all.”
Gillian Surfleet looked as if she would explode, but she said nothing. The rest stared at the vicar in silence. At last Dallas Baer, man of the world, broke the spell. “Hardly a victim,” he said smoothly. “She was well paid for her services, that I do know.”
He turned and looked at the others, and they slowly nodded. Yes, they had all paid for her time and attentions. But the vicar? This was news to Dallas Baer and Malcolm Barratt. They knew about Andrew Rix, though his involvement had been years in the past. Peter White? They could hardly believe it. He knew about them, certainly, and that was why he was here. But had he…?
It was Dallas again who spoke for the rest. “Um, Peter, old chap,” he said. “Didn’t think that you’d, well, you know, partaken of Gloria’s charms!” He smiled, and then hastily smothered it as he realized that the vicar was near collapse. He had slumped down in his chair and covered his face with his hands. His anguish was answer enough.
Malcolm Barratt, looking at the pathetic figure, felt anger rising. “Gloria Hathaway was a promiscuous bitch,” he said, and held up his hand to stop Gillian’s furious interruption. “She opened her door and legs to all comers – so long as they’d got the necessary to keep her in cars and holidays. God knows when she started it. But by the time we came to this idyllic little hellhole, she was an experienced pro. She fooled me at first – and sex and
Nurse Surfleet could contain herself no longer. “You hypocritical sod!” she burst out. “As if you didn’t go along with your tongue hanging out! I was there the first time, don’t forget! God, you couldn’t wait to get your pants down! And it wasn’t the first time away from the marriage bed, that was for sure!”
Peter White groaned, and muttered that now he knew where Hell was. It was here, here in this dreadful room. And he deserved to be in it.
“Pull yourself together, Peter,” said Dallas Baer. This was all getting out of hand. A sense of proportion was what was needed. After all, women like Gloria were everywhere and men merely accepted what was offered. And paid for it, too. He didn’t believe in divine retribution. At the moment, all he was concerned with was how they could present an acceptable version of events to the world at large and their wives in particular. As for Gillian Surfleet, she was beyond the pale. Whatever she had suffered through Gloria’s murder, she definitely had it coming to her. A community nurse, after all! He would rather not think about her motives.
“I wish Andrew was here,” said Peter White, visibly pulling himself together and sitting up straight in his chair. “He would know what to do.”
“I know what to do,” said Malcolm Barratt. “We have to find the murderer, and then all attention will be diverted from us and on to him…or her.” He could not stop himself glancing at Nurse Surfleet and she glared back at him. “Now, let’s be constructive,” he said. “How shall we begin? Who would be the best person to help us out?”
The trouble is, thought Dallas Baer, we all suspect each other. Even the vicar could have done it. None of us have convincing alibis, and all of us have motives, however slender, as in my case. And none of us believe that Andrew Rix could have done it. Why, then, had the police taken him? For what he knew? For some reason that none of the rest of them knew?
“I know who’d be the best person,” said Malcolm Barratt suddenly. “Lois Meade.” He shushed Nurse Surfleet as she began to protest, and continued. “Lois cleans in all our houses. An objective observer. We are, let’s face it, all under suspicion…not yet, thank God, by the police, but here, amongst ourselves. Lois sees everything and hears most things. She could tell us things, if we said we wanted to help solve the murder, and drew up a list of questions agreed by us all.”
Dallas Baer sighed. “Not a chance,” he said. “Lois Meade wouldn’t give you the time of day, let alone information picked up on her rounds. No, that’s a non-starter, Malcolm.”
The room became silent again, as they realized they had got nowhere. Then it was Nurse Surfleet’s turn to make a suggestion. “Suppose we wait a couple of days,” she said. “Let’s see what happens to Andrew Rix and then meet again? He might be home and cleared of any involvement by now. Meantime, Lois is with me tomorrow. I’ll see what I can get out of her. She probably does know something, and has more than likely put two and two together. Could be quite awkward, in fact…”
There was a touch of menace in her voice that made Peter White shiver. “I should not want Lois worried in any way,” he said firmly. “Or harmed. She’s had a lot of family problems lately, and it would be most unacceptable for us to bother her in any way.”
A little authority had crept back into his voice and Gillian Surfleet’s agression subsided. “I wouldn’t worry her,” she said sulkily. “Just ask her a few questions. We’re good friends, Lois and I,” she added, with a smile that hinted at unpalatable secrets.
Soon after that, with nothing much having been achieved, they broke up the meeting and drifted back into the pub. Dallas Baer and Malcolm Barratt ordered more drinks and began to talk in loud voices about golf, deceiving no one, least of all Don Cutt. Gillian Surfleet and the vicar left straight away and outside Peter White put his hand on the nurse’s arm.
“I meant what I said, you know, about Lois,” he cautioned. “God forgives us most things, but unkindness is, in my view, the eighth deadly sin.”
Gillian Surfleet shook off his hand angrily, and marched off down the street towards her cottage. How dare he! She was smouldering with dissatisfaction at the way the meeting had gone. They thought they knew everything, those men. If they knew what she knew, all of it, they’d be a damn sight more worried than they were now!
¦
Sitting by her window, Mary Rix watched Nurse Surfleet go by, briefly lit up by the street lamp, and wondered whether she should go to the door, call her back and ask her to come in and keep her company. At least Gillian knew the whole story. She had been there, through it all. Mary knew how Gillian had felt about Gloria Hathaway. She had felt so sorry for her. It was still a mystery to Mary how that spinsterish, self-regarding woman could have inspired such love and loyalty. She had led Gillian astray, if you looked at it clearly. How the poor thing must have suffered! A much-loved village mainstay, forced to guard a secret that could destroy everything she had built up since she arrived in Farnden.
It had probably been a kind of blackmail. Once Gloria realized how much Gillian cared for her, she would have used that affection without a qualm. And when the awful blow had struck Mary, when she could not deal with the revelation on her own, Gillian had been wonderful. Practical and understanding. She had handled the whole thing with discretion and tact. It had been made easier, of course, by Gloria Hathaway’s ruthless unconcern for anybody but herself. She just wanted things smoothed over and back to normal as soon as possible. Gillian had organized it all, and had comforted Mary, knowing that at that particular time it must have hurt her dreadfully. I wanted my baby more than anything in the world, Mary remembered, watching Gillian’s disappearing back, while Gloria, that wicked woman, had cared for nothing.
A loud knock at the door startled her, and she looked out of the window to see who it was. Andrew! She rushed to open it, hugging him in relief, regardless of what had gone before. Questions tumbled out of her, but all he said was, “Didn’t have my keys, Mary. Sorry. Think I’d like to sit down for a few minutes. Bit of a gruelling time…”
She led him into the warm kitchen and he sat down at the table. “I’ll make some coffee,” she said.
Andrew shook his head. “No thanks,” he said.
Mary sat down next to him, and quietly took his hand. She said nothing, because she could think of nothing to say. She’d always waited for him to take the lead. He wouldn’t let her down now.
After some minutes staring at the darkened window, he turned to look at her. “Mary dear,” he said. “I know now. I know who it was…who killed poor Gloria.”
“So do I, dear,” she said. “I’ve known for quite a while.”
? Murder on Monday ?
Thirty-Seven
Gillian Surfleet looked at the kitchen clock. Ten past nine. It was very unusual for Lois to
