by Carola Dunn
Forestalling Sir Edward’s response, Eleanor quickly put in, “Mr. Faraday is not familiar with this district. It’s just about impossible to walk from here without going through the village.”
“Then I can’t allow—”
“As I was about to suggest,” Eleanor interrupted, “to avoid being seen, you’d have to go by car to a suitable spot.”
“Your niece is local,” Gina put in. “I expect she would know where to go.”
“If not, I can easily explain to her.”
“You could equally well give Ken directions, Mrs. Trewynn,” Nontando pointed out. “He drove me all the way down from town without losing his way once.”
“Of course.”
“We’ll sort that out later,” Sir Edward said testily. “If you’re determined to go out, we must get down to work at once.”
Gina and Eleanor exchanged a glance and took themselves upstairs.
“You brought it off,” said Gina, sinking into a chair. “I really thought poor Edward’s talks were at a standstill, beyond even your wiles. I don’t know how you managed it.”
“I credit that divine pavlova, with Cornish cream and fresh strawberries. It was enough to melt the stubbornest resistance.”
“One of Cook’s masterpieces,” Gina agreed complacently. “The persuasive effect of good food is not to be underestimated.”
“Please pass on my appreciation to Cook. You don’t mind if I fetch Teazle down? She does so dislike being shut up alone.”
“Do bring her down. She’s such a good little thing.”
By the time Eleanor and Teazle reached the sitting room, another effect of good food was evident: somnolence. Gina’s head lolled against the back of her chair and she was emitting gentle, ladylike snuffles that weren’t quite snores.
With a sigh, Eleanor went over for a second look at the shelf of books. Previous guests apparently read nothing but thrillers and family sagas. Nothing appealed to her. She decided to go and see if Megan had returned. Their meeting this morning had been so rushed, she had forgotten to tell her that Alan Freeth was safe and sound.
In a drawer of a small writing table under one window, she found hotel notepaper and biros. She wrote a note to Gina to explain and excuse her absence; then she and Teazle went down to the ground floor and through to the main lobby.
DS Faraday was sitting alone in a corner of the lounge, reading a newspaper. Eleanor hesitated. She was never quite comfortable with the young man, unable to forget that he had let Megan down badly. To complicate matters, he and Nontando obviously had some sort of ill-defined understanding. Moreover, Eleanor was never sure whether to address him as Ken, Mr. Faraday, or Sergeant.
Nonsense, she told herself firmly. For one who had conferred with kings and cannibal chieftains, a mere detective, even one from Scotland Yard, was nothing.
She wound her way towards him between the groups of chairs and sofas and coffee tables, few occupied. Though he appeared completely absorbed in his paper, he laid it down and stood as she approached.
“Hello, Mrs. Trewynn. What can I do for you?” His voice was wary.
“I just wondered whether Megan’s back yet.”
“No. To be precise, not that I’m aware, and she’s supposed to let me know.”
“I hope she’s all right.”
“Do you have any reason to suppose she might not be?”
“No. I was just thinking about the suspicious pair you and Megan had your eyes on.…”
“You’ve seen them?”
“I wouldn’t know. You two wouldn’t let me take a look at them. Have you?”
“They had breakfast and lunch in the dining room. I didn’t see them in between, but they could have sneaked out unobserved. There are other doors, and anyway, I can’t spend all my time in here watching the main door without drawing unwanted attention.”
“Oh dear!”
“They’re not really my pigeon, in any case. Megan and I agree that they’re far more likely up to some local mischief than taking an interest in Commonwealth intrigues.”
“So you won’t help Megan foil them?” Eleanor asked indignantly.
“Of course I will, if it comes to that. At present, we have nothing against them except their looks.”
“Describe them. How am I to help if I can’t recognise them?”
“I’d much rather you didn’t try to help. And I’m sure Megan would agree.”
“All right, then, how am I to avoid being victim to their ‘mischief’ if I can’t recognise them?”
Faraday blinked, and uttered something between a sigh and a groan. “You win. One is shortish, bulky in a muscular way, greying crew-cut hair, broad, unhealthily pale face, an expression that suggests he’d do over his granny for ten quid.”
“He sounds most unattractive, the sort of person one would instinctively avoid.”
“He goes by the name of Victor Jones, which is probably not his real name. The other currently calls himself Adrian Arbuthnot.”
“I once knew an Adrian Arbuthnot,” Eleanor said doubtfully. “He was a lieutenant in the Indian Army in the twenties, when I was sent out to find a husband. I don’t know what became of him.”
“This one isn’t quite that old—I beg your pardon; that could have been better phrased. This one appears to be about fifty but desperately trying to look younger.”
“A gigolo?”
“Gig— Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.”
Out-of-date, Eleanor thought. She wished the English language would just stand still for a while. “His companion doesn’t fit a gigolo, though,” she ventured. “He should be accompanied by an older woman with more money than sense, not a thug.”
Ken Faraday looked surprised, amused, and approving. “Very true. The pairing is out of character. Nor do con men generally pal up with heavies. I wonder just what their game is.”
“I suppose they might be taking a holiday from their nefarious activities?”
“Not together. Incompatible characters, unless we’ve completely misread them. Megan’s been trying to get a snap of them for the CRO without alerting them, but they’re leery customers.”
“CRO?”
“Criminal Records Office. I know I’ve seen Victor’s ugly mug somewhere before.”
“One reads about criminal gangs in London. Could they both be working for the same gang?”
“You’re full of ideas this afternoon, Mrs. Trewynn! It’s possible. It would explain why they’re working in cahoots, with different roles in a larger operation. The big gangs do carry out hits in the provinces. But they go for big cities, or at least the larger towns. I can’t imagine what they would find in Tintagel’s vicinity worth the trouble.”
“Nor can I,” Eleanor admitted. “And surely Ian Smith—or the Russians and Chinese—have too much nous to hire such obviously shady characters to do their dirty work.”
“Russians? Chinese?”
“Bother, I wasn’t going to mention them, as Sir Edward apparently didn’t. I thought Nontando might have explained that they’re each supporting one of the freedom-fighter groups. She seems to … repose great confidence in you on such brief acquaintance.”
Ken Faraday blushed. Eleanor wouldn’t have thought him capable of it.
“For pity’s sake, we were together for hours! You wouldn’t expect us to sit in silence? We got on well. She told me about her country, which was interesting, and she said she was a Marxist but not a Communist, whatever that means. Well, coppers are supposed to be above politics—outside politics. I switched off, stopped paying attention. If she talked about the Soviets or Chinese, I wasn’t listening. Mostly, we talked about music and art, plays, that sort of thing. Dancing—she loves dancing, and I’m a bit of a dab at it myself … and why I’m telling you all this, I can’t fathom.”
“Nor can I,” said Eleanor, “but thank you. The insight into her character may help with my job. By the way, perhaps I ought to warn you that your primary job here is about to get more complica
ted.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Nontando and Tariro found something they were able to agree on. They joined forces in revolt to persuade Sir Edward to let them go for a walk later on.” Teazle, snoozing chin on paws, raised her head hopefully at the word walk.
“After dark,” Ken said, equally hopeful.
“That wouldn’t do at all. In the first place, they want to see the scenery, and in the second, the cliffs are far too hazardous. Nontando seems to be under the impression that you’ve already more or less offered to escort her.”
“I may have said something like it on the drive down. I was thinking of when we get back to town, not here.”
“Sir Edward says they’re to have a police escort.”
“How does he expect us to stop people seeing them? Has he given up on keeping their presence secret? The whole thing’s turning into a bloody balls-up. Sorry, Mrs. Trewynn. A farce. A fiasco. I forgot you’re not a colleague.”
Eleanor gave him a kindly smile. “I’ll take it as a compliment. To do poor Sir Edward justice, he didn’t have much choice once Tariro and Nontando were at last in agreement, if only on a single subject. But it’s not quite as bad as you may think.” She explained about having to drive through the village and out the other side. “If they wear hats and keep their heads down, they shouldn’t be noticed. The shops are shut, and you’re not likely to meet hikers.”
“‘At this time of year,’ a constant refrain. I don’t know how Megan can stand it after London. When is this thrilling excursion to take place?”
“In a couple of hours. If you don’t want to go, I’m sure Megan would be happy to take charge of both. She’s used to thrilling walks on the cliffs. In fact, she’s far better qualified to keep them to the safe paths and show them the best views.”
“Touché, Mrs. Trewynn.” Ken smiled, but it was with a degree of relief that he looked past her and announced, “Here she is now.”
“Good. I need to talk to her.”
“Am I to be a good boy and make myself scarce again?”
“I’m afraid so. But not right away.”
“Okay. Just give me my marching orders when the moment comes.”
“Marching orders?” Megan sat down, dropping her shopping bag at her feet. “Three Cornish piskies and a miniature plastic Excalibur,” she said bitterly. “At least I managed not to acquire a plaster seagull. I trust Sir Edward will reimburse me, because the guv’nor would explode if I put in a claim to CaRaDoC. Hello, Aunt Nell. I’m glad you’re not back in seclusion. You rushed off in such a hurry, you didn’t get round to telling me Nick’s here.”
“Oh, didn’t I?”
“Nick Gresham?” Ken asked. “That artist bloke? What’s he doing here? You don’t suppose he’s—”
“No,” Eleanor and Megan both said vehemently.
“He drove me here and stayed to paint. How did you know, Megan?”
“I met him in the village and had lunch with him. And another thing you didn’t tell me is that he’s staying at the same place as—”
“We’ll talk about that later, dear.”
“Your aunt has just dropped a couple of bombshells. You and I are going to have to take Nontando and Tariro walkies.” Teazle stood up and fixed him with a bright, expectant gaze.
“What!”
“We could go with you,” Eleanor proposed. “Teazle’s always ready for walkies.” She explained Sir Edward’s capitulation. “One or both may want to go over to King Arthur’s castle.”
“It’s quite a climb. I hope Nontando’s brought suitable footwear.”
Ken looked gloomily at his feet, shod in glossy shoes suitable for London pavements. “I’ve got my boots in the car boot. I’d hoped not to have to wear them. I wonder if Nontando has anything other than those platform heels.”
“Is that what she wore when you took her tramping round Stonehenge?” Megan asked.
“No, come to think of it. She changed into low heels, non-platform. Not what I’d call proper walking shoes.”
“Well, if she wants to go, she’ll have to manage. And if Sir Edward tells us to take ’em out, that’s that. What was Aunt Nell’s other bombshell?”
“Reds under the bed.”
“Oh, that. The Russians and Chinese.”
“You know already?” Ken was annoyed. “Sir Edward told you, and you didn’t pass it on to me?”
“No. It was Nick.” Megan avoided looking at her aunt, for which Eleanor was duly grateful. The less reason Ken had for suspecting her of spilling the beans to Nick, the better. Megan went on, “He said a Russian would be just another stranger. Of course I asked him what he meant. Apparently, he keeps up with international news. I don’t know about you, Ken, but I certainly don’t. Nothing but the headlines.”
“Who has time? Gresham’s right: A Russian who speaks good English would be just another stranger. A Chinese would stick out like a sore thumb, but not knowing the connection, we would have ignored him as irrelevant. Sir Edward ought to have warned us.”
“When he briefed me, he was in shock at being faced with a woman detective. I’m surprised he managed to tell me anything useful at all.”
“But he didn’t mention them when I saw him later.”
“He told me, earlier,” said Eleanor, “before you arrived. I expect he got mixed up about who he’d told. I do, frequently.”
“Oh well,” Ken sighed, “now we know. I take it no one in the village reported a sinister Chinese character lurking in the vicinity, Meg?”
“No, but they wouldn’t necessarily just because he was Chinese. Believe it or not, we do have a few Chinese restaurants out here in the wilds. People go to Bude or Camelford, or Launceston, come to that, for a Chinese meal. Though I can’t think of anything in Tintagel that would bring the owners or staff here. They’re very much a long shot. Don’t let’s waste time on them. I haven’t told you yet who I saw in the village, besides Nick.”
“Whom?” asked Ken.
She gave him a dirty look.
“Do tell us, dear,” Eleanor intervened.
“Adrian Arbuthnot. The con man, Aunt Nell.”
“Damn!” Ken exclaimed. “I missed him!”
“You didn’t see him leave?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“Which suggests he didn’t want to be seen.”
“Which just tells us they’re up to no good, and we were already pretty sure of that.”
“I think he must have walked down. I noticed as I crossed the car park that the van doesn’t appear to have budged an inch.”
“They were afraid it might draw attention.”
“It’s not exactly conspicuous, but I had worked that out for myself, thank you.”
“Stop squabbling, children. What did he do in the village, Megan?”
“Went into the Old Post Office. For your information, Ken, it’s no longer in use as a post office. It’s a sort of museum. I think they charge for entrance. He came out right away, but he must have asked for directions to the actual post office, because that’s where he headed for.”
“Posting letters?”
“No, there’s a postbox outside and he didn’t stop beside it. He went in. It must have been just about closing—it was one o’clock. Again, he wasn’t inside more than a minute. He came out with a sort of leaflet, more like a booklet.” With her hands, she shaped a rectangle about half the size of a standard sheet of typing paper. “Lightish blue cover. I was on the other side of the road, so I couldn’t read the printing on it.”
“It sounds like a community directory,” said Eleanor. “We have one for Port Mabyn. You probably don’t in Launceston because it’s bigger. It just lists names, addresses, and numbers for local people, with adverts for local businesses to pay for printing.”
“He seemed pleased with himself, as if he’d found what he wanted.”
“Your problem, Megan, as expected. A community directory can’t have any bearing on Sir Edward’s
business.”
Megan sighed. “I’d better ring the guv’nor. He may want me to concentrate on trying to find out what those two have in mind. In that case, you’ll be taking Tariro and Nontando for their walk all on your own.”
“He wouldn’t pull you off—”
“Oh yes he would. He was very clear that CaRaDoC must take precedence if I’m needed. I’ll see you later, Aunt Nell.” She went off to telephone.
“Mrs. Trewynn,” Ken said urgently, “you will go walking with us, won’t you? I haven’t a clue where to take them.”
“We’ll go along, won’t we, Teazle?”
“Wuff,” Teazle agreed.
“Not to climb over to the castle, though. We’ll drive to the church; then you can walk north with Nontando, if you like, while I’ll take Tariro and the dog south.”
“I didn’t say … I didn’t mean—”
“Never mind, I was just teasing. We’ll sort it out when we see if Megan’s coming too.”
“I count on you to persuade Nontando and Tariro to keep their heads down as we go through the village.”
“I daresay Sir Edward will, too. I’d better get back to Gina—Lady Bellowe. I said I’d just be gone a few minutes.”
Ken stood up. “Thank you for the information you’ve passed on to me, Mrs. Trewynn. I hope you’re doing as well with keeping the talks running smoothly.”
“As to that,” said Eleanor, “it remains to be seen.”
FIFTEEN
Megan dialled the Launceston nick. Keeping a watch out for eavesdroppers, she asked whether DCI Scumble was in. As she expected on a Saturday afternoon, he wasn’t.
She rang his home. His wife answered.
“Hello, Mrs. Scumble. This is DS Pencarrow, I’m afraid. Sorry to disturb you. Is Mr. Scumble there?”
“I know you wouldn’t if you didn’t have to, dear.” She had a very soft voice, as if she had decided years ago that she couldn’t speak louder than her husband and would more easily catch his attention if he had to shut up to hear her at all. “I’ll call him to the phone. Just a minute.”
“Thanks.”
Megan had never met her guv’nor’s wife, though she had waved to her several times while picking him up at his house. At first, she hadn’t been able to reconcile the tough character she knew at work with the neat, colourful front garden and had presumed Mrs. Scumble was responsible for it. Once or twice, she had seen the short, thin, grey-haired woman dead-heading or on her knees weeding. By now she knew the garden was a joint enterprise and the chief inspector’s pride and joy.
