“Ah.”
“Cocaine.”
“Really?”
“Well, Rod was in a very stressful job, you know.”
“Yes.” Even more stressful when he lost it.
“So, anyway,” Vivvi went on, “one thing led to another…”
“Or
Vivvi giggled. “Yes. Exactly.”
“Just the once, was it?”
“Well…” She blushed. “Once or twice. Four times, actually.”
“Oh. And did your husband ever find out?”
“No. Oh, good heavens, no. No, Nigel’d kill me if he ever found out. He’s got a terrible temper.” The younger woman looked suddenly frightened. “Mrs Pargeter, you must promise me you’ll never breathe a word about this. I shouldn’t have told you.”
“Don’t worry. Nothing goes beyond these four walls,” Mrs Pargeter reassured her. Then suddenly she asked, “What about Theresa?”
“Theresa?”
“Did she know about it?”
Vivvi coloured. “No. Of course not.” But for the first time that morning, she seemed anxious to move the conversation on, rather than to linger lovingly on its details. Mrs Pargeter had a shrewd suspicion she knew what had been said when Theresa Cotton visited ‘Haymakers’ on the night she died.
“But the affair didn’t continue…?”
“No. Well, Rod started his new job and, you know, I said it ought to end…”
“Of course,” said Mrs Pargeter, reading between the lines and understanding that it was Rod who had said it ought to end.
Vivvi seemed suddenly struck by remorse. “And now he’s dead,” she said, wallowing in the emotion of the thought.
“Yes.”
“But, Mrs Pargeter,” she went on with sudden alarm, “you won’t breathe a word about this to anyone, will you?”
“No, of course not.”
“I shouldn’t have told you.”
“Don’t worry. As I said, none of it will go any further than these four walls. Promise.”
Vivvi looked relieved. “Oh thank you, Mrs Pargeter.”
“No problem. One thing…?” she added diffidently.
“Yes?”
“While this affair was going on, did you meet in the Cottons’ house?”
“Good heavens, no.” Vivvi sounded appalled by the idea. “What, have an affair in Smithy’s Loam?” She spoke reverentially, as if referring to holy ground. “Everyone’d know immediately. No, we went to a motel.”
“What, even the first time?”
“Yes. I mean, he made the pass in the house, that’s when he made the suggestion, but then we agreed to meet for lunch later in the week…”
“At the motel?”
“Yes.” Vivvi blushed at the recollection. “God, I felt terrible that week.”
“Hm, yes, well, I suppose you would.” Mrs Pargeter thought for a moment. “And, Vivvi, after Rod started his new job, did you ever try to contact him?”
“In York?”
“Mm.”
“Well, I did think about it, yes, but, I don’t know, I decided it probably wasn’t a good idea. You know, when something’s finished…”
“Yes…”
“I mean, once
“Yes, of course,” said Mrs Pargeter cosily. “Very sensible.”
¦
She felt convinced that Vivvi Sprake had believed completely in Rod Cotton’s new job in York. So that answered the question which had prompted Mrs Pargeter to set up the interview.
On the other hand, their conversation had also raised some new questions.
Very interesting questions, to Mr Pargeter’s way of thinking.
? Mrs, Presumed Dead ?
Thirty-Two
That evening Mrs Pargeter lay long in a hot bath, still thinking about the murder in Smithy’s Loam. Slowly, she once again went through all the elements of the case, testing them out, linking facts and pulling them tight, checking out whether there were any holes in her logic, any details she was missing out.
But nothing new came to her, no blinding insight into the identity of Theresa Cotton’s killer. Everything else in the case made sense; the shape, the outline was clear; but there remained a great hole at the centre. One unanswered question: who had actually done it?
Mrs Pargeter had narrowed down the list of suspects. She was now convinced that Theresa Cotton had been killed by one of the women in Smithy’s Loam. And that the reason for the murder was something that had been said during Theresa’s conscience-clearing circuit of the other houses in the close early on the evening she died.
To all of the women she had revealed that she knew secrets about them. But to one the secret was so important that she was prepared to kill to keep it quiet.
Mrs Pargeter was slowly building up a list of what those secrets might be, but as yet her list was incomplete.
¦
When she got out of the bath and wrapped herself in a sheet-size bath towel, Mrs Pargeter felt cold. There was a draught coming from behind the curtain. Must have left the fanlight open.
She reached up to release the prop that held the window ajar, but it wouldn’t budge. She climbed up on a bathroom chair and, with the curtain bunching round her like a cloak, tried to shift the jammed lock.
It gave after a moment’s effort and she closed the window. She was just about to step down from the chair when she saw something that froze her where she was.
The bathroom was on the side of the house, facing the Temples’. Up to fanlight level, the window glass was discreetly frosted, but above that it was plain. And through this plain glass Mrs Pargeter could see into Carole and Gregory Temple’s bedroom.
The curtains were only half-drawn, which was strange.
But not as strange as what Mrs Pargeter could see through them.
She saw a backview which must be Carole, though somehow it didn’t look like Carole. Anyway, surely she had seen Carole’s car leaving just before running her bath…?
And why would Carole be dressing up so elaborately and preening herself in front of the mirror? She was wearing a low-backed red satin cocktail dress, stockings and silver high-heeled shoes. The ensemble didn’t conform with her customary rather dour style of dress.
Still, perhaps she was going out to some smart function in the near future and was just testing the effect.
But the way she was preening and parading in front of the mirror also seemed at odds with what Mrs Pargeter knew of her neighbour’s character. There was something strange in her movements, too. Could Carole Temple possibly be drunk?
