That evening, from half past seven onwards, the residents of Riverview Close gathered at The Stables, the home of Adam and Teri Strauss, who were hosting the event.
As punctual as he had always been during his time as a barrister, Andrew Pennington was the first to arrive, wearing slacks and a V-neck jersey, carrying a small bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine. He was followed, a few minutes later, by Tom Beresford and his wife, who came empty-handed. Dr Beresford, having been held up at work, had wolfed down a quick supper and had come without changing his clothes. His wife, Gemma, looked more demure in a black suit and one of her own creations, a silver serpent necklace curving around her throat. Neither of them was in a good mood. May Winslow and Phyllis Moore were the next to appear, bringing with them a box of chocolate bullets, part of a consignment that had arrived at The Tea Cosy that afternoon. Their neighbour, Roderick Browne, was right behind them, accompanied by – to everyone’s surprise – his wife, Felicity, who had decided that the meeting was important enough to be worth what was, for her, a challenging journey.
There were nine of them, standing and sitting in the main living space where, just fifteen hours earlier, the single chess game had been lost. The room looked beautiful, with low lighting, fresh flowers in porcelain vases and piano music by Chopin playing out of hidden speakers. The many shelves of books also displayed some of the awards Adam Strauss had won throughout his career. The laptop computers had been cleared away, but there were still half a dozen chessboards on display, beautiful sets that Strauss had been given as prizes: wood, ivory, porcelain and glass. Spread out on the long table were different plates of food that Teri had prepared, including the bao buns, egg tarts and pineapple bread that connected her with her childhood. There were bottles of wine and spirits in the kitchen, a fruit salad, a cheese board – everything you would expect at a party, apart from, that is, the atmosphere. As the various guests waited, there was an unmistakable feeling of suspense.
Giles and Lynda Kenworthy had not yet arrived. It wasn’t surprising that they had chosen to be late, but there was one question on everyone’s mind. Would they arrive at all? The Kenworthys knew only too well that the evening had been designed to address some of the problems that had arisen in Riverview Close, but perhaps they had realised that they were the problems and so had decided to stay away. That said, it was only a quarter to eight. The doorbell would surely ring at any moment.
Adam Strauss had joined Andrew Pennington, who was examining one of the chessboards, cradling a G&T in his other hand.
‘This one is my favourite,’ Strauss said, moving down the table. He delicately picked up a bishop kneeling with his hands clasped in prayer and held it in the light. The set it had come from was inspired by The Lord of the Rings. Sauron and Saruman ruled over the black side, facing Gandalf and Galadriel in white. Orcs fought it out against hobbits. Frodo and Sam Gamgee were knights. ‘It was handmade in Prague and there are only half a dozen of them in the world,’ he explained. ‘It’s very valuable – but that’s not the reason why it’s so precious to me. It was given to me as a fortieth-birthday present by Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum, the ruler of Dubai.’
Andrew couldn’t help smiling. Adam Strauss was a terrible name-dropper . . . it was something of a joke in Riverview Close. The chess grandmaster was not an imposing man, with his black-framed glasses and a triangle of beard that sat rather too precisely on his chin. He dressed neatly and expensively. Appearances evidently mattered to him, from his well-oiled hair to his shoes, both of which gleamed. Everyone knew that he had been rather humiliated by having to move out of the Lodge. Now on the wrong side of fifty, he was a man of diminished stature in every sense, and the name-dropping, the endless anecdotes about famous people he had met, was obviously his way of asserting himself.
‘I was invited to a chess tournament over there,’ Strauss went on. ‘The Sheikh took a liking to me, and as a matter of fact, I gave one of his sons a few lessons. A very handsome lad and quite adept at the game.’ He handed the bishop over to the barrister. ‘I didn’t really know the books at the time, but I read them afterwards. I rather liked them. Tolkien played chess, you know. I think he would have approved.’
‘This looks just like Orlando Bloom,’ Andrew said.
‘There is a resemblance.’
‘Is it ivory?’
Strauss shook his head. ‘No. Porcelain. I do have one set made of ivory.’ He pointed. ‘That one over there. Of course, you’re not meant to have anything made of ivory any more, but I won that one when I was just twenty-one – my first major tournament – so I suppose it’s all right to hang on to it.’
He took back the bishop and delicately placed it in its correct position.
A few steps away, in the kitchen, Teri Strauss was holding out a plate of cheese straws for May Winslow and Phyllis Moore. The elderly ladies had managed to squeeze themselves onto two of the high stools next to the central island. They both had fruit cocktails laced with vodka. It was well known that they would never say no to a good slug of alcohol, possibly making up for years of abstinence at the Convent of St Clare.
‘Not for me, thank you.’ Phyllis held up two hands in a gesture of surrender, refusing the cheese straws. ‘We ate before we came out. But this cocktail is very nice. What’s in it?’
‘Mangosteen,’ Teri said.
‘Oh.’ Phyllis smiled, none the wiser. She drained her glass. ‘Can I have another?’
‘Perhaps not, Phyllis,’ May suggested. She looked at her watch. ‘I wonder what’s happened to Mr and Mrs Kenworthy?’
It was so typical of her to use surnames. Both women seemed to have modelled themselves on the Jane Marple novels they sold in their bookshop. It was as if the last six decades had never happened.
‘I’m sure they’re on their way,’ Teri said.
‘It’s not very far to drive!’ This was a penitent Phyllis, nursing her empty glass, trying her hand at a joke.
‘Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt.’ Andrew Pennington had overheard the conversation and joined them. ‘I knew a barrister who always insisted on arriving late in court. He said it made more of an impression.’
‘I’ll have one of those, if you don’t mind.’ Gemma Beresford leaned over and lazily plucked out a cheese straw.
‘We were just wondering if the Kenworthys were going to grace us with their presence,’ May remarked. There was an edge of sarcasm in her voice.
‘I do hope so.’ Gemma glanced briefly at her husband, who was pouring himself a second whisky. ‘Tom is very much hoping to meet them.’
‘Well, I’m glad to have you all here, anyway,’ Teri said. ‘We don’t get together half as often as we used to. It’s important we stay close.’
Teri was Hong Kong Chinese, a very striking, elegant woman. Her parents – who ran a successful clothing business – had predicted what would happen to the city they had always loved when the Chinese authorities took control of it and had emigrated to the UK before the handover in 1997. They now lived in Manchester. The fact that both of Adam Strauss’s wives shared the same ethnicity had, of course, been noted in Riverview Close. He was attracted to Asian women, but this was entirely a matter of personal taste and something that none of them would have dreamed of mentioning.
Gemma took her cheese straw and went over to her husband. ‘Are you all right, darling?’ she asked.
Tom slid the bottle away, as if he’d been caught trying to steal it. ‘The bastard’s not going to come, is he!’ he said.
She looked at her watch. ‘It doesn’t look like it,’ she admitted.
‘He’s laughing at us!’
Gemma frowned. ‘Maybe you should just try to relax,’ she said, keeping her voice low. ‘You can’t keep letting him drag you down. It’s not good for you.’
Tom ignored her. ‘He woke me up in the middle of the night last night. And this morning, when I tried to get to the surgery, his bloody car was blocking the way. Again!’
‘How did you get in?’ She had left before him, taking the tube into the centre of town.
‘I walked.’
‘He can be very inconsiderate.’
‘He does it on purpose.’ Tom drank half the whisky in his glass. ‘Like not coming here tonight. I don’t know why he moved into the close. He clearly holds all of us in contempt.’
Gemma was becoming increasingly worried about her husband. It wasn’t just the drinking, the secret smoking or even the anger that she could see welling up inside him. It was the distance that was growing between them. There were times when she barely recognised the happy, easy-going man she had married. Tall and slim, with tumbling, sand-coloured hair, there had always been a boyish quality about him. But now he was being pulled in different directions – by life, by work, above all by Giles Kenworthy and his wretched cars – and it was beginning to show. He was going to be forty next year, but he looked much older. Unhappiness was etched into every part of his face. She regretted bringing him here. How could she save him? How could she save both of them?
‘Try not to get too stressed,’ she said, gently touching his arm and then moving away before he could protest.
She went over to the other side of the room where Roderick Browne was standing protectively behind his wife, who was in an armchair, almost folded into it. Gemma remembered Felicity when they had first arrived. Their houses faced each other across the courtyard, on either side of Riverview Lodge, and the two of them had often met. Felicity (‘Fee’) had been so different then: socially and politically active, campaigning for the Liberal Democrats, supporting the Orange Tree Theatre, dragging Roderick off to her beloved archery club – she was a much better shot than him, she said – and occasionally throwing gourmet dinners.
And then this wretched illness had not so much crept up on her as pounced, draining all her energy and vitality and turning her into the casualty who had somehow made it here tonight. Gemma had been surprised to see her. She knew that Felicity spent most of her time in bed.
‘How lovely to see you, Felicity,’ she said now. ‘I’m so glad you came.’
‘We have to talk about the swimming pool,’ Felicity replied. Even speaking was a struggle for her, the words falling heavily from her lips.
‘Oh, yes.’ Like everyone else in Riverview Close, Gemma had received the planning application, which had been waiting for her in the kitchen when she got home. It didn’t bother her too much if the Kenworthys wanted to vandalise their own garden: the pool would be situated on the other side of the house, some distance from Gardener’s Cottage. But of course it would be directly in Felicity’s line of vision, along with the Jacuzzi and the changing room.
‘We’re not going to let them get away with it,’ Roderick exclaimed. ‘Someone should do something about him! Someone should . . . I don’t know! Ever since he came here, he’s been nothing but trouble.’
‘I’m sure the council won’t allow it,’ Andrew Pennington said, although it was clear from his voice that he had misgivings. All the houses in the close were modern and the garden was out of sight of the main road. It was quite possible that the Kenworthys would be allowed to do whatever they wanted.
‘We might have to move if it goes ahead,’ Roderick added, glumly.
‘I’m not moving.’ Suddenly Felicity was fearsome, her hands clutching the arms of her chair. ‘Why should I? It’s not fair. This is my home!’
There was the sound of a fork hitting the side of a glass. Adam Strauss was standing in front of a gold-framed mirror next to the front door. ‘Excuse me, everyone,’ he called out. He put down the fork and picked up his telephone. Everyone knew there was bad news coming. They could see it on his face. ‘I’m afraid I’ve just had a text from Giles Kenworthy. He and his wife won’t be joining us after all.’
The announcement was met with a profound silence. Nobody in the room moved, as if they were waiting for the person next to them to react.
It was Tom Beresford who spoke first. ‘Why not?’ he demanded.
‘He doesn’t really say.’ Adam read from the screen. ‘“Sorry. Can’t be with you tonight. Trouble at work. Maybe next time.”’ He lowered the phone. ‘I suppose I’m not surprised.’
‘He sounds quite cheerful about it,’ Tom said.
‘It’s very rude of him!’ Teri Strauss blinked, her eyes bright with anger. She waved a delicate hand over the refectory table. ‘I go to all this effort to make it a nice evening.’ She remembered that she was not the only one who had been put out. ‘And Felicity! I know how very, very hard it was for you coming here. It’s not fair!’
‘It’s wrong of them.’ Felicity looked defeated.
‘It’s not just rude, it’s extremely inconsiderate,’ Gemma Beresford weighed in. ‘We’ve had to pay Kylie extra to babysit tonight.’
‘I thought Kylie lived with you,’ Teri said. Kylie was the nanny, originally from Australia, who looked after the Beresfords’ twin daughters.
‘She does. But we still have to pay her if she works overtime.’ Gemma went over to her husband. ‘Tom’s exhausted. He was woken up at four o’clock this morning . . .’
‘By Giles Kenworthy,’ Adam muttered, sourly. ‘I heard him too.’
‘The only reason we’re here is because we wanted to have it out with them,’ Gemma said. ‘I don’t mean to insult you, Teri. It’s a lovely spread. But it’s just too bad . . .’
‘I did want to talk to them about the fence,’ May said. ‘I know it’s not our fence, but they won’t stop going on about it.’
‘That woman won’t leave us alone,’ Phyllis added. ‘She was around this morning – making threats.’
‘The swimming pool!’ Felicity insisted. ‘We have to stop them. You have no idea. It will be awful!’
Adam held up a hand for silence. ‘My friends,’ he began, ‘I feel terrible about all this. After all, I was the one who sold them Riverview Lodge in the first place. It certainly wasn’t my intention, but I was the one who brought all this trouble into our lives. Even now, I ask myself if I should have asked more questions when I met them, or perhaps explained things better.’
He paused, his face full of regret.
‘I met both the Kenworthys,’ he continued, ‘and it never occurred to me that they would be so . . . complicated. They seemed very pleasant to deal with, although it’s true that Giles Kenworthy did behave badly. I’ve made no secret of the fact that he reduced his offer one day before exchanging, knowing that I’d have no choice but to go along with it. But then, he’s a financier. I assumed that’s how these people behaved – and to be fair, quite a few issues had shown up in the survey. I would have sold the house to someone else if I could have, but there were no other serious buyers.’
‘Nobody blames you,’ Teri said. Her face challenged anyone in the room to disagree.
‘The question is . . . what are we going to do? What can we do?’
‘Maybe we should give them a taste of their own medicine,’ Tom Beresford suggested. ‘Let’s see how they feel when they find their own cars barricaded in.’
‘We could have a few parties of our own,’ Gemma added. ‘Blast music at them in the middle of the night and litter their front drive with champagne bottles the next day, like they do. I think Tom’s right. We’ve all been far too polite about this.’
‘Could I have a drop more vodka?’ Phyllis asked. ‘But this time without the mango juice?’
Andrew Pennington had stepped forward. He was a quiet man, but he had a way of commanding a room that came from years spent in court. He waited for everyone to stop talking. Then he began.
‘If I may advise you,’ he said, ‘the one thing we shouldn’t do is engage in a war of attrition. The sort of neighbourhood disputes that we have been experiencing are terribly common, I’m afraid, and they have a nasty way of escalating. It’s always better to discuss things in a civilised manner.’
‘We can’t do that if they don’t show up,’ Roderick Browne pointed out.
‘We can write to them. I’d be happy to draft a letter setting out our concerns.’
‘What makes you think they’ll even read it?’ Gemma asked.
‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. But in the meantime, we must take things one step at a time – and whatever we do, we must remain within the law. We should record everything that happens from this moment on. Tom, if the drive is blocked, make a note of the time, and if Giles Kenworthy is offensive to you, try to record it on your iPhone. The same when they have parties or allow their bottles to litter the close.’
‘What about their children?’ May asked. ‘I don’t like the way they go whizzing around on their skateboards. One of them nearly crashed into me the other day.’
‘I called out to him and he gave me the finger,’ Phyllis said.
‘Language, dear!’
‘Well, he did.’
‘There is a code of conduct that we all signed when we moved into the close,’ Andrew Pennington reminded them. ‘It precludes ball games and the use of bicycles, although I’m not sure if there is any mention of skateboards.’
‘And cricket!’ Gemma added. ‘They whack the ball around like nobody’s business. They almost hit Kylie once. What if it had been one of the girls? It could have been a nasty accident.’
‘They need to move that bloody camper van,’ Tom Beresford said. ‘Surely they can’t just leave it sitting there the whole year round.’ He turned to Andrew Pennington. ‘Can’t we sue them or something?’
‘There’s very little we can do,’ the barrister replied, regretfully. ‘I suppose we could write to them and threaten them with legal action, but once you start hiring outside lawyers that can become an extremely expensive proposition – and there can be no doubt that Mr Kenworthy will have deeper pockets than any of us. Are you sure you want to take him on?’
‘What about the swimming pool?’ Felicity demanded, struggling to express the anger she felt. It was the third time she had raised the subject.
Her husband immediately took her side. ‘It may not be so important to the rest of you,’ Roderick said, ‘but it’s going right underneath Fee’s window.’ He looked to Andrew Pennington. ‘We must be able to stop it.’
‘Well, as I said, the council hasn’t given permission yet and there’s every chance that they’ll refuse.’
‘It will ruin my view!’
‘Unfortunately, the loss of a view is never a consideration in planning law,’ Andrew continued. ‘However, there are plenty of other objections we can legitimately make. Noise is one. It will most certainly affect the character of the close. This is a conservation area and the threat to the environment, from chlorine and other chemicals, must be relevant. They may decide to cut down trees—’
‘They already cut down my two yews and no one paid a blind bit of notice,’ Adam remarked.
‘Well, we’ll need to see the architectural plans. What is this changing facility they’re hoping to build? If it blocks a significant amount of daylight for Roderick and Felicity, that’s definitely grounds for dismissal.’
‘The pool could be dangerous for Ellery!’ Phyllis blurted out the words as if the thought had just occurred to her. Suddenly, she was the centre of attention. ‘He goes into the Kenworthys’ garden sometimes. He doesn’t do any harm. He just likes sniffing around. If there’s a swimming pool there, he could fall in.’
‘You might like to put that in your letter,’ Andrew said kindly. ‘It’s another consideration, and the more the merrier. We should all write letters to the council,’ he went on, ‘setting out our objections. And it would be a good idea if these were coordinated. Again, I’ll be happy to help. But it’s essential that we’re restrained. It won’t do any good being vindictive.’
There was a pause while everyone took this in.
‘So that’s it, then?’ Roderick said. ‘We write letters – and we wait.’
‘That’s my advice, yes.’ Andrew took a sip of his gin and tonic as if to signal that he had said enough.
‘I agree absolutely,’ May said. ‘There’s absolutely no point getting into a fight with this man, and I’m certainly not interested in hiring lawyers. I say we just ignore him and hope he goes away. That’s the only way to treat bullies. Pretend they’re not there!’
‘I agree with May.’ Phyllis tried a wobbly smile. ‘Live and let live. That’s what I say. But since we’re all here, why don’t we have another drink?’
The party, if that’s what it was, continued for another thirty minutes, but the Kenworthys’ non-appearance had made the whole thing pointless. Adam Strauss, supported by May Winslow and Andrew Pennington, tried to keep everyone’s spirits up, but the evening quickly fizzled out. Roderick and Felicity Browne were the first to leave and the others drifted away soon after, leaving the bao buns and the custard tarts uneaten on the refectory table.
It would be another six weeks before death came to Riverview Close and everyone who had attended the party would find their lives turned upside down. And throughout the police investigation, with its mutual suspicion and alternative truths, there was one thing on which they would all agree.
Giles Kenworthy really should have been there.