The Courting Campaign. CATHERINE GEORGE
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the policewoman woodenly. ‘He kissed me on both cheeks and invited me to join the party. When I declined he reduced the volume as requested, whereupon my colleague and I left the premises.’
The prosecution sat down, and the defending solicitor rose to his feet to ask if, on the night of the party, Mr Barclay’s behaviour had been offensive.
‘No,’ said the policewoman.
‘But he did kiss you and invite you to the party. Was there a reason for this?’ asked the defendant’s solicitor gently.
The girl coloured. ‘He thought I was a strippergram,’ she said, after a pause, and the solicitor smiled indulgently as a ripple of amusement ran through the court.
‘Did this annoy you, Constable?’
‘No, sir.’
‘The incident did not prejudice you in any way when you believed you saw the defendant at the wheel of the Escort?’
The girl’s mouth tightened. ‘No, sir.’
‘And during your visit to Ashdown House did you have occasion to meet Dominic Barclay’s brother?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Thank you, Constable.’
Hester made more notes as the witness was excused. Young Dominic’s guilt seemed cut and dried. Then a hush fell over the court as the usher showed a young man to the witness box.
Giles Edward Barclay gave his name and address, took the oath and stated that he was the brother of the defendant. The statement was unnecessary. Right down to the last shining hair he was a mirror image of Dominic. The Barclay brothers were identical twins.
In unemphatic tones the boy informed the bench that he had been driving the car on the night in question, due to his brother’s disqualification.
Hester watched him closely as he gave his evidence. He looked nervous, in common with most youths of his age in these circumstances, but he answered the questions steadily enough, confirmed that he possessed a current driving licence and made a very good impression. Hester glanced at the man in the visitors’ seats. He was sitting perfectly still, his eyes on the boy in the witness stand, no vestige of expression on his face. Yet Hester was sure that behind the imperturbable exterior the man was tense. He looked extraordinarily young to possess teenage sons, but the resemblance was unmistakable. He was obviously their father.
She returned her attention to the proceedings. After only the shortest of consultations between the three magistrates the case was dismissed, and Dominic Barclay was told he was free to go—after a pointed reminder from the President that the term of disqualification from driving still had fifteen months to run.
‘There was no way that we could prove that he, or his brother, was lying,’ said Philip Galbraith later as they finished for the day. ‘But I’ve had years of experience with boys like Dominic Barclay, not to mention the pranks played by identical twins.’
‘You think the other boy lied?’ asked Hester, collecting her belongings.
‘If he did he was damn good,’ said Dr Meadows. ‘The Barclays are new in the district, by the way. Bought Ashdown House a few months ago. They’re shelling out a small fortune on doing it up.’
‘They haven’t shelled any out at Conway’s,’ said Hester with regret.
‘Shouldn’t think they’re straight yet. I went out to visit Mrs Barclay not long ago. The place was still a shambles.’ The doctor looked at his watch. ‘Must dash. Might get some lunch in before afternoon surgery.’
Hester made her farewells and went out into the sunshine. The small Cotswold town was full of visitors during the summer months, and on a sunny market day like this the streets were thronged. She exchanged her horn-rims for sunglasses, and walked briskly up the steep main thoroughfare. At the top of the hill she caught sight of the Barclay twins looking at sports equipment in a shop window, in company with their father. Relieved that the eye-catching Barclays were engrossed in the window display, Hester crossed the road to avoid an encounter likely to embarrass all of them—herself included.
She turned into the cobbled walkway where attractive shops clustered together near the medieval arches of the Chastlecombe market hall. At one end a glassvaulted arcade housed vendors of expensive clothes and leather goods as well as a small restaurant, aromatic with the scent of freshly-brewed coffee. But in the cobbled square itself the name CONWAY in italic capitals, was emblazoned above a large premises which sold porcelain and furniture. Some of the latter was the better type of mass-produced product, but the pieces displayed in the windows were made by local craftsmen and drew customers nationwide.
The shop was full of customers, and Hester hurried through to the cloakroom at the back to change the navy wool jacket for a cool white blouse. On her way back into the shop she saw David Conway at the desk in the office, involved in a heated telephone argument. He grinned at her, pointed an imaginary gun at the phone and went on arguing. Hester grinned back, blew him a kiss and hurried off to relieve her beleaguered staff.
After the sale of some hand-painted plates, a David Conway sofa table and a small, exquisite Kilim rug, Hester assented with relief when David emerged from his workshop to suggest a late snack in the bar of the King’s Arms.
While David went up to the bar Hester found a seat at a table near the window to watch the world go by, glad to relax for a while after the demands of the morning.
‘Busy in court today?’ asked David as he joined her.
‘Fairly.’ She accepted her tall glass of mineral water with gratitude, smiling at him, but the smile faded as she saw the father of the Barclay twins ushering his sons to a table. To her embarrassment he caught sight of her and bowed slightly, just as he’d done in court.
David raised an eyebrow. ‘Someone you know?’
‘Not really.’
The arrival of their sandwich lunches saved Hester from explanations, and the rest of the meal passed with discussion of the new commission David had been given that morning.
‘A twelve-foot dining table, a dozen chairs, two sideboards and a credence table,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘The argument was over a delivery date. The lady seemed to think I could knock them up in a couple of weeks. If, I told her, she wants the hand-crafted perfection of all David Conway pieces, it will take a little bit longer than that. Even,’ he added, ‘with the invaluable Peter doing the pedestrian bits.”
Hester grinned. ‘Is the customer happy about it?’
‘Happy, no. Resigned, yes.’
‘It’s a big order to do in a hurry. You’ve got a lot of work on already, David,’ said Hester anxiously.
‘Can’t afford to turn any away!’ He reached out a hand and took hers. ‘Don’t worry, love. I’m as healthy as a horse. Honestly. Ask Tom Meadows.’
‘I would, too,’ she said tartly, ‘but he’d never breach patient confidentiality.’ She withdrew her hand to finish her drink. ‘I’m still thirsty. I’d like some coffee. Want some?’
‘No, thanks.’ David rose to fetch it for her, but she waved him back.
‘Stay there and finish your lunch. I’ll get it.’
When Hester turned away from the bar with her coffee she realised the twins’ father was watching her.
‘A secret admirer?’ teased David, when she got back to the table.
‘He was in court this morning,’ said Hester, and changed the subject to the new furniture commission.
All the while David was expounding on the design he intended for the new order, his dark eyes bright with his usual, irresistible enthusiasm, Hester said the right things in the right places but couldn’t help noticing that the Barclay twins—who were in her direct line of vision on the other side of the bar—looked very subdued. Their