“Do come in, Trevor.” I stood back to allow him in.
After all, the man had brought me flowers.
“What lovely flowers,” I commented as Trevor stepped into the hallway.
“Oh, dear,” Trevor said, turning to me with a small frown nestling in his beard. “I had forgotten these. They’re for my neighbor. She’s housebound at the moment, and fresh flowers do so cheer her.” His eyes expressed his apologies for unintentionally misleading me.
So much for my presumption! I smiled ruefully as Trevor thrust the book he had been carrying into my hands.
“This, however, is for you.”
I examined the book carefully. “Why, thank you, Trevor. How did you guess?” It was a lovely, bright copy of Cyril Hare’s An English Murder.
“Do you have it already?” he asked anxiously.
“Actually, no, I don’t.” And now I was stuck in one of those awkward moments. Was this intended as a gift? Or was Trevor simply bringing some of his wares on a house call?
“When I saw what you liked earlier today, I told myself, Simon must have this one, too.” Trevor smiled brightly. “A little gift from me to you. Consider it my personal welcome to the village.”
“Well, thank you very, very much, Trevor.” I gave him a warm smile, and his eyes dazzled a bit. “You’ll have to pardon my dishabille,” I said as I led him into the sitting room, “but these are my ‘working’ clothes. I can’t write unless I’m wearing something worn-out and comfortable.”
Trevor eyed me from his vantage point on the sofa. “Not at all, Simon, not at all. It suits you.” From the expression on his face, he was enjoying the view. Not that I was exposing anything private, mind you.
“I must apologize for interrupting your work,” Trevor continued.
I waved that away. “Not at all. I was just coming back downstairs from changing clothes. I haven’t started work, so you’ve not actually interrupted anything.” Trevor relaxed into the comfort of my sofa. “That’s good, then. I can imagine that you sometimes must be quite taxed by interruptions from those who don’t understand the necessities of the writer’s life.”
I inclined my head slightly. “That’s true, but I can assure you, few ever make the mistake of interrupting me a second time.” For a brief moment, I let him see my fiercest expression, and he shrank back a bit into the sofa.
“Yes, I quite see what you mean,” Trevor said faintly.
“Not to worry, though,” I continued. “I always make allowances for my friends.” I smiled again, and Trevor relaxed.
“What are you working on these days?” Trevor asked. “A new biography?”
I wasn’t ready to confide to Trevor the full extent of my literary endeavors, so I employed the truth selectively. “At the moment, I’m still deciding. Once I’ve settled in here, I’ll make up my mind. But one possibility is a biography of the Empress Maud.”
Trevor nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve always found her intriguing. One wonders what Henry the First was thinking, trying to force his barons into supporting her. I shall look forward to that book with great interest.” I dipped my head modestly. “Why, thank you, Trevor. I can only hope that the book will live up to your expectations.”
Trevor laughed. “I seriously doubt that you fail at anything you undertake, Simon.” He paused for a moment. “I trust that you are settling in well here in the village despite the rather strange goings-on of last night.”
“You mean the murder?” I asked him coolly.
He started. “Murder!”
“Yes,” I said. “Detective Inspector Chase came by to see me earlier today to ask more questions and to inform me that the police are now treating Miss Winterton’s death officially as a murder inquiry.” I watched his face closely. “Hasn’t he been by to see you?”
Trevor’s mouth twisted bitterly. “Not yet. My dear cousin always assumes that I am of the least importance in any group. I’ll hear from him at some point however.” Good grief, the man could sound quite nasty when he chose. I’d do well to remember that.
“Murder!” Trevor repeated. “How sordidly nasty! The woman could be quite annoying for no apparent reason, but that doesn’t explain why someone would murder her.”
“For someone unbalanced,” I observed mildly, “mere annoyance might be enough.”
“Snupperton Mumsley has perhaps more than its share of eccentrics,” Trevor said with a touch of frost in his voice, “but none of them seems quite the murdering type.”
I shrugged. “I’ve not been here long enough to know anyone that well. But I’ve already picked up hints from more than one quarter that the late, and largely unlamented, postmistress was decidedly inclined to poke her nose into other people’s business. Where it most assuredly was not wanted.”
Trevor laughed. “That’s an understatement if ever I heard one. The woman wasn’t satisfied until she knew where you came from, what your parents did, and so on. Like some self-appointed bloody social register.” And those with something to hide, I thought, would be greatly disconcerted by the woman’s nosiness. What was it that Trevor was hiding? His tone was too harsh to be merely a snide comment; there was something personal here. He gave every appearance of coming from a solidly middle class background, but was he hiding some shameful secret? That he grew up in the slums somewhere? That his mother dressed him in polyester when he was a child? That his father secretly did embroidery when he wasn’t driving a lorry?
I recalled the brief scene between Trevor and Giles Blitherington that I had overheard earlier today. Trevor must have something to hide or he wouldn’t have used such strong language with Giles. And had Giles threatened him with exposure? Could what Trevor had said to Giles be construed as an admission of guilt in the death of Abigail Winterton?
“Sometimes the secrets we find most painful,” I said with nonchalance, “are terribly innocuous and downright uninteresting to other people. Having them broadcast around the village would be irritating, but sometimes it’s better to get things into the open, where they have no power to harm you any further.”
And if that wasn’t an invitation to unburden himself, I don’t know how much clearer I could make it I watched Trevor closely to see how he would react.
“Perhaps so,” Trevor said. At the moment, he gave little appearance of having taken my point to apply to his own case. “Tell me, if you will,” he went on, attempting to change the subject with little subtlety, “what it was that Giles was so intent on burdening you with earlier.”
I frowned slightly. He was definitely fishing for something or surely he wouldn’t have been so blatant.
“Giles can be quite a pest,” Trevor went on hurriedly when I didn’t respond immediately. “I know well from personal experience that he is very importunate when he wants something and one doesn’t yield right away.” Curiouser and curiouser. “I’ll admit that my first impression of him wasn’t very good,” I said. “But upon further acquaintance, I can see that he has some most interesting possibilities.” Should I tell Trevor the news that I had hired Giles as my secretary? What if Trevor were correct and Giles was a pest? I shrugged. I had no doubts about my ability to rid myself of any kind of pest; thus, I wasn’t unduly worried about Giles. But I was curious about Trevor and his motives in trying to discredit Giles with me.
“I grant you,” Trevor said in a studiedly casual tone, “that Giles can be very appealing whenever things are going his way, but the moment you tell him no, the situation changes dramatically.”
Despite his attempts to appear otherwise, Trevor was sounding more and more like someone with the proverbial ax to grind. I had expected better of him. What on earth had Giles done to him to warrant this kind of backbiting?
“I assure you, Trevor,” I said, frost in my voice, “that you need not worry about my welfare. I am more than capable of handling any situation which Giles—or anyone else, for that matter—might contrive.” I fixed him with a direct glare, and he wilted visibly. “What has Giles done to you that you’re so bitter about him? He may be a bit spoiled, from what I’ve seen, but that doesn’t mean he’s harmful.”
Trevor sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I might as well tell you the truth, Simon.”
At last we were getting somewhere, I thought with satisfaction.
“I knew Giles before I came to the village,” Trevor said. “In fact, I was his tutor at university.”
“Before he was sent down?” I asked. Hadn’t Abigail Winterton said Giles had been expelled?
Trevor nodded. “And, unfortunately, I was the reason he was sent down from Cambridge.” He took a deep breath. “He became obsessed with me and wouldn’t leave me alone. It became most painfully embarrassing, I can assure you. No matter where I went, or with whom, there he was. I was hesitant about doing anything official, but he had become so obsessed that his work was suffering, and I was able to use a certain amount of influence to get him sent down.”
“And then you ended up living here in the same village?” That sounded like too much of a whopping coincidence, even for me.
Trevor nodded wearily. “I had inherited some money from a relative, and I was tired of tutoring wretches like Giles. I wanted to own my own bookshop, and I found the one here in this village for sale. I had no idea, at the time, that this was where Giles lived. By the time I found out, it was too late.”
“And has he continued to pester you with unwanted attentions?”
“No, thank goodness,” Trevor said, his eyes shifting away from mine for a moment. “He seems to have matured enough that he doesn’t indulge his adolescent passions to the same extent. He does come into the shop to talk to me occasionally, but most of the time he leaves me alone.”
“And this is what you were afraid of?” I asked him. “You were afraid that Abigail Winterton had found out and that she would broadcast it to the whole village?”
Trevor nodded unhappily. “Can’t you see, Simon, how difficult it would be if that were to become known? I’d be a laughingstock.”
“Perhaps,” I said. “But if you were the victim, it really wasn’t your fault.”
“I know that,” Trevor said impatiently, “but it doesn’t matter. Giles is Sir Giles Blitherington, for God’s sake! Even as unconventional as he can be, he still commands respect around here because of his name and his family. Do you think I want to match my good name against his in a contest of rumors?”
“I can see why you’d rather not,” I conceded. “But if Giles no longer makes any attempts to bother you, I can’t see what relevance the past has. Who’s going to tell the story, and for what purpose?” Now that Abigail Winterton is dead, I added silently.
If Trevor were truly this worried about his so-called shameful secret, he might conceivably have a motive to murder Abigail Winterton. But did he really feel that shame deeply enough to kill? And with Giles a living, everyday reminder, how could he expect to keep the secret hidden forever?
But how would Abigail Winterton have found all this out? I couldn’t imagine Lady Prunella confiding something like this in her favorite adversary, and I didn’t think Giles would be indiscreet enough to tell her himself. If she truly had been reading everyone’s mail, she might have discovered the information that way. If someone had been indiscreet enough to write something down.
Despite what Trevor said, though, this could give Giles as much motive to kill Abigail Winterton. His good name locally wouldn’t be much proof against scandal in a situation like this. Giles—and his mother— would have as much, or more, to lose as Trevor did.
“You may be right,” Trevor said. “As long as Giles keeps quiet, everything will be all right” He shrugged. “I’ve settled in here, and I like the village and my life as a bookseller. I just don’t want anything to unsettle it.”
Like murder, I thought.
But murder changes everything; Trevor might soon find his secret exposed, one way or another. What would his cousin, the detective inspector, do in this case? But perhaps he already knew. I didn’t voice that thought aloud, however.
“Please promise me, Simon,” Trevor said earnestly, “that you won’t say anything to Giles about this? As long as he thinks I haven’t told anyone, he won’t get angry and do something to get back at me.”
Had I misread Giles completely? I wondered. I’d have plenty of opportunity to evaluate him for myself if he continued to work as my secretary. I didn’t relish working with a murderer, but at least I’d have the opportunity to get a better sense of his character.
“I don’t think I’ll be bringing the subject up with Giles anytime soon,” I assured Trevor dryly. “I must tell you, however, that I have engaged Giles as my secretary. I need help with some of my research and correspondence, and Giles seemed most eager to work with a published writer.”
Trevor went completely still at my news. “I hope you won’t regret this,” he said finally. “Perhaps Giles has matured enough that he won’t try to take advantage of you in some way. But you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“No, Trevor, I’ll remember what you’ve said and weigh it very carefully.” I grinned. “And I’ll assure you, yet again, that I’m more than capable of looking out for myself.”
Trevor stood abruptly. “I had better be going.” He picked up his flowers from where he’d laid them earlier. “If I don’t get these to my poor neighbor soon, they’ll wilt completely.”
“Quite so,” I said, standing, then leading him to the front door.
“Good afternoon, Simon,” Trevor said, standing on the doorstep.
“Thank you again for the book, Trevor,” I replied. “It’s a lovely addition to my collection.”
Trevor smiled, but his eyes remained distant. “You’re most welcome. I hope it brings you pleasure.” He turned and walked away. I had the sense of a door closing, and not the one whose latch was in my hand.
Well! I thought. That was certainly strange. I shut the door and leaned back against it. Giles a stalker? Trevor the object of an obsession? Whoever would have guessed? Maybe I had better call up Ruth Rendell and invite her over for tea and advice.
Shaking my head in amusement, I headed to my office to work.