Benton Carlisle’s funeral took place on a sunny June morning. As was her custom, Isobel made all the arrangements for a private graveside service near the Carlisle plot at Brompton Cemetery, followed by a reception at the Carlisle house after the burial. Cat wouldn’t have found out about the funeral at all if it hadn’t been for Alicia Montrose, who telephoned Cat and told her of Isobel’s plans.
‘I’ve received a card in the mail with the details,’ Alicia said. ‘So Victorian, I couldn’t believe it. I can just see Isobel in black bombazine. I knew in an instant that it would be just like her to plan Benton’s funeral and not tell you about it. You must go, darling. They’ll talk otherwise. Just make an appearance. Jeremy will escort us. I’ll be right there with you – promise. No one will give you any trouble in front of me. Now, do you need to borrow something black? We’ll get you a new hat with a veil to cover your bruised eye. What time should I send the car for you?’ Cat left the details in Alicia’s capable hands, and Alicia came through with a proper suit in black tropical-weight wool, and a hat with a marvellous veil.
Now they were in the back of the promised car – Alicia, her husband Jeremy, and Cat – in their mourning clothes, on their way to the cemetery. Alicia scrutinised Cat’s black eye, now faded to a jaundiced shade of yellow. Cat wondered just how much Jeremy and Alicia knew about Benton’s death.
Jeremy Montrose worked as an architect at a successful firm with branches in London and Edinburgh, taking over as head of the firm when his father retired, after a long and illustrious career. He designed bridges, so his work took him all over the world. Alicia went with him when she could, but his travel gave Alicia a lot of time to herself. She claimed to treasure the freedom and confessed that time away from each other was the secret to a happy marriage.
Cat had always been amazed at the obvious love the two shared for each other. She and Alicia had conceived children at the same time, an event that had deepened the women’s budding friendship. While Cat and Alicia had spent week-long holidays at the Montroses’ house in Scotland, shopped for clothes, nursery furnishings, and an appropriate nanny when the time was right, Jeremy hovered in the background, ready to offer his not inconsiderable resources and – his most precious gift – his time. Now Alicia and Jeremy sat next to each other, holding hands like a newly married couple, still in love after all these years.
Jeremy smiled at Cat. ‘So I thought I’d give my condolences to Isobel and get the boys, if that’s all right with you, Alicia. They could do with some running at the park. I only hope I’m up to the task. You haven’t met the boys yet, Cat. They’re lovely children, but have a tendency to get a little wild when they are cooped up in my mother’s house. I figure I’ve got two hours before the crystal knickknacks she’s got scattered about fall into imminent peril.’
‘You think she’d have the sense to tuck them away when the boys come to visit, but she says she doesn’t care if the children break things,’ Alicia said. ‘They’ll be glad to get to the country, where they can run wild and play outside until they drop from exhaustion. And you, dear Catherine, can rest. I’m going to return you to London with roses on your cheeks and meat on your bones.’
Jeremy leaned over and kissed Alicia on the cheek. ‘I’ll leave you with the car and see you at the flat. I figure after time spent with Isobel you’ll both want to go have a drink and cry on each other’s shoulders.’
‘Thank you, darling,’ Alicia said.
‘I just need to get through this,’ Cat said. The limousine rolled to a stop behind a line of cars. Cat slid the black veil over her face. With Alicia on one arm and Cat on the other, Jeremy Montrose led the women along the path that wound through the ancient greying tombstones towards the Carlisle plot. There, near a freshly dug pile of earth, sat Benton’s elaborate casket, his murdered body inside.
The graveside service was indeed private. Six chairs had been arranged near the gravesite. Isobel sat in one. A matronly woman dressed in a utilitarian grey coat stood behind her. Cat wondered briefly if Isobel was under the care of a nurse. There was a sadness to Benton’s older sister. Despite her thick waist and solid arms, a frailty had come over her. Cat almost felt sorry for her, but the feeling vanished when Isobel took one look at her, rose from her seat, and stormed over to Cat, the matronly woman following on her heels.
‘You’ve no business here,’ Isobel hissed. ‘You murdered him. Can’t you stay away?’
‘Now, Isobel –’ Jeremy let go of Alicia’s arm and tried to situate himself between Catherine and Isobel.
‘Isobel,’ Lady Montrose said, ‘please. Mourn your brother today. For heaven’s sake, put your grudge away. After today, you and Cat never have to see each other again. Surely you can find some consolation in that.’
‘I’m sorry, Alicia, dear. Cat seems to have put you in the middle of our little family grievance. Never mind. I know that I can comport myself with dignity. I cannot speak for the other party.’ Isobel squeezed Alicia’s hand. ‘Please stay in touch with me after all of this is behind us, Alicia. You’re such a good friend.’
In the distance, the vicar headed towards the graveside, his white robes billowing out behind him.
‘There’s the vicar. Let’s be seated and think about Benton, shall we,’ Jeremy put a hand on Isobel’s back and guided her back to her chair. He sat down next to her, putting a comforting arm around her shoulders.
‘My God,’ Alicia said. ‘I had no idea things were that strained between the two of you. Has it always been like that?’
‘Since the day I walked into that house, although it has escalated in the past year or so. She wasn’t always so mean,’ Cat said. ‘Your husband is a saint, and so are you. I can’t imagine what she would have said if you two weren’t with me.’
Alicia smiled. ‘He truly is. Come on, darling. Let’s get this over with.’
***
Black limousines lined the street in front of the Carlisle house, while some motorcars stopped just long enough for the passengers to alight. The mourners came alone and in groups, a steady throng of people, clad in black, to pay their respects. A group of drivers – those who had been lucky enough to find a place to park – huddled across the street in the shade of the garden square trees, smoking cigarettes, waiting for their employers to return.
‘She’s hung black crepe on the door. How surprising,’ Alicia said. ‘Now, Catherine, darling, I want you to draw on that superior strength you possess in spades and keep your wits about you. They’ll all be gawking. The key is to give them nothing to gawk about. I am begging you not to do anything reckless.’
A uniformed butler whom Cat had never seen before held the door open for them. Stooped with age, he looked at them with rheumy eyes and offered a basket of black armbands to Jeremy. Jeremy took one and rolled it over the sleeve of his coat. Cat stepped into the hallway, grateful all of a sudden for the veil that hid her bruised eye. These people gossiped like a sewing circle. Cat’s black eye and bruised face would only add to the speculation.
The crowd was gathered in the drawing room, where the two sofas had been arranged across from each other. Isobel sat in the middle of one of them, like a queen on a throne. A dozen silver-framed photos of Benton sat on the table next to her. None of them depicted Cat. The woman who had been with her at the churchyard hovered nearby, an agency replacement for the support Marie had given all these years. The mourners would take turns sitting next to Isobel, offering condolences. Isobel would nod her head and say a few words before she dabbed her eyes and put on a brave face, a martyr to her own grief.
The heavy curtains had been drawn against the sunshine, but extra lamps had been brought in and all of them were lit, bathing the room in an artificial electric glow. Cat thought for a moment about what would happen if she threw open the curtains and raised the windows, so the sweet summer air could circulate in the stuffy room.
Uniformed maids circled the room with glasses of sherry and champagne. A drinks trolley, stocked with every type of liquor, a soda syphon, and a fresh bucket of ice rested along one wall. Friends of the family, many of whom Cat had never met, circled through the drawing room to Isobel. Those who didn’t sit next to her leaned over and paid their respects. Benton’s close friends, the Bradbury-Scotts, the Rothebys, the Symingtons, the Sykes family – including Freddy and his father – would in all probability stay until the booze ran dry.
When Cat and Alicia stepped into the drawing room, conversation stopped. A collective hush fell over the room as all eyes turned towards Cat. She felt the emotion – sympathy, loathing, and curiosity – of the crowd, tempered by Alicia and Jeremy, whose physical proximity to Cat was the conversational equivalent of a warning. No one would dare disrespect Cat while she was under the Montrose aegis.
‘Chin up, old thing,’ Alicia whispered.
Cat put one foot in front of the other, aware of Jeremy’s hand at her lower back.
Lady Bradbury-Scott and her husband, William, broke the ice.
‘Catherine, so good to see you.’ They both came up to her, air-kissed her cheek and made the requisite small talk. Cat faced them. ‘We were so surprised about all this. How are you holding up?’
Cat’s voice came out a whisper. ‘Very well, thank you. It’s been difficult.’ William and Jeremy stepped away from the women and huddled their heads together in quiet conversation.
Lady Bradbury-Scott leaned close to Cat and Alicia and whispered, ‘Isobel seems to be enjoying all the attention. We were just leaving, Catherine, but I’m glad we were able to see you. Please ring us. We’ll do lunch.’
Cat and Alicia watched as Lady Bradbury-Scott grabbed her husband’s elbow and steered him out of the house. They saw one of the drivers disengage from the group across the street and hurry towards the Bradbury-Scotts’ car.
‘I’ll never hear from her again,’ Cat said. ‘And I can honestly say that I’m not bothered by it.’
‘You shouldn’t be. I’ve always found her utterly tedious. All she talks about are her dogs and her grandchildren. But give it time, darling. You never know. Can I leave you alone long enough to get a drink?’
‘Of course,’ Cat said.
More people arrived, while just as many left. They circled through the house like visitors at a museum, surveying the artwork and the furniture. Cat nodded and said thank you to those who stopped to speak. Waiters wove through the crowd with bottles of champagne, refilling glasses. The conversation grew louder as more drinks were consumed. Cat looked around the room and thought that Benton would be happy to see his friends gathered in his memory. She wondered when her grief – if she had any – would surface.
She grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and watched as Freddy Sykes sat next to Isobel. He took her hand and leaned close, whispering in her ear. Isobel stiffened. She didn’t meet Freddy’s eyes. Instead she nodded. Freddy got up and walked out of the room. Cat positioned herself behind a group of men whom she recognised from Benton’s work, the perfect vantage point to keep an eye on Freddy. He went up the stairs, turning right at the top, towards Isobel’s suite. Isobel got up and walked to the back of the house, towards the stairs that led down to the kitchen. Cat set her champagne down, but rather than follow Isobel, she went up the stairs after Freddy Sykes.
Cat didn’t want to run into Freddy on her own. She was in no mood for a confrontation with him. Not on the day for mourning Benton. At the top of the stairs, she turned left and went to her room. The door was shut. She pushed it open and went in. All traces of her were gone. The furniture had been taken away, along with the rug that had covered the floor. The curtains had been taken down; the window was open as far as it could be. The only furniture in the room were two chairs. Sergeant Perkins sat in one of them.
‘Mrs Carlisle. What are you doing up here?’ He jumped up, startled. The chair he was sitting in tipped over and crashed onto the floor. He walked over to the door, opened it, and peered into the hallway. ‘Did anyone see you come up here?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Cat said. ‘What’s going on? What are you doing up here?’
Sergeant Perkins shook his head. ‘Not at liberty to discuss this with you, ma’am. I need you to go back downstairs. Now.’
‘Of course.’ Cat hurried downstairs. Were they going to arrest Freddy Sykes? Whatever the police were doing, Isobel was involved. She went downstairs, just in time to find Alicia and Jeremy at the front door.
‘There you are,’ Alicia said. She squinted her eyes at Cat. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing,’ Cat said. ‘When can we leave?’
‘As soon as I say my goodbyes to Isobel. I’ll say them for both of us, shall I? Jeremy’s just off now.’
‘My social obligation has been fulfilled. Wild children await,’ he said.
‘Thank you, Jeremy,’ Cat said.
‘Glad to be of service.’ Jeremy waved and left them.
‘Now where has Isobel gone?’ Alicia and Cat stood in the hallway, surveying the crowd in the drawing room. Cat scanned the room. Isobel was nowhere to be seen.
‘I saw her head towards the kitchen a few minutes ago. Must you say goodbye?’ The crowd was getting progressively more inebriated. Before too long, someone would start making speeches about Benton’s good character. It would be difficult to leave once the speeches started.
‘Of course, we can. I’m ready –’ Alicia stared at the stairs. Freddy Sykes walked down them, his hands in cuffs. Sergeant Perkins was in front of him, while another police officer walked behind. Isobel stood at the top of the stairs, her hand resting on the bannister, hidden in the shadows as Freddy sauntered down the stairs, an insouciant smile on his face, as if the whole thing were a game.
Now the conversation really did come to a stop, as all eyes focused on Freddy. People came from the drawing room to witness the spectacle on the stairs. They stood watching, mouths agape, embarrassed but unable to look away. Freddy’s father moved to the bottom of the stairs. He faced off with Sergeant Perkins.
‘What’s the meaning of this? Freddy? What’s happened?’
‘Your son’s under arrest, sir. Now step out of my way,’ Sergeant Perkins said.
‘I’ll not step out of your way. I demand you take those cuffs off him. This instant.’ Frederick Sykes, Sr., was an irascible man with a mean temper. Cat, who had spent a laborious evening next to him at a dinner, found him very stupid. She’d expressed this to Benton once – back when they were close – and he’d agreed with her.
‘Step aside, sir, or I’ll remove you myself.’ Sergeant Perkins stood on the last step, and looked down at Mr Sykes.
‘Hit him, sergeant. The bastard deserves it,’ Freddy said.
Freddy’s father stepped away. ‘Don’t look to me for help, Freddy. I’m finished with you. As God is my witness, I wash my hands of you.’
‘Of course you’ll help me, Father. You see, I’ve been blackmailing Isobel Carlisle.’ Freddy’s voice echoed through the crowd, as clear as if he spoke into a microphone. ‘I’m going to insist on my day in court.’
‘Frederick –’
‘No, Father. I’m going to shine the light on everyone’s antics. The newspapers are going to love me! Imagine how scandalised everyone will be when they discover that Isobel Carlisle is a lesbian, who’s been carrying on an affair with her secretary all these years.’ Freddy laughed, a high wheezing sound that caused his father to recoil. ‘Better be careful, Father. Who knows what I’ll tell them about you.’
Mr Sykes turned on his heel and walked out the front door, slamming it behind him.
‘Let’s go, Sergeant Perkins,’ Freddy said. ‘My cell awaits.’
The silence that followed Freddy pulsed with a life of its own, as though everyone who watched him walk down the stairs and out the front door were breathing in the same rhythm, in and out, one heartbeat. When they had finally gone, the mourners looked at each, incredulous and full of questions.
‘Someone refill these glasses,’ a voice called out. As if on cue, the talking started at once, the air thick with speculation and astonishment.
‘I need a drink. So do you,’ Alicia said. She grabbed two clean champagne glasses off the sideboard and hurried after the waiter.
Cat watched as Isobel turned and walked towards her bedroom, her guests forgotten. Without thinking, Cat hurried up after her. Isobel walked slowly to her room, unaware that she had been followed, and shut the door. Cat pushed it open and stepped into Isobel’s room. Thick carpets covered the old wood. The room was filled with the finest antiques in the house. Isobel’s living suite held a Chippendale mahogany sofa with a shell carved back and matching chairs. A writing desk was situated under the window. A Tiffany lamp sat on top of it, providing the only light in the room. Isobel stood with her back to the desk.
‘Why have you come in here? I’m humiliated, Catherine. That should please you.’
‘How can you say that?’ Cat said. ‘I’ve never wanted to see you hurt. I’m not the one with the hatred here, Isobel.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Marie’s gone; Benton’s gone.’
‘She loves you,’ Cat said. ‘She wanted me to tell you that. She said that she tried to make things right. She had her reasons for doing what she did. In some ways she was very brave. Will you go and see her?’
‘How dare you speak to me of Marie’s love. How dare you try to ingratiate yourself into our relationship.’ Isobel looked at Cat, her face filled with deep-seated pain. The anguish flooded out of her pores. ‘Look what you’ve reduced me to, Catherine. You’ve ruined this family.’
‘My God, you killed him didn’t you? Did you kill Benton?’
The self-righteous indignation that had propped Isobel Carlisle up for a lifetime slipped away. Her spine went soft. She shrank before Cat’s eyes. ‘This is all because of you, Catherine. You’ve ruined my life. I’ve lost everything I love, and it’s all because of you.’
Isobel moved over to the sofa. She stared at Cat with a blank look in her eyes. Her skin blanched to the colour of sour milk. A sheen of sweat glistened on her face. Is she having a heart attack? Cat moved towards her.
Isobel got to the sofa just as her knees buckled. She sat, gasping for breath.
‘Why don’t you leave England, go somewhere like America? Get away from all this. You can have a quiet life, Isobel, pick yourself up, start over.’
‘I didn’t ask for your advice, Catherine. Now get out of my room. Get out of this house. I can hardly stand the sight of you.’
‘Very well,’ Cat said. She opened the door and was about to step out. ‘I’d tell you to go to hell, Isobel, but you’re already there.’
***
Cat slept in the next morning. Alicia had taken her to tea at the Ritz. They’d arrived during a lull and took their time over sandwiches and cakes. Alicia had insisted on champagne, after which they consumed pots of tea and enough food to soak up the alcohol.
Cat awoke with a splitting headache and a grumbling stomach. She dressed and went downstairs to discover a note on the table in the hallway. ‘Gone to M. Tussauds.’ Cat smiled in spite of herself. Annie had been eager to see a wax replica of Wallis Simpson. Aunt Lydia had pretended to be indifferent, but Cat had caught her looking at the advert in the times.
She made herself a pot of tea and a rack of toast and had just sat down to eat, when a police car pulled up to the kerb. Sergeant Perkins and another man, shorter and wearing a fine suit, got out of the car. Cat opened the door and waited while the two men walked up the path.
‘Good morning, Sergeant Perkins,’ Cat said. She pointed to the living room.
‘Ma’am.’ Sergeant Perkins and the other man took of their hats.
‘Chief Inspector Bellerose,’ the shorter man said.
‘Tea? I’ll just get cups.’
‘No need, Mrs Carlisle,’ Chief Inspector Bellerose said. ‘We won’t be staying long. We’ve just come to tell you that things have been resolved. Isobel Carlisle confessed to murdering her brother.’
‘What? Confessed?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t believe it.’
The chief inspector stared at her, as if deciding what to tell her.
‘She’s dead, Mrs Carlisle. Overdosed on sleeping pills. She left a note. Freddy Sykes was blackmailing her. It seems that he had been getting money from her for ages. Got the bulk of her savings. When she told him that she didn’t have any more money to give, he told her to ask her brother. Benton refused to pay. She said it was an accident. She argued with her brother. She pushed him; he fell and struck his head.’
‘This is unbelievable.’ Cat set her teacup down on the tray.
‘Will you be all right, Mrs Carlisle? Is your aunt here?’
‘No one’s here. She and Annie are seeing the wax figure of Wallis Simpson.’ Cat looked at Chief Inspector Bellerose. ‘What should I do?’
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘She left specific instructions in her very detailed note about what to do with her remains. You’ll need to deal with the house, but that can wait. I hope you don’t find me impertinent, Mrs Carlisle, but if I were you, I’d take your family and go on a nice long holiday.’
‘We’re going to Scotland,’ Cat said. ‘We’re leaving next week. Who knows, we may stay there for an extended period of time.’
She walked the policemen out to their car. After they left, Cat shut the door and locked it. Something whirled in her very being. It wasn’t physical, but a rearranging of her heart and soul. Benton was gone. Isobel was gone. All the things that had caused her pain had been removed from her life, like a malignant tumour. An avalanche of grief released into her body. It flowed like a gushing river, a force so strong it knocked Cat to her knees. She leaned against the door as she slid to the ground. Cleansing grief pulsed through her veins.
Years gone by, the death of her parents, her marriage, her unborn children, the death of her husband, her life, reduced to nothing. She bent over and clutched her stomach. The numbness pushed through and faded, leaving Cat with all the feelings she had supressed. Something snapped in her. She wept.