“I don’t know, Theresa seemed sort of anonymous,” said Sue Curle after some deliberation. “I mean, obviously I knew her, and one sort of went through the motions socially, but it was as if there was something missing in the middle. I mean, I never felt that I got through to her.”
“Did you feel the same, Vivvi?” asked Mrs Pargeter.
“Yes, I suppose I did in a way.” Vivvi Sprake wrinkled her nose up cautiously. “There was something sort of…shut-off about her. I mean, she was perfectly friendly, and very helpful – she fed our cat while we were away in Portugal, and I watered her plants when they were off, that sort of thing – but I don’t know, she seemed to be sort of distancing herself all the time.”
“And was that the same when her husband was around? I mean, did it make any difference when he went up North?”
“Don’t think it made any difference at all,” said Vivvi. “Theresa was always like that.”
But she had replied too quickly. Again, Mrs Pargeter was aware of an unusual reaction from Vivvi when the name of Rod Cotton came up. There was something there to be probed further. When the right opportunity arose.
Mrs Pargeter was pleased with the little impromptu coffee party she had arranged. Only Vivvi and Sue. All the other Smithy’s Loam second cars had been out that Monday morning when the idea came to her, but Vivvi and Sue had been so surprised by the sudden invitation that neither had had time to make up excuses. If excuses were required. Probably not, Mrs Pargeter surmised. Both women would be sufficiently intrigued to see how she had changed the interior of the Cottons’ house to come across the road, anyway.
“What impression did you get, Sue?” she asked, moving the heat away from Vivvi for the time being. “Do you think Theresa had a weak personality?”
“No, not really. She just seemed to be very self-sufficient, you know, like there was an inner core of her that was completely private and that no one could touch.”
“Hm. And she never gave the impression that she was dissatisfied with her life here?”
“Dissatisfied with her life in Smithy’s Loam?” asked Sue Curle, struck by the incongruity of the idea. “No, why should she be? I mean, she had a husband who was earning a packet. More than that,” she added bitterly, “she had a husband who didn’t keep putting his hand up every skirt he came across.”
Mrs Pargeter flashed a look at Vivvi Sprake. Yes, there was some reaction. Quickly concealed, but it had been there. What had happened between Rod and Vivvi?
“And did Theresa ever have a job herself?” she asked diffidently, still trying to find a way into the secret life of the missing woman.
“I think she did before they were married,” said Vivvi, “but Rod was old-fashioned about that. Thought it reflected badly on him for his wife to have to go out to work. Anyway, he was coining it, so there wasn’t much point. Anything she earned’d only add to his tax bill.”
That put women’s independence in its place, thought Mrs Pargeter. She tried a new approach. “But you don’t think Theresa ever wanted anything different? Anything more spiritual? Did she ever talk about values? Or materialism?”
“What is this?” Sue Curle laughed easily. “Honestly, Mrs Pargeter, it sounds like you’re filling out some questionnaire.”
“Sorry. Just a nosy old woman,” she covered up quickly. “It’s just…I’m sorry, one does get sort of interested in the people who’ve lived in a house before you.”
Both Sue and Vivvi looked blank at this idea. Clearly they had no interest in the people who had owned their houses before them. Once their financial and social status had been established, former owners ceased to have any relevance. The residents of Smithy’s Loam continued to move in their own selfish circles.
Still, neither of them commented on their new neighbour’s eccentricity. “Actually,” Sue went off on a new tack, “the reason I thought of questionnaires was that I had some market researcher round this morning…”
“Oh, so did I,” said Vivvi. “Woman with a Welsh accent…?”
“That’s right. Asking about marital status and that sort of thing. I was able to air some of my views on the subject of men and divorce.” Sue smiled grimly. “Seemed quite a sensible woman, I thought.”
Mrs Pargeter took in this information with quiet satisfaction. She felt fairly certain that the Welsh ‘market researcher’ was Truffler Mason’s assistant. Sue Curle’s commendation of the woman’s views on men and divorce seemed a sufficient pointer.
So that was good. It meant that Truffler’s investigations were proceeding. In tracking down the Cottons, he would have to make enquiries in Smithy’s Loam and market research was as good a cover as any other. It was also likely that his investigations would incidentally be finding out a few details about the other residents of the close. And such information could be very useful to Mrs Pargeter later in her enquiries.
The only thing wrong was that the Welsh girl should have come to her door, too. Missing her out because she was the instigator of the enquiry was the kind of lapse that could give rise to suspicion. Mrs Pargeter made a mental note to mention this to Truffler when they next spoke.
Although Sue had now drawn attention to her questionnaire approach, Mrs Pargeter saw no reason to discontinue it. Why not keep up the image of a nosy old bat?
“When did you last see Theresa, Sue?”
“Hm?”
“Well, Vivvi, you said she came round to see you early evening of the night she left. And I know she went to see Fiona Burchfield-Brown, too. So I was wondering whether she did a complete circuit of Smithy’s Loam, saying goodbye…”
“Oh…” Sue Curle looked suddenly confused, perhaps even embarrassed. “I’m not sure…”
“It would have been the Monday evening, between six and sevenish. Last Monday. But perhaps you were still at the office…?”
“No,” said Sue hastily. “No, I was back. Now I remember, yes. Kirsten had to go up to London to some club or other. She was leaving about five, and I had to get back from the office early. That’s right, Theresa did just come round briefly to say goodbye.”
“Just ‘goodbye’…?”
That question got a firm ‘Yes’. Mrs Pargeter wondered…Something odd there, too…So many cross-currents in Smithy’s Loam. So many hints that needed picking up. So many half-statements that needed completing. So many details that cried out for investigation.
Still, she must move slowly. As usual, she felt it would be a ‘softly, softly’ approach that paid off in the end.
“It’s strange,” she mused casually, “how I keep thinking about Theresa Cotton…I mean, as you say, she didn’t seem to have a strong personality at all, and yet I can sort of feel her presence around the house…”
She had floated this just to see what kind of reaction it would provoke, but all she got was more bitterness from Sue Curle. “She may well have had a very strong personality, who can say? But being stuck at home looking after a house for a husband is not the best way of demonstrating one’s personality, is it? But that’s the lot of the average woman, even now. Yes, even after all the publicity about Women’s Lib and all the great things it’s supposed to have achieved, the average woman is still stuck at home, totally eclipsed by her bloody husband.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say –”
“It’s true. Might as well be dead as stuck at home in the ‘mere wife’ role. God, life’s bloody unfair. Get born with a tassel and you’ve got an advantage for the rest of your life.”
“I don’t think that’s always true,” Mrs Pargeter protested. “I mean, in some relationships, the sexes are completely equal.” That had been the experience of her marriage to the late Mr Pargeter. But then of course she knew she had been exceptionally lucky.
Sue Curle poured scorn on this idea. “Huh. I’m sorry, Mrs Pargeter, but it’s a generation thing. You only say that because your generation was brainwashed into thinking that a girl’s main aim in life was to get a husband, and once she’d got one she should spend the rest of her days kowtowing to the selfish bastard!”
Under normal circumstances, Mrs Pargeter would have contested this extravagant generalisation, but she didn’t want to deflect the conversation. She was fishing for information and knew that her best catch would come in unguarded statements from her two guests. So she contented herself with a “Well, maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I am,” Sue Curle asserted. “God, what I’d give to have my time over again! Certainly I’d never get married. Never give any man power over me, oh no. Maybe I’d try exercising a bit of power over them.”
