Legacy of Lies Read online

  ‘I wondered where you’d gone.’

  ‘Sorry. I thought you’d sleep until I got back. You looked very peaceful.’

  Naomi stretched, listening to the domestic, comforting sounds of tea being poured and sugar being added and then stirred. She liked hers without but Alec was a lover of strong and sweet. ‘I slept well,’ she admitted, slightly surprised. ‘It’s so quiet here.’

  ‘Apart from the birds making a racket at five in the morning.’

  She laughed. ‘I didn’t hear that. Anyway, that’s supposed to be enjoyable, isn’t it?’

  ‘Five in the morning is never enjoyable. Here you go.’

  He placed the mug in her hands and tugged her pillows into a more supportive shape against her back.

  ‘What time will we have to leave?’

  Alec fetched his own mug and climbed back into bed. ‘It shouldn’t be more than a fifteen-minute drive, so about eleven, I suppose. I’ve fed Dog and let him out. The kitchen door’s open ready for when he’s finished exploring and before you ask, don’t worry, I checked the garden is secure.’

  ‘Good. You sure it’s safe to leave the door open?’

  ‘Naomi, this is the middle of nowhere. To get into the garden someone would have to struggle through a thorn hedge and cross a ditch and then climb a wall. I don’t see the average burglar bothering, really I don’t.’

  ‘Maybe they breed hardier souls round here. Thieves that don’t mind the thorns.’ Naomi objected, but she wasn’t really worried. Alec had explained to her the night before that a wall running either side of the house separated the rear garden from the front drive. A small, wrought iron gate gave access through the wall, but it was locked and presented no gaps big enough for Napoleon to squeeze through. The rear garden was also walled close to the house and the remaining land could be approached through a second small gate set into the back wall. Safe for Napoleon and with enough room for him to run. It didn’t entirely prevent her from worrying, but nearly.

  ‘What time is it now?’

  ‘Eight thirty or just gone. We can have a leisurely breakfast and explore a little more of Rupe’s domain before we leave for the funeral. No rush.’

  ‘I wonder how many will be there.’

  ‘I don’t know. Uncle Rupert mentioned a lot of people in his letters, but I only met his business partner once. They’d been running that antique shop together for years.’

  ‘It’s good of him to have arranged everything,’ Naomi mused.

  ‘It is, yes. Not sure what the wake will be like. From what I recall of Marcus Prescott, he liked his booze. Come to that, so did Rupert.’

  ‘Well, unless you want me to drive, which might prove interesting, you’ll have to leave him to drown his sorrows alone.’

  ‘True, though I’ll have one drink just to bless the old boy, and I thought when we got back we’d see if Rupert still kept his cellar as well stocked as he used to.’ He paused and then said, ‘You know, love, part of me feels as guilty as hell for not keeping in better touch and the rest just keeps wanting to laugh when I remember what Rupert was like. Then I feel guilty again because I really did like him and …’

  ‘People lose touch,’ Naomi said gently. ‘I’m sure Rupert didn’t hold it against you. He must have known you were in an awkward position after he fought with your dad.’

  She felt Alec shake his head. ‘That’s just it. It wasn’t difficult. Dad never made it hard for me to do anything and I always read bits of Rupert’s letters out to him and Mum. I must have been well into my teens before I even realized there was a problem between them. No. No excuse, Nomi, I could have come to see him. I was just too busy living my own life.’

  ‘But you wrote back?’

  She could hear the smile in his voice as he replied. ‘Yes, I wrote back. Equally rambling and insignificant letters. I know Uncle Rupe liked them even if I didn’t make sense half the time. I never was what you’d call an expert letter writer.’

  ‘Then stop beating yourself up and remember the good stuff,’ Naomi told him. ‘From what little I know about your uncle, I don’t think he’d have borne any kind of grudge.’

  As it happened, Marcus Prescott had company in plenty, all eager to toast their dead friend without Alec having to worry about it. The church in Epworth was full to bursting. Naomi listened to the buzz and hum of conversation and tried to guess just how many were present.

  Marcus Prescott had met them at the door and led them portentously to the front of the church, insisting they take their places beside him as chief mourners, and made such a fuss of Napoleon that Naomi wondered if he knew anything at all about dogs.

  The big black dog now lay quietly at her feet, his harness cool against her leg. Alec clasped her hand and held it tight and she was surprised to feel that his grip was trembling very slightly.

  She tried to gain some sense of space and size of the church from the way the voices echoed, but was still taken by surprise at the sudden volume as the choir broke into song in front of her. A choir at a funeral? And on a weekday too. That was a first in Naomi’s experience. She associated choirs with weekends and weddings.

  The congregation joined the anthem at the second verse. It was not a hymn Naomi knew and she was surprised to hear Alec’s voice join with the others. He sounded as though the words and music were familiar to him. Alec, to her knowledge was not a churchgoer. Was this another of Uncle Rupert’s legacies?

  Another surprise: the eulogy was given by a minister who claimed to have known Rupert very well and, from the anecdotes delivered, Naomi had no reason to doubt that claim. He spoke of a humorous, generous man. A man for whom friendship and loyalty were all and whose sense of fun and fair play was known to all of those who called him friend.

  And then, Marcus Prescott was called upon to say his piece.

  Naomi was not initially surprised at this; he was Rupert’s business partner after all and long-term friend, but she was taken aback at the tone of his address.

  ‘It is always sad,’ Marcus said, ‘to bid farewell to a loved friend and, as one grows older, it seems a more frequent occurrence. Sad enough when the loss is through illness or due to the simple ravages of time alone, but to lose a loved one through violence; that is a greater tragedy.’

  ‘Violence?’ Naomi whispered. ‘What’s he on about?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  Naomi could hear that Marcus’s statement had caused consternation elsewhere too from the restless movement and murmured questions that rippled through the congregation. She heard the vicar speaking softly to Marcus and the uncertainty in the man’s voice even though she could not make out the words.

  Marcus, however, would not be constrained.

  ‘Violence I say, and I will stand by that. To suggest that our friend died of natural causes is, I am sure, to ignore the truth of the matter. Rupert Friedman was found in a spot so remote and so removed from his usual haunts that I cannot believe he found his own way there. He had no reason to be there. No reason to have died, alone, uncomforted.’

  ‘Alec,’ Naomi breathed. Marcus’s voice cracked with the emotion of what he was saying and Naomi’s heart went out to him even though she could see no sense in what he was saying.

  She felt Alec get to his feet and heard, in the hushed silence, his clear firm steps as he went up to Marcus Prescott.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Marcus Prescott said with some acerbity. ‘You don’t need to come and fetch me off my soapbox. I’ve said my piece, but if you loved your uncle half as much as he loved you then you’ll look into his death and you’ll find out that I’m right. Rupert was killed, sure as if some villain plunged a knife into his heart.’

  I love the rain. Love to hear it falling when I’m snug inside and love to walk in it, provided I have a decent coat and a sturdy umbrella. I love to watch the clouds gather ready for a decent storm and the charcoal skies that prevail in the Fenland winters. If I could move Fallowfields a little closer to the sea then it would be a perfect
place to live. To sit in my bedroom and watch the clouds roll in off a mean ocean would be the ultimate bliss, but to be truthful I can have no complaints. Life, with a few slips, has been a good ride and I like to think that even those slips have been put right.

  The day I die it will be raining. I know this with the kind of certainty that strikes one at certain times. Rain washing my life away, washing me back into the rich brown earth.

  Three

  The wake was an odd affair. Marcus had hired a room in the local hotel and they retired there en mass. Alec lodged Naomi and Napoleon in a corner of the large room, close beside the window and with a table, behind which Napoleon could lie out of the way of careless feet and Naomi could keep people at a distance should she feel the need. He described the space to her: the double doors, the tables along the back wall set out with food, and the small bar in the corner.

  ‘How many people?’

  ‘Oh, must be close to fifty. Some from the church seem to have gone and others turned up for the free food.’

  ‘Alec, don’t be so cynical.’

  ‘Who’s cynical? I just know people. So do you. Marcus is holding court. I suppose I should mingle.’

  ‘Get me some of that free food first,’ Naomi teased. ‘Breakfast seems a long time ago.’

  ‘Will do. Sure you’ll be all right if I go and look like the bereaved nephew? I’d like to find out who’s here and what they were to Rupe.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Naomi told him. ‘And you do need to make yourself visible, you know.’

  Alec kissed her. He fetched food from the buffet table, picking items she could identify easily and gave her a brief rundown of what he’d put on her plate and where, then he kissed her again and left. Naomi ate, breaking her own rules and slipping the odd treat to Napoleon. Alec had brought wine and a glass of water and she sipped the wine slowly alternating with deep gulps of water. The room was stuffy and the sun through the window too hot on the side of her face. She wondered if she could manage to move.

  The sound of people moving and chatting shifted around her. She caught snatches of conversation and was unsurprised to find that Marcus’s outburst in the church was a major topic of debate.

  ‘What was he thinking of?’ A woman’s voice.

  ‘Was he drunk?’ This time a man. He sounded quite young, Naomi thought.

  ‘You never can tell with Marcus. Puts it away all right, but I’ve never seen him actually sozzled.’ An older man, this time. He had a broad accent with a warm burr to it that Naomi knew was local.

  ‘Not like dear old Rupert …’ The woman again.

  ‘Rupert was never … oh, I know he liked his pleasures, but …’ The older man. He sounded, Naomi thought, as though he too liked his pleasures and had already indulged.

  ‘Think there’s anything in what he said? Marcus, I mean.’ The younger man sounded excited at the prospect.

  ‘Marcus has a lively imagination and too much time on his hands,’ the woman said firmly and Naomi got the distinct feeling that this would mark the end of the discussion. Mother and son, she decided, reflecting upon their relationship, though she didn’t place the older man as the father. For some reason she couldn’t quite explain, the tone of the older speakers did not chime with their being man and wife.

  She was right about the conversation change, though, and proved obliquely right about the relationship.

  ‘How are the plans for the wedding?’ the older man asked.

  ‘Oh, going very well, aren’t they, Phillip. You know, she is a lovely girl, but I’m not so sure I like the parents.’

  They drifted away and Naomi focussed on identifying another conversation. She bit into one of the little cherry tomatoes Alec had put on her plate, savouring the burst of flavour, and then sampled something long and crispy that turned out to be a cheese straw. From across the room she heard Alec’s voice, but not the words. Directly in front of her she heard a woman laugh. Off to the left a couple bickered. Naomi listened with momentary interest, but as the object of disagreement seemed to be a mother-in-law – whose, she wasn’t sure – she decided it would soon become a boring exchange and not worth the attention.

  The sandwich was odd. Goats cheese? And something fruity, like a plum chutney. She was in two minds as to whether the ingredients went together, but finished it anyway and then took another sip of wine. Two men were discussing the price and profitability of sugar beet and Naomi was about to dismiss them when she heard one man say, ‘Bit of a rum deal him being out your way, Frank. I knew the old bugger liked to walk, but he usually kept to the Peatlands trail. I never knew him to off-road, like.’

  ‘Off-road.’ Naomi was amused. It made it sound as though Uncle Rupert moved on wheels.

  ‘Never knew him to come out that far, that’s true. And the couple what found him noticed he weren’t dressed for walking. Got his town shoes on and you know how particular the old bugger were when it came to his clothes and such. No coat, neither.’

  ‘It was a hot day.’

  ‘True, but he were an old fashioned sort of bloke, weren’t he. Never saw him in shirtsleeves, not any time. I reckoned he never felt dressed without his jacket.’

  The second man laughed. ‘Careful, Frank. You’ll be agreeing with old Marcus next and we all know he’s barmy!’

  ‘Not a bit of it. I’m just saying that it were strange, that’s all. The couple what found him, they came straight up to the farm and I called the police and then went out with the man while the missus looked after the girl, like. We went back to where they found him and there he is, lying on his back. Face up to the sky, he was. Looked as shocked as any man I’ve ever seen and I seen a few dead ‘uns, as well you know.’

  Naomi wondered why he had seen dead people often enough to make a comparison but didn’t really feel that she could ask. Instead, she took another sip of wine and listened hard, hoping for more. Inconsiderately, it seemed the men had now spotted an acquaintance and were calling him across. To Naomi’s disgust the conversation turned once more to crop prices and kids and other domestic issues and it was obvious that she would learn no more.

  ‘Are you all right over here all alone?’

  She recognized Marcus’s voice and smiled in his direction. ‘I’m fine, thank you. We thought Alec should get on and do the mingling bit. I’m still a bit wary in company and places I don’t know.’

  Marcus dragged out a chair and flopped down beside her. He set something that sounded heavy down on the table and then a second lighter object. ‘I’ve purloined a bottle,’ he said. ‘Want a refill? You look to be drinking red.’

  ‘Thanks. There seem to be a lot of people here.’

  ‘Free food and booze,’ Marcus said dolefully, echoing Alec’s sentiments, then he laughed, embarrassed. ‘Oh, don’t take any notice of me, my dear. Truth to tell most of them were friends to varying degrees and it’s good of people to want to pay their respects. Truth to tell, too, I really miss him. Miss him terribly.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Naomi said. ‘I wish I’d met him. From the stories Alec tells he was quite a character.’

  Marcus laughed softly. ‘Oh, he was that all right. But he was a good man and … I cared for him. Cared deeply.’

  Were they more than friends? Naomi wondered. ‘What you said in the church …?’ she asked tentatively.

  ‘What I said in the church, my dear, I meant. Meant every word and I’m hoping and praying I can persuade young Alec to take me seriously. God knows the local constabulary can’t or won’t. Rupert had a heart attack, they say. That’s what killed him. Lord knows, Rupe wasn’t in the best of health, but the doctor reckoned he could last a good ten more years if he took care of himself.’

  ‘And did he? Take care of himself?’

  Marcus was silent. Naomi sensed him shake his head. ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘Rupert was his own man, did his own thing as we used to say. He loved life and, I suppose, he did indulge himself a little too much but … My dear, if I’d come to the house and
found him dead in his chair, I would have accepted that. Lord knows, I expected it. Every time I came to Fallowfields I wondered if that would be the time I found my old friend dead. I made him give me a list of people I should call, just in case. But this way? It’s all wrong.’

  Wrong shoes and no jacket, Naomi thought.

  ‘Was there an investigation?’

  ‘No, dear. Nothing. He’d seen the doctor a few days before and when they … cut him open, they found that his heart had just given out. Nothing suspicious. Just an old man out walking who had a heart attack and couldn’t call for help. That’s what they decided and nothing I can say makes them believe any different.’

  ‘Maybe that’s all there is to know?’

  Marcus poured more wine into his own glass. Naomi had not been aware of him drinking it and she had not touched her own during their conversation. ‘I’ve tried to believe that,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to think of my friend in trouble, frightened, even in pain, I know he must have had the pain and that is bad enough. To suspect it could have been worse than that …’

  ‘But what exactly makes you think …?’

  ‘That he was murdered? Naomi, do you believe a man can be frightened to death?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think it’s possible.’

  ‘Well, I know that Rupert was afraid. He’d begun to lock his doors. Rupert, in all the years I knew him, never locked his doors. Then he monitored his telephone calls, used the answer phone; he hated the darn things. And there were people who came looking for him. Two men, he said, asking questions. One, I know, went to Fallowfields and Rupert was afraid.’

  ‘Didn’t he tell the police? Did he give you any idea who they were or what they wanted?’

  ‘No. No, nothing. He wouldn’t listen to me when I said he should report the incidents. He didn’t tell me who the man was or what was said or why he was suddenly scared of his own shadow. Naomi, in the days before he died, he didn’t even come to the shop. Rupert loved our little shop. He thrived on it; meeting people. To cut himself off from that. From his friends …’