Grave Matters Read Free Page B

car drawn up outside the pub.
    ‘Hra. Nice car. Wish I could run to one. I have to use a pick-up for the market-garden. My wife has a mini. We use that on smart occasions.’
    ‘A red one?’ Patrick asked, warily.
    ‘No, mustard-coloured. Why? Did you meet a red one in the lane?’
    ‘Yes.’ Patrick said no more but drank deeply from his tankard.
    ‘Going rather fast, eh?’ said the other man, and Patrick nodded. His new friend chuckled.
    ‘She’s not a real native of Meldsmead, though she may become a permanent fixture,’ he said. ‘I say,’ he called out to the pair remaining by the window. ‘Someone else has met our Valerie in the lane and managed to survive.’ He added to Patrick, ‘George Kent there met her bonnet to bonnet last weekend. A narrow miss, he had, ha, ha! Miss Valerie,’ he added, in case anyone had not got the point of his quip.
    The crack provoked satisfactory mirth, and on its wave Patrick found himself included in the group. He supplied his own name, and learned that his sponsor was Denis Bradshaw. The third man was Paul Newton.
    Patrick had been alerted at the mention of Valerie. From what had been said it seemed that the wild driver he had met might be Miss Amelia Brinton’s niece. The other men were continuing to talk about her.
    ‘Is she going to stay on here, George?’ Denis asked.
    George Kent was a red-faced man with bright blue eyes. He looked cheerful.
    ‘I don’t think she’s decided yet,’ he said.
    ‘The lady Jehu you met has just inherited a cottage in the village,’ Denis explained. ‘It belonged to her aunt, an odd old woman, very brainy, but nice with it, if you know what I mean. It’s down one of the dead-end lanes up there.’ He gestured in the direction of that part of the village where Patrick had not yet been. ‘The old girl died about a month ago, rather suddenly. Some sort of accident. Fell down some steps in Greece.’
    Patrick did not want to let a web of deceit accumulate.
    ‘Was that Miss Amelia Brinton?’ he asked.
    ‘That’s right. Had you heard about it? There was a bit in some of the papers. Turned out the old girl was rather well known in her day. Had a famous father, it seems.’
    ‘And the niece?’ Patrick prompted.
    ‘She’s inherited the lot. Not that there’s much except the cottage, I don’t suppose, and it’s in pretty poor nick. Every wall smothered in books, I should think that’s what holds it together, stops the walls falling down. Isn’t that right, Paul?’
    Paul Newton took his pipe from his mouth.
    ‘There’s something in what you say, Denis, as always. But I think the cottage is sounder than you imply. It’s been standing a good few years now.’
    ‘It’s old, is it?’ Patrick asked.
    ‘Yes – beamed and thatched,’ said Denis. ‘Too quaint for Valerie, I’d guess.’
    ‘You hope, you mean,’ grinned George Kent. ‘You don’t want to risk your neck every time you go down the village street.’
    ‘It’ll be too quiet here for Valerie,’ Denis said in a hopeful voice. ‘Anyway, she’d only use the cottage for weekends. She’s got some very high-powered job in London,’ he told Patrick.
    ‘Can’t you commute from here?’ Patrick asked.
    ‘Easily,’ said George. ‘I do.’ He finished his beer and glanced at his watch. ‘Well, I must be off now or Winifred will be after me.’
    He left them, and through the window Patrick could see him walking briskly down the lane.
    ‘George doesn’t spend long in here these days,’ said Denis. ‘He’s got a pretty new wife – plump, you know, but comely, like the poet said.’
    Patrick had a feeling he was really quoting the Bible and had got his adjectives confused, but kept silent.
    ‘His second,’ added Denis. ‘Can’t neglect her.’
    ‘Here comes Valerie again,’ said Paul Newton, who seemed content to remain in the conversational background. ‘Hope George hears her coming.’
    They watched the red mini skelter past; it sped on and then