“Alan Burnethorpe too.”
“Yes. The saintly image she projected seems in retrospect a little tarnished. How did she get away with it, in a wasp’s nest of gossip like Fedborough? Do you really think they were all seduced by the glamour of her title?”
“Yes,” Carole replied firmly. Then, in response to Jude’s sceptical look, she went on, “You haven’t lived down here as long as I have. There’s a level of snobbery associated with the aristocracy you just wouldn’t believe. Everyone wants to invite them to everything, and they’re given a much freer rein than ordinary people. There’d have to be a really monumental scandal for people in a place like Fedborough to start thinking badly of someone with a title.”
“I thought that kind of nonsense had gone out in these so-called egalitarian times.”
“Don’t you believe it.”
“Hm. Right.” Jude rubbed her hands together in a business-like manner. “So…where do we go next? Presumably Francis Carlton is back in the States. Be good to talk to Debbie again – and I’d like to meet her this time. Have you run out of credibility on interior design consultations?”
“I think I have a bit. Unless I actually say I’m going to go ahead with the job.” Her face clouded at the recollection this brought to her – of the euphoria prompted by her relationship with Ted Crisp, which had made her full of plans for brightening up her life. “And I’m certainly not going to do that,” she concluded tartly.
“Ooh, but just a minute, though…” A new thought came to Carole. “If we wait till Friday, we’ve got the perfect opportunity to go and see Debbie.”
“What?”
“The Art Crawl we heard so much about from Terry Harper.”
“Right. Debbie Carlton’s exhibiting. Yes, I remember him saying that.”
“So we can wander at will through a selection of the private homes of Fedborough…on the pretext that we’re art-lovers. Debbie described the Fedborough Festival Art Crawl as a Snoopers’ Charter.”
“Good. Any other houses we ought to investigate?”
“Wouldn’t mind having a look in Terry Harper’s. I don’t know whether he’s actually part of the Crawl, but there’s nothing to stop anyone from walking into an antique shop.”
“I get you. You’re thinking that used to be the grocer’s?”
Carole nodded. “The last place, from the information we have, where Virginia Hargreaves was seen alive. On February the twentieth, three years ago.”
“Yes.” Jude ruefully jutted out a lower lip. “Though it has to be said that the information we have is verging on the sketchy. We really need to find out more detail about Virginia Hargreaves’s last weekend.”
“Which brings us back to James Lister.”
“Right. How’re we going to justify getting in touch with him again? The Listers’ house isn’t part of the Art Crawl, is it?”
“No.”
“Actually, I can’t see the lovely Fiona being that interested in art…though I suppose she might have her husband’s balls mounted and framed.”
Carole blushed instinctively. Lines like that always made her blush…though she couldn’t help finding the image rather funny.
She made no comment on it, however. “Not a problem. We have the perfect excuse to get back in touch with the Listers.”
“What?”
“Have you called them to say thank you for the delightful evening on Friday?”
“No, I haven’t yet.”
“Nor have I.” Carole reached for the phone.
Fortunately, James Lister answered. His wife was off poisoning the atmosphere somewhere else. He was fruitily grateful for her fulsome thanks. “It was my pleasure. Can’t have enough pretty women around me, you know. Though don’t let the wife hear me say that.” He chuckled rather feebly. Even when she wasn’t there, Fiona still cast a shadow of anxiety over his life.
“Well, it was a great pleasure, James. So kind of you to invite us.”
“We enjoyed seeing you.”
“And do thank Fiona for the magnificent dinner, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And I hope we’ll see you again soon, James.”
“Yes.” He hesitated. “When you say ‘we’, you mean you and your friend Jude?”
“That’s right.” Carole winked at Jude across her sitting room. “Have you heard from her since Friday?”
“No, but don’t worry. I’ll pass on the thanks from both of you to Fiona – ”
“That seems rather – ”
“Did you hear, incidentally,” James Lister went on, “the reason why poor old Roddy Hargreaves wasn’t with us on Friday?”
“Yes, I did. A terrible tragedy.”
“Mm.”
“It must be dreadful for you, James.”
“Why?” He sounded instantly suspicious.
“Well, to lose one of your regular drinking mates.”
“Oh, yes. Well, that happens, I’m afraid. Increasingly, these days.”
“But it won’t stop you using the Coach and Horses?”
“Good Lord, no.” He let out a heartily masculine laugh. “Death’s a tragedy, but stopping going to the pub would be an even worse tragedy.”
“So you’ll still be there on a regular basis?”
“You bet, young lady. Six o’clock on the dot every weekday evening. Erm, except Fridays, that is, because, erm…well, as you know, Fiona gives her dinner parties then.”
“Of course. Well, James, thank you again for last week…”
“From you and Jude, yes.”
“…and I’ll hope to see you in the Coach and Horses one of these evenings.”
“That’d be splendid,” said James Lister, not realizing he had just made a definite appointment.
But he didn’t look surprised when Carole and Jude appeared in the Coach and Horses shortly after six that evening. In fact, he was delighted to see them. James Lister was alone at the bar. His cronies hadn’t turned up. One of them would never turn up again. Maybe the others wouldn’t appear at all that evening. The women saw him before he saw them; he looked old and forlorn.
But he perked up the minute he caught sight of them. “Well, this is a double pleasure. Fiona will be so interested to hear that I’ve met up with you again. So what brings you here?”
Carole gaped. She hadn’t thought to prepare a cover story.
“Oh, we’re just stupid, Jimmy,” said Jude smoothly. “I’d got it into my head that this Art Crawl thing, you know, that Terry Harper was talking about at your dinner party…well, I thought it started today.”
“No, that’s Friday. Third of July. Well, most of the Private Views are on Thursday evening. Fiona and I will have to put in an appearance at a few of those.” His tone of voice didn’t suggest he’d had an overnight conversion to the joys of visual art. “But the Crawl proper opens to the public on Friday afternoon.”
“I know now. I’ve seen the posters all over the town. Anyway, since we’d come here on a wasted journey, we thought we’d have just a quick drink before we went back to Fethering.”
“Your mistake is my gain,” said James Lister with elaborate courtesy.
“Stupid of me.” Jude shook her head pitifully.
He responded to the dumb blonde routine. “Women, eh? Can’t be trusted out of the kitchen. Or the bedroom.” He cackled. Carole and Jude resisted their instinctive responses to his words and smiled winsomely. They weren’t going to put this information opportunity at risk. “Now come on, let me get you pretty little things a drink.”
Skittishly, Jude requested a white wine. Carole did the same, although she was less good at being skittish.
When they were supplied with glasses, Jude looked around the bar and sighed. “Sad to think last time we were in here we were talking to Roddy Hargreaves.”
James Lister looked suitably reverent. “Yes. Poor bugger – pardon my French. I knew he was in a bad way, but I didn’t ever imagine he’d go and do that.”