The Fethering Mysteries 03; The Torso in the Town tfm-3 Read online

  It was not often Carole had seen him at work when the pub was full and she was impressed by his efficiency. The customers responded to his gruff humour and a lot of laughter rang around the bar. She felt glad that a small bridge between the two of them had been mended.

  All three women had large glasses of Chilean Chardonnay and the comfortable feeling of having ordered roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, with all the trimmings.

  “There is one thing I owe you an explanation about,” announced Debbie Carlton, after a silence.

  She looked ill at ease. “Never apologize, never explain,” said Jude lightly.

  But Debbie didn’t take the proffered chance to get off the hook. “No, I need to, for me if not for you. I want to explain about me and Alan Burnethorpe.”

  Jude looked interested. Carole looked embarrassed. “Well, you both saw me with him, Jude at my place and then you, Carole, at – ”

  “Yes, yes.” Carole cleared her throat. “There’s no need anyone should know you’ve been, as it were…I mean…”

  Debbie chuckled at her discomfiture. “We hadn’t actually been making love when you arrived, you know.”

  “Oh.”

  “That wasn’t why I was naked. I was modelling for Alan. He was drawing me.”

  “But,” said Jude slyly, “I gather he makes a habit of drawing his mistresses.”

  “Yes.” Debbie nodded, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I’m not pretending that we haven’t been having an affair – though it’s not something I’m particularly proud of. It’s just…after Francis walked out…I really lost all confidence in myself as a woman…I know what Alan’s like. From when I was a child, I’ve always known his reputation round Fedborough. But…he was nice to me. He treated me…in a way that made me feel like a woman again. My self-esteem was so low. Does that make any sense to you?”

  Jude nodded, and Carole, with surprising gentleness, said, “Yes. It does.” Over Debbie’s shoulder, she could see Ted Crisp joking with someone at the bar. He caught her eye and gave her a cheery wave. Carole felt blessed in his friendship.

  “Anyway,” Debbie Carlton continued resolutely, “that’s over. Me and Alan. All that’s happened this weekend…the things Mum said, and what you just told me about Alan witnessing Roddy’s death and keeping quiet about it…and…well, everything. It’s made me realize that that relationship is selfish and going nowhere…and actually rather demeaning to me. So may I congratulate you on being the first to know that the affair is over.”

  “What about Alan himself?” asked Jude.

  “Don’t worry. He’ll be the second to know. Well, actually, given the fact that there are two of you, he’ll be the third to know. But don’t lose any sleep over how he takes the news.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” said Carole.

  “No. He’ll move on to someone else.” For a moment, Debbie Carlton looked slightly wistful. “He’s just one of those men, who you know’s a bastard, but…he is quite good to be with. Do you know the kind I mean?”

  “Yes,” said Jude ruefully.

  “No,” said Carole.

  “Anyway, I’m going to live my own life from now on.” Debbie bunched her fists to accentuate this positive approach. “The reaction to my paintings in the Art Crawl has really given me a lift. I have got artistic talent. I can make a living from my pictures. And that’s what I’m going to concentrate on for the next bit of my life.”

  “And men…?” Jude let the word dangle.

  Debbie looked thoughtful. “I’m not going to go out looking for them. I suppose, if one comes along…” She grinned. “He’ll have to be a bloody good one, though.”

  Carole made a decision. “You say the reaction to your paintings in the Art Crawl has been good. They haven’t all gone, have they?”

  “No. Going fine, but still plenty left.”

  “Excellent. I’ll come along and choose one tomorrow.”

  “Thanks. Don’t feel you have to.”

  “I want to,” said Carole firmly. “And you haven’t given up the interior design business, have you?”

  “Good heavens, no.”

  “That is good news.” Carole Seddon rubbed her hands together with confidence and satisfaction. “Because I definitely want you to do my sitting room.”

  ∨ The Torso in the Town ∧

  Forty-Three

  The Fedborough Festival finished, and Fedborough life continued much as before. Memories closed over Roddy Hargreaves just as effectively as the waters of the Fether had done. It was perhaps unfair that he’d gone down in the communal recollection as a murderer and dismemberer, but then Roddy had never cared that much about Fedborough opinion, and wherever he was now he could at least no longer be harmed by the town’s gossip.

  The memory of Virginia Hargreaves, by contrast, lived on, and her myth grew. The grisly circumstances of her death added to the attractions of the story. So, of course, did the fact that she had a title. ‘The torso in the town’ became a regular feature of Fedborough’s Town Walks.

  But after the end of that September, no more Town Walks were conducted by James Lister. He had the temerity to die of a stroke without asking his wife’s permission and, with typical lack of consideration, contrived to do it in the middle of one of her Friday-night dinner parties.

  All Fedborough turned out for his funeral at All Souls. The service was conducted, with his customary tentative tremulousness, by the Rev Philip Trigwell. In his address he said that everyone would remember James Lister as a good man, though not without faults. James would be remembered best as an honest local tradesman, though some people would remember him best as a generous host and pillar of Fedborough’s social life. He was sure of a place in heaven, though of course some people in different denominations saw heaven in a different way from the Church of England, and there was nothing wrong with that.

  For the message on James’s gravestone, Fiona had chosen, with her customary unawareness of irony, the words, At peace at last’. She, being made of sterner – not to mention, in her view, socially superior – stuff than her husband, continued to live for many, many years, spreading her bile even-handedly amongst all the inhabitants of Fedborough.

  Andrew Wragg stayed with Terry Harper. The younger man still threw tantrums, but, as middle-age coarsened his beautiful body, his threats to leave grew decreasingly credible. He started to drink a lot, with predictable effects on his waistline. His temper and his art grew worse, and Terry Harper continued to adore him.

  The Burnethorpes stayed married, in apparent harmony. Nobody who knew Alan well could imagine that Joke was his only physical outlet, but he restricted his extra-mural activities to the discreet anonymity of London. He went on producing sensitive architectural conversions and accurate impersonal drawings of female nudes.

  Donald Durrington continued to be respected as chief partner in the local medical practice. His wife continued to drown the misery of her marriage in drink.

  And Francis and Jonelle Carlton…Well, nobody really cared what happened to them. They soon movedpermanently to Florida, and that was miles away from Fedborough.

  The town was so self-involved, you see, that people who left it virtually dropped off the map. That’s what happened to the Roxbys. After a Fedborough winter; Grant decided that the family was missing the varied stimuli of London. The children needed access to theatres, cinemas and cultured people. Kim, as ever, agreed with him, so Felling House and its history were sold yet again.

  The Roxbys’ girls were quite happy to return to London. They were getting to the age when ponies were becoming less interesting and clubs featured increasingly in their conversation. The only family member who objected to the move was Harry. Typical of his bloody father, he thought, to uproot him from all his Fedborough friends and imprison him in some concrete wilderness. And so Harry Roxby’s adolescence continued.

  Debbie Carlton’s career as a painter flourished, so much so that after a few years she was able to give up her interior des
ign work. When Stanley Franks finally died, Debbie moved her mother out of the houseboat and into the flat in Harbidge Street. She herself moved to London, which offered more opportunities for her as an artist, but she was down in Fedborough most weekends.

  And Billie Franks continued as she always had. She knew everyone in Fedborough and everyone in Fedborough knew her. But nobody in Fedborough knew everything about her.

  After their brief intense involvement in the affairs of the town, Carole and Jude didn’t go back to Fedborough much. They lived eight miles downriver in Fethering, you see, and that was a world away.

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