Barbara Cleverly - Strange Images of Death

Yes, as a drinking companion there was none better but, judged as a father, Orlando failed on all counts to satisfy. He wasn’t uncaring exactly but careless, ready to leave the upbringing of his four motherless children to anyone he could persuade or pay or blackmail into attending to their needs. When Joe’s sister, in dire emergency, had shown neighbourly concern and rashly offered to take Dorcas under her wing, Orlando had accepted with shaming alacrity.

Lovely, good-hearted Lydia! Joe felt a pang of guilt whenever he thought of his sister’s involvement with the wretched Orlando’s family circus.

It had all been Joe’s fault.

In a moment of concern for the family’s situation, he’d handed over Lydia’s telephone number. ‘This here’s my sister’s number. You’ll see she lives close by. She has children of her own and she’s a trained nurse. You can depend on her. Give her a ring if there should be an immediate problem and you can’t raise me.’

And Dorcas had taken him at his word. With life-changing results for several people, not least poor Lydia.

Appalled by the circumstances of the children’s hand-to-mouth, bohemian existence Lydia had swept them all away to the safety of her own comfortable home. Dorcas had stayed on longer than the rest, and, with her uncivilized ways of going on, she’d become a project for Lydia, her upbringing a social duty. ‘Give me that girl for two years and I’ll have her fit to present to the Queen at a Buckingham Palace reception,’ she’d been unwise enough to declare in Orlando’s hearing. He’d hurried to take her up on the offer and Dorcas had become a fixture in the household. And Joe had acquired ‘a niece’.

Months had passed but ‘Auntie’ Lydia was still a long way short of her target, Joe reckoned. As his brother-in-law commented, ‘Buckingham Palace be blowed! I wouldn’t trust that scallywag to behave herself at a Lyon’s Corner Café.’

But then, on their journey through France, the child had surprised Joe. Lydia’s training and preparation had not been in vain, it seemed. Dorcas had put on gloves and-alarmingly-silk stockings and behaved impeccably for the family at the Champagne Château Houdart where they’d stayed near Rheims. He glanced at the shiny dark head with its newly acquired and very fashionable fringed bob and smiled a smile that was both sad and tender. The wretched girl, he did believe, had fallen in love. With the highly suitable and totally admirable son of the house. Aged all of sixteen, Georges Houdart had seemed equally smitten and the two had been inseparable for the length of their stay.

It was all too premature, Joe feared. A scene from Romeo and Juliet in preparation? Joe grinned as he happily dismissed the thought. These two were old beyond their years; they’d both, in their different ways, grown up taking too much, too early, on young shoulders. But this too had happened on his watch. Perhaps he should have a word with Orlando when they finally tracked him down? Issue some sort of warning? Urge a belated paternal concern? ‘Well, here’s your daughter back, old man. No-no trouble at all … In fact she’s been most helpful. And here she is-delivered safe and sound in wind and limb, as you see, but-have a care-there may be unseen wounds in the region of the heart …’ No. Joe knew it would be a waste of time. He’d wait and report back to Lydia when he returned to Surrey. Lydia would know whether to speak out or be silent.

With her uncomfortable ability to intercept and respond to his thoughts, Dorcas, eyes still closed, was muttering: ‘Do you think Orlando’ll notice I’ve changed a bit? So many things to tell him when we get to him.’

‘Yes, lots to tell Orlando,’ Joe agreed. ‘But I was wondering, Dorcas, when-if, indeed, ever -you were going to come clean with me and confess all. Would this be a good moment to tell me what you need to tell me?’

Her eyes popped open and he felt an undignified rush of triumph to see he’d surprised her.

‘Whatever are you talking about? Confess? To you? You’re a policeman not a priest!’

He grinned. ‘I think it’s entirely possible that you’ll be needing me in both capacities before we go much farther. Do you want me to spell it out? Would it ease your confession if I were to say: I know what you’re up to! ’

Joe left a space for the inevitable outburst of denial to run its course but there was a long silence.

‘When did you guess?’ Her voice was suddenly uncertain.

‘I don’t guess. I work things out. It’s what I do. But, to answer your question: it occurred to me before we left Surrey. All that nonsense about not wanting to go to Scotland with Lydia’s family for the holidays? You were given every chance to come south with your father and his menagerie when he set off at the start of the summer but you refused. And I had noticed you’d been devouring Walter Scott’s novels one after the other and you’d got together a whole collection of hill-walking clothes from Lillywhite’s-from boots to tam-o’-shanter and everything in between. You were looking forward to Scotland but the moment you discovered that-just for once- I wasn’t going north with Lydia but motoring down to spend a month in Antibes with an old army mate, you changed your plans. You used every possible means of persuading my sister to talk me into bringing you along with me. Out went the woollies-sandals and shorts were chucked into a bag. Walter Scott was put back on the library shelves and Alphonse Daudet and something coyly entitled So You’re Going to Provence? were done up with string and put out ready for the journey. Not one of my most challenging puzzles, Dorcas! For some reason, you wanted to be here with me in Provence. Am I getting this right? Say something!’

She nodded dumbly, unable to come up with a riposte. Joe paused, giving her time to make her own explanation.

She turned on him angrily. ‘Crikey! You must be a difficult man to live with! Sneaking about looking in wardrobes … checking labels! Going through my books! You’ve a nerve!’

Again, he waited.

‘Well, all right.’ She took a moment to collect her thoughts, considering him through eyes narrowed in speculation. He knew the signs and prepared himself to hear one of her easy fabrications but her confession when it came was halting and clumsy, the pain in her voice undeniable. ‘Yes. It seemed too good a chance to waste. I’ve been trying for years, Joe. Every time we’ve come south with my father, for as long as I can remember, I’ve tried. With no co-operation from Orlando. He doesn’t want me to succeed. He really doesn’t. I’ve searched and searched from Orange down to Les Saintes Maries on the coast. I’ve talked with gypsies and men of the road … I’ve checked every new grave in every cemetery. No luck. There’s a limit to what a child can do even down here where there’s more freedom to come and go and talk to anyone you meet. Life’s not so … so corseted … as it is in England. But even so, it’s not easy. And now I’m getting older …’ Dorcas looked uncomfortable for a moment, ‘there will be places I can’t go to, people I just can’t interview without running a risk … I’m sure you can imagine. Gigolos and white slavers and bogeymen of that description. I know how the world works … I’m not stupid!’

‘So you thought you’d latch on to a sympathetic chap who can go unchallenged into these dangerous and shady places and ask the right questions on your behalf-’

‘A nosy fellow with a good right hook!’ she interrupted. ‘And one who speaks French of a sort? That’s always useful.’

‘Mmm … these valuable attributes come at a price.’ Joe nodded sagely. ‘I warn you there’ll be a forfeit to pay. Agreed?’