And he was up betimes next morning. In the supermarket he loaded his trolley with his old reliable standbys: cans of soup, spaghetti, baked beans, corned beef, ravioli, meatballs, stews. Anything that could be ready to eat in five minutes flat from the moment of putting his key into the front door, or even, in extreme fatigue, consumed cold, with a spoon, straight from the can. He had given up laying in a fancy assortment of frozen dishes. In hunger and exhaustion it was only too easy to make mistakes with a microwave, but, half dead or not, he always knew where he was with a can-opener.
Last of all, he added to his trolley a vast supply of that most essential of commodities: indigestion tablets.
He went through the check-out, stowed his purchases in the boot of his car and returned his trolley to its rightful place. As he was walking back to his car again, he spotted the Elmhurst station wagon turning into the car park, with Gosling at the wheel. Beside him, Dorothy Nevett sat staring out with a look of anxiety, as if lost in her own thoughts. Kelsey had known them both since the day he had first walked in through the Elmhurst gates as a boy of eight, a cadet in a church lads’ brigade, looking for any odd job within his powers, to earn a few shillings to swell the brigade funds.
He walked across to where Gosling was pulling up. They both caught sight of him as he approached, they looked pleased to see him. After some initial chat, he inquired after Mrs Dalton. Busy as he was these days, he called to see Grace at least once or twice a year. If anything to do with Elmhurst cropped up in the line of duty, he made a point of dealing with it himself. In Grace’s more active days, he had regularly come across her when she had served as a magistrate.
Dorothy told him about the birthday celebrations in two weeks’ time. ‘I’d like to call in to offer my good wishes,’ Kelsey said. ‘I’ll look in a day or two before. I’ll give you a ring first, to check it’s OK.’
‘And be sure to call in to see my father-in-law, while you’re about it,’ Gosling chipped in. ‘Nothing the old man would like better than a chat with you.’ Kelsey told him he wouldn’t forget.
‘How’s Jean Redfern these days?’ he went on to ask. He had been a young constable when Jean was born; he had seen her grow up. ‘I take it she’s still at Elmhurst?’
Dorothy gave a vigorous nod. ‘She certainly is.’ She slanted at the Chief a glance full of meaning. ‘That good for nothing boyfriend of hers is back. Shaun Chapman. I’ve seen him round the town. You remember the fuss there was a few years back, when Jean wanted to marry him.’
Indeed, the Chief did remember. Mrs Dalton had asked him to look into the lad’s background. He hadn’t come up with anything very terrible – or particularly reassuring. The Chapmans lived on a Cannonbridge council estate; Shaun was the eldest of several children. The father had never been in trouble with the law but neither could he be described as a pillar of society. He was fond of a drink, never held a job down for long. His wife did occasional cleaning.
‘I’m positive Jean’s seeing him again,’ Dorothy averred with conviction, ‘though she swears she isn’t. She’s going out more in the evenings, all dolled up. She says it’s with girlfriends, but I’ll lay good money it’s not.’
‘Does Mrs Dalton know she’s seeing Shaun?’ Kelsey asked.
She shook her head. ‘I haven’t said anything yet, I don’t want to worry her. But I may have to say something if it goes on, she’s got a right to know.’
Kelsey changed the subject. ‘How’s your friend Alice?’ he asked with a smile. Once, in his early days at Elmhurst, when Dorothy was a young woman, he’d been sent up to her room with a message and he’d noticed Alice’s photograph, prominently displayed. ‘That’s my friend, Alice Upjohn,’ Dorothy had informed him in a tone of possessive affection. She had shown him other photographs, she had told him about her friendship with Alice, going right back to infancy. From time to time after that he would inquire after Alice and Dorothy would reply with a fond smile, giving him the latest tit-bit of information, showing him the latest snapshots.
Today, however, Dorothy gave him no answering smile, supplied no tit-bit of news but merely replied: ‘She’s very well, thank you,’ and left it at that.
Not content with his supermarket foray, Chief Inspector Kelsey spent part of Saturday afternoon shopping for more personal items in a department store in the centre of Cannonbridge. He left the store just before five-thirty, bound for the car park.
As he made his way along the crowded pavement, a bus pulled up a little way ahead. He saw Jean Redfern jump off the bus into the arms of a young man waiting at the stop. The Chief was briefly halted by the press of folk. The pair turned his way and came past him, arms round each other’s waists, laughing, chatting; they didn’t see him.
Jean looked flushed and pretty. The young man was tall and loose-limbed, undeniably good-looking. Three years older than when the Chief had last set eyes on him, but there could be no mistaking his identity: Shaun Chapman.
On Monday evening, as time drew near for her phone call to Alice, Dorothy Nevett kept a watchful eye on the clock. She didn’t want to use the phone in the front hall, which was far from private, so at 7.40, with Mrs Dalton nicely settled after supper and Jean Redfern absorbed in her TV soap opera, she went silently up the back stairs to the room Jean used as an office, next door to her bedroom. She was careful to close the door properly behind her – she had said nothing to Jean about using the office.
The instant her watch showed 7.45, she tapped out Alice’s number. The receiver at the other end was snatched up at the first ring.
‘Dorothy?’ Alice’s voice was brittle with tension.
‘It’s all right,’ Dorothy swiftly reassured her. ‘You can tell the solicitor the answer’s yes. We’re definitely buying the cottage.’
When Chief Inspector Kelsey had been back at work a week, he managed to arrange himself a few hours off on the Tuesday morning. The weather was spring-like as he turned his car in through the tall wrought iron gates of Elmhurst. The grassy banks bordering the drive were thickly clustered with daffodils, starred with primroses.
He had taken time and care to select a suitable birthday card and gifts, deciding at last in favour of a decorative basket of fruit and a box of Grace’s favourite Elvas plums.
As he pulled up by the house, he saw Gosling walking along a path with his father-in-law; they waved a greeting. The old man was leaning on a stick but he looked hale enough, with a bright eye and a fresh complexion. Kelsey went across to speak to them, promising to call in at the cottage after his visit to Mrs Dalton.
He was admitted to the house by Mrs Gosling. Kelsey had always liked her. When he first walked in through the Elmhurst gates she had been a young girl, working in the house. She had always been kind and friendly, had often slipped him some little treat from the kitchen. He stood chatting to her now for a minute or two before she took him along to Mrs Dalton’s room.
Grace was pleased to see him. She had been working on a piece of embroidery but put it aside as he came in. She lay on the sofa, propped up against cushions. She looked handsome and elegant in the ruby-coloured velvet housecoat Nina and Matthew had given her for Christmas.
She received the Chief’s congratulations and good wishes, his card and gifts with expressions of pleasure. ‘It’s lovely to see old friends,’ she said with a warm smile. ‘We’ve known each other a good many years now.’ She looked back for a moment at the old days, when the Chief was a bare-kneed lad weeding beds and borders for his shilling, picking up windfalls in the orchard. Bernard Dalton’s first wife had still been alive in those days, still mistress of Elmhurst. Grace had been Bernard’s personal assistant, she was often at the house. The two women had been the same age, they had always been on good terms.
‘Not many old friends left now,’ Grace added with a tiny sigh. Over the last few years