Death is a Word Page 4

  Donald’s talk was, indeed, interesting, very lively and full of anecdotes and people crowded around him at the end as he most amiably continued to answer questions.

  ‘Well, really,’ Alison Shelby was at my elbow. ‘I don’t know when I’ve heard such a good talk! So interesting; it really brought it all to life, didn’t it? Such an amazing place. Mind you, I can’t say I’d like to live there – give me England all the time – and the people! Well, I suppose it takes all sorts, but some of the things …’ She moved past me and managed to insinuate herself into the group around Donald where she continued her enthusiastic exclamations.

  ‘It was certainly very popular.’ A cool voice behind me. I turned and saw that it was Maurice Shelby.

  ‘It was,’ I agreed. ‘Most entertaining, and he really knew his subject.’

  ‘Indeed. Since he spent many years out there and travelled widely. His job seems to have taken him to many different places.’

  ‘Actually, he didn’t really mention his job,’ I said tentatively.

  ‘No, I suppose it would have been unsuitable to do so.’

  ‘You mean because it was a large multinational company – you think there may be a lot of things he can’t talk about?’

  ‘Possibly. I don’t know the terms of his contract, but I imagine there must have been some restrictions.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ I said reluctantly, ‘but I’d have thought in a talk like this it would have been all right to say something – just to give us a general idea of what he did exactly.’

  ‘Apparently he chose not to do so. And now, if you will excuse me, I need to collect my wife.’ He glanced towards the group where Alison was still in full flow, moving purposefully towards her, and I reflected that Mr and Mrs Bennett still lived today. Certainly she had the remains of a certain kind of prettiness which accounted for the match, but their two daughters (who took after their father) had managed their marriages (one to a doctor who would, one day, certainly be a consultant, and one to a barrister who, one day, would inevitably be a judge) most competently themselves.

  I went into the kitchen to help with the refreshments. Rosemary was buttering bread for sandwiches and I began to slice a cucumber.

  ‘What did you think?’ she asked.

  ‘Very good. Most entertaining.’

  ‘Not much about himself, though. Or his job – I should think that’s what most people wanted to know.’

  ‘Maurice Shelby thinks there may have been something in his contract that didn’t allow him to,’ I said.

  Rosemary looked up, her buttery knife suspended. ‘That sounds sinister, you must admit. And it’s not as though he was going to tell us about secret formulas or whatever.’

  ‘Oh, I expect it’s just standard when you get to that sort of position. How much of this cucumber do you want?’

  ‘No, but you must admit—’ She broke off as Maureen came into the kitchen and began fiddling with the tea urn.

  ‘Wasn’t it a splendid talk?’ she said. ‘Such a pity Eva couldn’t make it. She’d really have enjoyed it.’ Eva was spending a few days in London with Dan and Patrick. ‘Though I suppose,’ she went on, ‘she’s probably heard most of it already, being as she’s such a friend of Mr Webster. Do you know, until we can get this thing fixed properly, we’d be better off boiling a couple of kettles.’

  ‘You see,’ Rosemary said later, ‘people are beginning to talk. Mother was saying only the other day that Vera Davis saw them having lunch together in Taunton.’

  ‘They’re friends, for goodness’ sake, why shouldn’t they have lunch together!’

  ‘Mother thought it was unsuitable – it’s not that long since Alan died.’

  ‘Well, you know what your mother and her friends are like.’

  But Rosemary, who any other time would have laughed at the whole thing, seemed to be taking it seriously and I hoped that her concern for Eva wouldn’t make things awkward between them.

  Eva rang me when she got back from London.

  ‘Sheila, have I done something to upset Rosemary?’

  ‘Not that I know of. Why do you ask?’

  ‘She’s being a bit distant, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘What?’

  I took a deep breath. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t mean to be – it’s just that she’s worried about you and doesn’t know how to say anything.’

  There was silence for a moment, then Eva said, ‘Is it about Donald?’

  ‘Yes, well, in a way. Her mother – well you know how old-fashioned she is – seemed to think—’

  ‘That I shouldn’t go out with anyone now I’m a widow.’ She gave a sort of laugh. ‘I’d forgotten what Taviscombe was like. People are talking?’

  ‘As you say – people in Taviscombe—’

  ‘And does Rosemary feel the same?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course not,’ I said hastily.

  ‘She doesn’t really like Donald, does she?’

  ‘No, it’s not that; it’s just that he’s rather different from people we’re used to down here.’

  ‘Oh, come off it, Sheila, you’ve been out in the big wide world!’

  ‘Yes, I have, but Rosemary is very Taviscombe orientated, you know that, and she’s not quite sure what to make of him. It’s just that she’s very protective of you – family and all that – and doesn’t want you to be hurt.’

  Eva sighed. ‘Oh dear, I do hope things aren’t going to be awkward. I like Donald, I like him very much, and I really don’t want to stop seeing him. Do you think I should?’

  ‘Certainly not. Just tell Rosemary how you feel. Clear the air and everything will be fine.’

  But soon after that, Rosemary had another thing to worry about.

  ‘That wretched man,’ she said, ‘has been pestering Eva again.’

  ‘What wretched man?’

  ‘Robert Butler – you know, the man who has the farm just down the road from her.’

  ‘Oh yes, I know who you mean. How’s he been pestering her?’

  ‘Well, you know he wants to bring water across her field.’

  Eva has a fair-sized field behind the garden, it’s part of the property, and Rosemary has always been full of dire warnings about it – ‘You’ll have to see to the hedges, and who’s going to cut the hay? It’s going to be nothing but trouble.’

  ‘Is that such a big deal? I mean he’ll have to pay for it. Why does he need extra water anyway?’

  ‘It’s for a caravan park he wants to open.’

  ‘No! How awful.’

  ‘You see, I was right about that field. I did warn her to get rid of it straight away.’

  ‘If she had,’ I pointed out, ‘whoever bought it might have given permission straight away.’

  ‘That’s as may be,’ Rosemary brushed it aside. ‘It seems that field is the only way the water can be brought to the particular bit of his land that’s suitable.’

  ‘Has he got planning permission for this caravan park?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s thick as thieves with half the council so that won’t be a problem once he gets the water.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘He’s offered her a lot of money, but you know Eva, if she’s made up her mind about something. And there’s no way she’d want a place like that next door – think of all the traffic back and forth up the lane!’

  ‘She really could do without this hassle. But you’re right, she’ll stand firm.’

  And when I saw her next she was quite determined.

  ‘It’s just the sort of situation Alan would have hated,’ she said. ‘I feel I’d be letting him down if I gave in, even if I wanted to, which I don’t!’

  ‘What does Donald say about it all?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, he’s had to go to Chicago for a bit – something the company he worked for want to consult him about – I don’t know the details, but I think he’s likely to be away for several weeks.’

  ‘That’s a shame; I’m sur
e he would have been very supportive.’

  ‘Oh well, there’s nothing this Butler man can do as long as I keep saying no.’

  Rosemary, when I told her about the conversation, pounced on the fact of Donald’s trip to Chicago.

  ‘I wonder what that’s all about.’

  ‘Something his firm wanted to consult him about,’ I suggested. ‘Something about the South American operation that he’d know about.’

  ‘It sounds a bit odd. I mean, they’ve got people out there, haven’t they, why do they need him?’

  ‘Presumably because it’s something connected with the time he was out there.’

  ‘It must be important,’ Rosemary continued, ‘if they’ve got him flying all the way across the Atlantic.’

  ‘I don’t think flying across the Atlantic is a very big deal to people like Donald.’

  ‘But,’ she persisted, ‘why would they ask him if he’d left under some sort of cloud?’

  ‘I don’t think that was the case,’ I said. ‘Eva said there’d been a disagreement.’

  ‘A major disagreement.’

  ‘Whatever. But there’s no reason to think it was anything sinister.’

  ‘Well, I do think Eva should be careful. After all, we know very little about him.’

  ‘Honestly, I do think Eva’s capable of looking after herself.’

  ‘Mother says she’s in a very vulnerable position so soon after Alan’s death. And I’m inclined to agree with her.’

  I sighed. The fact that Rosemary said that she agreed with one of her mother’s opinions really did indicate just how worried she was about her cousin.

  Chapter Five

  ‘That really was most interesting,’ I said reluctantly. Anthea had been going on for ages about this genealogist and how lucky we were that she had got hold of him for Brunswick Lodge.

  ‘Quite a coup,’ Anthea was saying. ‘He’s very much in demand, you know, gives talks all over the country.’

  ‘What a pity he had to leave so early to get his train,’ Alison Shelby said. ‘There were such a lot of things I wanted to ask him.’ She turned to Eva. ‘Don’t you agree – it was absolutely fascinating?’

  ‘I must say it did make me think,’ Eva said. ‘I’ve always wanted to know more about the family. I don’t know much about either side, my father’s or my mother’s. My father never talked about his family in Australia and I expect it would be difficult to find stuff there, but his father came from round here and I’d really like to know about them.’

  ‘And there are so many ways you can find out,’ Alison broke in. ‘All those places on the Internet – not that I’ve ever been able to make head or tail of computers – Maurice looks after that side of things!’

  ‘I think I might give it a go,’ Eva said. ‘And my mother’s family too. Her maiden name was Lydia Castel – quite an unusual name, which might help.’

  ‘Oh do!’ Alison said enthusiastically. ‘And you must let us know how you get on. Who knows what you might find, though perhaps you might not want to know – all those people on television discovering their ancestors were murderers or ended up in the workhouse. I always say—’

  ‘Alison,’ Maurice Shelby broke in, ‘we really should be going. I’m expecting an important call and I need to be home to take it.’

  ‘Yes, of course, dear, I’ll just get my coat – I took it off when I came in, the room was so hot. I think I left it in the lobby.’

  Her husband raised his eyebrows slightly but made no comment, following his wife who was still wondering where she might have left her coat.

  ‘Have you ever investigated your family?’ I asked Donald Webster, who had been to the talk – sitting next to Eva and deep in conversation with her as usual, which had caused Maureen to give me what she would have called one of her Looks.

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘My family lived in Zimbabwe for several generations, when it was Rhodesia, that is. They were farmers and left when things got difficult over there. So there wouldn’t be any records here.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘It must have been awful.’

  ‘I’d already left by then. Off to get a job that would let me see the world.’

  ‘I suppose you might be able to find your more remote ancestors,’ I suggested. ‘You know, before they went to Africa.’

  ‘That might be fun,’ Eva said, ‘we could tackle all those websites together. I’m sure you’re better at that sort of thing than I am.’

  ‘I’d be delighted to give you a hand,’ he said, ‘but I’m not sure I want to investigate my lot. Like Alison said, you never know what you might find!’

  I didn’t see Eva for a while to find out how she got on. I had a difficult review article to write about a book written by a friend which, while full of excellent research, I found almost totally unreadable. So I shut myself away to wrestle with it.

  When I emerged, I asked Rosemary how Eva was.

  ‘I saw her yesterday,’ Rosemary said. ‘She certainly seems very absorbed with this genealogy thing.’

  ‘Has she made any progress?’

  ‘Not really. She says it’s all very complicated, going through endless census things, especially when you don’t have much to go on.’

  ‘She never asked her mother about the family?’

  ‘No, well, you don’t, do you? You think they’ll always be there, and by the time you want to ask, it’s too late.’

  ‘I don’t really remember much about her, do you?’

  ‘Not a lot. Well, with Eva away at school I only saw her parents occasionally in the holidays, and my parents didn’t see them often. Mother quite liked Uncle Richard (in spite of his being an Australian) but she didn’t approve of Aunt Lydia (I always called them Aunt and Uncle, though of course they weren’t) for some reason, I can’t remember the ins and outs of it – you know what Mother’s like, it’s usually something quite irrational.’

  ‘I only met them a couple of times. I remember being impressed by the fact that he was the first Australian I’d ever met – an interesting man, and she was very nice, very warm and friendly. And I’d never known anyone called Lydia before. It’s an unusual name, though I suppose it might be a family name. Oh well, I suppose Eva may find out – that is, unless she finds it all too difficult and gives up.’

  ‘Not with Donald Webster round there urging her on.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ I hesitated for a minute. ‘Well, he did say he’d help.’

  ‘Any excuse.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Rosemary,’ I said coaxingly. ‘Is it so very bad? He seems a nice enough chap and they do get on very well; they’ve got a lot in common, after all.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Perhaps I’ve been a bit unfair. But it’s only been a short time since Alan died …’

  ‘Nearly a year. And Eva’s so much happier since she’s been seeing Donald. I’m sure Alan would want her to be happy.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. I’m probably making a fuss about nothing. It’s just that he’s so charming!’

  ‘I know what you mean, but it’s not fair to condemn him for being nice to people.’

  Rosemary told me that Dan and Patrick were coming to stay for a few days. Dan was doing an article about new (and expensive) restaurants in the West Country and they were calling in on Eva on their way down to Cornwall where, apparently, the most glamorous ones were to be found.

  ‘I’d really like to see Dan again,’ Rosemary said, ‘so I’ve invited them to supper, and Eva, of course, and I hope you’ll come too.’

  ‘I’d love to. I’ve always wanted to meet Dan and Patrick. But isn’t it brave of you to invite them to a meal?’

  ‘Oh, I specifically said supper and not dinner. And, actually, Dan is very tolerant of what he calls “proper cooking” – not a bit what you’d expect from his reviews.’

  ‘What will you give him?’

  ‘Sausages and mash, by special request – he’s very keen on our local sausages. Eva once took him
some as a present. And apple crumble.’

  ‘It sounds delicious.’

  ‘I did think of asking Donald Webster too, but I thought perhaps Eva would rather introduce him to Dan separately, if you see what I mean.’

  Dan, tall and shambling, was wearing jeans and a T-shirt with the legend ‘Most Cooks Spoil the Broth’. His dark hair flopped over his forehead, almost obscuring the gold-rimmed spectacles he wore balanced halfway down his large nose – Alan’s nose. Patrick, on the other hand, was small and neat, with smoothed-down fair hair. He wore a well-cut dark suit and a very handsome silk tie.

  ‘So you haven’t found any suitable restaurants in this part of the West Country?’ I asked Dan.

  He shook his head. ‘No, thank goodness. It remains pure and unsullied. Like these delicious sausages.’ He smiled at Rosemary. ‘No, I’m delighted to say that the tradition of proper cooking still holds sway. The occasional gastropub pops up from time to time, but they never last long. But, please, don’t let’s spoil this splendid occasion by talking about such things.’ He turned to me. ‘I greatly enjoyed your book on Mrs Gaskell and there’s so much I want to ask you about the novels of the period. Where, for instance, would you place Mrs Oliphant? Personally I found Salem Chapel a quite remarkable book.’

  He then embarked on a survey of the Victorian novel, obviously based on such an extensive knowledge of the genre that I found I had to dig deep to match it. We disagreed over some authors (‘You must admit that Mrs Cholmondley’s Red Pottage is exceptional’) but came together over a mutual passion for Charlotte Yonge (‘A complete page-turner if ever there was one’). We parted reluctantly at the end of the evening with a promise on my part to send him a spare edition I had of The Monthly Packet.

  ‘You and Dan certainly got on well,’ Rosemary said.

  ‘Oh well, when you get two people obsessed with the same author …’ I replied.

  ‘He’s a very kind person underneath that rather peculiar manner. He’s devoted to Eva – he was wonderful when Alan died. I don’t think she could have coped without him and Patrick.’