The Fall Girl (17 page)

The dog whirled around, letting go of the bone.

Steve grabbed the large slippery mass and ran backwards with it. Kinky snapped madly after him.

“Wha-a-y! Can’t stop!” Steve fell flat on his back. The bone, obeying the laws of gravity, kept right on going, straight through the kitchen window.

The deafening crash of breaking glass temporarily paralysed everyone.

“I’ll mend that,” said Steve, when the shock waves had receded.

“God, it doesn’t matter now – we’re going to be late. Get up, Dad!” Gabrielle was the only one who hadn’t seen the funny side, apart from the irate chihuahua,
who was scrabbling at the kitchen door.

Lexy put him in her car, and swept up the glass, while Steve quickly tacked a piece of polythene across the gap. “I’ll get some glass and do it properly,” he promised.

Lexy regarded it ruefully. Even the most incompetent burglar could break into Four Winds Cottage tonight.

“Got the wine?” Gabrielle set off, picking her way in gold-sandalled feet.

“Yes – I’ll carry it, shall I?” muttered Rowana.

“Won’t you be cold?” Lexy called after Gabrielle.

“Who cares?” Gabrielle turned and smirked.

“Put a cardigan on,” Steve said.

The girl groaned but complied.

“That sarong is beautiful, by the way,” Lexy felt bound to say. She didn’t like Gabrielle’s manners, but her clothes really were lovely.

“Oh... thanks,” said Gabrielle, looking down at herself, as if she hadn’t realised what a stunning garment she was wearing.

“See – I told you,” said Rowana. She turned to Lexy. “Gabrielle made it herself.”

Lexy was impressed, and said so.

Gabrielle and Rowana led the way down the hill, Steve and Lexy following a little way behind, a disgruntled chihuahua some distance after them.

Steve raised his eyes at Gabrielle’s swaying back. “You got kids?”

“Managed to avoid it so far.” During the course of her marriage, Lexy had become increasingly disinclined to inflict Gerard’s offspring on the world.

“Best way. Nothing but trouble.” But he was smiling.

Lexy forced a grin too. Yeah.

“What’s that glinting in the sunlight?” he said, squinting towards the farm. He started in surprise. “Someone’s watching us!”

“What, again?” Gabrielle threw back her shoulders, allowing the breeze to ripple through her hair.

“What do you mean, again?”

“Oh, nothing. Hurry up, can’t you?”

Steve shrugged it off, but Lexy was puzzled. One of the Gallimores was watching them, just like they had earlier. But which one? And why?

They swished through the long meadow grass, abuzz with grasshoppers and crickets, until the farm came into clear view. This approach was lined with more neatly fenced paddocks, each containing a
pair of spotted, striped or mottled pigs.

The farmhouse itself was made of old stone, painted white. A whiskered piebald horse with one blue eye and one brown watched them unevenly from a stable in the yard.

Django also watched them – from behind the bars of a large kennel. If Kinky could have crowed, he would have.

Rowana pulled a bell cord next to the farmhouse door. A jangling sound came from inside, followed by footsteps. Tyman Gallimore appeared.

Lexy found she was looking at him in a somewhat different light since Milo’s little disclosure about the circus, let alone any other suspicions she might have been harbouring against
him.

He led them through a wide hallway, then opened a set of double doors into a vast living room illuminated with evening sunlight. The décor was distinctly masculine. A chestnut-coloured
leather three-piece dominated the sitting area, arranged around a huge, glass-topped table which was weighed down with a pile of
Fancy Duck Breeder
magazines. The room was decorated with
horse brasses, fishing rods and black and white photos of the farm in its earlier days when it was populated by bog standard livestock.

Bruce Gallimore stepped through a set of French windows at the far end of the room with a glass of champagne in his hand.

“Welcome to Pilgrim’s Rare Breeds Farm!” he boomed.

Lexy could see Gabrielle looking beyond him. She was wondering where Ward was.

Steve went forward to greet Bruce, almost tripping over a large shaggy rug that looked as if it used to be a rare breed itself. Lexy heard Kinky growl. He could chase this one all he wanted.

Then she noticed the large blue Persian cat that was regarding them dispassionately from the back of the sofa. It fixed Kinky with a basilisk stare, and the chihuahua turned to stone. But only
for a moment. The next he had launched himself at the sofa. Lexy caught the flying dog in mid-leap, smiling brightly around.

“Play nicely,” she muttered into his ear. “Or you’ll never see the bone again.”

“Oh, don’t worry about Chutney,” said Bruce. “He can look after hisself.” The cat certainly looked like a regular bruiser. He had remained in place despite
Kinky’s attempted coup, and now took his time about jumping down and stalking across the room.

Bruce turned to Tyman. “Well, fetch our guests a drink, lad.”

They actually had a cocktail bar in the corner. Lexy wondered where they were hiding the snooker table and jukebox.

“Who’s drawn the short straw tonight?” Bruce beamed around them.

Everyone looked blank.

“I mean, who’s the driver? Can’t be you, pet.” He addressed this to Gabrielle. “You ’ad to do the honours last night.”

“We walked, actually,” said Steve. “From the cottage. That’s where we’re staying for the next couple of nights.”

There was a thud and a gurgle from the bar. Tyman had knocked over a bottle of vodka.

“All of you?” Bruce ejaculated. “Well... I...” He seemed to be lost for words.

“What would you like?” Tyman called. He sounded slightly hysterical.

Lexy nodded to herself. She had been right. The Gallimores weren’t happy about the Patersons’ invasion. But why?

She accepted a champagne cocktail and wandered around the room with Gabrielle and Rowana, looking at a series of pictures of sheep from the naïve school, the sort with huge square bodies
and tiny little heads.

“I don’t remember seeing any of them on the farm,” Gabrielle frowned.

Bruce and Steve stood by the open French windows. Steve was talking about Land Rovers. Bruce was staring at him.

A small, rotund woman with a very red face bustled in.

“I’ll start laying the table then,” she puffed.

“Oh, aye. Right you are, Mrs Mangeot,” Bruce murmured.

“She’s the Suffolk version of a Swedish au pair.” Tyman, obviously recovered, had come up behind them. Gabrielle gave a little snort of laughter and Steve slid her a warning
look as he continued his monologue on the hazards of big end replacement.

Lexy studied Mrs Mangeot with interest. If she was the Gallimores’ housekeeper, she just might have some idea of their whereabouts on the morning of Elizabeth’s fall.

The woman whipped a tablecloth out of a drawer and flicked it over a long oak table, then suddenly let out a yelp.

“Are you all right there?” Lexy asked.

“Just remembered I left the asparagus steaming,” said the woman. “They’ll end up in a pulp if I don’t go and rescue them.”

“Want a hand?”

“Bless you.” Mrs Mangeot opened a large canteen of cutlery on a sideboard. “Here you are, dear – we’re having artichoke to start, then fish, dessert and cheese
board. Back in a minute.”

She disappeared into the kitchen, from which emanated a variety of fragrant aromas.

Lexy took a handful of cutlery and started laying it out. How many would there be? She did a quick headcount, wondering whether Ward would be joining them. It was a question that was also
exercising Gabrielle, judging by the number of times she’d glanced at the door.

Mrs Mangeot came back through, bearing bread baskets piled high with sesame rolls. Setting them down on the table, she told them to sit down, as the starter was about to be served.

It looked as if Lexy would have to slip into the kitchen after dinner if she wanted a quiet word with the woman.

They all looked at one another, wondering who was going to sit where. Ward strolled through the kitchen door just in time to join the musical chairs manoeuvre. Gabrielle, pink and determined,
managed to claim the chair next to him. Lexy ended up between Bruce and Tyman.

Tyman poured Chablis into delicate crystal glasses. Bruce swallowed his in two gulps. He had clearly downed more than one glass of bubbly before they arrived, and throughout the rest of the meal
he regaled them with bawdy tales.

Tyman gave Lexy a helpless look. “No stopping him when he’s in full flow,” he whispered.

“That woman’s a bloody diamond,” said Bruce, as they spilled out on to the large patio after the meal. He was looking at Mrs Mangeot’s wide backside, as
it disappeared into the kitchen. “I ought to make an honest woman of her.”

Ward gave him a tight smile. “I think Mr Mangeot might have a thing or two to say about that.”

“Lucky man, Mr Mangeot. What d’yer say, Steve?”

“Very fortunate,” said Steve.

“Can’t beat a woman who can cook,” went on Bruce. “Fancy a cigar?” He produced a wooden box and thrust it at Steve.

“Don’t try to poison the guests, Dad,” Tyman muttered.

“Less of your cheek, lad. These buggers cost me a tenner apiece.”

“In that case...” Steve took one decisively. The patio was soon full of smog. Lexy assumed it wouldn’t be long before the subject of Four Winds Cottage came up again. She just
hoped Steve hadn’t changed his mind.

“Fancy a tour of the grounds?” Ward asked Gabrielle.

“I’ll come, too,” said Rowana, ignoring Gabrielle’s pointed look. She turned to Lexy. “Can I take Kinky?”

The dog was about to disappear into the kitchen. Lexy gave a short whistle. She clipped his lead on and handed him over. The dog threw her a resentful look as he was dragged through the French
windows.

Lexy made for the kitchen door herself.

“Sorry about Dad being a bit, well, agricultural at dinner.” She hadn’t noticed Tyman standing in the corner by the bar.

“He is a farmer.” Lexy could hear plates being stacked in the kitchen. She took another step towards the door. “Mrs Mangeot promised me a recipe. I’m just going
to...”

“Even so, he didn’t have to do the donkey joke. But he’s been under a lot of strain lately. We all have.”

Lexy turned. “Really?”

“Farm problems. Anyway, I’m not going to bore you with that.”

“I don’t mind, honestly.” She sat down on the sofa to emphasise that point. The large blue cat appeared as if by magic, and settled itself on her lap.

“They seem a nice family, the Patersons.” Tyman picked up a bottle of wine and two glasses, and came to sit beside her.

“Even Gabrielle?”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “I still can’t get over her kid sister inheriting Four Winds like that.”

“No – I don’t think she can, either.” Lexy sat back, tried to look relaxed. “Listen, Tyman, did Elizabeth ever mention Rowana’s mother, Jackie, when you spoke
to her?”

Tyman poured the wine, and handed a glass to Lexy. “Don’t think so, but then she didn’t talk much about her personal life. Although, she did say she had a husband who
died.”

“Yes, I heard that. Sad. Wonder if she ever found anyone else.”

“Well, there was Archer Trevino, of course.”

“The painter? Yes – you said he and Elizabeth were friends.”

“More than friends. I think they’d been seeing each other on and off for years – one of those temperamental artist relationships.”

Interesting. Was he the one who had taken that photo of Elizabeth in her artist’s smock? From the expression on her face it must have been one of their good days.

“Did she have any other close acquaintances?”

“A lot of the villagers knew her, but I wouldn’t say she was close to any of them. She kept herself to herself. She was very anti blood sports, and all that. Probably lost her as
many friends as it won her around here. There’s certainly a few people who would have been glad to see the back of her.”

“Enough to have helped her on her way?”

He stared at her aghast. “You mean... pushed her over the... ? God, no – of course not. Where did you get that... ?”

Lexy decided it was time for a swift change of subject.

“So, how did you end up at Pilgrim’s Farm? Where were you before?”

Tyman seemed to calm down. “Long story. Sure you want to hear it?”

“If you don’t mind telling it.”

“OK. You asked for it.” He took a deep breath. “Right. Dad is originally from Yorkshire, as you may have gathered. He travelled a lot in Europe when he was young, and that was
where he met our mother. It was in Normandy, actually. He was running a little circus out there.”

“A circus?” Lexy had prepared herself to act surprised.

“Probably sounds more exotic than it was. Just a troupe of acrobats, stunt riders and... clowns. My mother was French – she came from a very old, correct Normandy
family...”

Lexy nodded to herself. She knew that Tyman must have got the Bayeux Tapestry look from somewhere.

“... and she shocked them all by becoming a funambulist.”

“A sleepwalker?”

“Tightrope walker.” Yes, of course. Silly her.

“She joined Cirque Gallimore, they got married and Ward and I came along and grew up to the life.” He swirled his wine around his glass. “Weird mix of northern English and
French, travelling around Europe with a big top.”

“Must have been an interesting childhood.”

“Suppose so. We didn’t know any different. It was very close-knit – we looked after one another.”

Did you, now? “So – what happened?”

“Dad happened. He got bored, started investing in other stuff – rare breeds, and farming – and some other rather more dodgy money ventures, which eventually resulted in him
having to leave France in a hurry.”

“How much of a hurry?”

“Same day hurry. Ward and I followed... later. Had something we needed to get sorted out.”

She could guess what that was. The inquiry following the death of... “And your mother? What about her?”