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WHEN MAX HAD CONCLUDED his questioning almost an hour later and pulled Abigail aside to speak to her privately, Rosemary had a chance to confer with her friends.
“We’ve two hours left before we catch the train. Is there a way to get out of this situation with any sort of sympathy?” Frederick asked, for once having left his sarcasm at home.
Rosemary sighed. “I don’t know. It feels wrong to leave without knowing the possible outcome. I should like to speak to Max first to see what his thoughts are on the death. I don’t know why, but I feel an obligation to Abigail. She’s been going through a rough time, and I get the sense she doesn’t have many people other than Martin to lean on in times of trouble.”
“It’s perfectly fine, Rosie,” Vera reassured her. “We’ll take a later train if we must.” She shot a scathing look at Frederick as if challenging him to contest the decision. “It’s not as though any of us are on a time constraint, what with my lack of an acting job and Frederick’s sabbatical.”
At that, Frederick returned Vera’s glare. It wasn’t something he wanted to think about, much less talk about. Having been forced to take a break from his family’s business after also being accused of murder was a sore spot, to say the least.
Desmond, seeing the expression on Frederick’s face, spoke up. “I’m free as a bird as well. I’d say a death next door qualifies as good enough reason to postpone for a day. I’m intrigued, and what’s more, I like the Redberrys. I think we’ll all feel better knowing this matter is settled before we go off on holiday.”
“Okay, then, it’s decided. I’ll run and let Wadsworth know,” Vera offered, skipping up the steps to Rosemary’s house and disappearing through the front door.
“Rosemary, may I speak with you?” Max broke away from the Redberrys.
“Is there anything you can tell me?” she asked without preamble.
Max ran a hand through his hair. “There isn’t much to tell yet. It appears to have been an unfortunate accident. We’ll investigate, of course, but there’s no reason for you to worry, as I’m certain the evidence will bear out my initial findings. There’s no need for you to hone your investigative skills. This was an accidental death.”
Despite the gravity of the situation, Rosemary allowed herself the tiniest of smiles. “Max, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were warning me off your territory.”
“You may take my caution as such, but I only meant to reassure you. Did I overhear you saying you were going on holiday?” he asked, glancing towards Desmond, who stood next to Frederick and watched the conversation between Max and Rosemary with avid interest.
“Yes, that was the plan,” Rosemary explained. “Vera and I decided some sun and sand were in order. When Frederick heard, he decided to horn in and to bring along his old school chum Desmond to round out the numbers. We were supposed to leave on the four o’clock train, but we’ve opted to wait a day or two in light of what’s happened.”
After a pause, Max said, “I see no reason you should postpone your holiday.” It cost him something to encourage her to run off to spend time on the beach with a handsome man.
“Aren’t you going to also warn me to keep my pretty little nose out of other people’s business?” Rosemary asked with a smirk. “It makes no difference; Abigail is a new friend, and I won’t relax until I know her husband isn’t being put up on charges.”
The inspector had attempted to discourage Rosemary’s involvement with another untimely death, and felt he’d done his duty to the best of his ability. He didn’t know why he’d even bothered to try to talk any sense into her anyway; Rosemary would do precisely as she pleased. What was more, she would act as though it were entirely reasonable for her to do so.
Halfway through the conversation, he’d realized he’d engaged in an exercise in futility, and that he might as well accept her position.
Max sighed. “Is there really any point in arguing? I’m not sure why I bother. There’s nothing to indicate foul play, but you won’t be satisfied until you see for yourself.”
Max noted the determined set of Rosemary’s shoulders and assumed the flare of satisfaction he felt was down to the fact she wouldn’t be investigating another murder. It had nothing at all to do about postponing a trip with another man in tow.
“I give up, Rosemary. Do whatever it is you feel you must. Where were you headed, anyway?”
“Cyprus. Have you ever been?”
“No, no, I haven’t,” Max said, but he sounded as though he’d barely registered Rosemary’s question.
Concern tugged at Rosemary until she frowned up at him. “What’s going on with you, Max?” Now that she had taken a closer look, he appeared drawn and slightly haggard, a state she’d never seen him in before. She didn’t like it. She preferred Max looking as he always did: confident and in control.
They had wandered away from the group during the course of the conversation. Now, Max took a seat on a conveniently placed park bench and indicated for Rosemary to join him. “I have a lot on my mind. I don’t want to trouble you, but it would help to talk about it if you’re willing to listen.”
“Of course, Max. Tell me what’s bothering you.” It was nice to speak to someone who didn’t treat her like she already had all the problems she could possibly handle—and it was equally nice to engage in a conversation with a man who didn’t seem to consider vulnerability a weakness. Most of them preferred to keep their problems to themselves for fear of appearing weak, but Max wasn’t like most men.
“I’m up for a promotion,” he said.
“Why, that’s wonderful news.” One would think such an honor would put a smile on a man’s face.
Max went on to explain. “The promotion would mean a transfer to another unit. One a good distance outside of London.”
Now it was Rosemary’s turn to feel a pang of worry. “Oh, I see.”
“My superiors want me to take the position, and I might, eventually, be able to return to the city. However, the opportunity is poorly timed. You see, my mother is ailing, and since my father died, she’s been caring for the house and gardens all alone.”
When Rosemary merely blinked, Max pinched the bridge of his nose and asked, “Did I never tell you about my misspent youth?”
“Knowing you as I do now,” Rosemary smiled, “I can hardly picture you as a young rogue bent on terrorizing the countryside.”
Max gave a low chuckle and capitulated. “An exaggeration on my part. I was born here in London, but my parents relocated while I was still in my pram. Father purchased a house in the country along with an aging nursery, and with my mother’s assistance, restored its fortunes. Both my parents were passionate gardeners. Sadly, their talent with growing things did not pass along to me, nor did any interest in taking over the family business.”
Fascinated, Rosemary listened intently.
“I still enjoy visiting, but I prefer the pace of city life. Perhaps if I ever have a wife and children, we’ll buy a summer home someplace where there are more trees than buildings.” Max’s eyes took on a dreamy look, and he had to shake his head to dislodge an image that he would never be able to share with Rosemary. It featured her in a field of rolling hills, a paintbrush in her hand, and a passel of children at her skirts.
“The house and gardens are far too much for Mother to handle these days. Furthermore, she’s gone through every available gardener in the area. Ariadne Whittington has her own way of doing things, and she doesn’t appreciate opposing opinions.”
In a dry tone, Rosemary pointed out, “It seems you and your mother have many things in common even if horticulture isn’t one of them.”
Max let the subtle criticism slide by without comment. “She has a generous offer for the property, so there’s no reason for her to stay on in the house alone. Except, of course, that she doesn’t want to leave and is determined to detest cottage I’ve picked out for her. Admittedly, it needs quite a bit of work doing, and definitely a woman’s touch. I thought perhaps, that if she was able to decorate it herself, she might find a way to make it feel more like home, but she’s taken little interest in the task. In fact, she refuses to put so much as a toe over the threshold.”
Rosemary thought about her parents and their house out in Pardington. Evelyn Woolridge wouldn’t deign to tend her own gardens, of course—she had staff for that—but Rosemary could only imagine what sort of fit her mother would throw if it were suggested she ought to move to the city. Then she thought about Max moving out of the city, and that plan didn’t appeal to her either. She liked knowing he was nearby, even if she hadn’t reached out as often as she—as often as either of them—would have liked.
“What can I do to help?”
“I was wondering if you might like to look at the cottage and give me a woman’s perspective on how to make it more appealing.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right person. You remember what this place looked like when we moved in.” Rosemary gestured towards her townhouse. “It was practically in a shambles and had the ugliest decor imaginable. It appears I’ve got an extra day or so. I’d be happy to come for a visit and give you my thoughts,” she offered.
Max let out an enormous sigh, and Rosemary thought she noticed the shadow of a smile lift the corners of his mouth. “I would appreciate that, Rosemary, but only if you’re sure you have the time,” he said, thinking how lovely it would be to spend some time alone with her.
“It’s the least I can do. After all, you did save my life, Max.” Rosemary smiled, and his heart skipped another beat. “When you’re finished here, come back for me. I’m sure my brother and Vera can find some way to entertain themselves and Desmond for a few hours.”
Once the medical examiner had finished his job, and Max had adequately questioned everybody present at the time of death, the dentist was finally allowed to return to the home above his office. If he felt any annoyance at the sight of guests at the dining room table, he didn’t let it show.
Abigail had insisted upon inviting Rosemary and her friends in for tea, and though she appeared merely to have been acting in a neighborly fashion, Rosemary shrewdly suspected there was more to it than that. The woman needed support, and that was exactly what she would get. It didn’t matter to Rosemary that they hadn’t been the closest of friends up until now. There was something she liked about Abigail, and she found she wanted to help her if it was within her power to do so.
“Thank you for staying with my wife,” Martin said to the group. “This was no time for her to be left alone, but I do hope we haven’t kept you from anything.”
“Nothing of import,” Rosemary replied easily, her friends nodding in agreement. “We’re sorry for what happened, Martin. I know the death was an accident, but I’m sure it weighs heavily on you.” She could tell it did: his eyes were rimmed with red, and his shoulders slumped.
“Yes, it certainly is. I pride myself on ensuring my patients’ safety, and today, I failed in that effort. At the cost of a man’s life.” He sat down on one of the chairs and rested his elbows on the table. Abigail went to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sure I shut off the gas when I left the examination room. I’m sure of it,” Martin kept repeating as if saying it over and over might make it true. “Poor old Mrs. Linley. I do hope the ordeal didn’t traumatize her overmuch.”
“I’m sure Mrs. Linley is just fine, Martin,” Abigail assured him. “When you’re going on eighty years of age, the chances are you’ve seen a dead body or two.” She grimaced and sat back in her chair with a sigh.
Feeling as though their welcome was wearing thin, Rosemary stood and indicated that she and her friends would be on their way. “I’m sure the two of you have much to discuss.”
“If you need anything at all, we shall be right next door,” Vera contributed, casting a sympathetic look in Abigail’s direction. Desmond and Frederick, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, shook Martin’s hand. The dentist appeared dazed but accepted the gesture with an appreciative grimace.
“Thank you all,” Martin said simply and allowed the group to file out of the dining room door.
