“Interesting,” said Jude at the end of the narration. “Particularly the areas she didn’t want to go into.”
“Yes. Extremely cagey when we got on to anything about her past, it seemed. She’s a very private person.”
“And you say she was expecting a phone call?”
“Seemed to be. She certainly pounced on the mobile, and looked disappointed when she saw who it was.”
“Waiting for a call from a lover…” Jude mused.
“We have no basis for saying that. Could have been a friend, a member of her family, anyone. We know hardly anything about her.”
“No, but we do at least now know who has keys to Gallimaufry.”
“Yes,” Carole agreed, with a modest swell of pride at her investigative achievement.
“So what we want to find out now is – ” There was a trilling noise in the background. “Sorry, that’s my mobile going.”
“Call me back.”
Jude phoned back about ten minutes later. “Interesting,” she said. “The call on my mobile was from Ricky Le Bonnier.”
“Oh?”
“He wants to come and talk to me.”
“About what?”
“Anything I noticed unusual in Polly’s behaviour at my party. He’s got an interview with the police coming up later in the morning. I think he’s trying to keep one step ahead of them.”
“Get to you before they do, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Hm.” There was a slightly peeved silence before Carole said, “Of course, at the party Polly did, in fact, talk to me more than she talked to you.”
“I know that. Which is why I suggested that you should also be here when Ricky comes.”
“Oh. Oh, did you?” Carole couldn’t keep the pleasure out of her voice. “When’s he coming?”
“In about half an hour.”
“I’ll be there.”
¦
“How’s Lola taking it?” asked Jude.
“She’s not too bad. Got the kids to keep her occupied; she doesn’t have much time to brood. No, it’s my mother who’s really cut up about what’s happened.”
“And you, Ricky? How’re you coping?”
He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think it’s really hit me yet. So many practical things need doing. Then there’s the police sniffing around. And they’re still doing forensic investigations on…on…” he couldn’t bring himself to mention his stepdaughter’s body – “you know, so we can’t even make funeral plans. It just seems to be one practical thing after the other at the moment. But I think it’s going to hit me quite hard when things settle down.”
“Yes,” said Jude.
“Any idea why your mother’s taking it so hard?” asked Carole. “From the brief time I saw the two of them together, she and Polly didn’t seem particularly close.”
“No.” Ricky Le Bonnier was silent for quite a long time, dwarfing the draped armchair on which he was sitting. He was dressed in khaki chinos and a brown leather jacket, cut long. The day’s choice of glasses were large and owl-like with orange plastic frames. In spite of his adverse circumstances, there was still a compelling energy about the man.
When he finally spoke, it was with caution. “I think the reason Mother’s reacting like she is is because she’s kind of got the feeling what’s happened to Polly could have happened to her.”
“I’m sorry,” said Carole, “I don’t understand.”
“Look, Mum’s generation was a lot less open about depression than we are now.”
“Are you saying Polly was depressed?” asked Jude.
“Of course I am. Look, she had no real reason to top herself. Not now. I mean, she was very affected by my breaking up with her mum, and then her mum dying.”
“A drug overdose, Lola said.”
“Did she?” He grimaced, as though he didn’t want his wife passing on that kind of information. “Well, yes, it was. And, obviously, that affected Polly at the time – or at least I was told it did. And I wasn’t there for her then, so maybe I’ve got to hold my hand up and take a bit of blame. But it’s not like she’s my own daughter. Not my own flesh and blood. Not like Mabel and Henry.” He couldn’t disguise the pride he felt for his new family. “I mean, I like to think I did my duty by the kid when Vanessa and me were together, but…”
He coloured, as if he didn’t want to have that claim examined too closely. “Anyway, we’re talking a long time ago. Last few years, Polly’s life has been fine. OK, she wasn’t getting much acting work and I don’t know how healthy her relationship with Piers was, but basically she had no material or logical reason to take her own life. So she must’ve done it because she was depressed.”
“You’re sure she did take her own life?”
“What else is there to think?”
Carole was tempted to reply that there were quite a lot of other things to think, even tempted to mention the word ‘murder’, but she restrained herself. And she did feel a little guilty for never having considered the possibility of suicide. “So what about the fire? You reckon Polly started that?”
“Again, what else can I think?”
“But from what she said to me, she appeared to like Lola. Why would she want to destroy her friend’s business?”
“Carole, people suffering from severe depression are not at their most logical. I’m sure it all made some kind of sense to Polly’s poor, tortured mind.” For the first time his voice broke. The emotion was getting to him. “I’m sorry.”
Jude found herself wondering unworthily how much of his reaction was real. She had spent time with a lot of actors, and Ricky Le Bonnier shared with them a flamboyance which could all too easily turn to self- dramatization.
“I still don’t quite see,” said Carole, “why your stepdaughter’s committing suicide should have such an effect on your mother.”
“It’s relevant,” he replied, “because Mother has been a depressive all her life. And, as I say, in her generation, it was a hard thing to own up to. You had to hide it. There was a stigma about mental illness, you had to pretend everything was OK. You’d couldn’t succumb to it, then you’d be thought of as ‘not having any backbone’, ‘letting the side down’. You’d be told to ‘snap out of it’. And the kind of medication you could get for depression in those days – assuming you ever plucked up courage to seek medical help – well, it was pretty scary stuff. I mean, I’ve dabbled in the odd recreational substance in my time…” As ever, when he referred to drugs, there was a kind of sheepish pride in his tone – “but I wouldn’t have touched any of the prescription drugs they used to dish out for depression in those days. They’d literally blow your mind.
“Anyway, Mum was always terrified that people in the family might be depressives. She even used to worry about me – though she certainly had no need to. I’m glad to say I’m fine. I’ve never had a depressed thought in my life. I’m too bloody cheerful, if anything, some people would say almost bumptious. But then Polly became part of the family circle. And she was never a relaxed child to have around the house. I think she’d been upset when her parents split up, and then perhaps I didn’t give her as much time as I should have done. And I think Mum, you know, having been there herself, recognized that depressive streak in Polly and now feels she should have done more to help the girl before…what happened happened. That’s why she’s so upset.”
“Did Polly seem depressed to you, Ricky, when she came down before Christmas?”
“I don’t know, Jude.” He shrugged. “I’m not really an expert on the subject. I’ve been told she’s a depressive, but I’m not sure what the signs of that are. We’ve always had quite a sparky relationship – not to say a spiky one. She still blames me for leaving her mother…and, as I’ve said, I’m sorry for that. And maybe there was something I could have done to get her mother off the heroin. After all, I managed to do it. But we were divorced by then, she
