Holly. "Only, JayJay has written that name and 3.30pm against Tuesday 25th June.
She shrugged and shook her head.
"I didn't know much about her personal life, sorry."
"Don't worry," I smiled, leafing quickly through the months from January to June. There was certainly nothing here to set any biographer's pulses racing. No intimate secrets, no lurid love life retold in sweaty detail.
"This is really just a list of dates, times and names, mostly just initials," I said to Holly.
I fetched my note pad and pen.
"Right, let's go through them and you can let me know if you recognise any of the names."
"OK."
It didn't take too long. The last entry was for Saturday July 10th and after that nothing but blank pages that would never now be filled with the round, almost schoolgirlish handwriting.
Most of the entries meant nothing to Holly who recognised only the initials 'JB' as belonging to John Brackett, the head of Silverton Studios who, going by the diary listings had had several meetings with his dead star in April and May. For the rest, it appeared that JayJay used code words. I sighed. There would be a lot of head scratching if I was to make anything out of this.
"Will you take it to the police?" Holly asked, as I closed the diary at last and slid the clasp back into place.
"Would you rather I did?"
She nodded.
"I'd be grateful if you would, please Verity." She rose to go.
"Very well. If you can think of anything else that would be useful …" I had been about to say 'take it to the police' but she interrupted me.
"Oh, I'll let you know, of course."
I gave a resigned smile as I opened the door and said goodnight.
Chapter 5
Wisteria Cottage, when I reached it, turned out to be a low stone building sheltering under a thatched roof. The newly whitewashed walls were barely visible behind the riot of roses and climbers scrambling over them. And, sure enough, an elderly wisteria drooped like some Mexican moustache above and around the door. Definitely jigsaw puzzle material, I thought as I lifted the heavy iron door knocker and let it fall.
It took a while before the door was opened by a small, white haired woman wearing an old fashioned pinafore over her cotton dress.
“ Mrs Plover? I'm Verity Long.”
“ Oh, yes. Do come in. George is expecting you.”
Deep blue eyes in a homely face assessed me briefly before she turned and led the way down a stone flagged passage towards the rear of the house.
“ Mind your head.”
She reached up to point out a low roof beam before descending the two steps into a spacious and comfortable living room. I gazed about in frank curiosity as I followed her across to the French window.
“ George, your visitor has arrived.”
She stepped back to let me through.
“ Go on out, dear. I'll make some coffee.”
“ Oh this is beautiful,” I exclaimed as I stepped out onto the patio. Opposite me an elderly man was tying-in roses against a wooden trellis, whistling happily as he worked. In the border at his feet oriental poppies waved their pink and purple heads above coral-coloured London Pride and deep blue hardy geraniums. To my right a circular rose bed was filled with hybrid teas, their delicious scent wafting me back to my childhood, whilst on my left a matching bed held dahlias and chrysanthemums that would flower later in the summer. I could think of few places I'd rather be on a gloriously sunny, June morning. Out here it would be so easy to leave the world and its cares behind. No wonder the gardener seemed so contented.
“ Chief Superintendent Plover? Hello, I'm Verity Long.”
“ Ex-Chief Superintendent, Miss Long. I retired ten years ago and please call me George.”
Kindly grey eyes twinkled in a round, lined face as he pulled off his gardening gloves and dropped them into a wicker basket before shaking my hand.
“ Only if you call me Verity,” I smiled back, before looking away to take in more of the garden.
“ You like it?”
“ It's wonderful. This is
She shrugged and shook her head.
"I didn't know much about her personal life, sorry."
"Don't worry," I smiled, leafing quickly through the months from January to June. There was certainly nothing here to set any biographer's pulses racing. No intimate secrets, no lurid love life retold in sweaty detail.
"This is really just a list of dates, times and names, mostly just initials," I said to Holly.
I fetched my note pad and pen.
"Right, let's go through them and you can let me know if you recognise any of the names."
"OK."
It didn't take too long. The last entry was for Saturday July 10th and after that nothing but blank pages that would never now be filled with the round, almost schoolgirlish handwriting.
Most of the entries meant nothing to Holly who recognised only the initials 'JB' as belonging to John Brackett, the head of Silverton Studios who, going by the diary listings had had several meetings with his dead star in April and May. For the rest, it appeared that JayJay used code words. I sighed. There would be a lot of head scratching if I was to make anything out of this.
"Will you take it to the police?" Holly asked, as I closed the diary at last and slid the clasp back into place.
"Would you rather I did?"
She nodded.
"I'd be grateful if you would, please Verity." She rose to go.
"Very well. If you can think of anything else that would be useful …" I had been about to say 'take it to the police' but she interrupted me.
"Oh, I'll let you know, of course."
I gave a resigned smile as I opened the door and said goodnight.
Chapter 5
Wisteria Cottage, when I reached it, turned out to be a low stone building sheltering under a thatched roof. The newly whitewashed walls were barely visible behind the riot of roses and climbers scrambling over them. And, sure enough, an elderly wisteria drooped like some Mexican moustache above and around the door. Definitely jigsaw puzzle material, I thought as I lifted the heavy iron door knocker and let it fall.
It took a while before the door was opened by a small, white haired woman wearing an old fashioned pinafore over her cotton dress.
“ Mrs Plover? I'm Verity Long.”
“ Oh, yes. Do come in. George is expecting you.”
Deep blue eyes in a homely face assessed me briefly before she turned and led the way down a stone flagged passage towards the rear of the house.
“ Mind your head.”
She reached up to point out a low roof beam before descending the two steps into a spacious and comfortable living room. I gazed about in frank curiosity as I followed her across to the French window.
“ George, your visitor has arrived.”
She stepped back to let me through.
“ Go on out, dear. I'll make some coffee.”
“ Oh this is beautiful,” I exclaimed as I stepped out onto the patio. Opposite me an elderly man was tying-in roses against a wooden trellis, whistling happily as he worked. In the border at his feet oriental poppies waved their pink and purple heads above coral-coloured London Pride and deep blue hardy geraniums. To my right a circular rose bed was filled with hybrid teas, their delicious scent wafting me back to my childhood, whilst on my left a matching bed held dahlias and chrysanthemums that would flower later in the summer. I could think of few places I'd rather be on a gloriously sunny, June morning. Out here it would be so easy to leave the world and its cares behind. No wonder the gardener seemed so contented.
“ Chief Superintendent Plover? Hello, I'm Verity Long.”
“ Ex-Chief Superintendent, Miss Long. I retired ten years ago and please call me George.”
Kindly grey eyes twinkled in a round, lined face as he pulled off his gardening gloves and dropped them into a wicker basket before shaking my hand.
“ Only if you call me Verity,” I smiled back, before looking away to take in more of the garden.
“ You like it?”
“ It's wonderful. This is
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