Roots of Evil(9)

A lot of people thought Lucy was very attractive – my word, they said, that Lucy Trent, what a stunner! All that hair and those eyes – very sexy. It was to be hoped no one thought this today because it was hardly acceptable to look sexy at a funeral, although to be fair Lucy had pinned her unruly hair up into a chignon.

Everyone had been invited to Deborah’s house after the service, of course. This was what you did at funerals, and although there were not many actual relatives from Deborah’s side, there were Lucy’s father’s people, and also Edmund’s own side of the family. They had all had to be asked and most of them accepted, and it had added up to quite a lot. Edmund had called in a contract cleaning firm to sweep and scour and polish so that everywhere would be spick and span. A small local caterer had delivered sandwiches and rolls and wedges of veal and ham pie a short while ago.

Before leaving he had checked the house one final time to make sure that everything was satisfactory. Yes, the rooms were clean and bright and pleasantly scented with furniture polish; there were fresh towels and soap in the first-floor bathroom and the little downstairs cloakroom, and the food was neatly laid out in the dining room, covered with clingfilm to keep it fresh. Plates were stacked at one end of the big table, and the caterers had provided two large urns, one of tea and one of coffee. There was also sherry and madeira for those who wanted it. All very civilized and correct, and people would tell one another that you had to admit Edmund Fane always did things properly. Elderly aunts would kiss him effusively – poor dear Edmund who had been so devoted to Deborah – and uncles would gruffly shake his hand.

He had set Aunt Deborah’s jewellery out on a little table downstairs, and he was going to ask the ladies in the family to each choose a piece as a keepsake. (‘How thoughtful,’ the aunts would say, pleased.) There were some really lovely amber beads that Lucy might like – amber was expensive these days and it did not date. Edmund suddenly had an image of Lucy wearing the amber beads with her hair cascading over her bare shoulders…And firelight washing over her body…He pushed this image firmly away, and rearranged the pieces of jewellery more neatly.

Crispin would be present today, of course, although he would dim some of that charm because he knew how to suit the manner to the occasion. He would be deferential to the older ladies – the aunts and Aunt Deborah’s friends, who all loved him – and he would be man-to-man with the younger men, and extremely polite to the younger females. Everything would be perfectly all right. Most of the people who were coming were family or long-standing friends, and there would be no surprises.



But there was a surprise, and it came shortly after the funeral.

People were dispersing from the graveside and there was the customary slightly over-eager, goodwill-to-all-men atmosphere that pervades any after-funeral assembly. The aunts were telling one another what a nice service it had been, but oh dear, poor Deborah, who would have thought – and at her age, because she had not really been as old as all that when you counted up…The sprinkling of men who were there hoped they would be given a decent drink; Edmund Fane was a bit tight-fisted, in fact he was downright penny-pinching. Probably it would be viewed with disapproval if some of them nipped down to the White Hart, would it…? Oh well.

With the unpredictability of English weather, clouds had already started to gather, and the rain that Lucy had thought should accompany the proceedings began just as everyone was setting off for the parked cars, flurrying people into searching for umbrellas and scarves. Elderly ladies were helped along the wet path and sorted into the various vehicles, and there was much talk of soon being at the house where it would be warm.

Lucy, who had dashed back to retrieve someone’s gloves, saw Edmund helping people into his car; she saw him turn to look for her, and then to indicate that he would come back to collect her in about fifteen minutes. Lucy waved back to tell him not to bother because there were enough cars around for her to get a lift to the house. She delivered the errant gloves to their owner, who was an elderly great-aunt, and then helped her along to the car she was travelling in.

‘We’ll see you at the house, Lucy, will we?’ said the aunt, getting carefully into the remaining passenger seat of an already-crowded car.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Do tell me, dear,’ said the aunt, lowering her voice. ‘Is there a will?’

‘I believe,’ said Lucy gravely, ‘that it’s missing.’

‘Missing? How dreadful.’

The car drove off, the aunt twittering happily to the others about the missing will, and it was only after they had gone that Lucy realized all the other cars had left as well. She muttered an oath quite unsuited to the occasion and the surroundings, scooted back to the sketchy shelter of the lychgate, and foraged in her bag for her mobile phone. Or had she left it in her own car, parked at Aunt Deb’s house? Damn and blast, yes she had!

They would realize what had happened, of course, and somebody would drive back to the church for her, but it might be a while before that happened, and in the meantime the rain was coming down in torrents. Lucy was just wondering if she could sprint back to the church and find the rector to ask to use his phone, when she saw a man coming around the side of the church, his coat collar turned up. He stopped at the sight of Lucy, hesitated, and then came towards her.

‘Are you stranded?’

‘It looks like it. I was part of the funeral, but there seems to have been a mix-up over the cars.’