A Recipe for Murder Read online

  ‘You know, a woman likes to be able to believe she’s wanted for herself, not just for her body.’

  He unbuttoned the top of her dress.

  ‘Poor Judith!’

  ‘Forget her.’

  ‘Don’t be so unchivalrous. She can’t help being who she is. But really you know, it is a pity she doesn’t learn to take more care over her appearance.’

  He slid his hand inside her dress and she made no move to resist him. This time, he thought triumphantly.

  ‘And the jewellery she was wearing wasn’t really her. I mean, she needs something discreet. But that rather ostentatious brooch … She was telling me all about her collection of jade jewellery.’

  His hand cupped velvety smooth flesh.

  ‘She was quite pleased because some jeweller thinks he may be able to get her a necklace in the shape of a seahorse.’

  He kissed her and tried to ease her back on to the bed.

  ‘D’you know, Julian, ever since I’ve been a little girl I’ve wanted a jade seahorse.’

  ‘For God’s sake, lie back.’

  She disengaged with skilful ease, stood, and buttoned up her dress. ‘An aunt of mine had one and I wanted it so much I even asked her if she’d give it to me. She wouldn’t, of course. It’s funny how one often wants things desperately for no apparent reason.

  ‘Avis, darling, please, you’ve got to —’

  ‘Try travelling a little more slowly, Julian, and then maybe you’ll arrive. Provided you remember.’

  ‘Remember what?’

  ‘To be subtle, of course,’ she answered.

  5

  Scott disliked gardening and so when the Jaguar swept into the drive he dug the fork into the ground and straightened up, thankful to stop work.

  As Avis rounded the house to come out of its shadow into the sun he thought how beautiful she was. If only her parents had taught her that money wasn’t everything, that success didn’t always smell sweet … Clichés? But what was ‘If only’ if not the biggest cliché of them all?

  She went into the house without bothering to greet him. During their short engagement, he’d always humoured her out of her moods. If only he’d had the sense to realise that it would have been far better to … If only … Reluctantly, he returned to his digging.

  Some twenty minutes later, Avis came out of the house and across the lawn, which needed cutting. ‘I stopped at Linda’s on my way back,’ she said, her voice sharp. ‘Caroline dropped in while I was there. She went shopping in Ferington on Tuesday evening.’

  ‘Is that fact supposed to hold some special significance for me?’

  ‘Are you trying to say you’ve forgotten where you were on Tuesday evening?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘You’re a poor liar.’

  That was correct. But his parents had so instilled in him the sharp difference between right and wrong that he’d never been able to convince himself he was doing right when he knew he was doing wrong.

  ‘I apologise for my shortcomings.’

  ‘Always the smart-alec answer.’

  He sighed. It was a lovely evening, the kind of warm, still, late summer evening when peace rode the tree tops.

  ‘You were in Ferington.’

  ‘So what did I do in Ferington? Walk straight past Caroline without seeing her?’

  ‘You didn’t see her, but she saw you!’

  He suddenly remembered. ‘I suppose I was having a drink in the courtyard at the Wine Shop.’

  ‘Far too engrossed to notice her.’

  ‘Because I was enjoying a discussion on whether tragedy is an essential ingredient of comedy.’

  ‘Do you really expect me to believe that?’ Her voice became spiteful. ‘I went up to London for the night and you couldn’t wait to see your girl friend.’

  ‘Jane is —’

  ‘I know exactly what she is without you having to tell me.’

  ‘You don’t know anything. I met her in Broughton’s, we had two drinks at the Wine Shop, and I walked her back to her flat. And to forestall the next accusation, no, I did not go up to her flat with her.’

  ‘Liar!’ she shouted and returned to the house.

  He lit a cigarette. He wondered why, since he’d never given her cause for jealousy, she was now making such a fool of herself? It didn’t occur to him that she could be suffering from a conscience and needed to justify herself to herself.

  *

  There were two doors at the north end of the downstairs sitting-room in Tregarth House, one of which led to the dining-room and the other to a built-in strong-room. Powell stared at the strong-room door. There was a sound from behind him and he whirled round to face Mrs French, the daily woman who apart from their housekeeper was the only help in the house.

  ‘Is something wrong, Mr Powell?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he replied.

  ‘It’s just that you looked kind of funny.’

  ‘A touch of indigestion.’

  ‘You’re like my Alf: been suffering from it something shocking these last few days. As I said to him —’

  He abruptly cut short her meandering reminiscences and crossed to the far end of the sitting-room and the library.

  He walked over to the large bow window, with deep oak frames and leaded panes, and stared out at the rolling fields, some down to grazing, some ready for harvesting. In the fifty-acre field, in one of the paddocks into which the field had been divided, the herd of two hundred and fifty milking Friesians, whose average milk yield was now the highest in the county, were grazing. For once he studied them without interest.

  He turned and looked at the shelves of books which lined the walls. Judith had bought all Kevin Scott’s books and professed to enjoy them. He found them unreadable. In his imagination he saw Avis, all inhibitions finally overcome, lying naked on a bed …

  The grandmother clock in the sitting-room struck midday and as the last chime died away he heard a distant door slam shut. Mrs French had left, dead on time, as always. The housekeeper, Olive Bins, had the morning off and so now he was on his own.

  Kevin had once told him — in that self-mocking way of his — that he worked office hours, so that it was probably Avis who would answer the call. He crossed to the phone on the desk to the right of the ugly fireplace.

  She did answer. ‘It’s Julian. Look, I’ve got to see you again.’

  ‘I think you must have the wrong number.’

  He could visualise the mocking expression on her face. ‘I can’t give you that jade necklace, but I’ll buy you something nicer …’

  ‘You’ve obviously already forgotten what I told you about being subtle,’ she cut in. ‘If you have to try and buy your favours, at least don’t make it too obvious.’ She cut the connexion.

  6

  ‘Have you rung Barnes yet?’ Judith asked, as she looked at her husband across the breakfast table.

  ‘No.’

  ‘He said it was important.’

  ‘He can bloody wait.’

  She looked more worried than resentful. ‘What’s the matter, Julian?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘There must be. You’ve been on edge for days. Mrs French said only yesterday that she thought you weren’t well.’

  A sudden gust of wind shook the window of the breakfast room, a long, narrow room beyond the dining-room.

  ‘Are you sure you’re feeling all right?’ she persisted.

  He was feeling lousy. But how could she begin to understand what ailed him when for her sex had always been one of those things, like going out to dinner, more duty than pleasure?

  ‘Don’t you think it would be an idea to ask Dr Redmayne to call and give you a check-up?’

  ‘There’s no need. For God’s sake, stop flapping.’

  She sighed. ‘You’re so stubborn. Well, I don’t care what you say, if you’re no better soon I’m asking Redmayne to come here.’ She paused. ‘I’m driving over to Madge’s after I’ve cleared u
p. We’re having a coffee morning to start a fund to buy a kidney machine for the younger boy of the McGarthys.’

  She had an infinite capacity for worrying about the sick and the lame, he thought.

  ‘Aren’t you eating anything more?’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  Judith cleared the table, putting some things in the heavily carved oak sideboard and the rest on a tray. ‘I’ll be off as soon as I’ve stacked everything in the washing-up machine.’

  She carried the tray out through the serving room. She would, he knew, have much preferred to live in a smaller house, not because that would have been much less work but because the trappings of wealth and privilege made her feel uneasy. That was why, as Avis had so cruelly pointed out to him, she could not wear any of her larger and more valuable pieces of jewellery without their appearing ostentatious …

  Judith looked into the room and was obviously surprised to find him still there. ‘Have you seen my handbag? There it is! I knew I’d put it down somewhere.’ She entered and picked up the handbag from a chair. ‘You won’t forget to ring Barnes?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then I’m off.’ She left.

  He walked through into the sitting-room, lit a cigarette, and stared at the door of the strong-room. He’d gone to Werner and Hall three months before to look at some jade and they’d mentioned the possibility of their buying in the seahorse necklace. A week ago they’d phoned to say they now had it. He had not mentioned this to Judith …

  It wouldn’t be as if he were giving to Avis something which actually belonged to Judith.

  *

  Avis struck the Chinese gong in the hall. Scott, in the spare bedroom upstairs, flexed his fingers as he stared at the paper in the typewriter. He’d written several pages in the morning: more to the point, he’d managed to nail down the main characters from the beginning.

  He left the bedroom, ducking under the lintel. Avis was in the dining-room, setting the table. ‘The typewriter’s been sounding like a machine-gun all morning. Have things been going really well?’

  He was surprised at her interest. ‘I’m at the stage where Dostoyevsky is relegated to the back seat: disillusionment shouldn’t set in until chapter six.’

  ‘Maybe this time it won’t.’

  ‘Let’s keep fingers and toes crossed and pray to the patron saint of scribes. By the way, who was the phone call from earlier on — anyone important?’

  ‘It was Susan, telling me about her new kitchen.’

  ‘Totally unimportant.’

  ‘Not if you’re interested in how the cooking goes — which I hope you are since I’ve spent all morning making a steak and kidney pie and orange chocolate.’

  ‘What’s all this in aid of? I haven’t missed out on an anniversary, have I?’

  ‘There’s no need to be so rude. Can’t I cook you a special meal simply because I want to?’

  ‘Whenever you feel the urge, succumb immediately.’ She laughed as she left to return to the kitchen. Echoes of the past, he thought, with brief nostalgia. During their engagement and for the first few months of their marriage, they’d laughed a lot.

  She brought in the pie, gravy, boiled potatoes, and peas. He cut through the crisp crust.

  ‘You’d better have that piece and give me a much smaller one,’ she said. ‘I weighed myself on Maureen’s scales yesterday and discovered I’ve put on four pounds.’

  ‘Things are even more serious than you imagine. I’m reliably informed that she keeps her scales reading half a stone underweight so that she can convince herself she’s not quite as fat as she looks.’

  She giggled. ‘I’ll tell her that.’

  ‘And bring a beautiful friendship to an abrupt end?’

  ‘You and Maureen? That’ll be the day!’ She was silent until he’d served her then, as she helped herself to one potato and some peas, she said very casually: ‘Did I mention Fiona?’

  ‘Not for the past ten minutes.’

  ‘She rang up when you were out in the garage. The poor thing’s in a hell of a state.’

  ‘That’s nature’s fault.’

  ‘Show a bit of the charity you’re always preaching … She’s had a bad go of the flu and the doctor kept her on antibiotics for days and days and now she’s feeling suicidal. She asked if I could go and cheer her up. You wouldn’t mind if I nipped up for the night, would you?’

  ‘Now I understand why we’re eating like this.’

  ‘For your nasty, suspicious mind, I’d decided on the meal yesterday and Fiona didn’t ring until this morning.’

  ‘Psychic premonition.’

  If you’d any psychic premonition you wouldn’t be smiling, she thought contemptuously. God, men were blind fools!

  *

  A different night clerk was behind the reception desk at the Red Barn Motel. He was middle aged, dyspeptic, and far more interested in his slipped disc than in lascivious day-dreams.

  Cabin ten was as impersonally neat as before. She put the small suitcase on one of the beds, opened it, and brought out a bottle of whisky which she placed on the gorblimy dressing-table. She knew both excitement and a sense of triumph and as soon as she had finished the first drink, she poured herself another.

  *

  Powell, conscious of the mocking expression on Avis’s face, said uneasily: ‘That necklace — you won’t …’ He stopped.

  ‘What won’t I do?’

  ‘You won’t wear it, will you?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, it’s just …’ He stopped again.

  ‘You are odd!’ She rolled over and kissed him, making certain her breasts pressed hard against him.

  He began to stroke her back, experiencing a fresh surge of lust although his violent passion was not long since satiated. ‘Judith’s going away for a couple of days very soon,’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So we can see each other for as long as we want.’

  ‘Where are we going to meet?’

  ‘What’s wrong with here? It’s handy.’

  She began to move. When he tried to hold her to himself, she knocked his hand away and then swivelled round to sit on the edge of the bed. ‘You’re not worried at coming to this place?’

  ‘Worried?’ he repeated stupidly.

  ‘It doesn’t make you feel cheap and nasty?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Well, it does me.’ She stood. ‘I’ll tell you exactly how it makes me feel. Like a tart.’

  He stared at her body.

  ‘I have to book in in a false name and then wait in this ghastly cabin until you sneak in. It’s all so horribly sordid.’

  ‘Then we’ll go to one of the London hotels …’

  ‘You think that will make a difference?’ she asked scathingly. ‘You don’t begin to understand, do you?’

  He didn’t — not then.

  She crossed to the nearer chair, on which were her clothes, and picked up the necklace. She ran her fingers along the beautifully carved seahorse.

  ‘What d’you want, then?’ he demanded.

  She came up to the bed and when he reached out she did not this time move away. His hands cupped smooth, warm flesh and his needs became still more urgent.

  ‘If Judith’s going away …’ She stopped.

  ‘Lie down on the bed.’

  ‘Why don’t I come to your place?’

  He had been about to kiss her flesh. With his mouth only an inch from her body, so that his breath warmed her, he said: ‘What?’

  ‘Why don’t I move in with you?’ She gathered his face up against herself. ‘We’d be able to have all the fun in the world.’

  ‘It’s impossible,’ he answered, his voice muffled.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Olive’s there.’

  ‘You’re not worried about her seeing me, are you?’ She began to move her hips.

  ‘You’re talking crazily.’

  She pushed him away. She opened the clasp of th
e necklace and put the fine gold chain round her neck. She began to dress.

  ‘We daren’t use my place. Can’t you understand that?’

  ‘I understand precisely what you really think of me,’ she replied coldly.

  When his passions cooled, he began to understand what she really thought of him.

  7

  Because of her character, Judith had never once in the twenty-three years of their marriage challenged Powell with the fact that he had married her for her money. But she was a woman of stern rectitude. So if she discovered that he had betrayed her for a younger, beautiful woman, her reactions would not be mild and of the permissive age, but of an earlier, strait-laced era when the way of the transgressor was made harsh. Knowing his deep, almost mystical love for Tregarth House, the rich farm land, the sleek cattle, the bright-eyed Romney Marsh sheep, the new plantations of fir trees coming up to their first thinning, she would deprive him of all these, certain that by doing so she was hurting him even harder than he had hurt her …

  How could he have been so crazy as to risk everything merely to lay a woman? But at least he’d come to his senses in time.

  *

  In the middle of September, when cold nights and sharp winds had coloured the woods and the grass had stopped growing, the phone rang in Tregarth House and Judith answered the call. It was for her husband. She said he was up at the cowshed and pressed the call switch for the extension line. ‘Julian, there’s a Mrs Smith on the line for you.’

  He tensed as he stood in the small office beyond the parlour.

  ‘Putting you through.’

  There was a click. He heard Judith say: ‘You’re through.’ There was another click as Judith replaced the receiver.

  ‘Are you there, Julian?’ asked Avis.

  ‘What d’you want?’

  ‘That makes for a charming welcome! I’ve been expecting to hear from you for weeks.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh! It’s like that, is it? You got what you wanted and so there’s an end to everything?’

  He said nothing.

  ‘You do realise, don’t you, that I’m not some simple-minded milk-maid you can bounce in a haystack and then forget?’