Freya said, ‘I do wish we were spending Christmas together.’
Matthew nodded. ‘Me, too. Trouble is, up to now we’ve both spent it with our families, and since we’re not engaged or anything, it’s what they still expect. In fairness, I’ve not seen my lot for a month or two; I feel I owe it to them.’
‘And I couldn’t desert mine, especially this Christmas. Dad looks like a ghost, while everyone else is going round with false smiles plastered on their faces. And it’s all my fault.’
Matthew reached for her hand. ‘No, it isn’t. You couldn’t help having those nightmares. It’s a wonder you’ve kept so sane all these years, after what you went through.’
‘It’s Christmas lunch I’m most dreading. We’ve always gone to the Clarendon, the whole family, including Nanny until a few years ago. I was sure they’d cancel it, but they seem determined not to. So we’ll be sitting there in the middle of the restaurant like a prize exhibit, with everyone staring at us.’
Her voice wobbled, and Matthew squeezed her hand. ‘I’m sure it won’t be like that. You said business has been good these last weeks, with everyone offering support.’
‘Or coming to see for themselves how we’re coping.’ She gave a little shudder. ‘I still can’t believe Mummy’s been there all this time, so close to us all. It’s – macabre.’
‘Have the police any leads?’
‘No. They keep questioning me. I’m sure they think I’m keeping something back, that having actually been there, I must know who killed her.’
‘But you don’t,’ Matthew said stoutly. ‘If you did, you’d have remembered by now.’
Freya turned her white face towards him. ‘Matt, I must have seen him! He was walking about immediately beneath me.’
‘Then it’s obvious you didn’t know him, isn’t it? Which is why you can’t remember his face.’
‘That’s what I keep telling myself. But suppose my subconscious is blocking it because I did know him? Very well?’
She pulled her hands from his and covered her face with them, while Matthew, whose thoughts had been along the same lines, could only watch in helpless despair.
Stephen said, ‘Are you quite sure you’ve ordered enough? It’s not as though there’s a choice of main course on Christmas Day – apart from vegetarians, everyone will be having turkey.’
Gerald gritted his teeth. ‘Dad, this will be my sixth Christmas in charge. I do know what I’m doing.’
‘And the desserts? Not everyone will want the pudding, you know.’
‘We’ve already discussed this; there’s also a choice of chestnut soufflé, iced cranberry ring or mincemeat flan. And, of course, the usual selection of cheeses.’
Stephen nodded distractedly. ‘How many are booked in the Grill Room?’ At Christmas, the smaller and more intimate restaurant was, paradoxically, reserved for parties of a dozen or more.
‘Ten tables. Capacity. And before you ask, they’re catered for.’
‘As long as you’re sure. Remember that for most people, this is the most important meal of the year.’
‘No pressure, then,’ returned Gerald drily.
But Stephen was not the only member of the family with misgivings.
‘I’ve been expecting the Tarltons to cancel every day,’ Dorothy remarked to Ruth, as they checked the list of bookings. ‘I hope they don’t cast a pall on the rest of the diners, poor souls.’
‘I think they’re being very brave, not pulling out,’ Ruth said.
‘Oh, I agree; but bravery doesn’t make for a festive atmosphere. People will either pointedly ignore them, or stare unashamedly.’
Ruth gave a protesting laugh. ‘Dorothy, it’s our clients we’re talking about, not a bunch of yobbos!’
‘But they’ll be drinking more than usual, and that weakens inhibitions. If that poor girl had to be found, why couldn’t it have been at the height of summer? Then everything would have died down by now.’
‘She was a member of the family, don’t forget.’
Ruth’s voice was mild, but her mother-in-law flushed. Then she smiled, and patted her hand. ‘You’re quite right, my dear; I’m a self-centred old woman, I admit it. It’s just that everyone works so hard in the run-up to Christmas, it would be too bad if events beyond our control spoiled it in any way.’
‘Then we’ll have to make sure they don’t,’ Ruth replied placidly, and returned to her checking.
The days passed in a round of last-minute shopping, present-wrapping and card-hanging.
‘I think we should gather here first,’ Max said on the Thursday evening. ‘We can exchange presents over a bottle of champagne, then go on to the Clarendon together.’
‘Good idea. Lindsey can bring Mum; she’s going over there on Christmas Eve, so Mum won’t wake up alone on Christmas morning.’
‘Your father will,’ Max reminded her.
Rona looked worried. ‘Do you think we should invite him here?’
‘It’s not really feasible, is it, with no spare room? We can’t expect him to camp out on the sofa. The only alternative would be for us to move out of our room, and the sofa wouldn’t hold us both.’
‘At least he won’t be in a house that used to be filled with people.’
‘He’ll be fine,’ Max assured her.
Three days later, Tom was telling himself the same thing. It was odd to be lying alone on Christmas morning, listening to church bells pealing across the town. No aroma of slow-cooking turkey reached his nostrils; there were no excited voices on the landing. Oh, there were people in the building – of course there were – below him, above him, alongside him, but they weren’t his people. There might even be small girls clutching stockings and creeping into their parents’ room ahead of time, but they weren’t his small girls.
He moved impatiently. Why did Christmas always evoke the past, and the distant past, at that? It was the future that concerned him now, the future and, especially today, the present. He hoped to God the lunch would go off all right. It was good of Rona and Max to have arranged it, and to fix for them all to meet at their house.
What was Catherine doing now? he wondered. Probably still asleep, since she’d told him they went to Midnight Communion, a tradition that had never featured in the Parish Christmases. He couldn’t even picture her, since she was in surroundings he didn’t know, but they’d arranged to speak on the phone before he went out. He hoped she’d like the sapphire and diamond brooch he’d so extravagantly bought her – partly because he couldn’t resist it, and partly as a gesture of support to the Tarltons. They wouldn’t have much to celebrate this year, poor devils.
Thinking of the brooch reminded him of the package she’d given him the day before, gaily wrapped in red and gold. It was on the table beside him, and he reached for it eagerly, tearing away the paper to reveal an oblong box. Inside, shining against the velvet, lay a magnificent gold watch. Almost reverently, he lifted it out, admiring its clean, modern lines, and as he turned it over, he saw there was an inscription etched on the back. Tom. All love, always. Catherine.
He sat staring at it for a long time, wondering if he’d any right to be so happy.
The Tarltons had also arranged to gather beforehand, and the chosen venue was Brindley Lodge. Lewis and Kate had put up the usual tree, and as always there were presents piled beneath it, but it was increasingly hard to act as though this were a normal Christmas.
Kate watched them all as they opened their presents – Bruce and Jan; Nicholas, Susie and little Amy; Lewis, Robert and Freya – and was struck, as always, by their individuality. How could one hope to draw such disparate personalities into one homogenous whole to make ‘a family’? They all had their secrets, ambitions and worries that were hidden from the rest of them. Even the biggest worry of all, which they were trying so hard not to think about, must, although shared, strike different responses in each of them. There were, for example, those who had known Velma, and those such as herself, Susie and Amy, who had not. Did one of those others – Bruce or Robert or Jan – even Freya – know more about what happened on that far-off day than he or she had admitted?
Kate shivered, and Lewis came over and put an arm round her. ‘All right, love?’
She smiled resolutely up at him. ‘Of course.’
‘It’s time we were making a move. The table’s booked for one.’
Kate’s stomach lurched, but she immediately got to her feet. This was harder for Lewis than for her, and she owed it to him to be strong. ‘I’ll organize the coats,’ she said.
The Dickensian snow had not arrived, but the morning was cold and sunny, with the remnants of an overnight frost lingering in the shadows. Tom and Lindsey had both found spaces for their cars, and it was decided to leave them where they were and walk to the hotel.
So far, so good, Rona thought, as she set off with her mother and sister, Max and Tom following behind. The initial slight awkwardness had thawed under the influence of the champagne – which, she’d noted, had been the bottle Philip Yarborough had brought. Fleetingly, she thought of him and Adele and wondered how their Christmas, sure to be equally strained, was progressing. As for themselves, the present-exchange had gone well, everyone seeming delighted with their gifts, though part of her still regretted the little musical box she’d intended for Lindsey. Auprèsde ma blonde …
She wrenched her thoughts away. The watch Max had given her had been much admired, but her father had not referred to the one he himself was wearing, which she’d not seen before. A retirement present? Or one from Catherine? The latter, she suspected.
Fullers Walk was almost deserted, but, unhampered today by parking restrictions, cars lined both sides of Dean’s Crescent, proof that Dino’s was enjoying its fair share of clientele.
They emerged on to Guild Street, and there, across the road, was the imposing bulk of the Clarendon, festooned with lights and with a giant holly bush on either side of the swing doors.
‘The bar will be like a madhouse,’ Max commented, ‘I suggest we go straight to the table.’
In the foyer, arriving guests were being swiftly and efficiently directed to bar, Grill Room or restaurant, keeping the entrance clear for new arrivals.
‘Table for Allerdyce,’ Max told the young man at the door to the restaurant. He glanced at the sheet in his hand, made a tick in the margin, and summoned a waiter to show them to their table. Tom took Avril’s elbow, and, looking up at him with a smile, she allowed him to escort her across the crowded room. Behind them, Rona and Lindsey exchanged a glance of relief.
Sophie was in the foyer when the Tarlton party arrived, and caught her breath at Robert’s changed appearance. His eyes, circled with dark shadows, seemed to have sunk into their sockets, and he was walking with a stoop she’d never seen before.
She went swiftly up to him and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘Happy Christmas, Robert,’ she said softly, then turned to kiss Freya at his side and shake hands with the rest of the party. Freya was as white as a sheet, she noted anxiously, and Lewis also looked tired and drawn.
‘Your usual table’s ready for you,’ she said brightly.
‘I thought you might have tucked us away in a corner,’ Bruce said, with a half smile.
‘Why should we do that? You’re family, and entitled to a prime position.’
At the door to the restaurant, Robert squeezed her arm. ‘Bless you, Sophie,’ he said, and, having handed them over to a waiter, she turned quickly away to hide sudden tears. It wasn’t fair, she thought passionately. They shouldn’t have to go through this. But the fact remained that one of their number had been murdered, and her killer still not brought to justice.
The meal had been delicious. After an hors d’oeuvre of smoked salmon and dill, the turkey and all its accompaniments – stuffing, bacon rolls, sausages, potatoes, sprouts and red cabbage – were cooked to perfection.
The earlier, twelve thirty, sitting had now left, and there were empty tables dotted about the restaurant. Those who remained were wearing paper hats, and the sound of crackers being pulled punctuated the conversation. It occurred to Rona that this was the first Christmas lunch she’d had away from Maple Drive – another indication of the end of an era. Because this would surely be their last all together; next year, her father would be with Catherine.
She glanced across at her parents, intent now on their desserts, and wondered if the same thoughts had occurred to them. Mum was looking like her old self again – better, in fact, because her hair and clothes were more stylish than they had ever been, and she’d caught the flash of admiration in her father’s eyes. Why, Rona thought despairingly, hadn’t she pulled herself together earlier? Then all this might have been avoided.
But it wasn’t only Mum’s appearance that had deteriorated over the last year or two, she reminded herself; she’d been bitter and discontented, carping at them all and generally making life miserable, particularly for Pops. Had her attitude changed as well? Rona admitted, to her shame, that she’d not seen her mother often enough since the split to find out.
Sophie said urgently, ‘Chris, I have to speak to you.’
He turned in surprise from the group of guests he was chatting to in the bar.
‘Not at the moment, Sophie. We’re in the middle of—’
‘Please! It’s important.’
‘Sophie, I’m with guests. Can’t it wait?’
She knew she was breaking one of the first rules of hotel-keeping, but she had to speak to him, and straight away.
‘No, I’m afraid it can’t.’
She could tell he was embarrassed at her persistence, furious with her for putting him in this position. ‘I’m afraid it’ll have to,’ he said curtly. ‘I’ll be with you shortly.’ And he turned back to his guests.
For a moment longer she stared at his unyielding back, panic rising inside her. Then she turned and walked blindly out of the bar. What could she do? What could she do?
Rona had just finished her coffee when she saw Sophie Fairfax in the doorway. She looked strained, Rona thought, and her eyes went automatically to the Tarltons who, like themselves, were now lingering over coffee. Perhaps she was still worried about Freya – and with reason. Rona had glanced at the girl from time to time during the meal, and as far as she could tell, she’d scarcely eaten anything.
To her surprise, however, it was to their own table that Sophie came.
‘Rona, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I wonder if I could have a word?’
‘Of course,’ Rona replied, bewildered. ‘Now?’
‘If you wouldn’t mind.’
Rona sent a small, apologetic glance round the table, and, rising, followed Sophie out of the room, across the foyer, and into a small office behind the reception desk.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked. Close up, it was clear Sophie was struggling for control.
‘Yes, I think there is,’ she replied jerkily. ‘I’m sorry to drag you into this. I tried to speak to Chris, but he was tied up with guests and I couldn’t extract him.’
‘What’s happened, Sophie?’ Rona asked gently.
Sophie’s hands clenched at her side and she drew a shuddering breath. ‘When Freya told me about her dream,’ she began raggedly, ‘she talked about hearing the whistling, and she hummed the tune for me – the tune from the musical box, that had made her faint.’
Rona stood immobile, her eyes fixed on the young woman’s face. ‘Go on.’
‘I didn’t recognize its name, but I knew I’d heard it somewhere.’
‘Sophie …’
Sophie put trembling hands to her face. ‘Oh, my God!’ she whispered.
‘Sophie, what is it?’
‘I’ve – just heard it again.’
Rona stared at her, scarcely breathing.
‘It was Stephen,’ Sophie said in a rush. ‘When he’s concentrating on something, he often whistles under his breath. And he was doing it just now, down in the buttery, and – and it was that tune.’
Stephen Fairfax? Rona’s head was spinning. ‘It doesn’t necessarily mean anything,’ she said slowly, trying, as she spoke, to marshal the thoughts that were crowding into her head. ‘I mean, it’s a folk song, and quite well known.’
‘Yes, but – I gave a little gasp – I couldn’t help myself – and he turned and saw me, and – and stupidly, I just turned and ran. At best, he must be wondering what on earth’s wrong with me.’
‘Did he know Velma?’ Rona asked.
‘He must have done; Robert’s his second cousin, or whatever. Rona, what should I do? He’s my father-in-law, for God’s sake, but then so was Robert, and if there’s anything in this, I can’t let him go on suffering. I’m very fond of him, and he was so kind to me when everything went wrong with Lewis. He never blamed me for it.’
‘You’ll have to go to the police,’ Rona said, and broke off as the door suddenly opened and Stephen Fairfax stood looking at them.
‘There you are, Sophie,’ he said, his eyes going from one of them to the other. ‘And – Mrs Allerdyce, isn’t it? Did I hear you mention the police?’
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Sophie, her control finally snapping, started to cry. ‘I’m so sorry, Stephen,’ she sobbed.
Stephen stiffened, and as Rona watched, the colour seeped out of his face, leaving only two red patches on his cheeks, like a Dutch doll.
‘Sorry about what?’ he asked softly.
Since Sophie seemed incapable of answering, Rona did so. ‘Velma,’ she said.
Stephen let out his breath in a long sigh. Then he straightened his shoulders.
‘Pull yourself together, Sophie,’ he said, his voice surprisingly normal. ‘Dry your eyes, and go and ask the Tarlton party if they’ll join us for liqueurs up in our apartment. I’ll root out Chris and Gerald. Mother and Ruth, I know, have already gone up.’ He glanced at Rona. ‘In the circumstances, I think you’d better come, too,’ he added.
The next few minutes were surreal. Rona waited in the foyer as instructed while Sophie went to collect the Tarltons. Max turned and saw her in the doorway, and she raised her shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. She saw him frown, but before he could get up, Sophie had shepherded the Tarltons out of the restaurant.
Robert was saying, ‘This is very kind of Stephen. We certainly didn’t expect VIP treatment.’
Sophie smiled stiffly and did not reply.
‘Rona!’ Kate was smiling at her. ‘Are you joining the party?’
‘It seems so,’ Rona said, and saw her friend’s puzzled frown. Then Stephen reappeared with his sons, said briskly, ‘Good to see you all,’ and pressed the lift buttons. Two adjacent sets of doors opened, they all piled in and rose in unison to the top floor of the hotel.
Stephen went ahead and flung open the door to his apartment with a flourish. Over his shoulder, Rona caught a glimpse of his wife and mother, who turned in surprise as he motioned the group ahead of him into the sitting room.
‘A family reunion,’ he announced, still in that brisk, staccato voice.
Dorothy Fairfax swayed suddenly. ‘Stephen, no!’ she said sharply. ‘No!’
Ruth looked quickly at her husband, and something she saw in his face made her take her mother-in-law’s arm and lower her gently into her chair. Then she turned to face the crowd who had so unexpectedly invaded her privacy.
‘How nice to see everyone,’ she said, ‘do please sit down. Chris, there are more chairs in the other room.’
‘And Gerald, will you see to the drinks?’ his father directed.
Sophie, who didn’t seem able to stop shaking, saw Chris glance at her, his face a mixture of guilt and bewilderment. Yes, she told him silently, things might have happened differently if you’d come when I asked you. Though the eventual outcome would doubtless have been the same.
Dorothy was lying back in her chair with a hand across her forehead and Ruth, once everyone else was seated, had taken her place beside her, and was holding her free hand. When they’d all been given a glass, Stephen raised his, said, ‘Happy Families!’ and laughed.
Everyone looked at him, uncertain of his mood, but they dutifully repeated, ‘Happy Families.’
‘Only they’re not, always, are they?’ Stephen went on. He was standing by the fireplace, one arm resting along the mantelpiece. ‘Even weddings hold hidden dangers. They certainly have in our family; Lewis and Sophie fell in love at one of them, which caused a lot of heartache, though fortunately it’s since been remedied. However, a previous occasion proved considerably more lethal.’
He took a drink from the glass in his hand, and his eyes went over them. Amy, drowsy after her meal, had fallen asleep on her father’s lap, but the adults were attentive and now faintly apprehensive.
‘You see,’ he continued deliberately, ‘at a wedding many years before that, I fell for Velma Tarlton, and she for me.’
There was total silence, broken at last by a low moan from Dorothy. Ruth sat frozen beside her, her face a pale mask.
Robert cleared his throat. ‘I don’t understand. You’re surely not saying—?’
‘I’m afraid, old man, that’s exactly what I’m saying.’ His eyes flickered to Ruth. ‘Forgive me, my darling. If you remember, we were going through a bad patch around that time.’
He paused, but if expecting a reply, he was disappointed. Her expression remained blank.
‘So I repeat, weddings can be a dangerous time. Too much champagne is drunk, love is in the air – often, it’s said, one wedding leads to another. In our case, I regret to say, it led to an affair. I’d met her before, of course, but only casually, and – forgive me, Robert – I’d heard rumours about her. She was beautiful, she was a little drunk and so was I. We found an empty room at the reception, and … made love.’
He took another drink. ‘To be honest, I thought that was it. A bit of foolishness, best forgotten. But the next week, she rang up and asked me to meet her. Stupidly, I did so, and after that things became a lot more serious. We were besotted with each other, but our main problem was finding somewhere to go where we wouldn’t be recognized. Then Velma had the idea of meeting in the woods behind her house. I’d drive along Woodlands Road, park the car out of sight under low-hanging bushes, and make my way into the woods from that end. If Nanny and Freya were out, Velma came through the garden. Otherwise, she’d cut down the alley. It went on all summer; sometimes we managed to meet two or three times a week, at others, ten days or more would pass without seeing each other. God knows how long it would have lasted, but one day she startled me by suggesting we went away together.’
At the beginning of this account, Lewis had gone to stand behind his father’s chair. Now, he laid a hand on his shoulder, and Robert, moving like an automaton, reached up to pat it.
‘Admittedly, life was a little dull at the time,’ Stephen continued. ‘The hotel was in the doldrums, Ruth and I were having problems, and there were two children to support. Now, suddenly, I had the chance to leave it all behind and fly off to romantic places with a glamorous blonde. I told myself I’d be a fool not to go, but something held me back.’
He sighed. ‘If I’d had any sense, I’d have told Velma my doubts, but I didn’t want to burst her bubble. So, like an idiot, I kept quiet, and the next thing I knew, she’d settled on a date and was planning to leave Robert a note, telling him not to try to find her, because this time she’d gone for good. I immediately panicked and started back-pedalling, but she laughed it off as cold feet. It was arranged that she’d bring her suitcase to the clearing, and we’d drive to Heathrow and start a new life together.’
Stephen went over to the drinks cabinet and refilled his glass. He held the bottle up enquiringly, but nobody moved and he set it down again and returned to his position by the fireplace.
‘I knew by now I didn’t want to go, but still hadn’t the courage – or honesty – to tell her. Then, the evening before we were due to leave, I found Ruth in our room in tears. We had a long talk, reaching far into the night, and the long and the short of it was that I realized she was the one I wanted, and always had been. I also saw that I’d been criminally weak and cowardly in not being honest with Velma, and at this stage, there was no way to avoid hurting her. All I could do was turn up as arranged, and try to break the news as gently as possible.’
There was a long silence, while he stared down at the floor. ‘I was the first to arrive,’ he said at last. ‘I paced up and down waiting for her, and as time went by, I began to hope something had gone wrong, and she wasn’t coming after all. I was on the point of leaving when she turned up with her suitcase, all excited and eager to go.’
He broke off. ‘God, I wish I still smoked!’ he said.
Dorothy sat up in her chair. ‘Stop there, Stephen,’ she ordered. ‘We’ve heard quite enough.’
Stephen looked at her, his eyes full of pity. ‘You knew, didn’t you?’ he said softly. ‘I never realized till just now, when we all came in.’
‘I knew you were having an affair, and with whom. Of course I did. I’m not blind, and you’re my son. Then, when you became so withdrawn and I heard she’d gone off with someone, I assumed she’d dumped you. That is what happened, isn’t it?’
‘I wish it were,’ he said. ‘I told her as gently as I could, but she became hysterical, crying and screaming, and clawing at me. I just couldn’t reason with her. She was clinging to me like a wild thing and I began to lose patience. Finally, when she just wouldn’t let go of me, I gave her a push. She stumbled backwards, tripped, and fell, cracking her head against a stone.’
There was another long silence. When he continued, it was as though he was speaking to himself. ‘I waited for her to get up, and when she didn’t, told her not to be so stupid, or words to that effect. Then I got hold of her arm and tried to pull her to her feet, but she just fell back again. And then …’ For the first time, his voice faltered. ‘I saw the blood, on the stone under her, and still pouring from her head. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I gave her the kiss of life, tried artificial respiration, everything, but I couldn’t revive her.’
There was total silence in the room, as everyone pictured the scene.
‘After about twenty minutes,’ Stephen went on heavily, ‘I had to accept that she was dead. And then the panic set in. I couldn’t tell anyone she was there, because how would I have known? Nor could I leave her for some kid to come across while playing. I thought wildly of carrying her to the car and disposing of her somewhere, but I’d read about traces of blood and hair being impossible to remove however hard you tried. I was sobbing uncontrollably by this time, from fear and regret and general helplessness. And then I remembered the well. Velma had told me about it, and once, in the early days, we’d prised off the top and looked inside. She dropped in a coin and made a wish that we’d always be together.’ He wiped a hand across his face as the irony of this struck him for the first time.
‘So I stumbled back to the car, found some tools in the boot, and prised the lid off again. Then I had to drag her through the undergrowth. It was horrible – her dress kept catching on brambles and I found myself apologizing to her. It was quite a struggle to heave her up and over the side, and there was a sickening thud as she landed at the bottom. No splash, though; the well had been dry for years. I replaced the lid, then remembered the suitcase, went back for it and dropped it in after her.’
He raised his ravaged face and stared almost defiantly at his stunned audience.
‘Of course I should have reported her death, and that’s the main thing that will go against me now. But whichever course of action I took, it wouldn’t have brought Velma back, and I reasoned with myself that it was in the general interest to keep quiet. If I told anyone what had happened, quite apart from the consequences to me personally, two families would be destroyed. As it stood, Mother and Ruth would know nothing, and Robert would believe she was living happily with someone else – she’d told me she hadn’t mentioned my name. What’s more, no one would even look for her, because she’d asked them not to.
‘So there you have it.’ His eyes rested on Robert. ‘I hope you believe I wouldn’t have let you be charged with her murder,’ he said. ‘I wronged you once, badly, all those years ago. I wouldn’t have done it again.’
Robert briefly inclined his head.
Stephen turned to Sophie. ‘Now all that remains is to hear how you found me out. Because you did, didn’t you?’
She nodded.
‘Well?’
‘It was the whistling,’ she said.
‘Whistling?’
‘“Auprès de ma blonde”.’
He stared at her. ‘What the hell—?’
‘The same tune,’ Freya broke in, speaking for the first time and startling them all, ‘that you were whistling just before you killed my mother.’
Stephen’s face was white. ‘I don’t understand.’
Robert turned quickly to his daughter, but she shook off his restraining hand and addressed Stephen directly. ‘All my life I’ve had periodic nightmares about someone whistling that tune,’ she said. ‘But it’s only in the last week or two that I learned why.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Lewis and his friends had a tree house in that clearing, but they wouldn’t let me play up there. That day, when Nanny was asleep, I went into the woods by myself and climbed up the rope ladder. I was there when you arrived.’
‘My God!’ Stephen breathed.
‘I saw you pacing up and down, and then you sat on a log just underneath me, and started whistling that tune.’
‘How old were you?’ Stephen’s voice cracked.
‘Three,’ she replied.
‘My God!’ he said again.
‘I only remembered flashes, but the last one was of Mummy lying directly below me. Her eyes were open, and she seemed to be staring straight up at me.’
Stephen put his hand across his own eyes. ‘You didn’t recognize me?’ he asked in a low voice.
‘No. I don’t suppose I knew you well, if at all. But a few weeks ago a musical box in the shop played that tune and I – I fainted. Sophie wanted to know what was wrong, and I told her. Today, she must have recognized it.’
Stephen drew a deep breath. ‘Well, it’s come out at last. I’ve hurt all of you – Ruth and Robert in particular, even little Freya, in a freakish, unimaginable way. All I can say in mitigation is that I never meant to kill her – even to hurt her. In my own way, I loved her, and what happened that day has haunted me ever since.’
Chris cleared his throat. ‘So what happens now?’
‘I go to the police.’
‘Will anyone be there, on Christmas Day?’
‘Christmas Day!’ Stephen gave a hollow laugh. ‘So it is. Believe it or not, I’d forgotten.’
‘There’ll be a skeleton staff,’ Bruce said. ‘It might be better to wait until tomorrow.’
Rona stirred. ‘I should go; my family will be wondering where I am.’
Stephen turned to her. ‘I’m still not sure of your part in all this.’
‘She went to see Nanny Gray,’ Kate said, ‘who admitted falling asleep when she was supposed to be watching Freya, and later finding her in a shocked state in the woods. Everything fell into place after that. Except who you were, of course.’
‘And my whistling gave me away. I didn’t even know I was doing it.’ He glanced almost fearfully at Ruth, then went over and, kneeling beside her chair, gathered her into his arms.
‘Can you ever forgive me?’ he asked.
‘What will happen to you?’ she whispered.
‘Well, by asking casual questions here and there, it seems likely I’ll be charged with manslaughter and sentenced to ten years, reduced to five. Which is probably better than I deserve.’
Rona, who’d become increasingly uncomfortable during the last few minutes, rose to her feet. ‘I must go,’ she said again. ‘This is a family matter. I – hope everything goes as well as possible.’
‘Thanks for your help, Rona,’ Kate said quietly, and Sophie nodded. Across the room her eyes briefly met Stephen’s. There would be no thanks from him, she thought ruefully. Dorothy, as undeniable head of the family, spoke for them all.
‘I hope we haven’t spoiled your Christmas, Mrs Allerdyce. Enjoy what’s left of it.’
There was no answer to this. Rona simply nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her. Her ears still ringing with Stephen’s confession, she paused for a minute in the carpeted corridor and drew a deep breath, thankful to be out of the miasma of guilt, anger, embarrassment and grief in the room behind her. It had, after all, been she who had brought them to this point, who had coaxed the truth out of Nanny Gray.
If Kate hadn’t asked her to look into Freya’s dreams, Velma would have remained buried in the well, Stephen would continue to bear his secret guilt, and the Tarltons would have remained ignorant of the truth. And Freya would probably have outgrown her nightmares. But Kate had asked her, and she had found out these things, and she didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry.
Behind the closed door, the subdued murmur of voices had resumed. If they came out and found her here, they’d think she’d been eavesdropping. But they’d be wrong; she’d already heard more than she wanted.
She walked quickly back to the lift and pressed the button. The doors opened at once – it must have remained there since they came up – and she stepped into it. Enjoy the rest of your Christmas, Dorothy Fairfax had said. Whether or not that was possible, she wasn’t sure. What she urgently needed now was her own family about her. She pressed the button, and with a sigh of relief, went down to rejoin them.