Your Secret's Safe With Me Page 12

  ‘It wasn’t nice. It was cold and wet, and I hate horses,’ Pearl pouted. ‘It’s just me being silly, Becca. Perhaps I’m missing London. I tell you what, why don’t we go into town? Go shopping? I haven’t chosen my going away outfit yet.’

  ‘Are you going away?’ I asked. In all our conversations about the wedding so far, Pearl had not mentioned a honeymoon.

  ‘We haven’t booked anything, but we can’t not, can we?’ Pearl said, already on her feet. ‘Come on, darling, we can go into Winchester and then stop for a spot of lunch or something, what do you say? You haven’t told me about the quiz, either. How did you get on? How was Alex?’

  ‘He wasn’t there,’ I informed her. ‘And we lost.’

  ‘Oh, never mind. There’s always next week.’ She smiled. ‘Perhaps we should invite him to the wedding. He can tag along with Chrissie and Craig. Maybe you could have a look for something while we’re out, too, for the party.’

  ‘What party?’ Had Freddy already told her about Kimmi’s birthday? Perhaps Pearl and Jack had been invited, too.

  ‘The evening party,’ Pearl said, ‘after the wedding, of course.'

  Of course. It was all still about her.

  ‘I thought I would just stay in my bridesmaid’s dress,’ I said.

  Pearl shook her head, dismissing my attempt to spoil her fun. ‘No, Rebecca, you can’t, you really just can’t. That won’t do at all.’

  Despite telling myself that Nick had a perfectly valid reason for avoiding the pub – ie, he didn’t want to see me – when I returned from keeping Pearl amused in Winchester, I set off for another walk. This time, I went through the village to the marina and along the marsh path towards to Helme Point.

  Over lunch, I had quizzed my mother on what she knew of her new neighbours in an attempt to ascertain if there were any other possible suspects who might appear on a police radar. There were several large detached properties along the river concealed behind security gates, but Pearl had limited knowledge of their occupants. Her weekly activity rota revolved around the same regular companions who frequented the WI, the bridge club, and the choir. She had heard of a wealthy Arab family further up the river, together with a self-made millionaire from the betting industry, and there were rumours of a very dodgy banker. But other than Max van der Plaast, who had a reputation as an international playboy, the residents of Kerridge seemed a fairly unremarkable and law-abiding crowd.

  The houseboat was shut up and deserted, although it was evident that Nick was still living on board. Wellington boots guarded the doorway, and a crate of empty beer cans was sitting on deck. I didn’t want to analyse why Nick’s absence concerned me so much, or why I was so relieved to see that he was still based in Kerridge.

  With no sign of Nick, I approached the unimposing workshop on Chapman’s Wharf. According to the sign above the door, it was the home of Aidan Chapman, Boat Restorer. The timber shack looked as if it had once been part of a much bigger operation. To one side, a concrete slipway led down to the water. Toxic fumes permeated the air from inside the workshop. A man in his mid-thirties, with an impressive ginger beard and dressed in paint splattered dungarees, was varnishing a wooden hull.

  ‘Are you Aidan?’ I asked.

  He looked up cautiously. ‘I might be. Who are you?’

  ‘My name is Becca. I’m looking for Alex,’ I said. ‘He rents out The Solstice. Do you know if he is about?’

  He shook his head. ‘I saw him on Saturday. He said he was going to be away for a couple of weeks. When he’s back, shall I tell him you were looking for him?’

  I shook my head. ‘There’s no need. Thanks, anyway.’

  I was just about to turn away when an old man shuffled into the workshop, blocking my exit.

  ‘You busy, Chapman?’ he grunted. ‘Bloody decking on the mooring’s gone again.’

  Aidan put down his paint brush. ‘I’ll come now, Gerry,’ he said. ‘Just let me get some tools.’

  As it appeared we were all going to be walking back along the same route, we fell into step.

  ‘Bloody Robshaw,’ the old man grumbled as we set off. ‘He’s behind all this.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Aidan asked.

  ‘It was perfectly all right last night.’

  I thought it was safe to assume from the old man’s unkempt appearance and belligerent attitude that this was JJ’s adversary, Gerald Kimble, Kerridge’s least eligible bachelor and owner of the Regatta Queen.

  ‘I had heard the marina people wanted the Regatta Queen moved on,’ I said to Aidan. Sailor Gerry lagged behind. ‘Is that what this is all about?’

  ‘Probably. Gerry owns a boat that needs to be scrapped, and the mooring’s been falling into disrepair for years,’ Aidan explained. ‘I believe he and the Robshaws, who own the marina, have a bit of history. Are you a local? I haven’t seen you before.’

  ‘I’m just visiting the area,’ I replied.

  ‘So, how do you know Alex?’ he asked.

  I had to be careful. ‘We met at the pub quiz at The Ship of Fools. We were more or less forced to be on the same team. I’m staying with relatives.’ I thought it wise not to mention which relatives.

  ‘Oh, I see. Not my cup of tea that, a pub quiz,’ Aidan remarked.

  ‘What’s she saying?’ the old man shouted. ‘Who’s she calling a fool?’

  ‘Nobody,’ Aidan replied, waiting for him to catch up. ‘She was saying she goes to the quiz at the pub, The Ship of Fools.’

  ‘I never go to The Ship now,’ Gerry said, shaking his head. He had a crown of snowy white hair and grey stubble grew on his scrawny chin. He was a small man, and his heavy overcoat seemed to swamp him. On closer inspection, although I didn’t want to get too close because personal hygiene was obviously not top of Gerry’s priorities, he probably wasn’t as old as I’d first thought; perhaps mid-sixties. ‘It’s all changed,’ he complained. ‘Ain’t anywhere decent left in the village now.’ He gave a nod towards the Jolly Jack Tar on Kerridge Hard, where a boisterous crowd gathered outside. ‘That place has gone right downhill.’

  I thought I caught sight of the shiny bald head of Max van der Plaast amongst the storm-proof jackets. A couple of people were still wearing buoyancy aids, despite being safely on dry land. Since I’d arrived on the south coast, I’d noticed the sailing fraternity liked to publicise their prestigious status. Yachting was an expensive hobby. If you had it, you flaunted it, seemed an appropriate motto.

  As we reached the damaged mooring, Max’s distinctive guttural laugh rang out across the quayside. Aidan shared Gerry’s disapproving look.

  ‘None of them lot are locals,’ the younger man remarked. ‘The Heron is about the only decent drinking hole left in the village.’

  Gerry shook his head. ‘Too far for me to walk,’ he grumbled.

  ‘How far is it?’ I asked. I hadn’t come across another pub on my travels, although I hadn’t spent a great deal of time exploring the outer realms of Kerridge.

  ‘It’s one of the few pubs in this part of the world that doesn’t do food. A real old-fashioned drinkers’ pub,’ Aidan said. ‘It makes a refreshing change.’

  ‘Sounds like something I need to check out,’ I said with a smile. ‘I’ll leave you to your work.’

  ‘You need to get this fixed properly, Gerry,’ Aidan said, stepping cautiously onto the rotten wooden decking that was the only means of access to the Regatta Queen. ‘One morning you could wake up and find yourself adrift.’

  ‘I suspect that’s just what the nipper wants,’ Gerry replied.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Although I felt a certain amount of sympathy for Gerry’s predicament, the first thing I did when I returned to Rivermede was to freshen up with a shower. I had an evening appointment with the dressmaker in Portdeane.

  I had been slightly dubious about the dressmaker’s credentials after Pearl had informed me Vera came highly recommended by Rita and Natalie, but my fears were unfounded. Vera, of eastern European extra
ction and in her mid-thirties, lived on one of Portdeane’s many new estates, in a smart terraced townhouse, the top floor of which was dedicated to her design business. Pearl was, quite naturally, keeping her dress top secret although, having spent many hours browsing through bridal magazines, I had a mental picture of the sort of thing she liked.

  ‘Your mother is a woman of impeccable taste,’ Vera confirmed. ‘She has chosen a very simple, classical design, perfectly suitable for a woman of her age. We will do the same for you. It would be foolish to wear something too youthful.’

  Although I disliked the reference to my maturing years, it was a relief to know that Vera and I appeared to be on the same wavelength. Purple would never have been my colour of choice, but she had selected a very pale lilac fabric, which almost verged on grey. The dress would be knee-length and very understated. There was no way Pearl was going to be over-shadowed, which suited me perfectly.

  The following morning Pearl waylaid me, as I’d feared she would, for an update on the fitting, before announcing she was off to see ‘a man about an owl’.

  ‘An owl?’

  ‘Yes, I saw the ad in the latest edition of Bridal Magazine.’ Nev was already reversing the Range Rover out of the garage and onto the drive. ‘It’s the latest thing. The owls are trained to deliver the rings. There’s a place out in the New Forest that does it. Don’t suppose you fancy coming with me?’

  ‘I thought you were preparing for a wedding, not a term at Hogwarts.’

  Pearl pouted and continued her path to the car. ‘I’m going to meet your Aunt Phoebe for lunch afterwards. She’s having a few days in Bournemouth. Call in on Jack later, love, would you? Keep him company. I’ll probably be gone for the rest of the day.’

  Jack was a grown man, not a child, and unlike Pearl, probably very good at keeping himself amused. However, I’d had too many years of being groomed. After a morning spent answering a few fan queries on Pearl’s website – no, of course Pearl Gates wasn’t giving up writing, where an earth had they heard such a silly rumour? – I wandered across to the house and found Jack in his study. The door wasn’t closed. He was engrossed in paperwork; box files and folders were scattered across the desk in front of him, along with pages of yellowing documents.

  It was the first time I’d had a proper look in Jack’s private domain. Pictures of boats adorned the walls here, just as they did in the hallway. Amongst the artwork, I spotted a couple of technical drawings, presumably mementoes of the Dimmock boatyard.

  ‘Hello, love,’ he said, ‘just having a bit of a sort through while your mother’s out of the way.’

  ‘She thought you might be lonely,’ I replied, glad to see that my first instincts had been correct and Jack was more than capable of keeping himself occupied. I wondered if the sudden need to check historical documents had anything to do with Gerry Kimble’s claims to his mooring rights, although Jack currently had a map spread out on his desk.

  ‘I’m not lonely,’ Jack said with a wink. ‘I’m glad of the peace and quiet. You look dressed for an expedition.’

  I’d deliberately put on my heavy raincoat and wellington boots as evidence to back up my excuse, if needed, that I was only briefly popping in on my way somewhere more interesting.

  ‘I was planning on taking a walk,’ I said. ‘You’ve got some lovely countryside around here, and I’ve hardly seen anything of it yet.’

  ‘Yes, we’re very lucky,’ Jack agreed.

  ‘Is that a plan of Kerridge you’ve got there?’ I asked.

  ‘Just the original Rivermede estate,’ he replied. ‘As you can see, it covered a much larger area back in the 1800s than it does today.’

  ‘So, did your late wife’s family own all the land as far as the current marina?’ I asked, spotting the creek and, further along, an area clearly marked out for the boatyard.

  ‘Most of it, yes,’ Jack smiled. He turned the map towards me so I could get a better look. ‘Some pockets have been sold off over the years. I currently rent out a couple of pastures to the north, up here. We originally had some farm cottages, too, but they’ve gone now.’

  ‘It was a big estate.’

  ‘Too big. Mary’s father originally bought it from a wealthy industrialist, but he over-stretched himself. We had to sell off a fair bit of what Mary inherited in order to keep the house. It was her childhood home; we didn’t want to let it go.’

  Jack rarely mentioned his late wife. A couple of framed photographs had a prominent position on the desk. Presumably this was the one room in the house which hadn’t come under Pearl’s sweeping new broom. One was a faded colour wedding photograph, a young couple standing outside the parish church in the village. In the other, the same couple posed on the front steps of Rivermede. Jack caught my eye.

  ‘That’s me and Mary,’ he said, ‘back in the day.’

  I took a seat opposite him. It seemed as good a time as any to broach a difficult subject. ‘Jack, can I talk to you about something personal?’

  ‘Sure, go ahead.’

  ‘I just wondered if Pearl has mentioned anything to you about my father?’

  ‘Ah,’ Jack said with a knowing nod.

  ‘You do know he suffered a serious injury and—’

  ‘Shush, Becca, dear.’ Jack’s smile was calm and reassuring. ‘I’ve got a dodgy hip, that’s all it is. I’m not going to end up paralysed or totally dependent on your mother, if that’s what you’re worried about. I lost my right leg in an accident in the boatyard many years ago. I wore a prosthetic for years, but when my hip started playing up, it made the prosthetic bloody uncomfortable. I gave up wearing it.’ He tapped the sides of his wheelchair. ‘I can get about much quicker in this.’

  ‘Could they operate on your hip?’ I asked. ‘It’s amazing what can be done these days.’

  He gave me a resigned smile, as if he had long accepted his fate. ‘There’s nothing in the pipeline, my dear.’

  I left Jack to continue his sorting. As I was already equipped for a spot of exploration, I decided to head once again for the path that skirted around the Rivermede estate. The tide was much further out than I’d seen before and, as Freddy had predicted, the track and the creek came to a muddy end at a brick boathouse, its doors firmly padlocked. The windows were grubby and above head height; even on tip-toes, I couldn’t peep inside.

  The only way to continue southwards towards the estuary and the marina was to cross the expanse of mud to a neighbouring field. A series of logs had been laid across the quagmire as stepping stones.

  Just as I was about to take my first tentative step across, a dog barked. I turned sharply, only just maintaining my balance and my dignity. Max van der Plaast was approaching through the trees behind me, accompanied by a squat bulldog straining on its lead.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ he called. ‘The tide’s about to turn. You won’t get back, unless of course you were planning on walking the long way round.’

  I wanted to retort that actually yes, I was, but I could end up looking pretty stupid as I had no idea how to find the long way round. I also wanted to demand what he was doing trespassing on Rivermede property, but my bravado failed. The dog didn’t look particularly friendly, although Max was all charming smiles.

  ‘Ah. It is you, Becca, Freddy’s sister,’ he said. ‘I thought I recognised you. I saw you yesterday, too, on the Hard. You should have joined us for a drink. I’d taken some friends over to the Island for the day.’

  I had thought I’d made myself invisible as I had sneaked past the Jolly Jack Tar, but obviously not. Unlike me, Max had no trouble peering in through the dirty windows of the boathouse. I saw him sneak a glance. Perhaps he wanted to borrow a canoe. Max looked like he kept fit. Freddy had mentioned he had his own gym.

  ‘Apparently, JJ doesn’t keep anything in there,’ I said, backtracking my steps to the safety of the grass bank. ‘Although I’ve seen Nev huffing and puffing up the river in a canoe. He looks like he’s in training for something.’
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  Max looked momentarily puzzled then laughed. ‘Ah, Neville, yes. No, I have a rowing machine for that.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Still, nothing beats being out on the water. Do you sail?’ He had a mischievous glint in his eye.

  I shook my head. ‘No, not at all.’

  ‘Maybe you are like your brother, a quick learner?’ Max suggested. He leaned back against the wall of the boathouse and produced a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. ‘Do you smoke?’

  I shook my head again. ‘No thank you. You’ve taken Freddy sailing?’

  ‘A couple of times now, although I think it is Kimmi that it is the main attraction, not my yacht.’

  Freddy hadn’t mentioned he’d been on any sailing trips, but I’d hardly seen him over the last few days. I’d assumed he’d been working long hours. ‘Freddy should be concentrating on his job, not girls,’ I said.

  ‘They are young, let them have fun,’ Max shrugged, as if he didn’t care that his seventeen-year-old daughter was luring a twenty-one-year-old father-to-be away from his responsibilities. Europeans were notoriously free and easy with their affections. ‘You should let me take you out on Pegasus sometime,’ Max continued. ‘You might enjoy it more than you think.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, but really I’m not a good sailor,’ I said. I didn’t like the idea of being alone with Max van der Plaast on dry land, let alone at sea.

  ‘Could I tempt you with my jet ski?’

  ‘No, that doesn’t appeal either,’ I said, forcing myself to smile. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘A little English landlubber.’ Max seemed amused. ‘In that case, I hope Freddy has mentioned the party we are throwing for Kimmi next week? You will come to that, I take it? No water involved, unless you fancy a dip in my pool?’

  I was old and wise enough to know that Max wasn’t really interested in me. He was simply playing a game. Even if I was charmed by that butch masculinity and seduced by his blatant show of wealth, any dalliance with Max would only end in tragedy. However, men like Max were used to getting their own way and I sensed it would be prudent to remain on his good side – for Freddy’s sake, if not my own. I had bought myself a little black dress on my shopping trip with Pearl, not specifically because of Kimmi’s party but because a little black dress always came in handy.