David Webb 2 - A Necessary End Read online

  David Webb 2 - A Necessary End

  Anthea Fraser

  Endeavour Press (1986)

  * * *

  Rating: ★★★★☆

  Tags: Biographies & Memoirs, True Crime, Murder & Mayhem, Literature & Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense, Suspense

  Biographies & Memoirsttt True Crimettt Murder & Mayhemttt Literature & Fictionttt Mystery; Thriller & Suspensettt Thrillers & Suspensettt Suspensettt

  At a New Year’s Eve party in their hotel in Frecklemarsh, the guests can sense an uneasy tension between their hosts, Oliver and his second wife Nancy Pendrick.

  Growing resentment in their marriage, caused by Nancy’s independence and commitment to her London-based catering business, is evident in the fraught family relationships which extends to two wilful stepchildren.

  To add fuel to the fire, old flames are returning to the sleepy village, memories of Oliver’s first wife, the beautiful yet troubled Avis, refuse to fade and gossip flies around the small community.

  All in all when the festive season is over and Nancy returns to London it is a relief…until she doesn’t return…

  When a female corpse is discovered on a lonely road in Chedbury and eventually identified as Mrs Pendrick, there is universal shock, horror and multiple unanswered questions.

  With all the guests at the New Year’s Eve party potential suspects, CID Webb has his work cut out to track down the killer, and when he fits the pieces of the puzzle together, it forms a picture he would never have expected to see…

  ‘A Necessary End’ is a gripping crime thriller from bestselling author Anthea Fraser.

  Praise for Anthea Fraser:

  “A superbly crafted, riveting, page-turner of a read" - Booklist

  “Ms Fraser is her dependable elegant, guileful self withholding the killer's identity till a dying fall" - Sunday Times

  “A well-mannered, well-plotted and well-told story” - Birmingham Post

  “Sympathetic, well-executed book, in which full attention is paid to human feelings and failings” - Yorkshire Post

  Anthea Fraser has written all her life but did not begin to take it seriously until after marriage, when she found herself at home with two small daughters and embarked on a correspondence course with the London School of Journalism. She wrote short stories before turning to novels of the supernatural, and then to crime. Her novels include ‘The Seven Stars’, ‘The Ten Commandments’, ‘Death Speaks Softly’ and ‘Pretty Maids All in a Row’.

  Endeavour Press is the UK's leading independent digital publisher. For more information on our titles please sign up to our newsletter at www.endeavourpress.com. Each week you will receive updates on free and discounted ebooks. Follow us on Twitter: @EndeavourPress and on Facebook via http://on.fb.me/1HweQV7. We are always interested in hearing from our readers. Endeavour Press believes that the future is now.

  **

  A Necessary End

  Anthea Fraser

  © Anthea Fraser 1986

  Anthea Fraser has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published in 1986 by the Walker Publishing company, Inc.

  This edition published in 2015 by Endeavour Press Ltd.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  For IMF, with love.

  CHAPTER 1

  ‘Not much further now!’ Roger said, and immediately despised himself for the false heartiness in his voice. Faith merely nestled deeper into her furs. She felt the cold regardless of temperature, and managed to imply it was Roger’s fault. Yet it had been a mild Christmas and the unseasonable weather seemed set to continue over New Year.

  How different it had been in his childhood, with snow falling as he and Avis sang carols with the Yates girls. Briefly he thought of Charlotte, the love of his youth and, like his sister, an integral part of Christmas Past along with mistletoe and stockings and the huge Christmas tree, whose pungent smell of the forest lent enchantment to the whole house. Faith’s only concession to the season was a pseudo-tree in the hall, a sterile mockery of the spicy ghosts of the past.

  ‘Let me put the fairy on top!’ Avis cried in his head, and his hands tightened on the wheel. Oh God, Avis, why did you die like that?

  Catching an echo of his thoughts, Faith stirred, looking without interest at the rich fields bordering the motorway. ‘I can’t think why you insisted on coming,’ she remarked in her high voice. ‘It was different when Avis was alive, but you’ve little in common with the rest of them.’

  ‘They’re the only family I have,’ he answered steadily, ‘my sister’s children.’

  ‘But not your sister’s husband. Not any more.’

  Was she trying to hurt him? Probably not, but she had. That remarriage barely a year later still rankled, nor did his legal brain grant mitigating circumstances. Certainly not the children, at twenty and sixteen past the need for a surrogate mother; nor, unless Oliver had deceived himself, provision for companionship.

  Again Faith broke in on his thoughts. ‘Though he can hardly feel married, with Nancy in London all the time.’

  ‘A weekend wife,’ Roger agreed. ‘But since it’s lasted three years, it must be working.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Faith with a laugh, ‘he hoped to transport her and her culinary arts to The Gables!’ Oliver was the proprietor of a small but highly thought of hotel in Broadshire, which drew its clients from as far afield as Europe and America.

  ‘He’d have had staff problems if he’d tried!’ Roger rejoined.

  ‘Who do you suppose will provide the food tonight?’

  ‘Nancy, almost certainly. On New Year’s Eve they’ll be fully booked. They won’t have time to ferry stuff across to the Lodge.’

  The Shillingham exit loomed on their left and he moved into the slow lane. ‘We’ll just about make it in daylight,’ he said with satisfaction.

  *

  ‘But you must stay! I’ve accepted the invitation.’

  Nancy Pendrick wiped her hands down her apron. ‘It’s your own fault, Oliver. You should have checked with me first.’

  ‘I naturally thought you’d be here all week. Damn it, the Beresfords are staying till Thursday. You can’t waltz off when there are guests in the house.’

  ‘They’re your guests, not mine, and Mrs Foldes will cope admirably.’

  ‘For all her attributes,’ Oliver said tartly, ‘Mrs Foldes wasn’t engaged as wife-substitute.’

  Nancy flushed and picked up a knife, beginning the rapid slicing of a pile of radishes. ‘I can’t make drinks on Tuesday, but I’ll be back on Friday for the Bartletts. Even that’s pushing it; it’s a short week already, with Monday a Bank Holiday.’

  ‘But why go at all? The school’s closed till the sixteenth.’

  ‘But Dean’s Catering isn’t. I should really go back on Monday, but provided I can make an early start, I’ll stay till Tuesday.’

  ‘How accommodating of you.’

  Her anger rose to meet his. ‘Look, Oliver, if you’d wanted a wife to darn socks and put out your slippers, you chose the wrong one. You knew my career was important to me.’

  ‘But I thought I was, too. Damn it, I didn’t ask you to give up work, but I exp
ected some consideration. Now, you even grudge me the weekends.’

  The kitchen door opened before she could reply. She made herself say levelly, ‘I’ve almost finished in here. Have you set out the drinks?’

  ‘I’ll see to them now.’ Passing his son in the doorway, Oliver left the room. Henry came in and Nancy smacked his hand as he reached for a canapé.

  ‘No filching, or there won’t be enough to go round.’

  ‘Can you spare me a moment?’

  She turned to look at him. Henry, like his sister, favoured his mother’s side of the family. Though as tall as Oliver, he was of slimmer build and instead of his father’s thick chestnut hair, his was that rich honey-gold which characterized the Beresfords.

  ‘As long as it really is a moment. Your uncle and aunt will be here soon and I must go and change.’

  ‘I’ll make it brief, then.’ He wasn’t meeting her eye and curiosity checked her impatience. Oliver’s children didn’t usually seek her out.

  ‘Well?’

  He said in a rush, ‘I was wondering if you’d lend me some money.’

  She lent back against the counter, folding her arms and studying his averted face. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I — need it.’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot, Henry. Of course you need it, or you wouldn’t have asked. My question was, why?’

  He coloured, an adolescent bane he’d not outgrown. ‘I owe it to someone.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, to tell the truth, I put some money on a horse.’

  ‘And lost it, I presume. Let that be a lesson to you. But why me? Why not see your father?’

  ‘He said he wouldn’t help out again.’

  So Oliver knew the boy was gambling. He hadn’t mentioned it to her, but then he never discussed his children. ‘You’ll have to pay it back a bit at a time, then, won’t you?’

  ‘But it’s been going on several weeks already. They’re getting impatient.’

  ‘What kind of money are we talking about?’ She had fifty pounds in her handbag. Provided it taught him a lesson, she didn’t mind standing surety. But his reply astounded her.

  ‘Five hundred.’

  ‘Five hundred? I can’t rustle that up at the drop of a hat, and if I could, I wouldn’t. If it’s that serious, you’ll have to brave Oliver.’

  Henry said rapidly, ‘I don’t quite know how to say this, but I heard you talking to Dad once, soon after you were married.’ His face was scarlet. Nancy watched him in silence, wondering what was coming. ‘You were discussing Wills, because of the marriage and everything. And you said — I couldn’t help hearing — I was in the kitchen, and the hatch was open. You said as you’d no children of your own, you’d leave lump sums to Rose and me.’

  She recalled the conversation. Her proposal had been more to placate Oliver for her staying in London than out of affection for his offspring, who from the first had treated her with studied indifference.

  ‘So all I’m asking, really, is for my share now. I know it’s a cheek, but I — I thought perhaps you wouldn’t mind, since I need it so badly.’

  ‘Then you were mistaken,’ Nancy said crisply. His attempt to turn eavesdropping to advantage disgusted her and she’d lost all patience with him.

  ‘Nancy, for God’s sake — ‘

  ‘Not for anyone’s sake. You must speak to your father, but I’d advise you to wait till tomorrow. He’s enough on his plate at the moment.’

  Henry spun round and slammed out of the room. These bloody Pendricks! Now she’d antagonized another of them. Last month it had been Rose. As if it was her fault that stupid boy had fallen for her. Sympathy at Rose’s treatment of him was no licence for the wet kiss he’d planted on her mouth. It would have been laughable if Rose hadn’t come in on it, but the resulting charge of enticement was not pleasant.

  Rose at nineteen was a disturbing mix of femme fatale and little girl. Recently, the spoilt child had been uppermost, and she’d adopted an annoying air of ‘I know something you don’t know.’ Nancy hadn’t gratified her by showing curiosity, but she did wonder what revenge she proposed to take. And as if all that wasn’t enough, Danny’d shown up at the hotel. Was it any wonder she escaped to London?

  God! Was that the time? And the vol-au-vents still had to be filled. Dismissing her family and its problems, Nancy set to work.

  *

  Charlotte Yates, sipping her wine at the far end of the room, caught sight of Roger before he saw her, and smiled to herself. Dear Roger — how little he’d changed! He still had that worried small-boy look she had once found so endearing, and the lock of hair fell as it always had over his forehead. Even the hesitant manner and apologetic smile were the same.

  She felt a rush of warmth for him, embodying as he did the hopes and dreams of her youth; and the tragedies, too. It was to Roger she’d run when her guinea-pig died, just as, years later, she’d turned to him during her father’s last illness. And he in turn had confided in her all his ambitions for the future. What had gone wrong? Why, when as a mere formality he’d asked her to marry him, had she stunned them both by refusing?

  With an effort, Charlotte shook off her nostalgia. He should be grateful, she told herself briskly, that she had. The Honourable Faith de Courcy had done more for his career than she could, and Roger had always been ambitious. Now a Queen’s Counsel, his name appeared regularly in all the big murder trials. No doubt, she reflected ironically, that charming diffidence disarmed the opposition.

  He’d seen her now, and, his hand under Faith’s elbow, was coming towards her.

  ‘Charlotte, hello!’ She held out her cheek for his kiss. ‘Lovely to see you! How is everyone? Valerie still in Canada?’

  ‘Yes indeed. She hopes to come over next summer.’

  ‘Her daughter must be grown up now. What was her name?’

  ‘Hannah. She came back some years ago, and has a flat in Shillingham. In fact, I’m staying with her for the weekend.’

  Roger moved closer and lowered his voice. ‘Talking of old times, guess who I saw in the hall just now.’

  ‘Surprise me.’

  ‘Heather Jarvis. At least, Heather Jarvis that was.’

  ‘Really? Good Lord!’

  ‘I don’t think she recognized me. I never knew her well.’

  Faith spoke for the first time. ‘Wasn’t she engaged to Oliver, before he met Avis?’

  ‘When he met Avis,’ Roger corrected significantly.

  ‘Well, what’s so surprising? In London, one’s always coming across permutations of ex-husbands and wives.’ Charlotte said, ‘I thought Heather’d married some doctor and gone to live up north?’

  Nancy, approaching with a bottle of wine, refilled her glass. ‘Heather Frayne? Yes, she did, but they’ve moved back. Ivor Cudlip’s enlarging his practice and Peter applied. He wanted to come because his mother’s been ill. If you know Heather, do go and have a word with them. They don’t know many people yet.’

  Roger and Faith moved obediently away, but Charlotte lingered a moment. ‘Remember offering me your London flat for a weekend?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Any time.’

  ‘Would next weekend be convenient? I’d enjoy a look round the sales.’

  ‘Certainly. It’ll be free from Friday lunchtime. Remind me before you go and I’ll give you a key, in case we miss each other.’

  *

  Oliver too had seen the Fraynes and he braced himself to speak to them. He’d have preferred not to invite them at all, but with the Cudlips on the guest list, the omission would have been too pointed. And he’d only himself to blame if he was less than comfortable in Heather’s company.

  God, what a mess everything was! Avis dead, he and Nancy snapping at each other, and then, out of the blue, Heather of all people returning to Frecklemarsh. It was only now, seeing her after all these years, that he fully realized how badly he’d treated her. At the time, his passion for Avis had blinded him to everything.

  Well, it hadn’
t brought him much happiness. With hindsight he might have done better to stick with Heather and let his infatuation burn itself out. Still, it was water under the bridge now. He could only hope she’d found the happiness that eluded him. Across the room, he studied her husband, unimpressed by what he saw. Though good-looking enough, Frayne’s mouth had a petulant droop and he’d made short work of that first drink.

  With a carefully arranged smile on his face, Oliver went to greet them.

  *

  Rose looked ravishing tonight, Roger thought. There was a glitter about her that reminded him achingly of her mother, and the movement of her body under the tight dress was drawing male eyes from all round the room. Yet despite her beauty, he mourned the small girl she had been, laughing and pouting and winding him round her little finger.

  ‘Want Uncle to put me to bed!’ she’d say, and he’d smilingly comply. There’d be no shortage of volunteers now: he could only hope she’d be more circumspect than her mother in accommodating them.

  He walked over to her, leaving Faith with the local architect, and slipped an arm round her waist. ‘How’s my favourite girl?’

  She smiled at him, threading his arm through hers. ‘Come and dance!’

  The dining-area, its rugs removed, had been cleared for dancing, and Henry and his girlfriend were manning the record-player. Roger said facetiously, ‘I’m grateful you can spare time for elderly relatives!’

  ‘I’ve always time for you, Uncle. Anyway, I’m between men at the moment. It’s quite a relief.’

  ‘The chap in the corner looks ready to step in.’

  ‘Oh, I can’t be bothered with boys! Give me older men every time, even if they do get too intense.’

  Roger felt an obscure alarm. ‘Rose, you will be careful, won’t you? I don’t want you hurt, my darling.’