Emma Page - In the Event of My Death

She still missed the old solicitor who had died three years ago but she was getting used to his son. She had been delighted to see Dr Wheatley again. ‘Not that I’ve anything against Dr Surridge,’ she was quick to add. ‘I have a lot of faith in him.’ She looked up at Kelsey. ‘It’s a hard lesson to learn, but you have to accept change, you can’t be continually harking back.’ She smiled slightly. ‘You can’t afford sadness as you get older, it’s a debilitating emotion.’

She rang through to the kitchen for coffee and Jean Redfern brought it along without delay. She looked as quiet and self-effacing as the Chief had always known her at Elmhurst – not at all the lively, smiling girl he had seen ten days ago, jumping off the bus into Shaun Chapman’s arms. He exchanged a few words with her; she replied in her usual demure fashion.

When she had gone and they sat drinking their coffee – decaffeinated for Grace – the Chief asked if Barry and Verity were expected at the birthday celebrations. Yes, they were, Grace was happy to tell him. They would be coming a little ahead of the others, the arrivals were being spaced as far as was practical, to avoid undue excitement for the invalid.

‘They’re both doing well at their studies,’ Grace commented. ‘Verity’s in a little flat of her own now, she seems happy there.’ When Verity had first decided to take a course at the college, it was Esther Milroy – at Grace’s request – who had arranged for Verity to share a flat with two older girls, also students at the college – sensible girls, known to Esther; both came from families active in the church Esther attended. They could be relied on to keep an eye on Verity. ‘But she’s got to the stage when she wants to be more independent,’ Grace observed. ‘I have to be pleased at that, when I remember what she was like when she first came here, so nervy and withdrawn.’

She glanced at the array of family photographs on a nearby side table. Among them was the face of her schoolmaster father who had been in his last years a senior history master when Kelsey attended the Cannonbridge Grammar School. The Chief remembered him with respect and affection; a scholarly man, dedicated to his subject, his profession. On the mantelshelf stood a handsome clock presented to him on his retirement; Kelsey had been among those who had subscribed to it. Some years later he had been among the former pupils who had attended his funeral.

On either side of the hearth hung a pair of watercolours Kelsey had always admired. The one on the left had belonged to Grace’s father; it showed the old part of Cannonbridge, including the grammar school. The other was a view of Elmhurst, painted shortly after the house was built.

Grace nodded at a photograph of two young men, very alike, with sharply intelligent good looks. ‘Esther’s sons can’t be here for my birthday, of course,’ she said on a note of regret. ‘They both came to see me when they were last at home. They’re doing exceptionally well. They’re ambitious and hard-working, like their father.’ She grimaced. ‘Just as well they didn’t take after their mother or they’d probably both be sitting around, waiting for someone to organize their lives.’ She half smiled. ‘If I’d had a daughter I’d have wanted her to be like Nina.’ She looked up at Kelsey. ‘She came from a very ordinary background, you know, though you’d never think it. Everything was done very quickly when Matthew decided to marry her. We never met her parents, she never produced them. She gave us to understand her father had retired early from business, because of ill health, and her mother was a shy woman; they went about very little.’ She moved her hand. ‘Bernard had discreet inquiries made. It turned out they were small shopkeepers, not retired at all, both of them working long hours for a modest living. Very respectable, decent, honest folk.’

She smiled slightly. ‘I never let on to Nina that we’d been so nosey. I could well understand why she’d said what she said. I liked her from the start, I always knew she was right for Matthew.’ She gave a decisive little nod. ‘Best thing he ever did, marrying Nina.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘I’ve often felt sorry for James, married to a nervy wife.’ She expelled a little breath. ‘Poor Esther, she does try so hard to please. She comes to see me regularly but I find her visits rather depressing, she will fuss over me.’

She went on to talk about the new hospice, how devotedly everyone was striving to raise money. The Chief told her he had every intention of seeing the foundation stone laid. ‘It will have to be something pretty cataclysmic to keep me away,’ he assured her.

‘It would be lovely if I could be there myself,’ she said. ‘But if not, I can listen to it on the local radio. And I can see it on regional TV in the evening.’

‘I’ll hope to see you at the ceremony then.’ The Chief glanced at the clock, mindful that he mustn’t tire her. They went on chatting for a little longer, then he rose to leave. He stooped to kiss her cheek.

‘If either one of us doesn’t make it to the ceremony,’ Grace said, ‘do come and see me again when you can.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Better not leave it too long.’

On Tuesday evening, when Grace had been settled down for the night, Dorothy Nevett was crossing the hall when the phone rang. She answered it and heard Alice’s voice. She stood listening intently, putting in a question or two. ‘You’re not to worry about it,’ she said at last. ‘Leave it to me, I’ll think of something.’ When she had replaced the receiver she stood looking down at the floor, frowning, thinking, thrusting out her lips. Then she moved slowly off through the hall and up the stairs to her room.

CHAPTER 8

On Wednesday morning, Dorothy Nevett, with Mrs Gosling in tow, busied herself with the preparation of bedrooms, in readiness for the weekend visitors. Esther and James would have the large, twin-bedded room at the front of the house, across the landing from the best bedroom – the one occupied by Mrs Dalton until her illness, and now no longer used. Nina would require only a single room as Matthew wouldn’t be staying the night. He would arrive towards the end of Saturday afternoon and would leave again after the birthday dinner, to drive back home. He was one of the organizers of a charity golf tournament to be held on the Sunday morning, in aid of the new hospice and would be playing in the tournament himself. James was also taking part in the tournament but as he wasn’t involved in the organizing and wouldn’t be playing in any of the early matches, he had no need to hurry back to Brentworth and would be staying the night at Elmhurst.

Verity could occupy a single room near Jean Redfern’s bedroom. There was never any need to ponder about where to put Barry: around the corner from Jean’s room, along a passage, in the snug little room he had always had, from the very first night he had ever slept at Elmhurst. He was fond of the room and looked on it by now as his own. He would have been astonished and dismayed to find some interloper installed in his place and himself banished to other quarters. Not that Dorothy would dream of playing any such trick on him. She had always had a soft spot for Barry who had been unfailingly considerate and well-mannered towards her, even as a young boy, stunned by his father’s death.

Verity was another matter entirely. She had certainly been subdued enough when she first came to Elmhurst but Dorothy had felt from the start there was a volcano simmering away deep down inside, waiting to erupt. She had always struck Dorothy as someone who might, under the thrust of events and emotions, be capable of almost anything.

At eleven-thirty on Thursday morning, Dr Wheatley called to check that all was well with Grace, in readiness for the birthday celebrations. He brought with him his card and birthday gift, a handsome Welsh knee-rug, gorgeously coloured.