insisted they go down to the Fether to look at what he called ‘the collapse of their dreams’.”
“The Bracken’s Boatyard site?”
“Exactly. So Alan agreed. He said that Roddy was hardly coherent down by the river, drunk and despairing. They walked along the towpath to the end of the houseboats, then turned round and walked back. Alan said he’d got to get back into town, but Roddy wanted to stay for what he called ‘one last look at the boatyard where it all went wrong’.”
“So he did commit suicide?”
Carole twisted her lips wryly. “I don’t think we’ll ever know. Alan said he looked back from Fedborough Bridge and saw Roddy Hargreaves swaying on the towpath. Then Roddy seemed to lose his footing.”
“There are some old steps down there,” Jude contributed. “It seems he probably fell down those.”
“Deliberately?”
“I don’t think we’ll ever know the answer to that, Debbie.” Carole shook her head. “He may have slipped, he may have deliberately walked into the river. The only thing we know for certain is that nobody pushed him.”
There was a silence while Debbie Carlton took this in, another addition to the overload of disturbing information she’d received in the previous twenty-four hours. Then she asked, “Why didn’t Alan tell the police about what happened to Roddy?”
Carole shrugged. “Come on, can you see him doing that? Stirring up more investigation, which might easily lead to his being questioned about other aspects of the case. I wouldn’t put Alan Burnethorpe down as one of the most public-spirited of men. In fact, ‘totally selfish’ is the description I’d go for. He’d do anything to keep his nicely organized little world intact.”
She sighed. “So I’m afraid we’ll never know the precise reason for Roddy Hargreaves’s death. Like a lot of his life, its details will remain for ever blurred.”
They were silent, all thinking of the dead man, of the confusions in his sad existence. A wife who didn’t love him, a disastrous aptitude for losing money, Catholic guilt, and the belief that the solution to all his problems lay in a bottle. A total failure. And yet none of them could think of him without affection.
Carole ended the silence by turning sternly to Debbie Carlton. “We’ve established that your mother didn’t murder Roddy Hargreaves…but the fact remains that she threatened Jude last night with – ”
“It doesn’t matter, Carole.” The bird’s nest of blonde hair shook, as if it could erase the memory completely.
“It certainly does, Jude. You were in very real danger. Did you talk to your mother about that, Debbie?”
The girl nodded. “She was just protecting Dad. It was totally out of character. Mum hasn’t got a violent nature. I swear she’d never do anything like that again.”
“Unless there was another threat to your father’s reputation.”
“I don’t know.” Debbie faltered. “I suppose…”
Jude tried to lighten the atmosphere. “So all we haveto do is to see that we never again let Billie think we are putting your dad’s reputation under threat.”
“Yes.” Debbie Carlton looked pleadingly towards Carole, but an implacable sternness remained in the older woman’s eyes.
As ever, it was Jude who soothed away the impasse. “Carole, what alternatives do we have? Either we take Debbie’s word for her mother’s future good behaviour or…what? We report to the police what happened last night, put an old woman under the pressures of court proceedings, possibly remove the only stable element in her husband’s life…We can’t do it.”
There was still a long moment before Carole was convinced, and during that time her eyes held Debbie’s. Finally, the contact was released.
Brushing her hands against her thighs in a businesslike manner, Carole announced, “What Jude and I were planning to do was to go and have lunch at a rather nice pub we know. The Crown and Anchor at Fethering. Would you like to join us, Debbie? It’s my treat.”
“Well…” The girl smiled with relief. “That sounds a very good idea indeed. I’d better just…”
They watched her go into the conservatory. The sun had shifted since their arrival and Stanley Franks’s white hair now looked like a halo in the brightness. His daughter leaned down to kiss the old man’s cheek. He showed no signs of having noticed the gesture.
“I’ve got to be off now, Mum. Call you later.”
“Yes, of course.” Billie Franks looked at her husband with pride. “He’s a lot better today, you know. I think he’s turned the corner.”
The old woman was unaware that Carole and Jude had even been at The Elms that morning.
¦
The Crown and Anchor was busy. Many of the dutiful, the concerned, the well-wishing and the will-hungry coming down to visit elderly relatives had chosen to reward themselves with a nice pub lunch. Ted Crisp and his staff were kept constantly occupied behind the bar.
It was not often Carole had seen him at work when the pub was full and she was impressed by his efficiency. The customers responded to his gruff humour and a lot of laughter rang around the bar. She felt glad that a small bridge between the two of them had been mended.
All three women had large glasses of Chilean Chardonnay and the comfortable feeling of having ordered roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, with all the trimmings.
“There is one thing I owe you an explanation about,” announced Debbie Carlton, after a silence.
She looked ill at ease. “Never apologize, never explain,” said Jude lightly.
But Debbie didn’t take the proffered chance to get off the hook. “No, I need to, for me if not for you. I want to explain about me and Alan Burnethorpe.”
Jude looked interested. Carole looked embarrassed. “Well, you both saw me with him, Jude at my place and then you, Carole, at – ”
“Yes, yes.” Carole cleared her throat. “There’s no need anyone should know you’ve been, as it were…I mean…”
Debbie chuckled at her discomfiture. “We hadn’t actually been making love when you arrived, you know.”
“Oh.”
“That wasn’t why I was naked. I was modelling for Alan. He was drawing me.”
“But,” said Jude slyly, “I gather he makes a habit of drawing his mistresses.”
“Yes.” Debbie nodded, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I’m not pretending that
Jude nodded, and Carole, with surprising gentleness, said, “Yes. It does.” Over Debbie’s shoulder, she could see Ted Crisp joking with someone at the bar. He caught her eye and gave her a cheery wave. Carole felt blessed in his friendship.
“Anyway,” Debbie Carlton continued resolutely, “that’s over. Me and Alan. All that’s happened this weekend…the things Mum said, and what you just told me about Alan witnessing Roddy’s death and keeping quiet about it…and…well, everything. It’s made me realize that that relationship is selfish and going nowhere…and actually rather demeaning to me. So may I congratulate you on being the first to know that the affair is over.”
“What about Alan himself?” asked Jude.
“Don’t worry. He’ll be the second to know. Well, actually, given the fact that there are two of you, he’ll be the third to know. But don’t lose any sleep over how he takes the news.”
“I wasn’t going to,” said Carole.
“No. He’ll move on to someone else.” For a moment, Debbie Carlton looked slightly wistful. “He’s just one of those men, who you know’s a bastard, but…he is quite good to be with. Do you know the kind I mean?”
“Yes,” said Jude ruefully.
“No,” said Carole.
“Anyway, I’m going to live my own life from now on.” Debbie bunched her fists to accentuate this positive approach. “The reaction to my paintings in the Art Crawl has really given me a lift. I have got artistic talent. I can
