Staging Death

by Judith Cutler

  I had almost given up waiting – how did police officers on observation manage the need for a loo? – when a figure emerged from the stables. Just one. I would have sworn that he looked furtively about him. He too tried dodging the lights, his journey taking him on a circuitous route – back to the cottages.

  It hurt to breathe. What the hell was going on? For a sudden painful moment I wondered if the confiscation of my mobile had been part of a plot, of which Karen’s insistence on gaining access to my house was another part. But as the figure got nearer – the gorgeous Frederick, dressed top to toe in black, even to his beanie hat – I realised he was heading for another cottage. Greta’s, of course.

  So had all my panic been the champagne talking? Was I really just a drink-befuddled woman who’d taken leave of her senses?

  Even a long bath, rich with oil of lavender and oil of sandalwood (wonderful for older skin) didn’t truly relax me. The alarm clock I’d set for seven – I had to be up early to beard the decorators – took a malicious delight in informing me that it was one, then two and finally three o’clock. Even when I finally slept, I almost wished I hadn’t, so vividly disturbing were my dreams.

  Serve me right for eating all Greta’s rich food.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I smiled grimly at the foreman of the team of decorators. ‘It was cold first thing, wasn’t it? Oh, of course, you wouldn’t know, would you?’ I tapped my watch. ‘What time of day do you call this? The contract states that you and your lads will be in action by eight at the latest. Not something approaching nine. I hate to point out, Mr Flavell, that this isn’t a good time for small businesses, no matter how specialised you may be. If I catch you slacking like this again you can be absolutely sure that I shan’t be asking you to quote for the next project I’m managing.’

  Dave Flavell stared at his bespattered boots. ‘Sorry, Miss Burford.’ He squirmed for something else to say.

  ‘Best get on with it, then. And get your hands on the paint I asked for.’

  ‘That’s just it, you see. If I’ve got to go into Birmingham, the nearest place that’s got the colour you want, then it’s more time lost, isn’t it?’

  Not believing him for a moment, I turned my Lady Bracknell stare on him. ‘You’d better get them to courier it over here, Mr Flavell.’

  ‘But that’ll cost—’

  ‘No more than the equivalent of all those half-hours you’ve failed to turn up here on time.’ I nodded and turned on my heel.

  I almost fell over Allyn, hovering in the corridor outside. I suppose that since she was in her own corridor she could hardly be eavesdropping, but she was certainly listening in. And was doing so with a broad and appreciative grin on her face. She mimed applause.

  I smiled back, and sketched a curtain call curtsy. We moved away from Flavell and his team without speaking.

  She led the way to the morning room, once the place where Jane Austen lookalikes would have waited for their callers. It was flooded with sunlight, and I could imagine them sitting at the exquisite 1812 burr walnut needlework table I’d found for Allyn in Ambrose’s shop.

  ‘I am so very sorry to have summoned you last night, only to find myself busy when you arrived,’ she said, sounding absolutely sincere – but then, of course, she was an actress. ‘Someone turned up from the States – a bit of a freeloader, to be honest. But I owed her from way back, so she spent the night in one of the rooms you’ve done up so exquisitely.’ She touched the side of her nose. ‘I gave her one of your cards. She wanted all your details and was wondering if you’d ever considered working in Hollywood – as a decorator,’ she added almost seamlessly.

  ‘It would be wonderful,’ I said. ‘Thank you for recommending me. As to yesterday evening, Miss Fairford organised accommodation, and Greta fed and watered me. And I was very glad to be here this morning and catch out the painters in their slack timekeeping.’

  She grinned. ‘I fancy that won’t be a problem in future. Have you ever thought what a good Lady Macbeth you might make?’ she continued. ‘God Almighty, the last one I saw was scarcely out of school! Why don’t they use you older actors?’

  As compliments went, it didn’t go particularly far, but I took it in the spirit I hope it was meant. ‘Why indeed? Now, Allyn, I have the most enormous favour to ask. Several in fact.’ Where to start? A roof over my head, of course. I explained, even including some of the less attractive details.

  ‘No problem.’ She clearly hadn’t taken in all the implications.

  ‘But what if—’

  ‘It’s fine – out in the mews you won’t be in anyone’s way.’

  Was that echo of Lady Catherine de Bourgh conscious or unconscious?

  ‘It’s not just accommodation I need,’ I said, resolving to mention the problems again later, ‘but a total makeover. To make me a different person altogether.’

  ‘Why on earth?’

  ‘I told you – I witnessed a crime. The police could put me in a witness protection scheme, where, though still alive, I’d effectively lose my life. A new identity, new home, new occupation. No contact with my old world at all. Some people might manage it, Allyn, but I can’t.’ To my horror, all the tears I’d been denying all knowledge of came flooding into my eyes. I swallowed hard, and concentrated on Alexander Technique and keeping my neck free and my head freely poised. All I got was a good posture and wracking sobs.

  As it happened, it was probably the best thing I could have done: it put Allyn and me on the same level. This time it was she who fetched tea – actually, she got Greta to bring it, but to do her justice she took the tray right by the door so that Greta didn’t see my mascara-streaked cheeks.

  ‘So you see,’ I managed at last, ‘if I’m to go out and about, I must look different. Different hair, different colour eyes—’

  ‘Can you really manage those creepy coloured contact lenses?’

  I nodded. ‘No problem. There are already a couple of sets in my make-up box. In fact nothing’s a problem for an actress, is it?’ I thought of offering up Greta’s cousin on the altar of our new-found friendship, but decided against it – for the time being at least.

  ‘This is all very serious.’

  At last the penny was dropping. Was she about to tell me to find a bolt-hole well away from her and hers? I wouldn’t have blamed her.

  ‘Have you talked to that security guy?’

  ‘Ted? Not since the – er – incident. He knows that I’m here but not why. I wasn’t sure you’d be happy about my staying when you knew the whole situation. And I still say that you should think about it long and hard. The children…’

  She nodded. ‘I’ll talk to Toby when he wakes up. Meanwhile, whether you go or whether you stay, you’ve got to look different, right? My hairstylist’s due after my swimming lesson – holy shit! I must fly! – so you might as well stay and see her. But what about clothes? You’ll need a complete new wardrobe if your hair colour changes.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Miss Fairford can call you when Marissa is free.’

  So what did a woman without a phone do at nine o’clock in the morning? Tidy up her temporary pad, for one thing. I’d really made a mistake making myself so much at home, hadn’t I? It looked as if I meant to make a really long stay, which was the opposite of what I’d told Allyn. I couldn’t imagine for one moment that she would take it into her head to visit me in the cottage, but if she did, or if Greta sent one of the housemaids for the trays, the evidence was plain. As swiftly as I’d hung up my clothes, I packed them again; the teddy bears returned glumly to their black sack. I’d have to beg another, since the one I’d stuffed the photos in was full of broken glass, which I slung into a convenient landfill rubbish bin. Well, even though this was glass, I could hardly post each splinter into a bottle bank, could I?

  At this point Ted appeared. ‘You’d best tell me what’s going on,’ he said.

  I did. In some detail.

  ‘Good job you’re here, then.’

  ‘I was most im
pressed by your record keeping,’ I said. ‘Being able to tell that Karen wasn’t the driver of the car you had registered to me – that’s very clever.’

  He nodded.

  ‘So you can say what Brian Hanrahan said in the Falklands War – “I’ve counted them all out and I’ve counted them all in”?’

  ‘Except in our case we tend to count them in and then count them out.’

  ‘What happens if someone comes in but doesn’t come out again – me, for instance?’

  He laughed. ‘I can tell you what you’ve been doing since you’ve arrived if you want.’ He checked a computer screen. ‘You were highly active last night, Miss Vena. Insomnia?’

  What a nice way of addressing me – as if I were a Hardy heroine. I nodded. ‘I got into the habit of a last-minute stroll when I was a smoker. So those cameras can see even when the lights don’t illumine the subject?’

  ‘Aye, infrared jobs. Very clever. You got up betimes, considering the amount of sleep you got. Or are you one of those people it catches next day?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Anyway, why are you so interested in what I can and can’t do?’

  Because it took responsibility for reporting Frederick away from me. I gave a plausible response. ‘Because the way things are at the moment, your clever gizmos are the only things standing between me and a gang of thugs who may well be seeking revenge. And you,’ I added truthfully, but also because I think a few kind words never do any harm, ‘were the first one to spot I really was being tailed. I don’t suppose you’ve still got the footage with that car on it? Because the police might want to see it.’

  ‘You give me a contact name and I’ll get a copy across to her. That DC French? The one that brought you over last night? Got a phone number for her? Thanks. Nice looking girl, wasn’t she? Though I don’t suppose I’m allowed to think such things these days, let alone say them aloud. So what are you going to do now?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’ Feeling he deserved something more positive than that, I added, ‘But I should be taking delivery of a hire car this morning. Another anonymous one – like the Fiesta you suggested I get. A Micra or something.’

  ‘You’re not exactly anonymous yourself, if I might say so, Miss Vena.’

  Before I could tell him all about my plans to change my appearance, his bleeper sounded. Turning from me, he used his phone and gave instructions to admit someone else to his kingdom.

  What with some sort of non-invasive Botox-substitute, a semi-permanent facial tan, and newly cut and coloured hair, I would hardly need coloured contact lenses to make me a new person. Add to that lot a wonderful aromatherapy massage and I pretty well felt one. There was a small matter of clothes, of course, but I would cross that bridge when my new car arrived. Meanwhile, how would I pay for my transformation? Allyn hadn’t mentioned anything as vulgar as prices for the treatments she and Marissa chose for me, as if I were a cut-out doll and they all-powerful children. It was a good job that when I saw the total I couldn’t raise my eyebrows. I flicked over my credit card with the insouciance of a woman who never did anyway. Raise her eyebrows, that is.

  ‘I’m sorry – I don’t do cards.’

  Perhaps the few operational muscles in my forehead expressed consternation at the thought of carrying so much cash.

  ‘I usually ask my clients to open an account with me,’ she continued. ‘Why don’t I simply put it on Allyn’s account?’

  I must not be so much as tempted. ‘If you prepare a bill and leave it with Miss Fairford, I will ensure it is paid,’ I said firmly. With what I had no idea. Another advance from Greg, perhaps. I must believe, like Mr Micawber, that something would turn up. Meanwhile Marissa looked quite disappointed that her little scheme wasn’t to my taste. ‘Allyn has been more than kind to me already,’ I continued, ‘and I’m very grateful. I’d hate to take advantage of her generosity.’

  At which point Allyn herself breezed in. Had she been eavesdropping again? ‘None of that sort of talk, Vena. On my bill it goes, please, Marissa. Now, Vena, this gorgeous handsome man is asking for you. He’s in Miss Fairford’s room. Do you want to meet with him there or shall I tell her to send him across to your cottage?’

  I could tell the moment that DCI Humpage crossed the threshold into the cottage there would be no flirting this morning. His grief filled the whole living room, grief and anger, in equal measure, as far as I could tell.

  My knees buckled at the sight of him, and I don’t think his legs would have held him any longer. We found ourselves at opposite ends of the utilitarian sofa.

  I’m sure he’d carefully prepared his words, but they came out in a fierce jumble. ‘Karen. A booby trap bomb at your house.’

  ‘She’s…?’ I couldn’t frame the word.

  ‘Alive. The officer she was supposed to be rendezvousing with dragged her out.’

  ‘Supposed?’

  ‘He was a few minutes late and for some reason she took it into her stupid head to go in.’

  I wasn’t sure who he was angry with – me, the tardy contact or poor Karen herself.

  ‘And how is she?’

  ‘Touch and go. Touch and go.’ He straightened his shoulders and looked me straight in the eye. ‘Why did she go back in?’

  ‘Because she was worried I’d left stuff in the fridge that would have gone bad.’

  He nodded as if I’d made more sense than I thought. ‘The forensic guys said the fridge was the source of the first explosion.’

  ‘First explosion?’

  ‘There was a second centred on the living room. That was what caused the fire. She’s lucky to be alive.’

  ‘I said it wasn’t important. I made her promise not to go in unless she had time! Why did I say anything about the bloody cheese?’ It seemed the words were coming of their own volition. ‘I made her promise not to take risks.’

  ‘She wouldn’t have listened anyway, not our Karen.’ He smiled. ‘She says you told her not to bother. She says you were going to show her round Aldred House.’

  ‘She says…so she’s still able to talk?’ It hurt my throat to get the words out. ‘Her face?’

  ‘Will need plastic surgery. And her hands. They hope they can save both her eyes.’

  ‘When can I go and see her?’

  He shook his head. ‘When they say she can have visitors.’ He swallowed. ‘I think whoever did this believes they got you. As far as I’m concerned, they can go on thinking it. We’ve put out a press statement which – let’s just say, it doesn’t lie, it just misleads somewhat. I know, I know – I baulked at telling a lie before but now… So our friends won’t expect to see Vena Burford should they return to Burford Estate Agents. What name are you going to use?’ he asked.

  The question seemed so far from poor Karen as to be almost irrelevant, but I screwed my concentration together and said, ‘Something poor Greg’ll remember. And Claire, of course. We don’t want them calling me Vee by mistake.’

  ‘For God’s sake, they mustn’t even think of you as Vee! You have to be a new person. You’ve done well.’ His eyes roamed over my ash-blonde cropped hair, my face still taut after its facial, the tinted eyelashes. ‘But I think you might add some glasses. Some of those that go dark in sunlight?’ He broke off, going so white that I nipped into the kitchen and made him a strong coffee. Had Greta stolen any brandy for me, I’d have poured him a slug and made him drink it, on duty or not.

  He took the mug absently, and then, waiting till I too was seated, said, ‘I thought the first thing you’d ask about would be your house. I’m sorry, I should have told you everything in the right order.’

  It was my turn to look him in the eye. ‘I just assumed it was wrecked.’

  ‘Yes. But, Vena, it’s your home. You’re entitled to react. Say something, for God’s sake.’

  I thought of all the places I’d lived. Theatrical digs. Bedsits. The superb house I’d shared with Dale, only to lose it. The women’s refuge. My Stratford place was neither the
best nor the worst I’d lived in. Did I hold it in any particular affection? The garden, perhaps.

  ‘I can’t even take you to see it, since you’re officially dying in Warwick Hospital,’ he continued, his smile grim. ‘The fire brigade have managed to rescue some of your things, but not many. And they’re being given the forensic science treatment to the nth degree.’

  I nodded.

  ‘The thing is, there were TV crews sniffing around when I left. There may be pictures of it on the lunchtime news. Your friends may see it too. You may be getting all sorts of phone calls and letters.’

  ‘I won’t. Karen confiscated my phone.’

  ‘Of course – so she did. I’ll make sure all your calls are diverted by way of your family liaison officer. Sandra Bond. Nice old-fashioned PC – never wanted promotion because she likes people, not paperwork.’ He fished in his pocket. ‘There. Karen made me promise to get all your contacts transferred.’ He passed me a new mobile in a sleek silver case. ‘I have done.’

  I stared without taking it. Would I ever manage to master it? But I’d better say something. I thanked him eloquently, and thought I ought to ask what might be an intelligent question. ‘Do you think they were using my old phone to track her to the house?’