Hazel Holt - Gone Away

Gone Away

by

Hazel Holt

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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Published by Coffeetown Press onSmashwords

PO Box 95462 Seattle, WA 98145

Gone Away

Copyright 2010 by Hazel Holt

All rights reserved. No part of thisbook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or anyinformation storage and retrieval system, without permission inwriting from the publisher.

Cover design by Sabrina Sun

Contact:info@coffeetownpress.com

ISBN: 978-1-60381-049-4(Paper)

ISBN: 978-1-60381-051-7(ePub)

Smashwords Edition LicenseNotes

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Gone Away

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Sheila Mallory is a middle-aged widow, apublished expert on nineteenth-century novelists and is possessedof an insatiable curiosity.

A long-standing friend asks for Sheilas helpwhen his fiance vanishes from her home and job in the West Countryseaside town where Sheila has lived all her life. She agreessomewhat reluctantly, but the mysterious circumstances of thedisappearance soon intrigue her. Plumbing the depths of thecoffee-morning circuit and the long memories of many a pillar ofthe local community, combined with her own deductive powers, leadsSheila to a horrific discovery.

Gone Away is an intriguing murder mystery inthe classic tradition, and it is also an affectionate andperceptive novel about the lives and manners of a country townwhose tranquil routine is disturbed by violent death.

Hazel Holts dbut as a crime novelist promisesmuch entertainment and satisfaction for lovers of the Englishdetection novel.

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I must say, the first time I saw Lee MontgomeryI didnt take to her at all. She was standing by the bar, buyinganother round of drinks for the men. Looking at her as she leanedagainst the counter, wearing one of those soft fawn suede jacketsand beautifully cut trousers, I felt short, dull and provincial,although, until that moment, Id been perfectly happy with my goodJaeger suit and my best (uncomfortable) shoes. I could see thatRosemary and Anthea werent too keen on her either. They looked upfrom the murmured conversation they had been having and raisedtheir eyebrows significantly as I came in.

My old friend Charles Richardson had rung methe evening before.

Sheila, dear, Im back inTaviscombe. Longing to see you. Can you manage a pub lunchtomorrow? Ive asked Ronnie and Anthea and Jack and Rosemary allthe old crowd and I specially want you to come. Theres someone Iwant you to meet.

Who is it? I asked.

Shes rathermarvellous.

All Charless girl-friends were marvellous, soI didnt take much notice when he went on (Looks fabulous ...elegant ... witty, vivacious...) until he mentioned the wordmarriage.

She runs an estate agency here the one thats selling Mothers house for me ... marvellousbusiness woman ... Im thinking of giving up my job in the Statesand coming home

Ill get some sort of consultancyover here ... put some money into Lees business ... really want tosettle down in Taviscombe ... back to my roots, as they say...Charles and I had been at the local county schooltogether

goodness, it must be well overthirty years ago and so had the others. Except for Charles, wehad all stayed in the small West Country town where we had grown upand had married locally, within our own little circle. But Charleshad gone out into the world. He worked for one of those bigmulti-nationals and had lived in remote, exotic places, until hefinally settled in America, married a girl from Texas and had twochildren. The marriage hadnt lasted, though, and Charles was soonback in the social swim of Cincinnati as an eligible bachelor. Hekept me up to date with all his girl-friends, so much so that Ireally used to dread the sight of an American airmail stamp. Isuppose I represented home, a fixed point in a shifting world, and,since I had been his first love in those far-off school days, Imight be supposed to lend a sympathetic ear to his romanticentanglements. After his mother died about six months ago, he cameback to Taviscombe to sell her house, but there were legalcomplications and he said he would be back soon. And here he was,talking about marriage.

I was curious, to say the least, to see thewoman who had finally trapped I found I used the wordinstinctively poor Charles. Anthea and Rosemary were saying poorCharles too, as we sat in the pub waiting for the men to order thefood, still hanging around Lee at the bar.

She came over and Charles introducedme.

This is my dear Sheila, he said,putting his arm around my shoulders, whom Ive told you so muchabout.

Her eyes flickered over us both and, obviouslydismissing me as any kind of threat, she gave me a warm smile andheld out her hand.

Indeed he has, she said. Neverstops talking about you! His oldest friend!

I smiled back, less warmly, making somecolourless, conventional murmur.

As we drank our gin and tonics and ate our barsnacks, I looked at her more carefully. Seen close to, she wasnearer forty than thirty. Her hair, I decided regretfully, was anatural ash blonde, thick and curly, and her eyes were a deep,unusual blue. She certainly looked marvellous and I could see whyCharles was smitten. But still. She looks neurotic, I thought,watching her lighting yet another cigarette and tapping offnon-existent ash with red-tipped fingers. She wore several rings,including a wedding ring. Charles said that she was divorced too,as if that somehow brought them closer together. Her manner towardshim was comradely rather than loving one of the chaps. Perhapsthat was what he found intriguing.

When we all left the pub and walked through thecar park, I wasnt really surprised to find that she drove a darkgreen Jaguar, not brand new, but obviously expensive.

Well! said Anthea, as they droveaway. Shes certainly got poor old Charles exactly where she wantshim!

Just what he needs. Jack said.Marvellous woman! Anyway, itll be grand having Charles back hereagain.

We contemplated this thought for awhile.

Yes, of course. I saiddoubtfully, though, in a way, its part of Charless charm beingin faraway places.

Rosemary laughed. Oh well, she said. Illbelieve it when I see it.

Charles returned to America and life went on asusual. I found myself deeply involved in arrangements for ourChristmas Fayre for Help the Aged and my thoughts revolved almostexclusively around lists of cake-makers and who was going to tellMiss Whittaker that she certainly couldnt run the childrens BranTub after the mess she made of it last year. A middle-aged widow Im fifty-four actually living in a small sea-side town mustexpect to be deeply involved in local activities. Taviscombe,indeed, is a town full of widows, but since I am younger and,relatively speaking, more mobile than most of them, I find thatrather more is expected of me. When my husband died two years ago,well-meaning friends involved me in all sorts of voluntary work totake me out of myself, and since I was still quite dazed and numbafter Peters long illness and death, I simply did what was put infront of me, as it were, and after a while I found that they wereright and that being busy did help.

Peter was a solicitor. Like me, he was bornhere and he was well-known in the town and had many friends, mostof them people he had helped in some way, for he was a kind,generous and compassion-ate man. After he died I think thatRosemary and Anthea had some idea of my marrying Charles, but, fondas I had always been of him, I knew that it would never haveworked. When you have known one really marvellous person everyoneelse seems second best, and I didnt want second best.