All Passion Spent by Bergotte (red white royal blue .TXT) 📕

long as he can bear the noise of the constant traffic that is fighting its way out of Bath on to the Upper Bristol Road. The square was very familiar to Gerrard, because it used to house the Reference Library. Here he would come as a student to read the huge tomes that were only available in such a building.

Today though, much more sombre fare was on the menu at the solicitor’s office, on the second floor of the building in Queen Square. He entered the room to find the rest of the family already gathered. They sat at a large oak table where the solicitor, dressed in a dark grey suit, with thinning hair and half-moon glasses, was peering at a document in preparation for reading it out loud. There was nothing startling in it and nothing much to interest Gerrard. It simply recorded the fact that after a few small gifts to persons who had been of service to Laura Fellingham, the bulk of the estate was divided equally between the four remaining members of the family, Isabella, Marherita, Paul and Michael. There was no discussion and the family took their leave quite quickly.

Gerrard followed suit. He assumed that Laura had drawn up her will in the way that she did because much of the disposable capital would have gone to Paul and Michael had their father not married Laura. It seemed a perfectly reasonable course of action. There was no hidden motive for murder as far as Gerrard could see, unless of course, the murder prevented the changing of the will and thereby provided a motive for murder… He retraced his steps to the station and found Anna in his office completing some paperwork.

“Andrew Thorpe has taken quite a shine to you,” he said. Anna coloured on hearing these words from her chief. “Has he?” she asked in a matter of fact tone, without looking up from her work. “Yes, I think so,” he replied, going over to the filing cabinet in the corner of the room. “He hasn’t said as much but that’s the conclusion I’ve reached.” Anna made no response. She did not want to be drawn. She certainly was not prepared to discuss her feelings for Andrew Thorpe with Gerrard. He did not pursue it, but contented himself with a faint smile as he concentrated his attention on searching through the files.


CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Friday, October 27: afternoon and evening

Isabella drove to the village of Bathford. There she met her brother-in-law outside the parish church. He was waiting for her as she drew up and parked her car opposite the church. He looked at his watch and saw that it was exactly two-thirty.
“Hello,” he said, “right on time, too.”
“Did you expect me to be late?”
“Well I …”
“You thought I would be late,” she said, playfully.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Just shows you how much I want to see you.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Where are we going?”
“To Brown’s Folly, known locally as the ‘pepperpot’. This way,” Michael said, indicating a rather overgrown path that wound past the churchyard towards a monument on a hill, overlooking the valley. It was a bright afternoon with a few wispy clouds scudding across the sky in a fair breeze.
Isabella led the way as the couple walked in silence along the narrow path in single file. When it opened out at a housing estate she took hold of Michael’s hand, but said nothing to him. She was happy to be outside in the fresh air, to be in Michael’s company once more. She was also happy in the knowledge that anyone who knew them and saw them together would assume that she was her twin sister Margherita.
They came upon an open, grassy field and walked across it, arm in arm, though the going was rather more difficult. On the far side of the field they climbed over a stile leading into the woods. Isabella sat on the stile while Michael stood leaning on it next to her, looking back at the village. He noticed that her skirt had ridden up as she sat down, exposing her bare thighs, but this did not seem to bother her. She felt free from such moral constraints. The couple maintained their silence; a natural silence, which was neither forced nor awkward, but allowed them the simple pleasure of enjoying each other’s company.

All around them was silence. Far away in the distance they could hear the whine of electric saws from the sawmill at Bathampton and the sound of an express train bound for London, which gradually died away. Isabella looked into Michael’s eyes and smiled at him. Eventually she broke the silence. “I’m glad we’re together,” she said. “I’m very pleased to have someone to talk to,” replied Michael, “it’s been very strange being without Rita for the last twenty four hours or so. We’ve never spent a night apart since we were married.”
“Do you love her?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And what about us?”
“We’re good friends. We’re very different, though. I enjoy being with you, but I don’t know what the future holds for us. How do you feel about Paul?”

“We’ve grown apart since we were married. I thought we would be starting a family by now, but Paul won’t hear of it. He wants to carry on as we are for many years more yet. Perhaps he will never want children, I don’t know.”
“Do you think having children will bring you closer together?”
“It might do. If he has responsibility for a child he might see there is more in life than work.”
“On the other hand he might abrogate any responsibility he has and leave it all to you.”
“Yes, there is always that possibility.”
“Do you love Paul?”
“I would describe it as more of a trial of love,” replied Isabella.
“He doesn’t have any interests outside work does he?”
“No, it’s work, work, work, with Paul. He’s a workaholic. When he’s not in London he’s off abroad somewhere. I don’t see much of him, but he always expects me to be at his beck and call when he does come home. I’m tired of being treated like a doormat.”
“Shall we walk on? I’m getting a bit cold.”
“Yes, come on,” she said.
“Let’s try and make it to the ‘pepperpot’.”
“I don’t know whether I’ll be able to manage to clamber up there.”
“I’m sure you will, if we take it slowly and steadily.”
“I shall need some help up the steep bits.”

She climbed down from the style and walked in front of him. As she walked he looked at her. He saw the same shapely figure now as when he looked at his wife. When Isabella turned round to say something to him he saw his wife’s face. Then he said to himself that though these identical twins looked the same, the two personalities were so different. Rita had always been tense, earnest, on edge at times. Michael had realised a long time ago that he had never felt relaxed in Rita’s company. And now it was very strange to be in the company of someone who looked like his wife but was so much more relaxed than Rita. And he had to admit to himself that he was enjoying it.
The path became steeper and they fell into silence once more apart from their heavy breathing. They paused for breath after five minutes or so, and stood holding on to each other. Then they started off again. Now the wood gave on to a small clearing and they could see the monument looming over them in the distance. They knew they had not far to go, but the path was becoming steeper and more difficult to negotiate, as it wound round some rocky outcrops and more dense foliage. For the last few yards they were climbing rather than walking.
“I shall have to stop again, Michael, to get my breath,” gasped Isabella. She sat down on a step cut into the hillside and looked up at him, grinning, her arms clasped round her knees. Her cheeks were flushed and glowed a healthy shade of pink. After a few minutes she held out her hands for Michael to pull her to her feet and continue their ascent.
Eventually they arrived at the summit, both feeling that they had achieved something in climbing that hill. They sat together on a smooth slab of rock in front of the ‘pepperpot’ and stared down at the valley far below them, with its lush green farmland divided by the River Avon. “It’s quite a view from up here, isn’t it?” said Bella.

“Yes, it is, and so near home. Haven’t you been here before?” “Never. I had never ever noticed the monument before, either. I’m rather unobservant aren’t I?” Michael made no reply. He did not want to cast aspersions on her intelligence but he knew that although Bella was good company and great fun to be with, he had always regarded her as an empty headed, leggy blonde. However, as she said these words, turning to look at him with that engaging smile of hers, he now found her more desirable than ever. His senses were filled with her delicate, sweet perfume. She knew that, despite his reticence, he was very attracted to her.

She was so alluring he wanted to pull her towards him and enfold her in his arms. He wanted to kiss her passionately on the mouth. But Michael was blessed with a great deal of self-control; he had never given in to his desires. He now, as always, remained calm and steady, contenting himself with drinking in the panoramic vista they had both come to enjoy.
It was Isabella who, in the next moment, pulled him towards her and enfolded him in her arms. It was Isabella who kissed him passionately on the mouth, for what little self-control she possessed, she now abandoned; she had always given in to temptation. She had always lived for the moment with scant regard for the consequences. Now, all she wanted was Michael and given her encouragement he succumbed at last to his desires.

He put his arms around her shoulders and held her towards him closely. He felt the warmth from her body and the reassuring clasp of her hands on his back. He wanted these few moments to last and last. She also, was reluctant to let go. She held him for a long time in her tight embrace. They finally released each other and struggled to their feet.
They made their way slowly back to the village at the bottom of the hill. When they reached the stile they both rested their elbows on it. Suddenly Michael asked, “Have the police interviewed you yet?” “Yes,” replied Isabella, “they came round on Tuesday evening. I was there on my own. Paul was away in London.”
“He left you on your own at a time like this?”
“Yes,” she said, simply, then added, “the police were annoyed too, saying they wanted to see Paul immediately. He came home that evening and went to the police station the following morning.”

“You do realise that if the police think that this vagrant chap they have in custody at the moment did not do it, the murder I mean, they are likely to come knocking on your door, because you have a motive and no alibi.”
“Innocent people don’t need alibis,” said Isabella, perceptively.
“They once made a film in Bath called Eighty Thousand Suspects. That’s the way the police will look at it. You’re a suspect”
“And so are you if you are involved with me.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
Late on Friday afternoon Chief Superintendent Tresillian was