going last weekend.
Venetia hadn’t discussed her personal affairs with her in any detail. She had given Megan a brief, sketchy account of her marriage and divorce but had shown little inclination to dwell on the past. ‘She seemed to be just beginning to realize she was free,’ Megan said. ‘That she could live her life to suit herself. She felt all kinds of exciting possibilities were opening up.’
Megan didn’t know of any close woman friend Venetia might have had. ‘She didn’t seem to have many friends of any kind,’ she told them. ‘It can be difficult after a divorce.’
Kelsey asked if Venetia had appeared to have any problems, if she had spoken of any worries, but Megan shook her head. ‘Far from it. She seemed very pleased at the way her life was opening out. And she certainly didn’t seem short of money, she seemed able to buy what she wanted when she came over here. That last time, when I helped her to pick out the dresses, she never even looked at the price tag till she’d decided what she was having. Pretty expensive dresses they were too, but she didn’t turn a hair.’
The Chief showed her the scarf but she didn’t recognize it. She said at once that she couldn’t imagine Venetia owning or wearing it.
Venetia hadn’t discussed her relationship with her ex-husband and his second wife but from passing references Megan had gathered that the relationship was amicable enough. Venetia did once mention the way in which her marriage had ended. ‘She said Roy had grown more and more critical and pernickety but she didn’t let it bother her.’ Then one day, purely by chance, she had caught him out in a lie about where he’d been the evening before when he was supposed to be on a business call. She challenged him about it half-jokingly. He hesitated and then to her astonishment suddenly told her there was someone else and he wanted a divorce. As soon as Venetia got her breath back she told him that provided he could make acceptable arrangements for herself and the children she would offer no objection. ‘She burst out laughing when she was telling me about it,’ Megan added. ‘She said she couldn’t get the divorce fast enough–though she didn’t go out of her way to make that plain to Roy.’
‘Do you know if she thought of remarrying?’
Megan shook her head. ‘I’m certain it was the last thing in her mind.’
‘Do you know of any particular man friend?’
‘I’m sure she wasn’t in love with anyone. She did once mention someone, one day over lunch, some man who was keen to marry her. I gathered she’d been having an affair with him, it had started soon after the divorce. She wasn’t serious about him, she’d plunged into the affair without much thought, a reaction from the divorce. She was cooling off by the time she spoke to me about it. He was getting too possessive. She said she hadn’t cut herself free from one set of chains to let herself be tied up in another. She wanted fun and a good time, not dog-like devotion.’
‘Did she mention his name? Or anything else about him?’
‘She certainly never mentioned his name.’ She pondered. ‘The only thing I can remember her saying–and I don’t really think it meant anything–was when she stood up at the end of lunch to go over and get her coat. She pulled a face and said: “Could you really imagine me being married to a bank manager?” I didn’t get the impression he actually was a bank manager, I think she said that to give me an idea of the kind of person he was, the sort of life he led, conventional and respectable.’
‘She didn’t enlarge?’
‘No. She came back with her coat, said goodbye and went off home. She never talked about him again.’
‘Did you get the impression that she’d finished with him?’
Again she pondered. ‘No, I don’t believe she had. I think she saw him from time to time. I remember her saying he still had his uses.’
It was two-fifteen when the two men again walked in through the massive mahogany doors of the Allied Bank. Mr Colborn had still not returned. ‘He probably stayed late with the client,’ the assistant manager told them, ‘and then went out to lunch with him. If I can be of any further assistance . . .’
Kelsey asked if the bank had records of any payments Mrs Franklin might have made in recent weeks to clubs, bars, dating agencies, singles organizations and the like. A few minutes later the assistant told him that the account showed a payment made about a month ago to a singles club, and another payment a day or two later to a travel agent. Both these concerns were in Strettisham, a small town five miles away. As if, Kelsey reflected, Venetia had chosen to begin her forays at some little distance from her own doorstep.
When they left the bank the Chief told Lambert to drive to Springfield House on the chance that Colborn might have nipped off home after leaving his client, might have seized the chance to put his feet up for half an hour.
The Chief had never set foot inside Springfield House but he had been aware of its existence since his childhood. On his way to the library on Saturday mornings as a schoolboy he used to pass the house with its tall gates firmly closed, the drive rank with weeds, grass thrusting up through the circle of gravel before the house. The place had always seemed to him to have an air of mystery and romance, past grandeurs and faded splendours.
They reached the tree-lined road and Lambert turned the car in through the gates, standing open now, splendidly refurbished, the elegant black spears tipped with gold, glittering in the afternoon sun. A car was drawn up before the house, a blue Ford Orion.
Lambert’s third ring at the bell was answered by Colborn. He wore a dark business suit, he looked pale and weary. He didn’t appear surprised to see them–as if, Lambert thought, he was too tired to feel surprise about anything. Kelsey had come across him briefly at functions in the town but Colborn showed no sign of recognition. He stood in silence, looking at them.
The Chief introduced himself and explained that they had called in connection with the death of a customer of the bank, Mrs Venetia Franklin. Colborn listened with no expression on his face other than that of deep fatigue as Kelsey told him they had been to the bank and had been given details of Mrs Franklin’s account. ‘One or two questions arise,’ Kelsey added. ‘You might be able to help. We were passing the house, we took a chance you might be at home.’
‘I dropped in for a bite of lunch,’ Colborn said flatly. ‘I spent the morning at Holloway’s–Holloway’s Heating and Plumbing. He kept me later than I expected.’ He stepped aside for them to enter. ‘This is a terrible business about Mrs Franklin,’ he said as he closed the door. ‘Utterly beyond belief.’ He took them into his study and offered them drinks which they refused. He took a glass of whisky himself and sat cradling it. He seemed totally exhausted; his speech, movements and gestures were all profoundly lethargic. He displayed no impatience as he sat waiting for Kelsey to ask his questions, he stared down into his glass, his face drained, tinged with grey.
‘How long have you known Mrs Franklin?’ Kelsey began.
‘About two years.’ Still he sat gazing into his glass. ‘She came to us after her divorce. She wanted a different bank from her ex-husband.’ He glanced briefly at the Chief. ‘That’s very common.’
‘Had you known her before that?’
He moved his head. ‘Very vaguely. I’d come across her at some charity function in the town. I just knew her to stop and speak a word to.’
‘No more than that?’ Colborn shook his head in silence. He raised his glass and took a long drink.
‘After
