Chapter Six

As predicted, the crematorium was packed. Vaughan Mason’s funeral was the event of the year and the village showed up en masse. Absentees were conspicuous, one of whom was Gabriel Shaw, the schoolteacher’s son. Heather herself was present, in velvet layers of black and red, with a dramatic veil over her face.

Matthew and Mungo took on the role of hosts as none of the relatives had offered, and stood in the porch, shaking hands and conversing with each mourner quietly. Beatrice seated herself near the back with Tanya, both feigning expressions of sorrow while gossiping in whispers.

“See that one with the red feather in her hat?” hissed Tanya. “Vaughan’s neighbour, Demelza Price. She’s on the parish council and she hated his guts. He deliberately annoyed her by sunbathing nude when she was gardening or playing Eminem out of his bedroom window on her book club evenings.”

Beatrice sighed. “He really went out of his way to upset people. I’d say a good half of this congregation is secretly celebrating.”

“Probably more than half. Look at all these publishing luminaries. There’s Whatsisname. You know, the bloke with the teeth. Vaughan trashed his comeback novel in a review for The Guardian and called his agent ‘an undiscerning vampire’. And those two beside him are the presenters of ArtScene on Channel Four, which Vaughan always referred to as Asinine. Tell you what, the pub is going to shift some champagne today.”

Beatrice watched the room fill and her eye was caught by a pair of older ladies, whom Matthew escorted to the front pew, directly below the pulpit. Their white heads looked familiar, but without seeing their faces, she had no idea where she’d seen them before. They crossed themselves as they faced Vaughan’s floral-clad coffin and settled themselves to the left.

Whispers rustled like sea grass through the crowd as a woman strode down the aisle. Short and plump, she wore huge sunglasses, and black glossy ringlets framed her face. Her shimmery black dress seemed more appropriate for an awards ceremony than a family funeral. Draped over her arm was a large handbag with chains instead of seams. Each hand twinkled with rings, bracelets and slick dark nail polish and her feet were clad in black high-heeled ankle boots. She acknowledged no one as she sat on the first pew on the right, opposite the old ladies.

Beatrice, like everyone else in the crowded church, was staring.

Out of the corner of her mouth, Tanya whispered, “Bet you that’s his daughter. She just flew over from New York, where she works for a lifestyle magazine. Doesn’t she just ooze glamour?”

“She reminds me of a Vietnamese pot-bellied pig,” said Beatrice, with total honesty. “Well groomed, certainly, but with little trotters and a snout.”

“Ssh!” Tanya snorted as the organ struck up and the vicar ascended to the pulpit.

As funerals go, it was on the brief side. The eulogy touched on Vaughan’s youthful fame, the undeniable contribution he had made to literature and the number of friends he had made in the second phase of his life, in his adopted village. He regretted the loss borne by the family, gesturing to the front pews. Rose was Vaughan’s ex-wife, and Grace their only daughter. The fact that the white-haired lady and glamour puss sat on opposite sides of the aisle seemed to confuse him as much as everyone else. Nevertheless, he assured the assembly that Vaughan Mason had been dearly loved and would be greatly missed.

Beatrice thought it a good thing that people were not given the opportunity, as they were at weddings, to stand up and object. Speak now or forever hold your peace. No, in church people would hold their tongues and go along with the vicar’s airbrushed version of Vaughan. Only once the first wine glasses had been emptied in the function room at The Angel would vengeful knives come out. And Beatrice intended to be all ears.

No one cried as the curtain hid the coffin from view, not even Heather, who was infamous for her theatrics. Beatrice kept her gaze on Matthew, who sat on the second pew behind the family. He sat still and stoic beside Mungo, his gaze resting on the space where the coffin had been, saying his goodbyes. Her heart ached for him. She’d never understand their friendship but his loss was real and genuine. As was his pain.

The widow and daughter gave no indication of their feelings, facing front and ignoring each other. On an impulse, Beatrice reached over and gave Tanya’s arm a squeeze.

An hour later, the upstairs function room at The Angel was heaving with black-clad mourners. Beatrice flittered about with sandwich trays and canapés, ostensibly giving Susie and her staff a hand. Her intention of eavesdropping was easily disguised in the role of waitress. It took a while to hear anything juicy and she began to get bored. As usual at these kinds of events, one had to wade through all the conventional bullshit to get to the truth of the matter.

“Ground-breaker, forerunner, rebel, game-changer, nonconformist, old school, unapologetic, icon, trailblazer...”

Beatrice sniffed. Blah, blah. Are you people devoid of original thought?

She put down her tray and snatched a glass of white wine. It was warm and overly sweet, but it was wine. And even if she was caught drinking on duty, she didn’t give a...

“Beatrice Stubbs?”

The white-haired widow stood in front of her, with a disbelieving smile. “It IS you. I thought my eyes were playing tricks. Do you remember me? We met in Greece, on The Empress Louise. Rose Mason.”

Beatrice set down her glass in astonishment. “Rose? I don’t believe it! I thought you looked familiar, but ... oh my God, Rose Mason? You were Vaughan’s ex-wife?”

“Small world, eh? C’mere!” She opened her arms and Beatrice embraced her thin frame with heartfelt warmth.

“It is so lovely to see you again. I’m just totally thrown by the circumstances. How, what, who, why?” Beatrice gazed into the bright blue eyes before her.

“You’re not the only one with questions. Come over and sit with us. Maggie’s over here, complaining about the food as usual.”

Maggie looked exactly as Beatrice remembered. The three of them met on a cruise ship where Beatrice was investigating suspicious deaths. Both had proved to be useful allies and loyal friends. But realising the compartments of her life were not as discrete as she’d imagined made Beatrice feel exposed and vulnerable.

“You’re here too!” She hugged Maggie with a respectful gentleness. “I’m so delighted to see you both again, but completely confused. I may need another glass of wine.”

Rose hailed a waitress with the air of a Roman empress and accepted three glasses of Chardonnay. “Cheers, Beatrice! A pleasure to see you.”

They toasted and looked from one to another as they drank.

Rose spoke first. “Kindly explain why a detective from Scotland Yard is attending the funeral of my ex-husband, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“No detectives at this funeral, apart from the official one over there.” She indicated DI Axe, who stood near the door with a cup of tea. “I’m retired. The only reason I’m here is because of Matthew, my partner and long-suffering companion. Vaughan Mason was one of his best friends. But when I met you, as Rose Mason, I had no idea of the connection.”

Maggie and Rose exchanged a glance.

“Not something I used to shout about,” said Rose.

“Nor something to shout about in the future,” said Maggie, her eyes hard. “We just keep our heads down, quiet little old ladies, and go about our business.”

Her words struck a chord with Beatrice and a strategy unfurled itself as if someone had unrolled a map. “It is such a pleasure to see you both again. How long are you staying?”

Maggie shrugged and jerked her head towards Rose. “Ask her.”

“The reading of the will is tomorrow and we have been invited to attend. I also want to try to have a conversation with...” Rose looked across the room at the black-clad woman with the piggy eyes, laughing with a cluster of publishing folk.

“Your daughter?” offered Beatrice.

“We’ve not spoken for years. This might be a chance to repair some damage.” Rose’s voice was faint but raw. “So I thought we might stay on a few days.”

Beatrice grabbed her chance. “Listen, now is not the time, but what do you say we have drinks before dinner this evening and catch up? I think we have a lot to discuss and if you’re interested, I could use your help.”

Rose and Maggie’s faces wreathed into smiles.

Take that, DI Axe. This old dog can still follow a scent.