite aggressive now. ‘She obviously went off on her own.’
‘Yes, but she hasn’t been seen since. Hasn’t been home and she wouldn’t leave her cat.’ Fran sighed and turned back to the car. ‘Sorry we troubled you.’
‘No trouble.’ He was back to normal and holding the door open for her. ‘Do let me know when she comes home. Rather a nice lady.’
‘We will,’ said Libby. ‘Thank you.’
Weston watched as Fran reversed carefully back under the arch and out on to the lane.
‘Well!’ said Libby, blowing out a long breath. ‘That was a waste of time. And obviously the police hadn’t been to see him yet.’
‘We don’t know that. He was unlikely to tell us,’ said Fran.
‘Oh, he would. If the police had already been he would have greeted us with a concerned air and, “So sorry to hear about your friend, ladies.” He’d know we’d know if Ian had seen him.’
‘True. Where now?’ said Fran, halting at the crossroads.
‘Right. Let’s see if we can spot a turning anywhere.’
But there wasn’t, only a track leading to the farm they’d seen in the distance.
‘Actually, it was a bit of a foolish idea,’ said Fran. ‘What on earth did we think we’d find out? We could hardly search the house.’
‘Let’s turn on the radio. There might be something on the local radio,’ suggested Libby.
But the local news bulletin contained nothing about the White Lodge case or Rosie, only more about the two bodies discovered in the Medway area, which had now been discovered to be those of itinerant builders.
‘Oh, well,’ said Libby. ‘Let’s go back to The Red Lion. We could have a coffee with George.’
But before they reached the pub, Libby’s mobile rang.
‘Where are you?’ said Ian.
‘In the car with Fran on the way to The Red Lion. Why, have you found Rosie yet?’
‘No, I’ve just been to see Colonel Weston, and he told me you’d beaten me to it.’
‘Ah.’ Libby glanced at Fran and made a face.
‘When will you keep out of things, Libby? He was warned I was coming, and if there’d been anything suspicious he could have made sure there was no evidence.’
‘But we didn’t say the police knew,’ said Libby.
Ian made an unprintable sound. ‘Don’t be so naive.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Just don’t go getting into anything else.’
‘No. Sorry.’ Libby took a deep breath. ‘What about the cellar?’
‘I don’t know when I’m going to get around to that. You’ll just have to wait.’ The phone went dead.
‘Telling off?’ asked Fran, as she pulled in to The Red Lion car park.
Libby sighed. ‘As usual. And now it looks as though we won’t get to see the cellar.’
‘You didn’t say anything about the cellar.’
Libby told her as they went into the pub and across to the bar.
‘I expect he’ll let you see soon enough – or Ben, at least.’
‘Hmm.’ Libby nodded gloomily.
‘Hello, ladies.’ George beaming appeared at the door from the kitchen. ‘Where’ve you been this time. Not back over to Cherry Ashton again?’
‘Yes,’ said Libby. ‘Can we have two coffees, George?’
‘How’s that old cat of yours, then?’ He asked as he busied himself at the coffee machine.
‘Balzac’s fine, thank you, George.’ Fran hoisted herself onto a stool next to Libby.
‘I’ll tell you what, your coffee’s a darn sight better than at The Red Lion,’ said Libby. ‘Although they do a good sausage pie.’
‘I said they did good food, didn’t I?’ George set their foaming mugs before them. ‘Funny place, though.’
‘Yes. We met the owner,’ said Fran.
‘Oh, Colonel Bloody Weston?’ George rolled his eyes. ‘Thinks he’s God’s gift, he does.’
‘Yes, his manager said he’s a bit of a lad with the women,’ said Libby.
‘Oh, not only with the ladies.’ George leant forward. ‘He thinks he knows everything about everything. That manager of his – the pub wouldn’t be nothing without her – yet he goes on about it as if he did it all. And I’ll tell you, the ladies don’t always like it. I’ve had a couple in here who say they wouldn’t go back.’
‘Why did he buy it?’ asked Fran, blowing froth.
‘Buy it? Lord above, he didn’t buy it! It was part of the estate. He lives in the old Court barn, now.’
‘Yes,’ said Libby, not wanting to admit that they’d been there. ‘Was it a big estate, then? I thought it was just the land between there and the coast road.’
‘His old man owned the whole village.’ George sat down on his own stool. ‘In the family, like. At least, I think so. All those cottages an’ all.’
‘But we met one person who apparently owned one of the cottages,’ said Libby.
‘Oh, yeah. Old man sold a load off over the years, as people died. You still looking into things up there? Shocking, innit? Them honour killings is it?’
‘I don’t think that’s been confirmed,’ said Fran.
‘Said on the news they was all Asian, the bodies, and all female. Stands to reason.’
‘Mmm.’ Libby drank more coffee and licked froth off her upper lip.
‘Well old man Weston won’t like that. Darkies buried on his land? He’ll go loopy.’
‘He’s racist?’ Libby was surprised. ‘But he seems to be quite friendly with another of the residents -’
‘Old Vindari? Yeah, only on the surface though, I bet,’ said George. ‘He’s all right, though. Got a couple of good restaurants.’
Libby and Fran agreed and fell silent.
‘So you’re involved, eh?’ George prompted.
‘Sort of,’ agreed Libby. ‘Although we’ve been told to stay out of it now.’
‘Getting too dangerous, is it?’ Seems to me you two like a bit of danger. I keep an eye on you in the paper. And that young Jane from the Mercury and her husband come in here sometimes. Haven’t see them for a bit, though.’
‘You won’t either. They’ve just had a baby girl, Imogen,’ said Libby.
‘Oh, that’s nice. Tell them George said congrats, won’t you?’
‘What did Colonel Weston’s father do?’ asked Fran, out of the blue. George and Libby looked surprised.
‘Do? I don’t reckon he did anything. Farmed the land a bit, although that wasn’t him, it was the tenant farmer, I think he had what they call business interests and he’d been in the war – course, most people his age had been. I think he just came home and played the landed gentry. Sent young Hugh off to boarding school, and then into the army.’
‘He’s a typical product of that sort of upbringing,’ said Libby.
‘Any brothers or sisters?’ asked Fran.
‘What Hugh? Not as far as I know. And what I do know’s general knowledge, anyway.’
‘Business interests,’ said Fran thoughtfully.
‘What’s wrong with that?’ asked Libby, as another couple of customers came in and George went to serve them. ‘People like that always had business interests.’
‘I’d like to know what they were.’ Fran drained her mug. ‘Who’d know?’
‘Bloody hell, Fran! How do I know?’
‘Would you have to go to the chamber of commerce or something?’ Fran was staring at the bottles behind the bar not seeing them. ‘Or Rotary?’
‘I thought Rotary clubs were charitable organisations?’
‘But it’s all local businessmen, isn’t it? They’d know about other businessmen.’
‘I don’t think they’d particularly want to be asked questions like that.’
‘Solicitors,’ said Fran. ‘They always know. Ian said he’d been in touch with the firm that rented out White Lodge in the sixties, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, but we couldn’t go asking about Colonel Weston’s dad! What are you thinking? And why, anyway?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Fran, looking more normal. ‘I’ll have to think it through.’
‘You do that,’ said Libby, ‘and let me know when you get the answer.’
‘You do realise, don’t you,’ said Fran, ‘that Rosie and Hugh are about the same age. They could have known one another.’
‘Unlikely, isn’t it? The houses are quite far from one another, and Rosie didn’t live here, she only visited.’
Fran nodded. ‘Suppose so. Want another coffee?’
‘No thanks. I’ll get home and be a good little housewife.’
‘You’re not a wife.’
‘Good little house-concubine, then.’ Libby slid off the stool. ‘Come on.’
They waved goodbye to George.
‘Thanks for the information,’ Fran called, and George waved back.
‘Did Ian say when the cellar was bricked up?’ asked Fran, just as Libby was getting into her car.
‘I think Ben thought it was comparatively recent. In years, I mean. Don’t think it was done when Findon was killed.’
‘Oh, so you think he was murdered, too?’
‘Slip of the tongue.’
‘Someone, then,’ said Fran, unlocking her car, ‘knows about it. So the police should be able to track down who did it.’
‘Should they?’ said Libby doubtfully. ‘No one would admit to it, would they?’
‘No,’ acknowledged Fran, ‘but I feel sure they’ll be found.’
‘They?’
‘Whoever bricked up the cellar. And then – who told them to do it.’
‘But that’s got nothing to do with the honour killings.’ Libby was puzzled.
‘There’s got to be a link somewhere,’ said Fran, and got into her car.