‘And does he …’ Jude didn’t know how to put this tactfully – ‘does he expect anything in return?’
Mary White looked puzzled for a moment, then realized what the question meant. ‘You mean, do Glen and I have a relationship? Am I his mistress?’
‘Yes, that was more or less what I was asking.’
‘No.’ The woman again looked shocked. ‘It’s nothing like that. I wouldn’t get involved in that kind of set-up. Glen Porter is just a very generous, charitable man. I’ve never had a relationship with anyone.’
This last sentence was spoken with a kind of perverse pride. And suddenly Jude had an image of Mary White as a woman above the lusts of the flesh, a kind of secular nun. It was not a path that she would have chosen for herself, but she could respect those who had that kind of vocation.
‘What we haven’t established yet,’ she said, ‘is what actually happened in Fethering, what made you cut yourself off from your family and come up here.’
‘No, we haven’t.’ And the woman’s tone suggested she thought that to be a satisfactory state of affairs.
But Jude had to find out more. She used her intuition, piecing together details from things Mary White had said. ‘It’s something to do with that room, isn’t it? The room where the handbag was found?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Were you staying there that night, the night it happened?’
Mary White nodded uncomfortably. They were encroaching on events she had no wish to remember.
‘Were you raped, Mary?’ asked Jude.
Tears welled in the woman’s eyes, then there was another, almost imperceptible nod.
‘And that was why you left Fethering? You couldn’t face your father after what had happened to you?’
‘No, I couldn’t.’ A silence. Then, with mounting intensity, the thoughts and emotions which had been dammed up for so long were allowed to flow. ‘I felt so dirty. I felt disgusting. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have let myself get caught that way. I screamed but that didn’t stop him. I shouldn’t have stayed that night. I should have known I was putting myself at risk. It was my fault,’ she repeated.
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ said Jude gently, ‘but I can understand how you must have felt.’
‘All I could think was that I had to get away. I couldn’t face my father, not after what I had allowed to happen to me. It would have destroyed his life.’
‘You were in shock.’
‘I don’t know. Maybe. All I knew was that I had to get away. I rushed out of the room …’
‘Leaving your handbag behind.’
‘I wasn’t in a state to worry about handbags. It was early in the morning, early on the Wednesday morning. I just ran away to Fethering Station. I caught the first train up to London, and then on up to Liverpool. I wasn’t really aware of what I was doing. I just needed to get away.’
‘And didn’t you think of contacting your parents? You must have known what a state they would be in. Surely, once you’d calmed down a bit, you could have given them a call?’
‘Yes. I intended to. But, by the time I had made the decision to call them, something else had happened.’
Intuitively, Jude knew. ‘You found out you were pregnant?’
A small nod acknowledged the truth of this. ‘How did you know that?’
‘I suspected it when you said Glen subsidized you until you could “get back to full-time working”. And when you said you couldn’t contact your parents, that confirmed it.’
‘Right.’
‘So presumably you had the baby?’
‘Of course,’ she replied sharply. ‘I’m a Catholic. I couldn’t not have the baby.’
‘No. Of course not. Boy or girl?’
‘Boy. Francis.’ She nodded to the picture of the saint on the wall. ‘After him.’
‘So, you gave birth on your own?’
‘In a hospital run by nuns. They weren’t very forgiving to unmarried mothers back then. Light on the pain relief. “You got yourself into this situation, you have to suffer for it”, that was their attitude. But it was worth all the pain, all the problems, all the difficulties. I got Francis.’
‘So, he must be … what? Round thirty now?’
‘Twenty-nine.’ She couldn’t keep the pride out of her voice.
‘And does he live here with you?’
‘He did, till a couple of years ago.’
‘So, where is he now?’
‘Francis tried a lot of jobs but none of them was a fit for him. He got very low, not being able to find the right way in his life. Then, finally, he did what he always should have done, what I always, in my heart of hearts, knew he would do.’
‘And what was that?’
‘He’s at the seminary. Oscott College down in Birmingham. He’s going to be a Catholic priest.’ The pride in her voice redoubled as she said this.
‘Congratulations,’ said Jude. It somehow seemed appropriate. ‘But …’ Again, she had to get the wording right. ‘You haven’t told me who Francis’s father was.’
‘No. And I’m afraid that’s the way things are going to stay.’
‘If it was Glen Porter …’ Jude fished, ‘that would explain why he supported you financially. A guilty conscience …? A feeling of responsibility …?’
‘It’s my secret, Jude. Allow me that.’
‘Yes. I would normally … but …’ She had another go. ‘If it was Harry Lasalle, then it might explain his death, either as—’
‘I’m not going to tell you, Jude.’
‘No. No. Well, fair enough. I’m grateful for all you have told me.’
‘I only did tell you stuff because Glen asked me to.’
‘I know. And it must have been hard for you. Thank you.’
‘Right.’ Suddenly businesslike, Mary White looked at her watch. ‘I have to go down to the cathedral. There are some preparations I help with before the seven o’clock Mass.’
‘Yes, of course. Thank you so much for your time and for … all you’ve told me. Rest assured, I won’t do anything that’s going to disrupt the life you have up here.’
‘You’d better not,’ said Mary White grimly.
As she was led through the hall, Jude noticed a framed photograph on the wall. It looked like a studio shot, head and shoulders, of a man in his twenties. ‘Is that …?’
‘Yes, that’s Francis,’ said the proud mother.
And, suddenly, as Jude noted the hair colour and the unusual teeth, everything fell into place.
EIGHTEEN
As Sunday turned into Monday, Carole’s frustration mounted. She didn’t stay permanently behind the curtains of her sitting room waiting for her neighbour to return, but she did peer through them quite often. When she passed by, taking Gulliver for his Sunday afternoon walk, there was no sign of life from Woodside Cottage. Nor was there the following morning when woman and dog once again set off for Fethering Beach. Nor when they came back.
Carole’s desperation to reveal to her collaborator how she’d solved both cases grew more intense. But there was no way she would give in and ring Jude’s mobile. She had her pride. She never wanted to sound needy.
And she understood the basic principle that revelations are all the more effective when delayed. It was annoying, though.
It was too late when Jude got back from Liverpool to get from Euston to Victoria to catch the last Fethering train from Victoria. So, she rang a former lover who had a flat in Covent Garden and asked if he could give her a bed for the night.
He could. And, in fact, generously he let her share his. Old habits died hard, so, for old times’ sake … Very pleasant it was too.
And it distracted her a little from the challenge which the Monday held for her.