“What did you make of it, Mary?” Vera’s voice was very quiet. They could have been alone in the room.
“Of Robert’s fondness for Zoe? It was a difficult time. He blamed me for the friendship. If I’d been a different sort of wife it would never have happened, he said. If I’d been younger, more attractive, more attentive…”
“You didn’t believe that?”
“I didn’t know what to believe. When she first started coming to the house, I’d watch them together, and see that she made him happier than I ever could.”
She looked at Robert, but he said nothing to contradict her.
“Then, when he became a Christian, I was relieved. I thought things would change. He’d been very low. Sometimes he talked about suicide. I tried to persuade him to see a doctor, but he wouldn’t go. I felt responsible. For him and for poor Zoe. I thought I could hold the family together and make it work. Pride, I suppose. I didn’t want to admit that we weren’t as close as we appeared.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Emma said. “None of it.”
Mary didn’t answer. “I believed the move to Elvet would be a fresh start for us all. A wonderful new beginning. And no real harm had been done after all. We still had a chance to put things back to how they’d been. But that was never really possible. We were different. We’d all been affected by what had happened in York, even the children, although they were really too young to notice what was going on, and we tried to protect them. I suppose it was inevitable.”
“Did anything change?” Vera asked.
“Yes, of course! At the beginning! Robert loved his work. He felt fulfilled and valued. We had the structure of our life in the church. I began to relax. I thought everything would turn out well.”
“Then what happened?”
She didn’t reply and Emma answered for her. “He fell for Abigail. For the red hair and the short skirts.” Again her voice was calm, matter of fact. “I can remember when he first met her. That time on the Point, when the sun was shining and we were all eating ice creams. Then at youth club. He told me that he’d never met Abigail, but it wasn’t true. I should have remembered the club. That was one of the first things he did when he arrived in Elvet, he set up the club. He can’t have really changed, can he? If he’d really changed that would be the last thing he’d do. Put himself in a position where he’d meet young girls. I’d forgotten all about that until recently, forgotten that Abigail was ever there. She wasn’t a regular, but she did come occasionally, showing off, making the rest of us look pathetic. Dressed up in her smart clothes. The first time she came was for a disco, wasn’t it? I’d asked her and I was so excited when she agreed to come. It was the last meeting before the summer holidays. Dad was sitting on the stage watching the dancing. I remember. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. I was so stupid. I thdught it was because she was a good dancer. Then Keith got held up and couldn’t take her home and Dad gave her a lift back. Chris and I came back to Springhead with Mum.” She looked at her father for the first time. “Is that when it started?”
“Mantel was never a real father,” Robert said. “She needed someone to talk to.”
“Like Zoe?” Vera asked. “Did you pick Abigail up from school too? Meet her when she bunked off lessons?”
“I never encouraged that. I tried to persuade her to go back. I acted like her social worker, that’s all.”
“My God,” Emma said. “You had sex with her.”
“No! She wanted to. The opportunity was there. I admit I was tempted, but we never had sex.” He looked at Mary. “You must believe me.”
Vera had a sudden picture of Bill Clinton. I never had sexual relations with that woman. But perhaps Robert was telling more than the literal truth.
“Is that when the blackmail started?” she asked. “When you refused to sleep with her. We know she was a very mixed-up young lady.”
“Yes,” he said. “She threatened to tell the whole village that we’d been lovers. “We could announce it at the youth club. Deceit’s a sin. We should stand on the stage, holding hands, and tell the world.” Then she’d burst out laughing, as if she’d been drinking or she was mad and I never knew whether or not she was serious. I tried to stay away from her, but I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I thought I was the only one who could save her.”
“Then you killed her,” Emma said in a whisper. “You strangled her, and left her out by the ditch for me to find.” There was a moment of silence, of horror. “Did you kill Christopher, because he’d found out?”
They were all staring at Robert, waiting for an answer. He said nothing and Emma continued talking.
“I think I’ve always known. I think I even knew at the time. Not about Zoe, not the details at least, but even then I knew something was wrong. I couldn’t believe the miraculous conversion. There was one night when I couldn’t sleep, and I came downstairs. You were in the garden talking about it. There was a smell of honeysuckle. You were planning how you could leave York. I must have heard something…
“And Abigail must have wanted me to know. What a game it would have been for her. There was the way she talked about my father, all teasing and secretive. How many hints had she dropped? And I never picked up on them. Or I didn’t want to. She’d have told me eventually, of course. She’d have loved it, made out that it was for my own good, that she felt I had a right to know the sort of man my father was. And I’d already guessed. I just couldn’t admit it to myself. I didn’t want to believe it.”
Vera, watching, heard the self-dramatization, thought she couldn’t wait to get away from them all.
“Did you kill her?” Robert asked.
Emma looked at him as if he was a fool. “Me? Of course not. Do you really think I could do that?”
He didn’t answer.
“Get out,” she said.
Robert stood up and seemed about to say more. She looked away from him.
“I’ll phone James,” he said. “Tell him to come now.” It was as if he hadn’t spoken. He looked around, expecting a response. Even Mary seemed unaware of his presence. He left the room. Ashworth slipped out after him.
Chapter Forty-Five
Vera cleared her throat. She’d heard enough. It was time for her to take centre stage. It was usually a position she loved, but somehow tonight, she couldn’t get into the mood.
“Robert didn’t kill Abigail,” Vera said. “At first I thought he did, but it wouldn’t have been possible. Not physically. You all described that Sunday to Caroline Fletcher. Her records aren’t brilliant, but she made a note of that. Emma, you and your father were together in here, washing-up.” She paused. “How did Christopher get out of helping?”
“He probably claimed he had homework to do. Some project. He could usually dream up something urgent for school after Sunday lunch. Something to get him out of domestic duties.” Emma watched Vera warily across the table.
Vera stared back. “Christopher would have been upstairs, then?”
“Yes.”
And your mother would have been in the living room, reading the paper. That was the Sunday routine. She cooked the lunch and then she was allowed some peace. Nobody would have disturbed her.”
“She deserved some time to herself. We all appreciated that.”
“Oh, we all deserve some peace.” Even me. Even an old cop, who spends her life meddling in other people’s business. Vera looked at the women, thought suddenly that she’d made a terrible mistake, that she’d got the whole case wrong. Then her confidence returned as suddenly as it had deserted her. This is it, she thought. Let’s get it over. Then I can go home.
“But there was no peace for you that day, was there, Mary? You waited until Robert and Emma were washing-up and then you left the house by the door into the garden. You’d arranged to meet Abigail. How did you manage that, Mary? Did you send her a note, pretending to be Robert?”