drank some tea. ‘Why Leonard?’
‘I don’t think he is happy. And I am sure that Felicity is not.’
‘Well, it’s probably her job. Always dealing with sick babies. It’s a wounding profession.’
‘She cures them.’
‘Sometimes, but not always. Not often, probably. She gets all the serious cases.’
‘It’s her marriage. Something wrong there. I feel it.’
Valerie shrugged. If Aunt Kay Zeman felt it, then she would go on feeling it, and nothing would shake her.
‘Do you think she’s got a lover?’
‘Really, Aunt Kay, I don’t know.’
‘And wouldn’t say if you did know,’ said Mrs Zeman in a not unamiable way. ‘I like loyalty in a woman.’
Val shrugged. So did she, but it was a hard commodity to come by. ‘Sex isn’t always the trouble.’
‘It mostly is. Think of that poor girl. Sex killed her.’
‘All right. I suppose it did. Being the wrong sex.’ Boys got killed too, of course, but not so often. Not nearly so often. And hardly ever by girls, usually by a member of their own sex.
‘So what do you think is the trouble with Leonard?’
She wasn’t going to give up, this was developing into what the family called ‘searching sessions’. Search being the operative word.
‘Do you think he’s got a lover?’
‘Why don’t you ask him?’
‘I did, and he just laughed. His father wouldn’t have laughed. I didn’t know what to make of it.’
‘I expect the answer is No, then,’ said Val, ‘and he just didn’t want to disappoint you.’
‘He’s very in with that theatre crowd,’ said Mrs Zeman broodingly. ‘And so are you. Get me tickets for their next production, will you? I don’t trust that Pinero woman. Got a roving eye.’
‘Oh, Aunt Kay,’ said Val. ‘People don’t talk that way any more.’
‘They act that way, though,’ retorted Katherine Zeman with grim pleasure.
Val took the two tea-trays through into the kitchen. Her tray with the china pot of Earl Grey tea from Fortnum’s and the thin coconut biscuits from the same shop, and Mrs Zeman’s large silver teapot of the best Darjeeling with the covered dish of hot tea-buns. They occasionally raided each other’s supply of eatables (there was a rich chocolate biscuit cake which they both liked) but never the teapots.
Through the open kitchen door Val could see down their garden to the garden across the way. The Annecks, that would be. Their lilac tree was in full bloom, a pleasure to behold, but in return the Zeman roses would presently be scenting the air for the Annecks.
On the skyline she could see the tower of St Luke’s old church, now called St Luke’s Mansions, where dwelt, among others, her friend Stella Pinero whose reputation she had just defended. There was a small Theatre Club in Feather Street of which she was secretary; all of them were Friends of the St Luke’s Theatre and got special rates for a season’s subscription.
She poured a bowl of tea and milk for Bob, the black and white dog; he liked Darjeeling, liked it weak and lukewarm. Now he tongued it up with great slurping noises, he was not a neat dog.
The telephone rang on the wall in the kitchen. All callers were well aware that Kay Zeman, wherever she was in the house, might grab an extension.
Val lifted the receiver. No, she couldn’t hear Aunt Kay’s breathing, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t there.
‘Hello?’
‘Leonard here. I want to talk. Is it all right?’
He meant who’s with you.
‘I’m in the kitchen on my own,’ said Val with caution.
‘The police have been questioning Tim about the Kinver girl. Her murder, that is. Asking how well he knew her, where he was that day and so on.’
Where had he been. Val wondered. ‘I expect they are going round all the girl’s friends,’ she said.
‘So I suppose.’
‘Who told you?’
‘Not Tim,’ said his father with feeling. ‘Mrs Anneck rang up. They had Peter in.’
‘Well, there you are then. The police are just doing the rounds.’
‘Don’t tell Mother. I don’t want her worried, her heart’s bad.’
Val sighed. ‘She’ll pick it up. She’s sending out signals like a TV station as it is. She might very well be listening now.’
‘About the murder?’
‘Not only that. She wonders if you have a lover.’ She held the receiver to her ear, listening carefully.
Leonard Zeman managed a laugh; he too had heard the sound of breathing. Mother had arrived. Where had she been until now? Probably cleaning her teeth after all that strong tea.
‘Or if Felicity has one, or even me. But she thinks I’m a failure there.’ Val did not mind repeating this; after all, it was no news to Mrs Zeman, whose breathing could be clearly heard now, and Leonard ought to know.
‘Tell her I’m sending her medicine round, will you? It’s a new tablet prescribed for her to try.’ Not by him, of course, but by one of his partners, he did not treat his own family. ‘See she takes the proper dose, will you?’
The conversation moved on to things medical which it was perfectly allowable for Mrs Zeman to overhear, and which, indeed, he was talking about so that she could.
He and Val had learnt plenty of tricks.
As she leant against the kitchen wall talking, Val could see Mary Anneck come out of her back door and walk down the garden path with her dog.
Mrs Anneck strolled down the paved way between the geraniums with her Jack Russell nipping at her heels. She was used to this, wore stout shoes and boots sometimes on purpose.
She knew she was right to have telephoned Leonard Zeman. She had the feeling that at a time like this they must stick together. The police had been in her house interviewing her elder son, Peter, her daughter, her daughter’s current boyfriend (although he hadn’t been that last week and might not be next, they changed so fast), and her young son Adrian. She supposed that they had to question all Anna’s friends, although it was hardly likely Adrian could be of much use to them since he was only twelve, but you never knew these days.
It was what you never knew that made her heart sink.
‘Be quiet,
