The Temptation Read online

  Nancy clasped her hands together, like a small child saying bedtime prayers. ‘Sam … is a … homosexual. There I’ve said it.’ A shiver ran down her body from her shoulders to her small feet.

  She didn’t know what to say. Was this true? Was Nancy sure? Sam was married … not that that meant he couldn’t have relationship with men, but what about Clara? Had she only recently discovered this? Was that why she wanted to get rid of him? That is, if Nancy was right.

  ‘When did you find out Sam was homosexual?’

  Nancy wouldn’t meet her eyes. ‘It was just after I married. James, he told me. Sam, before he went to university, used to visit us regularly, at our new home. He worshipped James, I’m sure that’s why he read medicine. I could see James became uncomfortable with Sam coming round so often, and he started to go out of the room and leave me with him.’ She took a sip of whisky. ‘I was cross, I thought James was rude, and I could see Sam was upset. One day after Sam went home I told James what I thought of him.’

  Nancy was calm as she told her story. It had the ring of truth. This was far more complicated, and interesting, than Laurel had expected. ‘James told you of his suspicions?’

  ‘It was more than suspicions; he had proof.’

  She calculated the date of the revelation. ‘This was before the law changed, wasn’t it? When homosexual relationships were illegal?’

  Nancy nodded. ‘When James told me I was furious; I couldn’t conceive such a thing. I knew nothing of homosexuals, apart from them being the butt of dirty jokes and ghastly court cases in The News of the World.’

  ‘But James persuaded you it was true?’

  Nancy sighed. ‘Partly, but I wasn’t convinced. James was worried for Sam; he knew Sam wanted to make a career in medicine, and if his sexuality was exposed, that would be the end of that. He made me aware many prominent men were homosexuals, most, if they were discreet, were able to lead successful lives, but sometimes loneliness and a need for sex, love or both, drove them to reckless actions, and blackmail and exposure sometimes followed. He wanted to make sure Sam knew about this, but he didn’t feel it was right for him to talk to him.’

  ‘You said James had proof. Can you tell me what it was?’

  ‘Sam wrote him a love letter. He asked James not to tell me. He didn’t show it to me, said he’d destroyed it and he’d told Sam never to write anything like that again. He didn’t think Sam had … done anything, with anyone, but he wanted me to talk to him.’

  She leant back in her chair. What a difficult situation for a young, naïve bride.

  ‘Do you know any homosexuals, Laurel?’ Nancy asked hopefully. ‘They’re not all depraved, are they?’

  She laughed. ‘No more than any other person. I’m sure some are horrible, but so are some people who society would call normal. Yes. I’ve met a few, lesbian couples in both cases: two teachers, and a couple who ran a pub. Couldn’t ask for nicer people, and the teachers weren’t interested in young girls, they were in love with each other. Also, when I was a student, one friend, Tony, was gay.’

  ‘Gay? What does that mean?’

  Laurel bit her lip; of course, Nancy mustn’t know what it meant nowadays. ‘It’s another word for homosexuals, usually men. They prefer to be called gays than homos or other derogatory words.’

  Nancy sighed. ‘What a shame, such a nice word.’ She shook her head. ‘Go on, dear.’

  ‘We often went out drinking together; it was relaxing knowing he wasn’t interested in me as a woman, and I think he felt the same. Mind you I could always tell if a manly dish came into a pub as his pupils dilated.’

  Nancy laughed. ‘So this doesn’t disgust you? You aren’t put off by what I’ve told you?’

  ‘No, I’m interested. Did you talk to Sam?’

  Nancy took a long, deep breath. ‘Yes, I finally summoned up the courage. I told Sam how much I loved him and hoped he wouldn’t be offended. My greatest fear was he’d hate me and we’d lose each other.’ She clasped her hands again. ‘He cried. He’d been afraid James would tell me and I’d hate him. I told him we both loved him and wanted to help and support him. I explained everything James told me.’ She sat in silence, a few tears tracking down her cheeks. She pulled a handkerchief from her trews pocket and wiped them away.

  ‘Did you and Sam remain close?’

  ‘Yes, but it was never quite the same. The next year he went to university in London. He promised me he’d be careful; said he’d never run the risk of anyone finding out.’

  ‘When did he marry?’

  ‘He was thirty-eight and well established in Harley Street. He came home specially to tell me. When he said he was getting married I thought something had happened to him, a miracle, he was normal, I wouldn’t have to worry about him. But before I could tell him how happy I was he was cured, he told me Clara knew he was a homosexual, but was happy to marry him for the status and wealth he’d provide. It wasn’t a real marriage.’

  Laurel raised her eyebrows. She didn’t know what she been expecting to hear from Nancy but this tale got more complicated and unbelievable by the minute. ‘So Clara provided a cover? Do you think Sam had relationships with men?’

  Nancy looked at her, her brown eyes dull with pain. ‘Yes, I’m sure he did. I think he liked Clara and they shared several interests. Both loved music, it was one of the reasons for returning to Aldeburgh: the music festival and he adores Benjamin Britten. She enjoyed running their house and mixing with his colleagues. I don’t think she’s interested in sex, so the marriage suited her.’

  ‘Then why do you think she’s trying to kill him? As his widow, she wouldn’t have as much clout. What’s convinced you she’s going to murder him?’

  Nancy hung her head. ‘Sam’s ill. He hasn’t told me what’s the matter, but I think it’s serious. The last time I saw him he said he needed to talk to me alone. He needed to tell me something.

  ‘I think Clara overheard him and since that day I haven’t been able to see him. She makes excuses: he’s too ill, he’s out, he doesn’t want to speak to me. Lately when I phone I can’t get through. I’m afraid I’ll never see him alive again.’

  Laurel turned and waved goodbye to Nancy, who was standing on her doorstep, trying to look cheerful. What was she to make of what she’d heard? Thoughts were sliding round her brain like returning elvers to their home river; too many thoughts and not in much order. Her mouth was dry from the whisky, as if she’d sucked on a lemon halfway through a hockey match.

  On her way to her car, near the Moot Hall, she walked up the High Street to see what was on at the cinema. The Misses Smith’s tearooms were open and as, in the excitement of Nancy’s revelations, she’d forgotten to buy a pasty, she decided this was the next best thing… The chimes of a bell vibrating on a copper coil summoned one of the Miss Smiths from the kitchen. Laurel was placed at a table near the window; she was the only customer. While she waited for her pot of tea and plate of cakes to appear, she made notes on the meeting with Nancy. Some of what she’d heard rang true: Sam’s homosexuality, Clara’s willingness to marry him in exchange for status and money, but Clara trying to kill Sam? Why would she want to do that? This was the part of Nancy’s story she found hard to swallow.

  A waitress, complete with lace-edged apron, placed cup, saucer, teapot, hot water and a milk jug on the table; Laurel chose a chocolate éclair and a piece of ginger cake. She needed a sugar boost. What would the others think of this case? Would they want to take it on? Dorothy would want to help Nancy, and Laurel wanted to find out more about Sam and Clara. Tomorrow morning the team were meeting to discuss new cases and those in progress; she wanted to take Nancy’s case further and hoped the rest of the team would agree.

  Laurel sipped her tea, the astringent brew washing away the metallic taste in her mouth. How much her life had changed in six months. Then she was a new member of the teaching staff of Blackfriars School: the Senior Mistress. Now she was a partner in a detective agency, the other partners people who�
��d either been police officers or who worked at the school. Frank, a detective inspector leading a murder case, Stuart his sergeant, Dorothy the school secretary and Mabel the school cook. Now they were a team, using Dorothy’s house in Dunwich not only as their base, but as living quarters for Dorothy, Mabel and herself, Stuart to follow, when and if he and Mabel married. Frank, wanting some independence, stayed at his cottage on the cliffs overlooking Minsmere beach.

  What would have happened if Dorothy, Stuart and Mabel hadn’t made their offer to be part of the partnership she and Frank had formed?

  Laurel poured hot water into the teapot. So far it had worked well: Stuart was the third detective, so they could take on more cases; Dorothy looked after all the paperwork, freeing more time for investigations and Mable cooked, shopped and took care of them. The only fly in the ointment was Mabel didn’t seem too keen to name a date for the marriage, and this was making Stuart miserable. They were such a good team, friends as well as colleagues; she didn’t like to think what would happen if the team split up.

  Chapter 5

  Tuesday, March 9, 1971

  Frank drove between the open, wrought-iron gates, decorated with silhouettes of hooded monks, and parked in front of the round pond with its central dolphin burping spouts of water. Greyfriars House, the beating centre of Anglian Detective Agency. He shook his head and smiled. He must talk to Dorothy and ask her if the agency could pay to have the fountain restored to its original efficiency. She’d already updated several parts of the house: an outer scullery had morphed into a darkroom and the spacious dining room was turned into an office, with four desks, each with its own telephone. The largest desk was hers with a new electric typewriter, and nearby a Xerox duplicating machine, and all the other up-to-date accoutrements needed by an efficient secretary. The dining table doubled as a conference point for their weekly meetings, as well as formal meals.

  Today Dorothy would have laid each place not with cutlery, but blotting paper, pencils, sheets of foolscap and duplicated notes for the meeting. She’d put every scrap of her formidable energy into easing the jobs of the three detectives and making Greyfriars into a hub of efficiency. The work helped her to cope with the recent loss of her sister, Emily.

  Was it only last September when everything had come to a head? He didn’t regret resigning from the police, not one bit, especially when Stuart had joined him after his retirement. Two policemen, an ex-Senior Mistress, a school secretary and the school cook. What a combination. He shook his head again. A good team. There’d been a few mistakes, not many and non-serious, also a few successes. Finding Amy Frame’s teenage daughter when she’d run away, and the recovery of stolen antique jewellery; both those cases had been satisfying. What would the morning’s meeting throw up? He hoped the team would support his proposal to carry on with the Pemberton case, they’d have to – he’d promised Carol he’d look for David.

  Carol. He’d never been keen on the name Carol, until now. Suddenly it seemed a charming name. He remembered following her up the staircase, the tightening of his jaws, the difficulty of breathing normally, and the realisation of the effect she was having on him. He desired her. Usually his desires were followed by boredom and the need to escape from the relationship. You’re not a good person, Frank Xavier Diamond, he thought, echoing his mother’s frequent chides. He’d have to be careful not to allow his carnal feelings to show: was Carol the kind of woman who’d enjoy being ogled? Perhaps, but Adam Pemberton might kick him off the case if he thought he’d taken a shine to his wife.

  Something delicious was being cooked in the kitchen; there were aromatic smells of baking fruit and pastry: Mabel was getting ready for their coffee break. In the boardroom/dining room Stuart Elderkin was already seated at the table, his loaded pipe ready beside the blotting paper in front of him, his well-built frame comfortable in the elm captain’s chair with its broad seat and encircling arms. Dorothy was placing a financial report on each of the blotters.

  ‘Morning, Frank,’ Stuart said, ‘any luck with the missing boy case?’

  Dorothy looked up, her spectacles on the end of her nose. ‘I’ve got a suggestion to make on that one, if we take it on.’

  ‘Good morning. I think you’ll both be interested. Where’s Laurel?’

  ‘She went out for a run, and needed a shower. Here she is. I can hear her coming down the stairs,’ Dorothy said.

  The dining room door swung open and Laurel, red-faced, her damp hair pulled back in a pony-tail, burst into the room. ‘Hello, Frank. That blew the cobwebs away, it’s still chilly but good for running.’ She pulled a chair up to the table.

  Frank smiled inwardly as he contrasted Laurel, her tall frame clad in a navy sweater and cords, to the elegance of Carol. Every time he saw Laurel he was bowled over by her: attractive, with long blonde hair, just under six feet tall, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Her build, courage and intelligence had been more than a match for Nicholson, but it had been a close call. She could have been the last of a long line of his victims.

  ‘I’ll get Mabel,’ Stuart said.

  He raised his eyebrows at Laurel. She screwed her nose up, as if to say, ‘Don’t ask me.’

  The first two items on the agenda were quickly dealt with: a financial statement and plans for a second bathroom and the conversion of a smaller room to be used for interviewing clients. All were passed.

  ‘These are very reasonable quotes, Dorothy,’ Frank said.

  ‘Dirt cheap, if you ask me,’ Mabel said.

  Stuart laughed heartily, too heartily.

  Dorothy tapped her nose, looking pleased with herself. ‘Local contacts, member of the church. Well, Frank, you’re item three. The floor is yours.’

  He consulted his notebook and told them everything he’d discovered at the Pemberton’s house, except he didn’t mention how beautiful Carol was. ‘I found this envelope taped under the bed. I removed it without asking permission.’ He also didn’t tell them there was one drawing he hadn’t brought with him. It remained in his cottage. Why didn’t he want to show it to them? He wasn’t sure himself.

  ‘Not lost your old habits, I see,’ Stuart said.

  ‘Old bad habits,’ Laurel said, shaking her head in mock horror.

  He shrugged. ‘Finding David is more important than playing with a straight bat. The boy hid them for a reason. He didn’t want his parents to see the contents. I may have to return them.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we put on gloves, or something?’ Mabel asked.

  ‘Paper doesn’t take prints, love,’ Stuart replied.

  They leant forward, faces eager, intrigued, wanting to see what was in the envelope. God, I love this job, thought Frank.

  ‘The envelope contains drawings by David of different people. I’ll pass the drawings round without making comments and then when we’ve seen all of them, I’ll tell you who’s who. Some of the drawings are of people I don’t know, but I think we can make guesses at this point. The format varies: some are only faces, others, head and shoulders and there are a few full-length sketches.’

  He opened the envelope and carefully pulled out the drawings. He passed the first drawing to Laurel, watching her face as she studied the picture. Bubbles of oxygen seemed to rush through his brain. His heartbeat quickened as he looked at the drawings again.

  Nothing was hidden, David had drawn these people as though their thoughts were laid bare on their faces for all to see; their characters revealed: goodness and evil, generosity and greed, lust and innocence. Frank leant back in his seat, waiting for the team to absorb the details. He was sure he’d hit the mother lode. David’s disappearance must have something to do with these drawings.

  The last drawing completed the circuit. Laurel was frowning, blinking her eyes; Stuart Elderkin tamped down tobacco in his pipe and lit a match; Dorothy was shaking her head as she reached for her packet of cigarettes and Mabel’s eyes were filled with tears.

  ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this,’ she said.

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nbsp; Stuart reached for her hand. She pushed his away.

  Frank pretended he hadn’t noticed. ‘I’ll take you through the drawings of the people I know.’ He placed the drawing of Carol in the centre of the table. ‘This is Carol Pemberton, David’s mother.’ He’d captured her beauty but the face that stared at them from the paper was not the face he’d seen yesterday. The eyes were wide, staring, making her look as though she suffered from an over active thyroid. Her black hair was loose, floating round her head in an electrified cloud and her lips were drawn back showing small teeth. She looked terrified, or possibly …? He thought of the drawing he’d kept back. He hoped it wasn’t true.

  ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t read too much into this, it could be the product of the vivid imagination of an adolescent boy. Mrs Pemberton, though upset at times, was calm and reasonable when I interviewed her,’ he said.

  ‘Is she as beautiful as this?’ Laurel asked.

  ‘It does her justice,’ he replied. He moved on to details of his interview with her.

  He placed the second drawing by the side of the first. ‘This is Adam Pemberton, the father, another fantastic likeness.’ The lugubrious face with its down-turned mouth was perfectly caught, but at the corner of each eye a tear was forming. The stiff Englishman was made human by the slightest touch of a pencil. The boy had shown his father’s deep sadness. He told them what he’d learnt about Adam. Why is Adam so sad? Was it because of David’s inability to read and write, or the state of his wife’s mind?

  He took another drawing and laid it on the table. ‘This is Miss Ann Fenner, the housekeeper.’ He explained he’d only seen her briefly and she hadn’t made a deep impression on him. She’d been polite, efficient in making and bringing in the coffee, but had shown no emotion, or curiosity about his visit. He tapped the drawing. ‘She looks quite different here.’ She was smiling, laughter lines creasing the skin round her eyes and mouth, her head tilted back showing a strong, long neck.

  ‘It looks like David related to her, someone he trusted, someone who liked him and who he liked back,’ Laurel said.