‘Oh,’ Gina responded. ‘Sheila won’t be happy about that.’ And she couldn’t keep the satisfaction out of her voice.
For a moment Carole wondered. Gina’s animus against her rival was so strong, was it possible that she might have leaked the information to Marla Teischbaum? An attempt to put Sheila Cartwright in her place? To demonstrate the frailty of her influence over ‘Paul’, the Chief Constable? It was an intriguing possibility.
But when Sheila herself heard that Marla knew about the body, the reaction was surprisingly muted. ‘It was bound to get out at some point. Only a matter of time. Did she say what she planned to do with the information, Carole?’
‘No.’
‘Oh, well, wait and see. If we can keep it quiet till the house closes at the end of the week, well and good. If not, tant pis. We’ll just see to it that all press enquiries are handled through the police.’
In spite of her bullying and blackmailing tactics, at times, Carole realized, Sheila Cartwright could be extremely pragmatic and sensible.
‘But it can’t be kept secret much longer, Jude,’ said Carole. ‘I mean, they’ve managed to keep it quiet for nearly a week, but if Professor Marla Teischbaum has heard about the skeleton, then it’s only a matter of time before lots of other people do, and then it’s only a matter of time before the press get hold of the story.’
‘And you say you think it may have been leaked to the Professor by one of the Trustees?’
‘I don’t have any proof of that, Jude . . .’ She wondered whether to confide her recent misgiving about Gina Locke, but it seemed too unsubstantial. ‘I’m very suspicious, though, of a guy called George Ferris. Ex-librarian. Looks like he’s escaped from one of the lesser works of Tolkien. He knew Marla Teischbaum was going to be over here. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got a hotline to her.’
‘And did she imply that she was going to use her knowledge of the body as a bargaining counter or something of that kind?’
Carole screwed up her face in disagreement. ‘Not really. I mean, how could she use it? Threaten to break the news to the press? It’s got to come out soon, anyway.’
‘Why do you think the police are sitting on the story?’
‘If Sheila Cartwright’s to be believed, it’s because of pressure she’s putting on the Chief Constable. Her friend “Paul”.’ Something of Sheila’s autocratic manner coloured the name as Carole spoke it. ‘I know she’s well-connected, but I doubt if she could do that. On the other hand, if they can keep the story quiet just till the end of this week, when the house is closed to the public for the winter, that would make sense. Save a lot of gawpers and ghouls coming round to inspect the Scene of the Crime.’
‘If there is a crime.’
‘Hm.’
Carole was feeling resentful. Jude had done it to her again. Just breezed round to High Tor with no explanation for why her bedroom curtains had been drawn earlier in the afternoon. And, as ever, before Carole had had time to ascertain basic facts, the conversation had moved on. Still, too late to do anything about it now.
She went on, ‘Mind you, there is a logic to holding the story till Bracketts becomes a private house again for the winter. I can see that would appeal to the people who run the place.’
‘But Sheila Cartwright no longer has anything to do with running the place.’
‘You try telling her that.’
‘I had a thought, Carole . . .’
‘Hm?’
‘I’d quite fancy doing another Guided Tour of Bracketts . . .’
‘Good idea.’
‘If there is a mystery to solve, I’d like to get a feeling of the place.’
‘Yes. Well, it’ll have to be this week.’
‘I know. Would it bore you to come too?’
‘No, Jude. I’d like that very much.’ She remembered that she hadn’t yet got round to posting the letter Graham Chadleigh-Bewes had mistakenly left in the file for Marla Teischbaum. ‘As a matter of fact, there’s something I’ve got to drop in there, anyway.’
‘How about going tomorrow? Thursday? That all right for you?’
‘Fine.’
‘And I’ve got a friend staying with me. He might want to come too.’
‘Oh,’ was all Carole said, but she felt a little pang of disappointment. Was this the explanation of the closed curtains? She hadn’t had many friends throughout her life, and she knew she was over-possessive of those she had. But with Jude, she’d been fine, known that her neighbour had a life of many strands, and usually managed not to feel slighted when her friend was off in another part of her life. But never before had Jude suggested involving someone else in one of their mystery investigations.
The weather was much better than the last time Carole had been to Bracketts, but summer was just a memory. Though direct sunlight remained hot, in the shadows she could feel the chill breath of autumn.
Nor had she warmed, on the drive from Fethering, to Laurence Hawker. For one thing, as soon as they all got into her neat white Renault, without asking for permission, he had immediately lit up a cigarette. Even though he had trailed the hand which held it out of the open window, Carole still regarded this as a serious breach of good manners. Nor was she taken by his black leather jacket and matching uniform, or his general air of amused ennui. She saw only the exterior of a languid poseur and, having never been in love with him, could not see any of the better, interior qualities that Jude appreciated.
But he certainly knew his stuff about Esmond Chadleigh and, rather grudgingly, Carole recognized she had to be grateful for that. If Jude had enrolled him on this one particular mission because of his special knowledge of Bracketts’ literary background, no problem. He could be a consultant, but not a participant. Jude suggesting any other role for Laurence would sound warning bells.
Carole couldn’t work out what the relationship between the two of them was, and that annoyed her. She liked to have things cut and dried in her mind. Jude and Laurence evidently knew each other well, and had known each other for quite a while. But whether they ever had been lovers or – an even more incongruous idea – still were lovers, Carole had no idea. She had never possessed those antennae built into many women, which could instantly identify and analyse the sexual content of any relationship. The instinct was not one she actively wished for, though the lack of it did sometimes cause her aggravation.
Because she couldn’t define their level of closeness, Carole was awkward in Jude and Laurence’s company. Though there was no overt manifestation of affection like hand-holding or an arm around a shoulder, she still didn’t want to crowd them. Going from room to room through the narrow corridors of Bracketts, Carole felt obliged to walk ahead or behind, leaving them the option of walking side by side, should they so wish.
Her discomfort was increased by the fact that she knew she was being stupid, allowing yet another of the infuriating traits of her character to hobble her behaviour. Being Carole Seddon was sometimes a very tiresome business, overreacting to imagined slights, and tightening social Gordian knots which cried out to be sliced quickly through.
On this visit to Bracketts they didn’t bother with the gardens. Though very beautiful and punctiliously maintained by teams of Volunteers, there was nothing in them of literary relevance. The only part of the grounds which Carole and Jude might have wished to inspect, the kitchen garden, was firmly locked off by its substantial gates. Whether behind those gates police forensic teams still beavered away, sifting the ground for clues about a long-dead body, they had no means of knowing.