He and Aubrey’s nephew must have been in Cambridge at the same time, he realised.
‘Arthur got his love of flowers from his mother, although she was a botanical illustrator, not a gardener. He transformed their own garden when he was still just a boy, and their neighbours’, then he earned money doing it in his spare time at university. The iris was his favourite flower. After he died, when Bernard came back from the war, he had twenty-one different varieties planted here in the garden, one for each year of Arthur’s life. Part of the penance, I think, although he hardly needed flowers to remind him.’ She stood, and walked over to the vase below the painting.
‘Bernard chose the species to have flowers all year round, so it’s just as well I’ve grown to love them too. See how beautiful they are when you look at them closely.’
He joined her and saw what she meant. The flowers which he had believed to be of a uniform deep lilac with a single splash of yellow were, in fact, a complex blend of tones and colours, each slightly different to the next. ‘Did you know it’s supposed to be the flower of chivalry?’ she asked. ‘Three petals – one for faith, one for wisdom, and one for valour. Bernard laid an iris on the Cenotaph for Arthur every week, almost without fail. I shall do the same now for both of them – there’s no one else left to remember. Nora died five years ago – she had cancer – and Arthur’s father was already long dead when he went to France.’
‘Did Arthur have a lover?’
‘Not that I know of. Certainly there was no girlfriend at the memorial service we held for him.’
Having believed at first that he would get nothing from Grace Aubrey, Penrose now sensed that the time spent with her had hinted at everything of significance in the case. At a loss for the moment as to how it related back to the theatre and to Elspeth Simmons, he fell back on a more conventional line of enquiry.
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‘Can I have the name of your husband’s solicitor, Mrs Aubrey? I’ll need to see the details of his will.’
‘It’s John Maudelyn at Maudelyn & De Vere. They’re in Lan-caster Place, but I think I can save you some time. If there was one thing that Bernard and I did discuss, it was our financial affairs.’
She left the room, again only briefly. ‘This is a copy of his will,’ she said, handing Penrose a large ivory-coloured envelope. ‘You’ll want to check with John, but you certainly won’t find him at work on a Sunday so this might help in the meantime. I’d be very surprised if he’d changed it without telling me, and there are none of those startling revelations in here that make things so much easier for detective writers.’ She smiled wryly. ‘And theatre producers, for that matter. Put simply, the houses, Bernard’s stocks and shares and a significant amount of capital go to Joseph and to me; neither of us will ever want for anything, as you’ll see.’
‘And the theatres?’
‘Ownership of the bricks and mortar goes to Joseph, but no executive powers in their management. That falls to John Terry, together with a sizeable share of the profits. Or, I suppose, the losses, although he’d have to be very stupid to whittle away assets of the scale that Bernard has built up over the years. A lump sum has been left to Lydia Beaumont; they were good friends, and he could always fancy himself a little in love with her without the fear of having to do anything about it – I’m sure you know what I mean. The most unusual clause concerns Hedley White – I knew I’d seen the name somewhere. He is to have a job – and a well-paid one – at the New and Wyndham’s theatres for as long as he wants one or, should he choose to leave, he will receive a sum of money that should set him up for life.’
Penrose thanked her and held out his hand, ready to leave her in peace, but she walked with him down to the hallway, stopping at the door to another room on the way to point out a second vase of flowers. ‘These don’t strictly belong to the iris family but I liked them so much that Bernard planted them for me. Ironic, isn’t it?’
He looked at the velvety brown and green flowers without understanding her meaning. ‘
you and me, the widow iris.’ At the door, she offered her hand again and looked gravely up at him. ‘Will I be able to see Bernard’s body soon? We may not have been in love, but we did always respect each other and the more I see of the world, the rarer I consider that to be. I don’t intend to stop now simply because he’s dead.’
‘Of course. I’ll have a car sent for you in the morning. Would midday suit?’ She nodded, and Penrose paused at the door. ‘I spoke to Bernard very briefly tonight – I wanted to ask him about Hedley White and Elspeth Simmons – and he said there was something he needed to see me about, too. I don’t suppose you have any idea what that might have been?’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t imagine why he would need to talk to the police but I can easily understand why, if he did, he would choose you. Thank you for your courtesy, Inspector, and for your intelligence. I appreciate them both, and I’d be grateful if you could do one thing for me. When you find whoever did this, as I’ve every confidence you will, I’d like you to make sure that they know what they’ve done. I don’t mean bring them to justice in the courts
– that will happen, of course, but I have no faith in capital punishment. Death means different things to different people, and I think Bernard was right when he said it could often be the easy way out.
But before they die, I’d like you to try to make sure they understand what they’ve taken from this world. He was a good man.’
Penrose knew it wasn’t his place to question what Grace Aubrey had said about the relationship she shared with her husband, but he couldn’t help reflecting that there were many kinds of love. As he left, he could not decide for whom he felt the greater sadness: the man who had died so full of regret; or the woman left alone to deal with a grief which she had sincerely never expected to know.
A walk through London in the early hours of the morning would not have been Josephine’s preferred way of dealing with the shock of Aubrey’s murder, but she found herself with very little choice.
Archie’s departure had been followed by an uncomfortable interlude in the Green Room, during which Marta’s anger had dis-174
solved into frustration tinged with embarrassment, and things were only made worse when Lydia snapped at her to calm down and stop wrapping her in cotton wool. Josephine’s gentle suggestion that they all go home and get some rest met with adamant refusal.
‘No, you two go home if you want to,’ Lydia said, getting up suddenly, ‘but after what I’ve seen tonight I intend to put off rest for as long as I can – particularly the eternal sort. I need to see a bit of life, so I’m going for a walk. You’re welcome to join me, or I’ll see you later.’
Marta started to protest but thought better of it and gave Josephine a look which begged for solidarity, so they left together, accepting a police chaperone as far as Number 66 and then, as soon as the constable’s back was turned, setting off in the other direction. God help him if any harm came to them, Josephine thought: Archie’s fury would be merciless.
