‘Probably not to me.’
‘I felt he was helping me. So when Mr Loste came and established his choir…’
‘Good way to … perpetuate Elgar’s music?’
‘I made a donation, from the fund. Towards the choir and hiring musicians sometimes.’
‘You gave Tim money?’
‘Anonymously. Through my solicitor. I didn’t want them to know. I didn’t want that woman … I heard she … is it true?’
‘I’m afraid it is.’
‘Dear God.’ Mrs Aird sank down on to the tomb. ‘What’s happening here, Mrs Watkins?’
Merrily told her, without mentioning names, that the people responsible were no longer a threat. That there was nobody out there any more to be afraid of.
She wondered if that was true and if the divide which had opened up all those years ago, like a fissure in the rocks, between Longworth and the Devereaux family, Old Wychehill and Upper Wychehill, might in some way be closed. What would happen to Old Wychehill now? In theory, it was Hugo’s. But what would happen to Hugo?
‘As soon as I handed over the money,’ Mrs Aird said, ‘I knew it was wrong, somehow, and I didn’t know why. I had terrible dreams. One night…’ She hugged her arms. ‘I saw him.’ She looked up. ‘Him.’
‘The angel?’
‘I was watching the sunset and just after the sun had gone down, he was there in my garden. Don’t think I’m mad—’
‘No.’
‘And the next day the lorry crashed into the church wall. It was probably a coincidence, but that’s not what you think, is it, at the time?’
‘Did you … see him again?’
‘No.’
‘And the light the lorry driver said he saw … ?’
‘He thought it was the sun, but it was too early. Perhaps it was like the policeman said, he was overtired. But I thought of the ball of light that my grandfather’s supposed to have seen. And then Mr Loste … and then Hannah. I didn’t know what to believe. It was getting too much for me. And then I talked to Ingrid and…’ Mrs Aird let her arms drop and turned to Merrily. ‘How much of it was lies? Do you know?’
‘No,’ Merrily said. ‘I don’t. Sometimes you never do. Sometimes you just have to push on regardless and hope you get … some…’
Help? She looked up. Something had happened.
She saw, through the steep, plain-glass window, a very small glow, as if only one candle was left alight. And the choir had faltered, voices trailing like ribbon. She stood up.
The last candle didn’t go out, but the choir stayed silent. Merrily heard the church door opening, and Lol came out, and she walked over to him. He looked anxious.
‘He … the conductor was this guy, Dan. He’d stepped in at the last minute because the usual guy couldn’t make it. And he just … he stopped it. He said he had to sit down. Suddenly felt cold … and weak. And then he got up again and went round blowing out the candles. It was … weird. Who’s that?’
Merrily turned and saw Mrs Aird walking back along the drive towards the road. There was darkness there. The cracked lantern at the entrance had gone out.
Cold inside with dread, she took out her mobile and opened it up, its screen flaring orange and white, and called the hospital in Worcester where Tim Loste had been taken.
64
Helium
It was unearthly seeing Elgar like this. Disorientating.
In his striped casual jacket and his hat with the brim raffishly upturned at the sides. And was that a cigarette, for heaven’s sake, between his fingers?
He wasn’t exactly smiling, but you felt that, under that Wild West marshal’s moustache, he was on the edge of one, standing on the track with his arms spread as if emphasizing its width. Yes, it had to be a cigarette – that was smoke in the air
You spent all week searching for him in the Malverns, and here he was in Ledwardine.
Something mischievous and yet rueful about that near-smile. The main difference between Watkins and Elgar, at this stage of their lives, was that Elgar was more or less played out in his sixties, while Watkins was only just beginning his greatest work, crackling with vision.
Maybe Elgar, in Ledwardine, was returning a favour – for getting Longworth off his back? No, don’t get fanciful.
‘Whenever I think I’m getting somewhere.’ Jane lowered her face into her hands. ‘Just when I think I’m breaking through, I screw up. It’s like there’s something inside me, something demonic—’
‘Stop right there, flower.’
Jane looked up. Annoyance turning to something between hopelessness and an unhealthy kind of repentance.
Anyway, it was almost pitiful.
‘I was going to say, “Don’t call me ‘flower’ like I’m seven years old.” But yeah, call me flower. Call me flower till I grow up. Maybe getting thrown out of school … maybe that’s what I need. Maybe I should go away, where I can’t harm anybody.’
Merrily thought of telling her that the one person this didn’t seem to have harmed was Gomer Parry who, when she’d seen him in the Eight till Late, had looked ten years younger, despite facing charges which could include taking a mechanical digger without the owner’s consent and criminal damage to a fence and a silver BMW.
He said he’d deny that this last offence had been criminal as he’d had no way of knowing that Pierce had brought his car round in order to drive Gerry Murray home so Murray could leave his JCB on site overnight, which was plain daft, anyway.
‘More likely to’ve banged Pierce,’ Gomer said. ‘Bloody little crook.’
Merrily had advised resisting making that point to the police. Bliss had suggested that Gomer might get a caution … but only if he admitted an offence of, say, Aggravated Taking Without Consent. Which, Gomer being Gomer…
She wondered if she should ring Robert Morrell at home and make a crawling apology, telling him how stressed-out she’d been and what a difficult year it had been for Jane. Wondered whether this might actually work, or whether Jane would just despise her.
Probable answers: no and yes.
Just before twelve, Syd Spicer had rung to say that he’d spoken to Tim Loste’s parents in France. He’d asked Merrily how she’d feel about conducting the funeral. The full Requiem, as High Church as she was prepared to go.
Incense, even.
She’d said OK.
The young guy at the door was in jeans and a Mappa Mundi T-shirt.
‘Neil Cooper. Herefordshire Council.’
‘I think I’ve seen you somewhere before,’ Merrily said.
‘It’s possible, yes. I wondered if Jane was in.’
‘Well, she—’
Jane appeared in the hall.
‘Oh—’
‘This is Mr Cooper, Jane. From the Council.’
‘Look,’ Jane said. ‘I overreacted. I behaved like a kid. But on the other hand I’m not going to apologize.’
‘I don’t expect you to.’ Neil Cooper looked grim. ‘But I think you ought at least to come and see the extent of what you’ve done, you and your … volatile friend.’
‘For what it’s worth, I’m accepting full responsibility. Gomer thought I was in danger, and that’s why he did it. In fact it was an act of protest.’
Merrily said, ‘Jane—’
‘Also, he was insulted by Lyndon Pierce. Made to look small. And old and knackered. Gomer’s a proud sort of guy in his way, and he’s a good guy, and he could drive a JCB in his sleep, and Pierce was stupid to leave his car there with no lights.’
‘I really don’t want to argue,’ Cooper said. ‘If you’re prepared to face up to—’
‘All right, I’ll come. OK? But if you’re going to offer me any kind of a deal, like the police did, to drop Gomer in it…’