Murder in the Green (3 page)

‘We have those here, too.’ Libby was defensive.

‘I know, I know.’ Ben smiled again and patted her knee. ‘Cranston Morris do a Mummer’s play themselves at the Saturday parade.’

‘Of course,’ said Libby, ‘I should have remembered. St George and the doctor and all that.’

‘We ought to do one for the theatre,’ said Ben. ‘We could do a pre-Christmas thing. That’s when mummers used to go round, isn’t it?’

‘Wassailing?’ Libby frowned. ‘Something like that. I’ll look it up. Perhaps we could do something round the pubs to promote the panto?’

To Libby’s relief, Ben took hold of the change of subject and began to discuss next season’s pantomime. The oast house owned by the Manor Farm had been turned into a small theatre, which was run by a consortium of Ben’s cousin Peter, Ben himself, who was the architect behind the project, and Libby. The opening production had been marred by the murder of a member of the cast, but, since then, the theatre had gone from strength to strength and gained a formidable reputation in the area.

Peter and his partner, Harry, who owned between them the Pink Geranium, a vegetarian restaurant a few doors down from the pub, joined them at Number 17 after dinner.

Harry complained that the credit crunch was going to halve the takings if something didn’t happen soon.

‘As long as you break even it doesn’t matter,’ said Peter.

‘Hardly doing that at the moment,’ said Harry gloomily. ‘That’s why we’ve come here to ponce a drink off you rather than going to the pub.’

‘And here was I thinking you were desperate for my company,’ said Libby, handing over two large glasses of red wine.

Peter kissed her cheek. ‘What, you, you old trout?’

Libby grinned.

‘So what’s been going on chez the Sarjeant Wilde household?’ asked Harry, flinging himself on to the cane sofa and upsetting Sidney.

‘Not a lot,’ said Ben. ‘Still working on Steeple Farm.’

Harry shot a look at Libby. ‘Right,’ he said.

‘How’s it going?’ asked Peter. ‘James was asking the other day.’ James was Peter’s younger brother.

‘Has he decided he wants to move in?’ asked Libby, a little too quickly.

‘Good lord, no,’ said Peter with a frown. ‘He’s far too ensconced in his nice flat in Canterbury with his new girlfriend.’

‘New girlfriend?’ said Ben and Libby together, and the conversation was once more turned away from Steeple Farm, to Libby’s relief.

‘Come on, then,’ said Harry, a bit later, when Libby went to fetch another bottle from the kitchen. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Libby gave him a wide-eyed look.

‘You don’t want to move into Steeple Farm, do you?’

‘I didn’t say that.’ Libby wrestled with the foil covering on the bottle. Harry took it out of her hands.

‘Just tell Ben. He won’t mind.’

‘But he will.’ Libby looked up at Harry and sighed. ‘He really wants it. And he wants us to live there together.’ She sighed again. ‘Oh, he’s said he’ll live here until I’m ready, but that’s not what he wants.’

Harry looked at her thoughtfully while pulling the cork from the bottle. ‘And it’s not what you want, either, is it?’

Libby felt the colour creeping up her neck. ‘Well, it’s not ideal…’ she began.

‘No.’ Harry handed her the bottle. ‘If you want to talk about it, come down to the caff tomorrow. I think you’re in serious need of therapy.’

‘What were you and Harry talking about in the kitchen?’ asked Ben later, as they got ready for bed.

‘Steeple Farm,’ said Libby, without stopping to think.

‘Oh?’ Ben stopped taking his shirt off and turned to face her. ‘What about it?’

Closing her eyes and cursing herself, Libby sat on the edge of the bed.

‘Come on, Lib, out with it.’ Ben sat down on the other side.

‘Harry wanted to know how I felt about it now.’

‘Now?’

‘Now the renovations have started.’

‘They started weeks ago.’

‘I know. He just wondered if I was happier about it.’

‘Oh, so everyone knows you’re not happy, do they?’ said Ben grimly.

Oh, dear, thought Libby, here we go. ‘No,’ she said aloud, ‘everyone – whoever everyone is – does not know I’m unhappy because I’m not.’

‘Go on.’ Ben settled back against the pillows, arms folded across his chest.

‘It’s just what I said before.’ Libby stood up and belted her dressing gown round her waist. ‘I love this cottage, and I made it what it is now. It’s all me. It’s very hard to think of leaving it.’

‘And you’ve discussed this with Harry?’

‘No!’ The colour flooded back into Libby’s cheeks. ‘He was there when it was first discussed, wasn’t he? And he knows me very well. He just sort of – picked up the – er – vibes, so to speak.’

Ben sighed and stood up to continue undressing. ‘More than I can, then,’ he said.

Libby escaped to the bathroom and heaved a guilty sigh of relief. It wasn’t going to turn into an argument, then. Not tonight, anyway.

Chapter Three

Libby pushed open the door of the Pink Geranium despite the closed sign. Donna, Harry’s waitress and second-in-command, still there after numerous offers from bigger and not necessarily better establishments, greeted her with a nod.

‘Harry!’ she called. ‘Libby’s here.’

Harry, already in his chef’s checked trousers and white jacket, appeared from the kitchen wiping his hands on a tea towel.

‘Hello, petal. Wine or coffee?’

Libby looked at her watch. ‘It had better be coffee, hadn’t it?’

‘Go on, then. Take a pew. Be with you in a minute.’

Libby sat on the sofa in one of the windows, to the side of the front door. If she sat sideways she could see the village high street, Ahmed and Ali’s eight-til-late, Bob’s butcher’s shop and the new farm shop, squashed into a gap between the Methodist Chapel and Ivy Cottage on the other side of the road.

‘Have you met the people in the farm shop?’ she asked, as Harry sat down beside her and put a tray on the coffee table.

‘Course I have. So have you.’

‘Have I?’

‘They’re the people who run Cattlegreen Nurseries on the Canterbury road. Nella and Joe. Nella says they weren’t getting enough custom because people weren’t stopping.’

‘And is it better here?’

‘She says so. People in the village are trying to shop in the village and not use their cars, so fresh veg is a good move. And did you know Ahmed’s got a proper baker to deliver bread in the mornings, now?’

‘Really?’ Libby was impressed. ‘Where from?’

‘Steeple Mount, apparently. The bakery there does very well.’

‘Oh, I know it. Run by Diggory something. He’s a Cranston Morris man.’

‘Richard Diggory. He sometimes supplies me with stuff. I didn’t know he was a Morris man.’ Harry pulled down the corners of his mouth. ‘Might have to stop buying from him.’

Libby laughed. ‘Go on, you don’t subscribe to the old stereotype beard and Arran sweater image!’

‘Well, no.’ Harry leant forward to pour coffee. ‘Rich is quite a suave individual, as it happens. Very surprising this is.’

‘He’s known as Diggory in Cranston Morris,’ said Libby. ‘I suppose that fits the image better than “Rich”, doesn’t it? I was introduced to him at a party, ages ago. I’ll probably see him again on Saturday.’

‘You’re not going to that shenanigans?’ Harry looked appalled.

‘The parade? Yes. Fran and I are going.’ Libby took a sip from her thick, white mug. ‘Ben and I used to take the children years ago.’

‘Together?’ Harry raised his eyebrows.

‘No, Ben and his wife and me and Derek. Ben says we probably met, but I don’t remember.’

‘Which brings us neatly back to why you’re here.’ Harry leant back in the corner of the sofa. ‘Shoot.’

Libby unnecessarily stirred her coffee.

‘It’s daft, really,’ she said.

‘So are you,’ said Harry.

‘Yeah, well.’ She sat up and looked at him. Faint lines were beginning to show at the corners of his blue eyes and the handsome face was just that little bit fuller than it had been a year ago. ‘You’re looking very content,’ she said.

‘We’re not talking about me,’ said Harry. ‘However, I am very content. I’m glad Pete and I got civilled, I have a failing restaurant and a lovely home. What more could a bloke want? Your turn.’

‘You know I fancied Ben when I met him over that
Hop Pickers
murder?’

‘I thought you already fancied him.’

‘Well, I did, sort of, but I didn’t know him very well.’ Libby looked down at her mug. ‘And I didn’t think I stood a chance, to be honest.’

Harry’s mouth twitched. ‘Course you didn’t.’

‘Oh, come on, Harry!’ Libby looked up and grinned. ‘Short, plump and over fifty. Nobody’s best catch.’

‘Were you over fifty then? I thought you were younger.’

‘Flatterer.’ Libby put her mug on the table. ‘Anyway. So we got it together, briefly, like a couple of teenagers. I reckoned it was that life-affirming thing you’re supposed to do after death, you know?’

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said Harry.

‘Then we drifted apart –’

‘Your fault, I gather.’

‘All right, it probably was, but then we got back together. And it was great. Well, you know, you’ve seen us through all of it.’

‘But now –’ said Harry.

‘I think it started when he moved in.’ Libby wriggled in her seat. ‘I’ve come to realise that I like my own space.’

‘So did Fran,’ said Harry. ‘I seem to remember she didn’t want Guy moving in when she went to Coastguard Cottage. She wanted to savour the moment.’

‘I reminded her of that,’ said Libby, ‘but she’s changed. She loves Guy so much.’

‘Which argues, petal, that you don’t love our Ben that much.’

‘I suppose it does,’ said Libby gloomily. ‘And now I don’t know what to do.’

Harry cocked his head on one side. ‘I know I’m not the expert on male-female relationships, but don’t you think it’s a bit unfair that you haven’t told Ben all this?’

Libby nodded. ‘But I don’t want to lose him,’ she said.

‘Now that really is dog-in-the-manger,’ said Harry. ‘I want him, but only on my terms. Compromise, gal, is the name of the game.’

Libby sighed. ‘You’re not telling me anything I don’t know. Ben and I went through all this only a few weeks ago, just before Fran’s wedding. He’s compromised, he’s come to live in my cottage, when he had far more room at the Manor.’

‘And you feel you can’t chuck him out?’

‘Of course I can’t. But I feel crowded and pressurised.’

‘Stating the bleedin’ obvious, Steeple Farm would take care of all that, wouldn’t it? Much more space. And Ben would let you do more or less what you liked with the inside, I betcha.’ Harry sniffed. ‘You could probably even take that creaky straw sofa. And the walking stomach.’

‘Well, of course, I’d take Sidney,’ said Libby with a grin. ‘And my cane sofa is a statement, I’ll have you know.’

‘It makes enough noise,’ said Harry, getting up. ‘More coffee?’

‘No thanks. I’ve promised Guy another pretty peep for his shop and I want to borrow Jane’s sitting room to do a preliminary sketch, so I’ve got to go to Nethergate.’

‘I thought you said Jane and Terry were turning that house back into one, now? Won’t that be their bedroom?’

‘Don’t know,’ said Libby, standing up. ‘She said I could use it, that’s all I know. And she’s working from home today, so I’m going over.’

‘They’re getting married soon, aren’t they?’ asked Harry innocently, as he opened the door for her.

‘Yes. Don’t start.’ Libby gave him a kiss on the cheek. ‘And don’t work too hard.’

Jane Maurice, local newspaper reporter, and her fiancé and ex-tenant, Terry Baker, lived in the beautiful, tall, terraced Peel House on Cliff Terrace, Nethergate. It looked out over Nethergate bay and gave Libby a completely different perspective for her tourist paintings which Guy claimed to sell like hot cakes.

Jane opened the door, looking far less mouse-like than she had the previous summer when they had all been involved in some fairly hair-raising adventures. She kissed Libby’s cheek and held the door wide.

‘Terry at work?’ asked Libby, toiling up the stairs behind her.

‘Yes,’ said Jane. ‘Only five days a week now. He was doing six, but I said he didn’t need to.’ She opened the door to the room at the top of the house.

‘I bet he didn’t like that,’ said Libby, when she’d got her breath back.

Jane looked sheepish. ‘No, he didn’t. But there’s no mortgage on this place and I’m earning a reasonable salary, so why should he work all that overtime? I’d rather he was here with me.’

‘What about when the children come along, though?’ said Libby slyly.

Jane cleared her throat and went pink. ‘We’ll have to have a rethink then,’ she said. Libby looked at her sharply, but she’d turned away.