Close to Death

‘There’s very little we can do,’ the barrister replied, regretfully. ‘I suppose we could write to them and threaten them with legal action, but once you start hiring outside lawyers that can become an extremely expensive proposition – and there can be no doubt that Mr Kenworthy will have deeper pockets than any of us. Are you sure you want to take him on?’

‘What about the swimming pool?’ Felicity demanded, struggling to express the anger she felt. It was the third time she had raised the subject.

Her husband immediately took her side. ‘It may not be so important to the rest of you,’ Roderick said, ‘but it’s going right underneath Fee’s window.’ He looked to Andrew Pennington. ‘We must be able to stop it.’

‘Well, as I said, the council hasn’t given permission yet and there’s every chance that they’ll refuse.’

‘It will ruin my view!’

‘Unfortunately, the loss of a view is never a consideration in planning law,’ Andrew continued. ‘However, there are plenty of other objections we can legitimately make. Noise is one. It will most certainly affect the character of the close. This is a conservation area and the threat to the environment, from chlorine and other chemicals, must be relevant. They may decide to cut down trees—’

‘They already cut down my two yews and no one paid a blind bit of notice,’ Adam remarked.

‘Well, we’ll need to see the architectural plans. What is this changing facility they’re hoping to build? If it blocks a significant amount of daylight for Roderick and Felicity, that’s definitely grounds for dismissal.’

‘The pool could be dangerous for Ellery!’ Phyllis blurted out the words as if the thought had just occurred to her. Suddenly, she was the centre of attention. ‘He goes into the Kenworthys’ garden sometimes. He doesn’t do any harm. He just likes sniffing around. If there’s a swimming pool there, he could fall in.’

‘You might like to put that in your letter,’ Andrew said kindly. ‘It’s another consideration, and the more the merrier. We should all write letters to the council,’ he went on, ‘setting out our objections. And it would be a good idea if these were coordinated. Again, I’ll be happy to help. But it’s essential that we’re restrained. It won’t do any good being vindictive.’

There was a pause while everyone took this in.

‘So that’s it, then?’ Roderick said. ‘We write letters – and we wait.’

‘That’s my advice, yes.’ Andrew took a sip of his gin and tonic as if to signal that he had said enough.

‘I agree absolutely,’ May said. ‘There’s absolutely no point getting into a fight with this man, and I’m certainly not interested in hiring lawyers. I say we just ignore him and hope he goes away. That’s the only way to treat bullies. Pretend they’re not there!’

‘I agree with May.’ Phyllis tried a wobbly smile. ‘Live and let live. That’s what I say. But since we’re all here, why don’t we have another drink?’

The party, if that’s what it was, continued for another thirty minutes, but the Kenworthys’ non-appearance had made the whole thing pointless. Adam Strauss, supported by May Winslow and Andrew Pennington, tried to keep everyone’s spirits up, but the evening quickly fizzled out. Roderick and Felicity Browne were the first to leave and the others drifted away soon after, leaving the bao buns and the custard tarts uneaten on the refectory table.

It would be another six weeks before death came to Riverview Close and everyone who had attended the party would find their lives turned upside down. And throughout the police investigation, with its mutual suspicion and alternative truths, there was one thing on which they would all agree.

Giles Kenworthy really should have been there.

Two The Fifth Book

1

Anyone who has read the four books I have written about my adventures with ex-Detective Inspector Daniel Hawthorne, may be surprised by this one. Where is Hawthorne? Where am I? What’s going on with the third-person narrative?

None of this was exactly my choice.

More than a year had passed since my play, Mindgame, had been produced, largely trashed by the critics and tucked away in that file marked ‘Unlikely to be revived by the National Theatre’. Was I depressed by what had happened? Not really. If you’re going to spend your entire life writing, you have to accept the possibility of failure and live with it when it arrives. There’s an old saying ‘You’re only as good as your last script’, but that’s not true. You’re only as good as your next one. Writing is all about looking ahead. The worst thing that had happened to me as a result of Mindgame was being arrested for the violent murder of Harriet Throsby, the critic who had given the play its most venomous review. Frankly, of the two of us, I think she came out of it worse.