Murder At Snowfall, page 8
“Have you seen Oskar?” I ask, hoping it makes us seem a whole lot less dodgy.
She shakes her head. “No, not for days.” We still knock on the door, but it’s no surprise when he doesn’t answer, and although I’m prepared to break into a garage, I’m not prepared to break into a house.
“Perhaps he did do the embezzling, but not the murdering, and he’s gone on a cruise or something?”
That’s as far as we get before the wedding panic takes over and that’s mostly to do with clothes. Lucas is going to have to wear a suit, and from the expression on his face it’s obviously a form of torture, and after she’s bought me a new skirt to wear, Mum makes me have a haircut. The woman who trims it is really kind and she does these long cool curls and makes it all sleek and it seems a shame to sleep on it really.
We visit Granny to show her our outfits and I take the opportunity to hide the tooth in Mum’s flowery bedroom. It really does seem the safest place.
On the day of the wedding it starts to snow and Jacqui rings to say that her son Anthony is doing a shuttle to and from the house if we don’t want to drive. Paolo scoffs and says that in Italy he’s used to driving on the snow but Mum points out that he has snow tyres there and there aren’t any stupid English drivers on the road who don’t know what they’re doing.
Still, as Lucas says, the snow would barely fill an egg cup. Paolo collects Granny, who is wearing a rather lovely cherry velvet jacket that she says she bought in the 1960s. She looks incredibly cool. She puts Mum in a total tizz by making her go and change her outfit, all the while sitting on the sofa and eating biscuits.
“I need to get there early,” says Mum. “I said I would.”
The tension rises until we’re ready to go and we all pile in the car. It’s eleven thirty. Mia will be sitting down in Maths. I should be there too, but – weddings.
“Is Jacqui going to go on working at the surgery?” asks Granny as we head down the main road, snow slinging itself at the windscreen in white zigzag lines.
“Going to move to the Frome one,” says Mum.
“Ah,” says Granny. “You’ll miss her.”
“I will,” says Mum, staring out of the window.
We reach the main gates of Darkwood House. “Never been through these,” says Paolo. Darkwood is a safari park, and there are lots of signs to another set of gates for the visitors. This is the private entrance, hidden in the trees with an imposing pair of iron gates topped with snow-dusted lions.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” says Mum. She jumps out, presses a button and talks to a disembodied voice. The gates swing wide and we trundle along the drive.
“Very nice,” says Granny, wedged between me and the window.
The drive seems to go on forever but then we break over a hill and framed between two groups of trees stands the house. I’ve been before, of course I have, but never in the snow. It’s so beautiful.
“Wow!” breathes Mum. She’s right. It’s totally picture postcard, the tall house, lights in every window, welcoming us in from the snow. Although there are one or two things in the landscape that aren’t quite picture postcard: a herd of ostriches and a couple of wildebeest.
In the distance a figure in a high-vis jacket slightly spoils the effect of Victorian Christmas, but we head towards him and he points us to another pair of gates. “We’re getting to go into the inner sanctum,” says Granny. We drive over a cattle grid into a modest car park – only big enough for a hundred cars or so.
As Mum gets out, Paolo springs from the driver’s seat, whips open an umbrella and holds the door for Granny. Lucas lets out a long sigh.
“I suppose we go in there?” says Granny, marching towards a door up a couple of steps. Paolo runs alongside and we follow. The door is miraculously opened by a man dressed in a tailcoat. “Seams on those trousers would spread butter,” mutters Granny before stepping inside.
“Wow!” says Paolo. “This is…”
The room in front of us is massive. The walls, floor and ceiling are all made of wood – carved, polished, studded with deers’ heads and antlers, coats of arms, swords and oil paintings. There are three fireplaces, each with a roaring fire. Vast glittering chandeliers hang from the ceiling, dancing the firelight around the walls. On the football-pitch-sized Persian rug, eight tables are laid with shining glasses and polished cutlery; in the centre of each there’s an extravagant silvery flower arrangement dotted with robins and holly berries. In the corner furthest away from the fireplaces stands the tallest Christmas tree I’ve ever seen indoors. The golden star on the top is brushing the roof panels, and underneath there’s a shedload of wrapped parcels, casually arranged like they’re ready for a photoshoot.
We stand and stare.
“This way, please,” says the tailcoat man, leading us out of the giant space into another smaller room, this one rammed with dainty chairs. A couple of women in sensible suits are discussing something behind a long table.
“Registrars,” hisses Granny.
But we pass on through into a hall with a huge panelled staircase dotted with dark portraits of dismal-looking people wearing long-ago clothes. From there into a massive living room, with leather sofas, more fires and an alarming head on the walls, this time a tiger’s flanked by a pair of giraffes’.
We sit down under a dead-eyed zebra and the man offers us coffee and hot chocolate. We’re so early there are only a few other people here.
“Well,” says Granny. “This is very pleasant. Gosh, look at that.” She points at a leopard’s skin rug on the floor. “Once got the offer to go on safari, you know.”
“Did you?” asks Paolo.
“Didn’t. You know, as you get older it’s the things you don’t do that you start to regret.” She sighs and takes a long slurp on her coffee. “Should have taken more risks in my life.”
“Do you think I can wander around a bit?” I ask, dying to stand by the window and watch the snowflakes fall.
“Stay in this room,” says Mum. “Although I could do with the loo.”
Lucas joins me and we walk to the enormous windows that look out on to the park. The snow goes from scanty to blizzard and back again. The trees close by start to collect snow on their branches, but the far-away ones just turn a little greyer. A pair of yellow headlights appears to the left, followed by another. “Guests,” I say. Lucas doesn’t say anything.
I don’t want to stare at him, but he actually looks quite good in the suit. It’s one of Paolo’s, probably Italian, and I realise that Lucas is almost as tall as his dad. If he’d raise his head and stop looking at the ground.
Behind us, the tailcoat man arrives with a huge tray and Granny makes happy noises as she finds biscuits and a “perfectly hot” cup of coffee.
Mum is swept away to do maid-of-honour duties and now the only sound is the crackling of the fire.
“Goodness,” says Granny into the vacuum. The silence is yawning.
Lucas picks up a book from a small bookcase by the window. Jane Eyre. It’s leather bound with fancy gold writing on the spine. He opens it and makes a strange choking sound before nudging me with his elbow. He holds the book out under my nose and I look down at it.
“Jane Eyre, edited by Currer Bell…”
“No – look here,” he hisses, jabbing the page. “There.”
Someone has written their name in careful handwriting. “Becca Smith,” I say. “Becca Smith? Short for Rebecca?”
Lucas raises his eyebrows and closes the book. He picks out another: The Mill on the Floss. As the cover falls open I see the same careful script. The same name. He puts it back on the shelf and we stare fixedly out of the window, while behind us a door opens and another group of people are ushered in. Rebecca Smith. Rebecca Duncan Smith. I think back to everything I know about Jacqui’s about-to-be-husband, Sebastian. Sebastian Duncan.
He’s a widower, for one thing. His wife died two years ago. One year ago? What else do I know?
Dr Radcliffe, Dr Price’s wife, arrives propped up by their daughter and Granny gets to her feet and goes over to make sympathy noises. Lucas is typing things into his phone. I angle myself to see his screen but Paolo wanders over to join us and sits on the window seat watching the snow.
“Perfetto,” he mutters.
I hear a door open and close, and Mum scuttles back in. She’s got a huge smile on her face. She’d think it weird if I wasn’t interested in the wedding.
“And?” I say.
“Well.” She leans forward. “The. Dress. Is. A – Mazing.”
“What colour?” I ask.
“You’ll see in a minute. Now, I think we should go through.”
Making polite conversation as she goes, Mum makes her way through to the room cluttered with all the small chairs.
The man in the tailcoat throws the doors open and there’s a steady trail into the room. Lucas and I hang back. Everyone there is over forty, maybe even over fifty, in fact. Mum’s one of the youngest.
“Have you found anything?” I ask. Lucas keeps on pulling at his shirt. He does look massively uncomfortable.
“It’s got to have been his wife. Becca Smith becomes Rebecca Smith, marries Sebastian and becomes Rebecca Duncan Smith. She died—”
Granny grabs both our hands. “Come on, dears, let’s get a decent seat. I’m looking forward to the food.”
The front row is empty, apart from Mum, so we dutifully file in and sit by her. I can feel eighty pairs of eyes staring at the back of my head and I keep my own fixed ahead on the two registrars. They’re looking expectantly at the door at the back and there’s a murmur as it opens, followed by a sudden blast of Tina Turner’s “The Best”, which shakes the room. I can’t help it, giggles start somewhere in the pit of my stomach and bubble right up through my chest as Granny covers her ears and raises her eyebrows. The music is too loud, but it muffles the laughter and I risk turning my head. The groom, Sebastian, is a tall man in his late sixties. I’ve met him a few times but now I’m looking at him in a new light. Jacqui’s been waving around the giant ring he gave her for months now. I remember that when his wife died he was devastated. Or was it all an act?
Could he have murdered her? Rebecca?
He walks down the aisle and stops at the end of our row of chairs. He’s wearing a proper suit. Very nice. Very expensive. His shoes are so shiny they’re reflecting the snow falling outside the window. The registrars smile at him and he smiles back. I must say, he looks incredibly nervous. I suppose I would if I was about to marry Jacqui. Tina Turner bops to a halt and a lone cello strikes up, played by a woman sitting in the corner. I hadn’t noticed her before, but the sound is lovely. A violin joins in and they play that tune – the one from the advert. The door at the back clicks open and we all turn our heads.
“Oh, lordy,” says Granny.
Jacqui’s dressed in green velvet. Head to toe, with a long train behind her. She’s followed by a little girl who must be a relative, also dressed in green velvet. They’re both wearing red crowns of holly and I have to say they look pretty fantastic. In a good way. Or at least the little girl does. She looks like a flower fairy and she’s beaming from ear to ear. Jacqui looks slightly more like a table centrepiece, but when she stops and turns and smiles at people on our side of the aisle, her dress clings and swings and it does look good. Jacqui and the music move slowly until she gets to the front and everything goes quiet except for rustling and whispering. She’s so close, I can smell her perfume. Her shoulders are joggling slightly and I wonder if she’s got the giggles or is having a quiet sob. Sebastian squeezes her hand and Granny makes a little “Ah” sound next to me.
Now that everyone’s staring at them, I take a chance to look at the rest of the crowd. I recognise doctors from the surgery and friends of Jacqui’s that I’ve met, and also Anthony, Jacqui’s son. He’s looking even more uncomfortable than Lucas in his suit. With a bowl cut, his skin looks ultra pale with two big red spots where his cheekbones must be. He’s wearing a red shirt that I bet was chosen by Jacqui. The little girl sits next to him; so cute.
The registrars are saying things of great significance that go straight past me and I can’t help but stare out at the falling snow. It’s slight, not at all blizzardy, but enough to make this magical. In the distance, a tiger wanders across the view. It doesn’t look at all bothered by the snow.
Are Siberian tigers a thing?
“So now I think all the formalities are done with the exception of the signing of the register. Mrs Duncan? Would you like to go first?”
“Mrs Duncan! Oooh, yes, please,” says Jacqui, and everyone laughs.
She leans forward to sign, and I look across at her new husband, who has stopped looking so terrified and is now smiling broadly. She stands back while the registrar blots the page. Jacqui hands Sebastian the big fountain pen and he steps forward.
“Here?” he asks.
“Yes.” The registrar points at the book, next to Jacqui’s signature. We’re so close I can almost read it.
I lean right forward to look. Next to me, Lucas does the same.
The new husband pushes up his sleeve to sign with a big flourish.
I watch the pen, his hands, and then I spot something glittering.
There, around his wrist, is a thing like a charm bracelet, but instead of charms hang small teeth. Each one held by a golden ring.
I sit back, rattling my chair, banging into Lucas.
Next to me Lucas jumps. His eyes are saucer-wide.
Mum gets up and signs the register too.
The ceremony comes to an end, and everyone claps, music starts and there’s hubbub all around us.
Mum, Granny and Paolo take glasses of champagne from waiters with trays.
Everyone mixes and chats.
But Lucas and I sit staring out of the window at the falling snow.
“What have we just seen?” he says eventually.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “But Oskar’s a total red herring.”
Chapter 14
The food is sumptuous, and luckily we’re put on a table with Mum and Granny and Paolo and some of the keepers from the estate.
There’s a buffet so we’re able to talk while loading our plates with salmon and potatoes and delicious salads that I’d fill my pockets with if I thought I could get away with it. Lucas takes three pieces of salmon. I raise my eyebrow at him. “I don’t think anyone’s going to care – I mean, look at it!” He’s right. There’s so much food it’s almost obscene.
“Did you see if there was a gap on that bracelet?” I mutter. “You know, one tooth missing. Could it be where the one I found came from?”
“I couldn’t tell,” he says.
I balance another potato on top of my plate and take it back over to the table. Granny’s pinned one of the animal keepers to his chair and is asking all about dangerous animals.
“So what would you do if you were chased by a lion?”
The keeper laughs. “Oh, goodness! Well, die probably. Even our lions are still hunters at heart.”
“Yes, but supposing you were caught – I don’t know, in a car out there which had run out of petrol and there was no phone, no help. How would you avoid being killed? You must know. After all, you’re a lion keeper.”
“There are stun guns, of course. All over the park, just in case.”
“How do those work?”
Getting up from the table I wander over to a waitress with a tray of sparkling drinks. “Champagne or elderflower?” she says. I’m tempted to take champagne but I know that Mum would disown me and leave me out for the fairies. I take a tall glass of elderflower and amble around the tables, finding the slowest and closest route to the top table.
Jacqui and Sebastian are sitting together. Along the table on one side are Anthony and the little girl. No sign of the little girl’s mum. On the other side are two men holding hands, one of whom is definitely Sebastian’s son, as he’s got the same massive jaw. He’s actually really good-looking. Perhaps to Jacqui, who is ancient, Sebastian is very good-looking. He’s certainly very rich if the house is anything to go by.
I admire the centrepiece on the table opposite and crouch down as if I’m checking out the silver-sprayed fir cones. Looking up through the holly, I try to get a glance at his wrist, but apart from a massive gold watch I can’t see anything, his cuffs come too low. I spend a few minutes poking the holly and berries until a waiter appears by my side. “You OK there, miss?”
“Oh!” I say, taking the opportunity to knock over my elderflower drink. “Oh no!”
Two waiters rush over with cloths and there’s a kerfuffle, and Jacqui glances at me and so does Sebastian. I get a really good stare in, but I still can’t see his wrist properly and if I stare any more he’ll think there’s something wrong with me.
I fix a grin, apologise and head back over to our table with a new glass of elderflower. Granny’s still cross-questioning the keeper, and Paolo and Mum are gazing into each other’s eyes like sweethearts. What is it with weddings? Lucas, on the other hand is watching me.
“If you had to, then I’d suggest you stay still … or sing,” says the keeper to Granny.
“Sing?” Granny laughs. “Is that a thing?”
“Has happened. Somewhere, I think.” The keeper turns to Lucas for help, but Lucas swings round to me, turning his back on their conversation.
“Any luck?” he says.
There’s a high-pitched pinging sound. It’s Anthony, bashing his glass with a knife.
Lucas freezes. All heads turn to look at the top table. I keep my gaze glued to Sebastian’s hand. I now can’t remember which hand it was – right or left? Anthony takes a big breath and raises his glass. “To the bride and groom! My lovely mum Jacqui, and Sebastian – the happy couple.”
“To Jacqui and Sebastian,” choruses the entire room, and there’s whooping and clinking of glasses and someone laughs and Jacqui looks so incredibly happy.
Mum blows Jacqui a kiss, and Jacqui catches her eye and winks back.
