Death of a Stranger (24 page)

Lorna drained her cup, then pushed the tray down the bed. “I'm glad I've never met him,'' she whispered. “Tim will have had to restrain himself, but I doubt I could have done.''

“Yes …'' Anna had told Lorna the facts. She would let Tim interpret them
vis-à-vis
himself, if he wanted to. “So it's finished. And that poor boy will be taken away from his parents.''

“The father doesn't deserve a son, but for the boy and his mother … I can't take them on board as well, Anna,'' Lorna said, suddenly brisk and decisive in a way Anna already found characteristic. “Now, I'm going to get up. You just get yourself ready and go.''

“I will.'' Anna got to her feet and picked up the tray. “ I'll be back about one to make us some lunch. It's another lovely day and I'll put the cushions on the garden chairs before I go.''

It
was
a lovely day, but somehow Lorna couldn't relax into it. She tried the garden, then came in to watch TV, then switched off and went into the kitchen to make herself a coffee. It really was time to go home, she thought as she carried the mug back into the sitting-room, put it down on the low centre table, and picked up the paper as she flopped onto the sofa. She'd ring Gina before the morning was out and tell her she'd soon be back. After the police had released Simon's body and they'd been able to give him a funeral. Which they would surely do soon, now that they'd found his killer. He wasn't a Le Page so he wouldn't be buried in the family plot in Candie Cemetery, where her nephew had been buried last year after
he
had been murdered …

She was glad Simon wouldn't be going to Candie. It was a dark, oppressive place even on a sunny day, and wasn't used any more except by old families who still had a space or two waiting in their piece of ground. She'd have to ask Gina if Simon had ever said what he wanted, but if Gina didn't know, and hadn't any strong feelings, she'd suggest burial at Foulon, the modern cemetery; she'd like him to end in Guernsey, to feel he was lying in the place of her birth … She was weeping when the telephone rang. It was a welcome diversion, and she found herself absurdly anxious that the caller might hang up before she was able to get her feet to the floor and cross to Tim's chair. But when she reached it the phone was still ringing. The caller was a woman with a Scots accent, who asked for Mrs Le Page.

“I'm Mrs Le Page,'' Lorna said. “ But I expect you want my daughter-in-law, Mrs Anna Le Page.''

“Mrs Anna Le Page, that's right,'' the caller said. “Could I please speak to her?''

“I'm afraid she's at work. If it's urgent you can ring her at—''

“It isn't urgent. Could you tell me if she'll be at home later?''

“Anytime after one o'clock, she told me. Can I help at all? Would you like her to ring you?''

“No, thanks.'' There was a pause. “I don't suppose Mr Le Page is there?''

“He's at work too, I'm afraid. I don't expect him back till this evening.''

“Thanks. I'll ring again later. Cheers.''

Lorna switched the TV on, and went listlessly back to the sofa. Her sorrow felt like a physical weight and made moving about an effort. Another episode was being shown of the programme she had half enjoyed the day before, but today it failed to involve her. She tried the other stations with no better result, and had just switched off when the telephone rang again.

“Wait, wait!'' she yelled, launching herself across the carpet so eagerly she almost fell over the corner of a rug. Sobered, she carried on carefully to Tim's chair and made herself sit down before picking up the receiver.

This time the caller was a man, and asked for Mrs Lorna Le Page.

“Speaking!'' she responded eagerly.

“This is Detective Constable Falla,'' the voice said. It sounded young. “ Your son has asked me to ring you, Mrs Le Page. He'd like to meet you as soon as possible at the house of Mrs Constance Lorimer, and he's sending a car for you. He thought you might welcome ten minutes or so to get ready.''

“What's happened? What's wrong?'' Her heart was thudding so hard she wondered if the man would hear it.

“Nothing's wrong, Mrs Le Page! I'm sorry, I should have said that right away. It's just that your son has some further evidence and he thought you might like … But if you don't feel—''

“Of course I'll come!
And
I'll be ready in ten minutes!''

“Good. I'm to collect you myself. Detective Constable Falla.''

Transformed, Lorna made herself climb the steep stairs sedately, looked critically at herself in her bedroom mirror, decided she would do, collected bag and jacket, and came down again. The cat was out, but she told a hopeful-eyed Duffy that she wouldn't be long. She saw the car from the window precisely ten minutes from the time of the phone call. It wasn't a police car, and the young man who had hared up the path had his ID in his hand.

“I thought you'd better see this, Mrs Le Page,'' he said, smiling at her. “Seeing that I've come in my own car. All the station cars were in use when I left and your son said—''

Lorna glanced at it. “That's all right, Constable.''

She preceded him down the short path to the gate, which he shut behind them, got into the front passenger seat when he opened the door for her.

Constance Lorimer's! So Tim must have solved the mystery of the first attack as well. His success in finding Simon's murderer hadn't shaken her conviction that the hit-and-run in L'Hyvreuse had been directed against her, and now he must have obtained proof of it and wanted her to be there when he accused Constance.

Lorna was so excited she couldn't stop herself chatting to the DC, telling him she was a Guern and how beautiful the island was looking. He didn't say much in response, but he was half smiling and he had a lovely profile …

They were stopping outside Beth Smith's.

“I'm afraid you've got the wrong house,'' Lorna said. “This is where Mrs Lorimer's friend Miss Smith lives, Mrs Lorimer is at the other end—''

“I'm sorry, Mrs Le Page, I should have told you there's a slight change of plan.'' The lovely profile became a full face and the DC gave her a full, a dazzling, smile. “ Your son is going to rendezvous with you here.''

“Well, fine.'' Lorna shrugged. The prospect of the interior of Beth Smith's house was infinitely more attractive than the prospect of the interior of Constance Lorimer's. Not that she had ever visited Beth Smith, but Lorna could usually tell from a woman's appearance what her house was like.

Detective Constable Falla helped her out of the car and preceded her up the neat path. Lorna was admiring the layout and condition of the front garden when Beth Smith appeared at her front door, smiling.

“Good morning, Mrs Le Page! Do please come in. Your son isn't here yet, but he's just been on the telephone and we're to expect him at any minute. Would you like some coffee while we're waiting? The kettle's boiled.''

“Thank you, I'd love some.''

“Good. Will you take Mrs Le Page into the sitting-room, Constable, and I'll bring the coffee through?''

Miss Smith indicated an open doorway, and Lorna and the policeman went into a room of much the same dimensions as Constance Lorimer's, but so different Lorna found herself openly smiling at the delightful contrast. This room smelled sweet and sparkled with cleanliness, its decor was elegant and restrained, and it looked out on to another piece of beautifully tended garden.

“Nice place,'' the DC said.

“Lovely.'' Lorna noticed a spectacle case and a newspaper on the small table beside one of the fireside chairs, and sat down in the other. After a moment's pause the DC lowered himself gingerly on to the edge of the sofa, springing up again to take the coffee tray out of Beth Smith's hands and putting it down on the low centre table.

“Milk? Sugar?'' Miss Smith enquired of them both.

When they were served, Lorna ventured to ask if Miss Smith was able to tell her the reason for the assembly at her house.

“Only that it's to do with poor Constance,'' Miss Smith replied, her smile tinged now with sadness.

“How kind you are!'' Lorna said. “And this is delicious coffee.'' If a little strong.

“I'm glad you like it.''

“I like your house too, Miss Smith. And your garden. Do you look after the garden yourself?''

Miss Smith told her that she had help with maintenance – mowing, edging and hedge-cutting – but that she enjoyed doing her own creative work, and the DC smiled down at his well-polished shoes, making Lorna suspect that maintenance man must be his own domestic role. She accepted a second cup of coffee from Miss Smith, and questioned Tim's lateness aloud as she started to drink it.

“Don't worry,'' the DC said. “It was one heck of a morning when I came out. I was glad to get away.'' Lorna had a vague idea that a look passed between him and Miss Smith. “He'll be here any minute,'' the DC said, his eyes returning to his shoes.

She was feeling vague altogether, Lorna realised as she set her cup down. Slightly drunk, she would have said if she'd been drinking alcohol. It wasn't a bad feeling, it was making her more and more relaxed and comfortable. It must be the cumulative effect of the pills she was still taking to ease the pain of her injuries.

“Are you all right, Mrs Le Page?'' Beth Smith was asking.

“Yes. Yes, I'm fine.'' Lorna could feel her smile stretching beyond her own volition, and Miss Smith's face, also smiling, seemed to be less clearly visible than it had been when she arrived. That was true of the whole room, Lorna realised, as she looked from Miss Smith to the detective constable. She couldn't see his face very clearly, either, but she had the curious impression that he was suddenly serious. Very serious. It was all so strange Lorna gave a little laugh.

“Good,'' Miss Smith said. “Because I have a few things to say to you.''

“Oh, yes?'' Lorna settled herself firmly back in her chair, because of the odd sensation that if she didn't she might topple forward out of it. She didn't think she would take any more of those pills.

“Yes.'' Beth Smith turned to the detective constable. “I think she's ready,'' she said.

Lorna thought she saw the policeman shrug, get to his feet, cross the room and do something to a small box on a side table. Events had started to take a rather odd turn, but she wasn't worried because they felt no more real than events in a film being shown on a TV channel with interference, where you could only just make out the action and couldn't always be sure of the expressions on the actors' faces. She supposed she was involved in it, but it seemed an awfully long way away.

“Lorna Le Page!''

Beth Smith could have said it more than once. “I'm sorry.'' Lorna tried to concentrate. “I'm feeling a bit far away.''

Miss Smith nodded. “As I expected. But I want you to listen to what I'm going to say to you, because I've been waiting to say it for thirty years. You didn't take Geoffrey Lorimer away from his wife, you stupid woman, you took him away from
me
!''

“Wh-a-a-t?'' She had listened, and as well as learning a terrible thing about Geoffrey she had also learned, as if she had know it all her life, that Tim wasn't coming and the man on the sofa wasn't a policeman. She had walked into a trap and she couldn't walk out of it because when she tried she couldn't even get to her feet.

Through the haze Beth Smith was nodding again. “That's right,'' she said. “You stay there, Lorna Le Page. And listen. When you met Geoffrey Lorimer he was already unfaithful to his wife. He and I were in love, passionately in love. It suited us to leave things as they were – I was only a few doors down from Constance and she didn't care where he was, didn't want to know so long as she had a comfortable chair and a packet of cigarettes. So she never knew, nobody ever knew, and I was happier than I'd ever believed possible.''

“Must go …'' Lorna mumbled. But somewhere else – she wasn't sure whether it was deep inside her or outside her helpless body and looking down on it – her mind had kept a clear place and was continuing to take in what Beth Smith was saying. Take it in with a horror as strong as her horror at being in the woman's power. Of being perhaps in the last hours – or moments – of her life.

“You can't go. Listen! Then
you
appeared, with your selfishness and your greed and your own husband, and you took him away from me. He didn't tell me he was going, but he told his wife. She and I were the merest of acquaintances then, and she didn't tell me because she was so stupid she didn't know he and I were more than acquaintances either. So
she
had a motive to drive her car at you where I didn't – then – and get stuck in a ditch for her pains. Oh, she really is a stupid woman, even stupider than you are. You thought you were the love of Geoffrey Lorimer's life, Lorna Le Page, that he'd remained faithful to a nightmare marriage until he met
you
! But I'm telling you now that he was no more than a miserable philanderer. If he hadn't died so soon after you took him away and wore him out, he'd have been on with the next one.''

“N-o-o-o!'' It took all Lorna's strength to give voice to the long-drawn-out whisper. But her outrage was so strong that for a moment it had taken over from her fear.

“Yes! It was after Geoffrey'd gone that I became friendly with Constance. I made all the overtures, because it was I who wanted it. It was the only way I could bear it, to be in the company of the other person Geoffrey had abandoned, the person to whom his desertion had done far more public harm. But far less private harm, of course. That was the wicked paradox, Lorna Le Page. Constance had nothing to get over, she'd let him go years ago. And I've never got over it at all. But outwardly Constance was the pathetic figure, the one people were sorry for. I at least was spared pity. To the world I was still a free spirit, elegant and enigmatic.'' The free part of Lorna's mind registered Miss Smith as an egotist even more monstrous than herself.