Latham’s directions to Peck’s Cottage were accurate and easy to follow. It probably would have been quicker to walk, possibly through the woods, but for Beth that wasn’t an option.
At seven twenty-five the following evening she pulled up outside the picturesque building set in its own grounds, and standing about a quarter of a mile from the road. With walls studded with knapped flint and a newly thatched roof, the cottage could have been lifted from any illustrated Suffolk guidebook.
She began the arduous procedure of extracting herself from her specially adapted Ford Focus, and got settled in her wheelchair. Surprisingly Peck’s Cottage was wheelchair friendly, with a slowly graduating ramp covering the front step. She wheeled herself up to the front door, and reached up to ring the doorbell. It was so unusual for a residential house to have a ramp that she almost went back down so she could come back up again.
The door was opened almost immediately by Arthur Latham, who welcomed her effusively, and stood back to allow her to wheel herself inside.
“Gwen’s in the kitchen,” he said. “She’s very excited by the prospect of meeting you. So much so she’s paying special attention to the meal tonight.”
“She really didn’t need to go to any trouble,” Beth said.
“Nonsense. We don’t entertain very often, and celebrities tend not to find their way to this neck of the woods.”
“I’d hardly call myself a celebrity.”
“Well, in our eyes you are, so indulge us. This way.” He led her through an uncluttered corridor to a room at the far end.
“She’s here, Gwen,” he said, as he entered the kitchen.
Beth pushed herself though the doorway, and stopped, mildly shocked at the sight of an elderly woman sitting at an oak refectory table in another wheelchair. Gwen Latham looked up from the peas she was shelling, and beamed a smile at Beth. “Hello,” she said brightly. “I couldn’t believe it when Arthur said you were coming. I didn’t think he’d have the nerve to ask you.” She backed away from the table, and pushed herself across to where Beth had stopped.
She looked to be in her early seventies, but pretty enough to lead Beth to think she’d been quite a beauty in her day.
Beth was staring at the chair.
“Didn’t he tell you I was in this thing? Huh, typical male,” Gwen said. “MS. Multiple sclerosis. It’s a bugger. I’m not always confined to the chair, but sometimes…”
“You don’t have to explain,” Beth said. “Actually, it’s quite nice to talk to someone without craning my neck.”
Gwen Latham chuckled. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”
Beth flushed, realizing her last comment may have seemed insensitive. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any offense.”
Gwen reached out, and laid a slightly damp hand on hers. “None taken.” she said. “And I agree with you.” She turned to her husband. “You see, Arthur? I knew Beth would have a positive outlook on life.”
“I don’t know about that,” Beth said.
“But you have, my dear. It’s obvious from what you write. Optimism sings out from the pages. Like me you’re a lover of happy endings. It’s probably why I’m hooked on your books. Would you like a drink? Arthur, fetch Beth a drink.”
“What can I get you, Beth?”
“Squash or water will be fine. My days of getting legless are over.” It was an old joke, and as usual the bitterness of the message prevented laughter.
Latham disappeared into the kitchen, and returned seconds later with a tray laden with bottles of mineral water, and one of orange squash. “I could have done wine, but what with Gwen’s medication, and the possibility of a dash to the hospital in the car, we prefer not to indulge.”
“It’s fine, honestly. I’m driving.” Beth chose a sparkling mineral water, and a glass from the tray.
Gwen suddenly threw her hand up to cover her mouth, “Oh, my God, I forgot to mention the lamb shanks.”
Beth stared at her, puzzled. What was there to mention?
“You’re not a vegetarian are you?” Gwen said.
Beth smiled, and shook her head. “No, I eat meat…and lamb shanks are a favorite.”
“Thank heavens for that. Stupid of me. I should have got Arthur to ask you when he invited you for dinner, and then it just slipped my mind. It’s the drugs they’ve given me. I used to have a memory like an elephant, now I don’t seem to retain any information. A new bit comes in and an old bit drops out. It’s a trade-off.”
“It’s good of you to invite me like this. Otherwise it would have been frozen lasagna and TV for me tonight.”
“Well, we can’t have that now, can we?” Latham said.
The dinner, when it finally arrived, was superb. Gwen was a great cook. The meat fell away from the bone as soon as the knife touched it, and the carrots and broccoli were crisp and tasted fresh, unlike vegetables Beth had bought in the past from supermarkets.
“You can thank Arthur for those,” Gwen said, when Beth commented on them. “He’s been blessed with green fingers. Our garden is like an allotment.”
Sitting opposite Arthur Latham Beth watched his face flush with embarrassment, and not a little pride. The pair of them seemed well suited to each other. Beth felt a twinge of envy.
“Tell me,” Beth said. “Have you ever met the owner of my house?”
“Bernard Franklin? No, I’ve never seen him,” Gwen said. “Arthur has though.”
“Only very briefly,” Latham said. “I saw him around town from time to time, and bumped into him once or twice at the post office. I tried to make conversation with him, but he didn’t want to know. I thought he was a surly devil.”
“Really?” Beth said. “Why was that?”
“Well, this is a fairly friendly community. I wouldn’t say we’re in each other’s pockets, but we all pass the time of day, and if push comes to shove we all look out for each other. Franklin on the other hand wouldn’t have anything to do with us; kept very much to himself. And his daughter wasn’t much better. Jessica, her name was. She’d walk around the village with her nose in the air, and wouldn’t really talk to anyone, not even the people her own age. I don’t think she was deliberately rude. Mr. Samuels who runs the grocer’s told me she was always very pleasant to him. I put it down to the way she’d been brought up. Thought we were too normal, too boring.”
“It was very sad what happened to her,” Gwen said.
“What was that?” Beth asked.
“She died…drowned…a few days after her seventeenth birthday.”
“How did it happen?”
“An accident,” Latham said. “So the inquest found. She’d gone for a swim in the lake, and got entangled in some weeds. At least, that was the theory.”
“You sound skeptical,” Beth said.
“I was then. I am now,” Latham said. “She was a pupil at Greysmeade, the local high school, for the short time she was living here. I was a teacher there before I retired, and I remember that Jessica Franklin was in the school swimming team. She wasn’t a popular member but they tolerated her because she was such a strong swimmer. She helped the school bring home a number of county trophies. It seemed unlikely to me a girl like that would have become victim to some pondweed.”
“Did you give evidence at the inquest?” Beth asked.
“Oh yes, I gave my opinion, but it didn’t count for much. The postmortem also found a high level of alcohol in Jessica’s blood. Given those details the verdict was a foregone conclusion. Poor girl.”
“That’s very sad,” Beth said.
“I think it broke her father. From what I could tell he doted on his daughter once his wife left him. I think that when Jessica died it finished him. He moved away…abroad…Malta, I think…but kept the house on. He returned to England after a while, but settled near Cambridge. He never came back to live at Stillwater, and it’s been a rental property ever since.”
“How long ago did all this happen?”
“About fifteen years now,” Gwen Latham said.
“And the house has been let out ever since?”
“Yes, but only sporadically,” Latham said. “You’re the first tenant in about four years. The place was standing empty before you came along. I must say, it was a relief to many of us in the village when we heard that Stillwater was going to be occupied again.”
“Why’s that?”
“What is it they say?” Latham said. “Nature abhors a vacuum? Just six months ago you wouldn’t have recognized the place. The garden was completely overgrown. The rhododendrons were rampant, and so many plants had been strangled by the bindweed.”
“The house was in a shocking state of disrepair. Houses die if they’re not occupied, and Stillwater was well on the way.” Gwen continued. “Many of the windows were broken and at least three of the shutters had gone. The gutters were down, and the paths were cracked and broken. It was a vandals’ paradise.” She paused, noticing the look of surprise on Beth’s face. “Oh yes, even here in the back of beyond we still fall foul of many of society’s ills. Luckily Falmer’s are a fairly conscientious company. They put the place straight. I think the only part of the estate that wasn’t refurbished was the lake. No one touched that.”
“Which is just as well,” Latham said. “Considering that Jessica met her end there. In my opinion, to tart it up would, I don’t know…tarnish her memory.”
Gwen Latham laughed sharply. “You sentimental old fool,” she said tartly, and then, to Beth, “You listen to him and you’d think the whole village was in mourning for her.”
“And that wasn’t the case?”
“Well, I didn’t shed any tears for her, and I can think of many who shared my view of her. Good riddance, I said at the time.”
“Gwen!” Latham said. “That’s not very charitable.”
“Maybe, but I still think the girl was a troublemaker.”
“You’ve no evidence for that. Just local gossip.”
“Well, as they say, there’s no smoke…”
“Enough!” Latham said. He turned to Beth. “What must you think of us, Beth? Honestly, we’re not small-minded people. Would you like a coffee?”
“I’d love one, but decaf if you have it, otherwise I’ll spend the night bouncing off the walls.”
“No problem,” Latham said, and left the room.
Beth glanced across at Gwen, who was grinning mischievously. She caught Beth’s questioning look.
“Oh, take no notice of us. Arthur’s a lovely man and I care for him deeply. He just has blind spots in certain areas. He’s far too trusting. He tries to see the good in everyone. But sometimes there’s no good to be found.”
“And that applied to Jessica Franklin?”
“In my opinion, and that of many others in the village.”