As Trudy and Clement climbed into his Rover and headed for the attractive village of Wolvercote, which overlooked Oxford’s pretty Port Meadow, back in her home on the hill in Headington, Alice Wilcox was blissfully unaware that she had just had her own interview with the police postponed.
She was busy clearing out her father’s things. He’d appropriated a study and separate sitting room for himself on the ground floor, and the largest of the bedrooms upstairs. But his clothes now sat in neat piles, ready to be given to a jumble sale, and his books and other assorted, inexpensive items, were quickly finding their way into a series of cardboard boxes, ready to be sent on to Oxfam.
As she worked, she felt a certain sense of satisfaction. Now the house was all theirs, they could spread out a bit and have all the space to themselves. No more cooking meals just how he liked it either. They could start having things that they liked instead. And they’d get to pick which television programmes to watch, and they’d be able to go on proper holidays at last and … oh, all sorts of things, she mused happily. Life was going to be so much better now – for everybody. But for herself especially. No more penny pinching and tip-toeing around him, making sure he was happy and comfortable all the time and had nothing to complain about.
Once the family solicitor had been and read the will, confirming that the house was all theirs now, perhaps they might even sell it and move somewhere else? She’d have to discuss it with Kenneth, but she didn’t think he’d have any objections.
She hummed a happy song as she worked. Her brothers and sister would be glad to see the will read as well. Matthew would be the happiest of them all to finally get his hands on his share of their father’s fortune, of course. And Godfrey could indulge in his own weird little hobby to his heart’s content. And Caroline … Alice sighed. Well, if Caroline had been written out of the will, she was sure that she could persuade Kenneth to agree that she must have something. After all, they also had his nice little inheritance on top of everything else, so they would be on easy street.
Alice paused in the act of dusting down an old hunting-scene painting that her father had always admired (and she’d always hated) and frowned slightly.
Yes. The inheritance – that was safe enough now too. She’d been a bit worried about that, ever since she’d discovered that father had been badgering Kenneth to hand it over so he could play with it.
But Kenneth had held firm.
Alice smiled, then happily thrust the hideous painting into the box due to go to charity and nodded in satisfaction. Yes, she really admired Kenneth for standing up to her father. Not many people had the gumption.
With not a care in the world, Alice began to sweep up her father’s eyeglasses and shaving kit and other personal bits and pieces, busily and competently erasing her father’s presence from her home.
Rupert Burrows drove his Austin Healey into Wolvercote and tooted the horn as he crossed the very high, humped back bridge on the far side of the village. It was almost impossible to see any other car coming up the other side, so everyone knew you had to sound a warning, but hearing no answering toot, he motored over and a few yards on, automatically indicated left, down a narrow, rather over-grown lane.
He was no stranger to Mary Everly’s delightful cottage, that stood back from this lane in large grounds, surrounded by weeping willows and more often than not, wild rabbits, that trespassed regularly into her garden from the surrounding fields.
But as he drove closer, he saw that an unknown Rover was already pulling up in front of the small garden gate, and he instinctively drove past without stopping.
Although there was nothing wrong in him visiting Mary, after all the fuss her brother had kicked up, he knew she was still rather sensitive about their recent engagement, and probably wouldn’t want him to put in an appearance if she had unexpected callers.
A tall man with fair hair and moustache and large, pale blue eyes, he met his own reflection in the driving mirror and frowned. He could see her point of view, of course, and he was in no position, really, to object to it, but damn it all, it came to something when you had to pussyfoot around when visiting your own fiancée. It wasn’t as if they were youngsters, needing Daddy’s permission!
And yet, with a sigh, he carried on driving. He’d park up somewhere and have a stroll along the river, now that the rain had finally stopped. Not the ideal weather for it, perhaps, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that whoever was calling on her probably wouldn’t be staying long. Mary knew that he was coming, so she’d be sure to get rid of them as quickly as possible.
Anyway, he couldn’t feel annoyed for long. After all, now that Thomas Hughes was dead, all their troubles were over.