Miss Pink Investigates series Box Set Part Two

by Gwen Moffat

  Jones was offering Roderick three packages on a salver. There was a bird book, a pen-and-pencil set, and a five-year diary. This last was from Iris and the thought behind it touched him deeply. Miss Pink saw Doreen’s lip curl.

  When the women had gone back to the kitchen there was a feeling of anti-climax, as if the evening was running down. Roderick started to fidget and people took it in turns to sit beside him and try to keep him amused. Miss Pink was talking flowers to Rachel when her eye caught a movement in the hall. A tall slim girl in a red dress came into the room and for a moment no one else noticed her.

  She had large, slightly protruberant blue eyes, high cheek bones and a tanned translucent skin. Her hair was jet-black with a heavy fringe, its hard gloss contrasting strangely with her blonde colouring. If it was a wig, its shade was a mistake. Her other accessories were in exquisite taste—exotic for a drawing room in Abersaint but they would have been perfect for the Ritz. Her terracotta dress fell in pleats from a shoestring halter, her ear-rings could, from their brilliance, be diamonds, and draped carelessly over one arm was a white fox fur.

  Someone gasped audibly. There was a movement in the room as if sheep were suddenly aware of a dog, the people about the sofa turned and Roderick peered round them inquisitively.

  ‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ the stranger said, ‘I had trouble finding you.’ She gave him a dazzling smile.

  His jaw snapped shut as he remembered his manners. ‘Miss Maitland! I thought you’d forgotten me. Come in, my dear, and meet my guests. This,’ he explained to the company who were struggling with their emotions, ‘is Miss Maitland—Sandra, from the mill cottage.’

  Miss Pink murmured a greeting, shook hands and drew back, her gaze wandering casually over the others. She saw that Rupert Bowen was unmistakably astonished and his wife was furious. Norman appeared both appalled and amused while Samuel seemed frankly bewildered. It was with reluctance that her eyes came round to Rachel and there she saw the same tormented hatred that the girl had displayed on the cliffs, and she could no more succeed in hiding it now than she could then.

  So Miss Pink concentrated on Sandra Maitland, trying to determine if there was a man present with whom she might have formed an attachment. A cool customer, she thought; one who might choose a man like a dress: after due consideration, with confidence and without fuss. Possibly with no regard as to price. And here the confidence was of a high order. She found it impossible even to hazard as to who, if it was any of these, was Sandra’s lover. For that was what Rachel had implied. It didn’t have to mean that Norman Kemp had slipped the traces. Rachel might be equally possessive about her father, her grandfather, her friend Samuel, even—she thought with a shade of amusement—in respect of the family retainer: the deferential Jones now offering the newcomer champagne with the superlative manner of a well-trained butler. Who was the victim? Was there a victim or was Rachel neurotically possessive?

  Chapter Five

  ‘Well, I’ve met her,’ Rupert said warily. ‘Most of us have, I expect, but I had no idea that the old man knew her.’

  He stood with Miss Pink at one of the windows. Behind them, raised voices held a brittle quality. Rachel was arguing with her mother about, of all things, the housekeeper’s dress.

  ‘. . . cheap and vulgar!’ was Doreen’s frigid comment.

  ‘But, Mum,’—almost hysterically, ‘it’s all she’s got! At least she dressed for the occasion.’

  A burst of masculine laughter came from the direction of the sofa where Norman and Samuel stood in front of the old man and his favoured guest.

  ‘How long has she been here?’ Miss Pink asked softly.

  ‘About six weeks—since the middle of May. They took the cottage for two months.’

  ‘They?’

  ‘There’s a fellow: rather a rough type. Tony Thorne. He’s a Londoner. They’re both from London.’

  ‘She’s not what you’d expect in Abersaint.’

  ‘Don’t let my wife hear you.’ He was rather drunk. ‘I’m only hoping we can get through the rest of the evening without trouble. You can’t trust the old man an inch. He’s done it purposely, you know; mischievous old devil.’

  ‘He’s enjoying himself.’

  Rupert nodded morosely. ‘That’s the worst of it. Did you see my wife’s face?’

  Miss Pink appeared not to have heard. ‘She’s very lovely.’

  ‘It’s not that.’ He lowered his voice. ‘She’s been down to the pub with the fellow and d’you know what she does? Says she’s tired and goes home, leaving Tony in the bar.’ He goggled at her. Miss Pink’s eyes were attractive. ‘And a little while later,’ he went on dramatically, ‘we find we’ve lost a guest: always a well-heeled chap.’

  ‘Lost him?’

  ‘Gone home with her. It’s incredible. Here, in Abersaint!’

  ‘Unbelievable. Why does your—why do you put up with it?’

  ‘Doreen’s a business woman first and foremost. If she took Sandra aside and had a quiet talk with her—’ Miss Pink tried to imagine this, and failed, ‘—next evening Sandra would walk in, large as life, with Tony in tow, and open those big blue eyes at Doreen and say: “But sweetie, you didn’t mean it!” Doreen’s not going to risk a confrontation in front of the guests. We’re always crowded. Besides, she’s enormously popular. Well, look at her!’

  ‘Daddy!’ Rachel approached. ‘Can’t you do something?’ Her eyes were hot and angry.

  Rupert licked his lips. ‘What’s the matter now? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Oh, come off it. Get rid of that—that—’ She turned on Miss Pink wildly. ‘She’s the one I was telling you about. It’s obvious, isn’t it?’ Her voice dropped. ‘Mum will make a scene, Daddy.’ It was a threat.

  Rupert drew himself up. ‘She’ll do nothing of the kind, and nor will you. Whatever’s got into you? Roderick always has too much to drink at his parties. We’ll be going soon,’ he added lamely. ‘Roderick will be tired.’ He looked hard at Miss Pink.

  ‘It’s a long evening for a man of his age,’ she agreed with composure. ‘I think I should make a move.’

  ‘For God’s sake, don’t go yet!’ Rachel hissed.

  ‘Now look—’ Rupert’s eyes were jumping.

  But the group about the sofa was breaking up. Doreen settled herself beside her father-in-law, and Sandra crossed the room, smiling at Miss Pink.

  ‘I love your stories,’ she began, ‘Roderick’s been telling me who you are. I read everything you write. All those creepy houses and the lovely lady trapped by villains. I devour them.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Miss Pink was uneasy. ‘It’s encouraging to find an attentive reader.’

  ‘Oh, I’m a fan! You must come and see my cottage: it’s just your scene. It’s the cutest place, isn’t it, Rupert? Come and have coffee tomorrow.’

  Rachel said coldly: ‘Where’s your friend tonight?’

  Rupert coughed and moved aside, ostensibly making way for Samuel but continuing to retreat in the direction of his son-in-law.

  ‘Tony went to the pub,’ Sandra said carelessly.

  ‘Does he know you’re out?’

  ‘I was wondering, Rachel,’ Samuel put in earnestly, his hand on the girl’s arm, ‘don’t you think we should get Roderick to bed? His breathing—’ He hesitated, his eyes signalling frantically to Miss Pink.

  ‘Is he not feeling well?’ she asked with feigned anxiety, accepting the cue.

  ‘You must make pots of money,’ Rachel said, staring blankly at Sandra.

  ‘This frock? Do you like it?’

  ‘How much do you charge?’

  ‘They charge? Oh, I suppose this cost—’

  ‘I said: how much do you charge?’

  There was a terrible silence, then: ‘Aren’t you a little out of your depth, sweetie?’ Sandra asked in gentle reproof.

  For a second Rachel was stunned, then her shoulder dropped under the blue chiffon and Miss Pink stepped forward interposing her considerable bulk.


  ‘Rachel, I want to ask you—’ She put a firm arm round the girl and steered her towards the door.

  ‘I’m not—’

  This is crucial,’ hissed Miss Pink. ‘Think of your grandfather. He’s had enough excitement. . . .’ They were safe in the hall. She drew breath. ‘No scene, please. Let’s keep our cool in the face of the—opposition. If you can’t bear to go back and face her, then stay out of the room and I’ll have a word with your mother and we’ll break up the party. But your grandfather’s the first consideration. You don’t want him to have a stroke, do you? And with the wine he’s had, and the rich food—’

  Rachel gave a strangled gasp and broke away. As Miss Pink moved to block her return to the drawing room, the girl rushed upstairs. Halfway, she stumbled and lost a sandal. She stooped to retrieve it, then hurled it at the landing. The heel cracked against panelling. She continued blindly, pulling herself up by the balusters. Miss Pink sat down heavily on the stairs.

  From the drawing room came Roderick’s barking laugh—which indicated that he’d fail to notice the abrupt exit of his granddaughter. She collected herself, stood up and smoothed her dress. After a moment she returned to the party and Doreen, who had been watching the door, stood up immediately and crossed the room.

  ‘Is Rachel all right?’

  ‘She has a bad headache and she’s gone to her room to lie down. I think it’s time I left.’

  ‘No.’ It was deliberate. ‘Roderick,’ she went on quickly, ‘won’t let that woman leave yet. When you go, you must take her with you.’ They regarded each other intently. ‘This is very embarrassing,’ Doreen admitted, ‘I only met you tonight but you see how it is—’ she glanced at the men contemptuously, ‘—broken reeds, all of them. I’m depending on you to break this thing up. Hardly etiquette, is it?’ She was bitter. ‘Hardly the urbane celebration you were invited to?’

  ‘Practical jokes have a way of back-firing,’ Miss Pink murmured. ‘I don’t think Roderick was aware of the trouble he might cause.’

  ‘Apparently he’s been ringing her up while he was in bed and talking to her! Would you credit it? He’s senile.’

  ‘I’ll stay for a while but she’s not doing any harm, and he’s happy. My guess is that he’ll tire very quickly now. We’ve only got to wait.’

  ‘He’ll invite her here again.’

  Miss Pink shrugged. ‘Rupert says her lease only has two weeks to run.’

  Doreen envisaged this and her temper mounted. ‘I’ll make sure she doesn’t come here again; I’ll give her notice tomorrow. I manage the cottages, not Roderick. She can take me to court if she likes. I’d enjoy it.’

  ‘On what grounds would you give her notice?’

  ‘Surely you realise what she is? Why, she takes men—’

  ‘Rupert told me.’

  ‘Well, then?’

  ‘That wouldn’t sound nice in court.’

  ‘As if I care!’

  ‘Melinda!’ Roderick shouted. ‘Come over here! Listen to this.’

  Miss Pink approached diffidently. At the old man’s side Sandra regarded her with wide eyes, like a child uncertain of its reception.

  ‘She’s writing a book!’ Roderick crowed.

  The room was hushed and the other men were staring at the girl as if hypnotized. Doreen said lightly: ‘Do tell, dear; not the story of your life?’

  ‘The other half, Doreen,’ Roderick chuckled. ‘Oh, but this is too good to be true. Tell them, m’dear.’

  Samuel said quickly: ‘It could spoil a book to talk about it before it’s finished; it might go sour on you. Do you think you ought to publicise it? What would your agent say?’

  ‘Don’t be like that.’ Sandra made a roguish face at him and Miss Pink’s eyes narrowed. The cool confidence of her entrance was gone and she was flushed and excited. She held an empty brandy glass on her knee but the others were too interested to notice the hint. ‘The book’s about finished anyway,’ she went on, ‘and we’re all friends here, right?’ Her eyes rested on Doreen. ‘I like money,’ she said, ‘don’t you?’

  ‘I work for it.’

  ‘So do I, sweetie.’

  ‘This book,’ Roderick said loudly, ‘is about politics—politicians, rather.’ He chuckled again. It was becoming irritating. He caught Miss Pink’s eye and was embarrassed. ‘Anyone can write a book,’ he muttered, ‘always be someone to supply a demand.’

  ‘So—’ Doreen exclaimed, ‘you’ve written the story of your life and it’s about politicians. Let me guess. Scandal in high places, is that it? It’s been done before, and it can be very interesting indeed: exposing the private lives of prominent men. You’re on to a good thing.’

  ‘You know what?’ Roderick couldn’t contain himself. ‘This book will bring down the government!’

  There were exclamations of protest, of horrified amusement. Miss Pink asked in astonishment: ‘You haven’t mentioned names?’

  ‘Oh, they’re false,’ Sandra told her ingenuously. ‘There’s libel, you see.’

  Doreen said: ‘So that’s why you’re hiding down here, wearing wigs and with a muscle man for protection. Doesn’t the risk worry you?’

  ‘Risk of what? I’m just avoiding the media until the job’s finished, then we’ll welcome them with open arms.’

  Miss Pink said seriously: ‘I agree with Samuel that you ought not to publicise this—’

  ‘Why ever not?’ Sandra asked. ‘That’s what it’s all about: publicity.’

  ‘We know what we’re talking about.’ Samuel was angry. ‘You’re sitting on a bomb, and I’m quite sure your agent—’

  ‘Look,’ Sandra said with exaggerated patience, ‘publicity is just what Julius wants—’

  ‘Not now!’

  ‘Now, or in a fortnight’s time; what does it matter?’ Her voice fell. ‘Besides, I’m bored with it all. For Heaven’s sake, you haven’t got a reporter hiding in the cupboard, have you? The room’s not bugged? Be your age, Sam; I just told Roderick for laughs.’ She looked round the circle inquiringly. ‘So who’s going to tell?’

  Jones slipped between them and bent over his employer, murmuring in his ear.

  ‘Then bring him in,’ Roderick exclaimed, ‘I want to meet him. Your friend,’ he told Sandra. ‘Come to take yer home. Damme, you’ve only just arrived. He must have a drink with us.’

  She gnawed her lip. ‘He only went out for cigarettes.’

  ‘He’ll be worried about you.’ Doreen smiled.

  Rupert said suddenly: ‘Pritchard’s roof is in a bad state.’

  Norman caught the ball. ‘The roof of the cow-shed. Could we do it ourselves, Rod?’

  Roderick blinked at them. ‘Slates?’ he ventured. ‘Just slates, or have the rafters gone?’

  ‘That would be a big job, wouldn’t it? Mean replacing the whole roof.’

  The others hung on the words but they were all listening for steps in the passage.

  Jones returned with a gangling young man in a creased denim suit. He had lank hair and cold eyes which fastened on Sandra as soon as he crossed the threshold.

  ‘This is Tony,’ she said in a high voice. ‘It’s Mr Bowen’s birthday, Tony.’ There was a warning in it.

  The man looked at the glass in her hand and back to her face. He smiled crookedly.

  ‘Been waiting for yer,’ Roderick barked. ‘Like to know me tenants. What’ll yer have to drink?’

  ‘I don’t drink.’ The voice was aggressively Cockney. He added, with more care but with a tinge of amusement: ‘Many happy returns of the day, Mr Bowen.’

  ‘Thank yer. Yer’ll have to drink something. What have we got, Jones?’

  Thorne turned to the man at his elbow. ‘I’ll have a Coke.’

  Jones inclined his head. ‘Certainly,’—the pause was studied—‘sir.’ He went out with his cat’s tread.

  ‘I’ve brought the car,’ Thorne said carelessly to Sandra. ‘Or were you fetched?’

  She stood up shakily. ‘I walked. Your drink’s
too strong, Roderick. I’ll need the car to get back; couldn’t make it under my own steam.’ The words seemed out of character, as if she’d been deflated by the arrival of Thorne.

  Miss Pink seated herself beside Roderick and the others moved away, except for Doreen who perched herself on the arm of the sofa on the other side of the old man. Their eyes met across him.

  ‘Well!’ Doreen breathed with infinite satisfaction.

  ‘Hippy type,’ Roderick growled. ‘Broken up me party too. Never trust a feller who doesn’t drink; probably got worse vices.’

  ‘Like blackmail?’ Doreen asked.

  He shot her a startled glance. ‘It is a bit near the knuckle,’ he admitted, then he brightened: ‘But it’ll be a colossal embarrassment for the government; you’ve got to allow that, girl—end justifies the means, eh?’

  ‘So long as she’s confined her activities to the one party.’ Doreen sparkled. ‘You’d hardly think politicians would have that kind of money—well, not without some other form of corruption. She must come very expensive; I mean, those ear-rings are diamonds, Dad. And the fur! Exquisite. And doesn’t she look pretty in that dress?’

  He stared at his daughter-in-law with intensity. ‘She’s only here for a week or two more; you’ve got nothing to worry about.’

  Her face stiffened, then relaxed. ‘I hate her guts,’ she confessed, but lightly. ‘However, I can still be objective. She’s remarkably attractive; it’s a pity she hasn’t got the brains to go with it.’

  ‘You call that objective?’

  She sighed. ‘It’s obvious that Thorne is her protector.’ She emphasised the word, raising her eyebrows at Miss Pink. ‘She got away from him tonight, drank too much and talked. Look at his face. There’s trouble in store for Miss Maitland.’