Framed in Cornwall by Janie Bolitho Read Free Book Online

unwashed and without food. The long months of nursing and the final days spent at the hospital had taken their toll. Only then did she allow herself the indulgence of obliteration. It was Laura who had finally shouted at her through the letter-box, saying that if she didn’t open the door she’d break the bloody thing down. If Martin now needed the temporary comfort of alcohol she would not deny him it.
    ‘I’d like some tea, please. Can I smoke?’
    ‘Of course you can.’ She got out the only ashtray she possessed and placed it on the table. Rose smoked occasionally but no longer got through a packet a day. As she made the tea with shaking hands she wondered if Dorothy had left a will. As far as she was aware there were no relatives other than her two sons. It was an uncharitable thought but she hoped that Peter and his wife did not hold another set of keys because she suspected they might remove anything of value before probate had been finalised.
    Impossible to work now. Even if she’d been up to it Martin needed someone to be with him. He was, she realised as she placed his tea before him, the same size as Jack but he appeared to have shrunk somehow.
    Catching sight of her wrist-watch she saw it was already mid-afternoon. Without asking if he was hungry Rose made some sandwiches but Martin did little more than take a few mouthfuls and crumble the bread between his fingers. His grief was plain to see but he seemed ill at ease. Rose watched him as she tried to eat her own sandwich. She had a habit of skipping meals and recently her jeans had become looser. She kicked off her canvas shoes and hooked her hair behind her ears. She must eat toencourage Martin although she gagged on the bread, and then she had to get him to talk.
    Without warning he stood up. ‘I think I killed her,’ he said. ‘I want to go home.’
    At that moment the telephone rang. ‘Sit down, Martin. I won’t be a minute.’ Rose went to answer it, too dazed to think straight. It was Doreen Clarke, a woman she had met some time ago when she had been commissioned to take photographs of the house of a wealthy family. Doreen cleaned other people’s houses and was a great source of gossip, a pastime for which she was renowned. But surely even Doreen couldn’t have heard the news yet?
    ‘Rose, dear,’ she began, ‘I was wondering if you’d open the Christmas bazaar for us this year? I know it isn’t until December but you can’t leave these things until the last minute. Only, you see, we tried to get whatshisname, the MP, but he’s got other commitments and we can’t find anyone else who’s willing.’
    Despite everything Rose felt a flicker of amusement. The two women’s initial dislike of each other had mellowed and turned into mutual respect until they had finally become friends. Doreen now considered her to be a minor celebrity but it was apparent that she was by no means first choice for the job. ‘What’s the date?’ Rose flicked through her diary knowing that she had nothing booked that far ahead. ‘Yes, that’s fine. But I hope people won’t be disappointed, I’m sure no one will know who I am.’
    ‘Of course they will,’ Doreen assured her firmly. ‘I’ll make sure your name’s on all the posters and in the adverts in the paper. Here, why don’t you bring along some of your stuff? You might make a sale or two?’
    ‘I’ll think about it. Doreen, I’ve got a visitor at the moment, I’ll have to go. Thanks for asking me.’ Rose replaced the receiver and went back to the kitchen. Martin hadn’t moved. He remained standing behind his chair, his large-knuckled hands gripping the back of it, his eyes staring. For a second Rose wondered if he was mad.
    ‘I don’t think you ought to be alone, Martin. Why not stay here tonight?’
    ‘Please, Mrs Trevelyan, I want to go home.’
    ‘I’ll drive you, but first you must tell me what you mean.’ Martin was frightened. Perhaps Dorothy had still been alive when he found