by Carola Dunn
Alec heaved himself from his chair. “Good evening, Major. I’m making enquiries with regard to the death of Raymond Talmadge. We have to talk to everyone who knew him.”
“Barely acquainted with the fellow. Daresay Gwen’s sat next to him at dinner a couple of times. Sorry, we can’t help you.”
“Just for the record, I must ask you where you were yesterday at lunchtime.”
“Yesterday? Lunched at my club. Army and Navy, Pall Mall. Now if you’ll excuse us, Fletcher, we’re dining out tonight. Got to change.”
At least he had a couple of alibis to check, Alec thought, accepting his dismissal. Time enough for more persistent questioning if they didn’t pan out.
Mrs. Walker had produced her alibi with the air of one who had planned it beforehand, though that did not mean it was not true. Alec decided he’d better run down to Denham himself to speak to Miss Crouch. If he had learnt anything at all, it was that Gwen Walker was badly disturbed by the dentist’s death.
The rain had stopped at last. He drove home. Nana, in exile in the hall, greeted him ecstatically and her yip brought Belinda from the sitting room.
“Daddy! Mummy said you were going to be late home today. Nana, be quiet or Gran will never let you in the sitting room again.”
“What’s she done now?”
“Nothing. Nothing much. She just saw a cat in the garden and shouted at it a bit, but she didn’t try very hard to get out or she would have broken the glass, wouldn’t she? Daddy, are you going out to dinner with Mummy, or staying with Gran and me?”
“I have to go on to the Yard later, pet. I’ll have supper with you first, though, if it’s soon. Daisy’s not left yet?”
“No, she’s primping. That’s what Gran calls it when she puts on powder and lip rouge and stuff. She said I could watch but Gran said I have to do my homework before supper. I’ve nearly finished. Will you look at it, Daddy? I wrote a story about Nana.”
“I’ll read it before I go. Ask Dobson to have something on the table for me within ten minutes, will you? Even if it’s just bread and cheese. I must have a word with Daisy now.”
Daisy was in their bedroom, seated at the dressing table, scowling at her image in the looking glass.
“What’s wrong, love?” He kissed the back of her neck, nuzzling the feathery curls.
She waved an eyebrow pencil at him. “Just wondering whether the result can possibly be worth all the trouble.”
“It’s no good asking me. You look wonderful to me with or without all the trouble. You’re not still worrying over that little mole by your mouth, are you?”
“No, not for ages, not since you told me about the ‘Kissing’ patch eighteenth-century ladies used to wear just there. How lucky you specialized in the Georgians at university! Don’t kiss me like that, Alec, or I’ll drag you to bed here and now. Are you finished for the day? Shall I ring up Mrs. Randall and say I’ve broken my leg and can’t come to dinner?”
“No, alas, I’m due at the Yard shortly.”
“Darling, don’t tell me you’ve solved the case without me?”
“No such luck. Nowhere near.”
“Good. Because the only reason I’m going to the Randalls’ is to see if I can get some definite information about Gwen Walker for you.”
“Having seen her, I’m pretty certain you’re right about her relationship with Talmadge. Needless to say, she denies more than a casual acquaintance, so if you can find me a witness to anything closer it would be extremely useful.”
“I’ll do my best, darling, short of interrogating everyone at the table. Does she have an alibi? And the major?”
“Of sorts. They’ll have to be checked.”
“What else have you found out?”
“Mrs. Talmadge and Creighton lied about their whereabouts, and their new story may well be equally mendacious. But they make no bones about being in love.”
“Which they would surely attempt to hide if they were guilty—unless that’s what they want you to think.”
“What a tortuous mind you have, my love!”
“I’ve learnt from you,” Daisy retorted. “Did Tom find out anything from the errand boys?”
“I haven’t heard from him yet. He’s been all day at it so I hope it isn’t turning out a sheer waste of time.”
“I expect each boy he talks to mentions another who uses the shortcut. Then he has to run that one to earth, when they’re all buzzing all over the place all day.”
“Yes, and he may even have had to catch some at home after they finished work for the day, the lucky brats. No quitting time for us guardians of the law. We’re all meeting in my office in about half an hour. I’ve got to get moving.”
“I wish I could go with you.”
“The super would scream blue murder, to put it mildly. Are you ready? Come down and sit with me while I have a quick bite and I’ll give you a lift to the Randalls’ on my way.”
She preceded him out of the room, no coquetry in her walk, conscious or unconscious. She was wearing her dark blue charmeuse, a thigh-length tunic over a straight underskirt, a style, she had explained, intended to flatter her unfashionable figure. It didn’t disguise anything from Alec, who found her gentle curves infinitely more enticing than the no-bosom-no-bottom look she so envied.
“You look delectable,” he said, stopping her with his arms around her waist. “I hope Mrs. Randall has invited all the dullest men in St. John’s Wood.”
She turned her head to look up and back at him, laughing. “Beast! If you’re not there, I’ll need all the wittiest men to make up for your absence. No, don’t kiss my nose or I’ll have to powder it again. Come on, come and eat. I told Dobson to have something ready in case you managed to dash in.”
“There are advantages to murder in one’s own neighbourhood.”
“Yes, but I’m afraid your mother doesn’t quite see it in that light.”
“Oh?” Alec enquired warily, but they had reached the hall. His mother and Belinda came out of the sitting room and Dobson appeared from the kitchen with a tray, and they all converged on the dining room.
“I thought you were dining out, Daisy.”
“I am, Mother. Alec has to go out again, so he’s going to drop me off on his way.”
“It’s only a five-minute walk. And the rain has stopped.”
“It’s my pleasure to drive Daisy, Mother. What’s that you have there, Dobson? It smells delicious.”
“It’s a rag-out, sir. Leastways, what I’d call it’s a fancy stew, but I cut out the recipe from the ladies’ page in the Sunday Graphic, and rag-out’s what they call it, with a little squiggle over the u.”
“That’s because it’s French, Dobson,” said Belinda. “I think it’s pronounced rag-goo, isn’t it, Mummy?”
“More or less, darling.”
“Well, fancy you knowing that, Miss Bel, and you just starting French at school last September. Rag-goo, I’ll remember that.”
“It smells heavenly,” said Daisy. “I wish I wasn’t going out.”
“I’ll make it again, madam, when you’re home for dinner.”
“I see,” said Alec, laughing, “you’re just trying it out on the rest of us to see if it’s good enough for Daisy.”
“Well, madam’s used to the best, isn’t she. I wouldn’t want to let her down.”
Alec’s mother sniffed, and it wasn’t a sniff of appreciation of the savoury aroma. “There’s nothing wrong with a good Irish stew. I believe I ordered stew for supper today. That will be all, Dobson.”
“I love Irish stew,” said Daisy pacifically, “but a change is nice. And anything is a change for the better after the eggs and sardines and cheese I survived on in Chelsea. Thank you, Dobson.”
“My pleasure, madam.”
The ragout tasted as good as it smelled, but Alec was not allowed to enjoy it in peace. His mother poked and prodded suspiciously at the small helping she had taken, though such indecorum in Belinda would have drawn instant cen
sure. She ate a boiled potato uncontaminated by the sauce, then laid down her knife and fork.
“Alec, I suppose you will be far too busy in the morning to give me a lift in the motor-car.”
“Where to, Mother? I’m not quite sure what I’ll be doing first thing tomorrow, but if you’re leaving early and it’s not too far out of my way, you know I’ll be happy to take you.”
“Waterloo Station.”
“Waterloo! Why on earth—?”
“I’m going to Bournemouth.”
“I hope my aunt hasn’t fallen ill?”
“Darling, your mother is uncomfortable with an investigation so close to home, so to speak.” Daisy’s eyes begged, Don’t kick up a dust!
“Impertinent questions! And Daisy in the thick of things—it’s intolerable!”
“Of course, Mother,” Alec soothed, “there’s no reason why you should have to suffer. I’ll get you to Waterloo in plenty of time for your train, never fear.”
“Gertrude Harbison is going with me.”
“Then we shall pick up Mrs. Harbison on the way, unless you’re taking a lot of luggage. It’s a small car, remember.”
“Granny’s packed her big trunk,” Belinda announced, “and a basket and an overnight case and three hatboxes.”
“There’s no knowing how long I’ll have to stay,” her grandmother said defensively. “If Gertrude has to take a taxicab, I might as well share it with her.”
“I think you’ll find it more convenient all around,” Alec agreed. He certainly would.
He finished his dinner—a staid rolypoly pudding followed the ragoût—and while hastily drinking a cup of coffee he read Belinda’s story. It made him laugh, to her delight.
“Maybe I’ll be a writer like Mummy,” she said, handing him his hat. “You will come and kiss me good night in bed, won’t you, Daddy, however late you get home and even if I’m fast asleep?”
“Of course, pet. Ready, Daisy? Let’s go.”
As he settled behind the wheel and reached for the self-starter, Daisy heaved a gigantic sigh.
“What’s up, love? You know, if you really desperately don’t want to go to this dinner party, I’d hate you to feel you must just because you might happen to find me a witness. The chances are pretty low. I could ring up Mrs. Randall and say you’ve broken your leg, or more believably that your tooth is agony. They all know all too well that you didn’t manage to see the dentist.”
“Well, I can’t say I’m looking forward to being interrogated about the murder, but I shan’t cry off. Isn’t it extraordinary that the blasted tooth hasn’t given me a single twinge since then? Simply being in his waiting room seems to have cured it.”
“Most extraordinary.” The car, kept in good order by Scotland Yard’s mechanics, started smoothly. Letting out the clutch and moving off, he asked, “If the sigh wasn’t for the dinner party, what’s bothering you?”
“Guilt,” she said mournfully. “It’s all my fault that your poor mother’s running away from home.”
“Great Scott, Daisy, don’t talk such bosh!” Not that it wasn’t true, but red-hot wild horses—as Belinda had once proclaimed—would never draw that admission from him.
“No, it’s true, darling. She doesn’t like the way I do things, and I ought to have tried to compromise more than I have. After all, it’s been her home for simply ages, and I’ve just moved in and changed things. No wonder she’s not happy.”
“But I am, love, and so is Belinda.”
“And that’s another thing: She’s brought Belinda up since she was four and now Bel tends to turn to me before her. It must seem frightfully unfair.”
“Daisy, I wasn’t going to tell you this, because it seems to me unfair to you to talk about Joan, as well as not quite fair to Mother, but—”
“In that case, perhaps you shouldn’t tell me.”
“But I can’t have the situation making you unhappy. The fact is, Mother went to Bournemouth a few months after Joan and I married and didn’t come back except for visits till Joan died.” He stopped the car outside the Randalls’ house and turned to her.
“Really?”
“Mother is old-fashioned and not very flexible in her ideas. She didn’t get on with Joan any better than she does with you. And grateful as I am to her for her care of Bel, to see Bel blossoming since you became her mother has been a pure joy to me.”
“Oh, darling!” Teardrops sparkled on her lashes in the light of the streetlamp. “Right-oh, I’ll stop feeling guilty, except for a little bit because I’m relieved that she’s going. After all it’s only for a few days, this time, isn’t it? Till we catch Talmadge’s murderer. I haven’t driven her away for good.”
“Well, we can always hope—”
“Alec!” She put her hand across his mouth. “Don’t say it. I’m very sorry for her. It’s much the same with my mother. I love her, but in a dreadfully dutiful sort of way and I’d rather not have to spend too much time with her. I hope I won’t be like that when I’m older.”
“You couldn’t possibly!”
“Thank you, darling, and thank you for telling me about Joan. I suspect I’d have liked her no end. I’d better enter the lions’ den now or they’ll start the soup without me.”
He went round to open the car door for her, kissing her as she stepped onto the pavement. “Don’t walk home alone in the dark, love. Ring for a taxi.”
“I expect someone will give me a lift home. Toodle-oo, darling, don’t work too hard. My best to Tom and Piper.”
He watched her go up the garden path and ring the doorbell. Joan would have liked her, too, he thought, and loved her for being a loving mother to Belinda. She was having a hard time trying to adjust to life in St. John’s Wood. Thank heaven she had her writing to fall back on.
His mother, who disapproved of the writing, was not helping Daisy’s adjustment. As he drove towards Whitehall, Alec started to calculate. Suppose she were tactfully encouraged to go to live permanently with his aunt. His father had died young, in his early forties, but heavily insured. Alec had never allowed his mother to pay any of the household expenses while she resided with him, and she was not an extravagant person. She must have been living well below her income for years. She could well afford to share with her sister or even to live independently if she chose.
His father had left the Gardenia Grove house to him, unmortgaged, along with a decent sum in debentures. With Daisy earning her own spending money, they could promote Dobson to housekeeper and hire another maid to help her, thus relieving Daisy of numerous dull chores.
Then they might think about starting a family. Turning into the Yard, Alec wondered how Daisy felt about having children of her own, and how he did. Babies again, at his age? At least these days it was possible for even respectable women to avoid having them if they didn’t want them.
Which made him wonder about Mrs. Talmadge and her pregnancy—intentional or accidental? His thoughts turned back to the case of the murdered dentist.
16
Alec reached his office a few minutes early for the meeting he’d set up. Tom Tring was already at his desk, reading the pathology report.
“Any luck, Tom?”
“If you’re talking about the canteen coffee, Chief, no.” He waved a disgusted hand at the disgusting dregs in the mug at his side. “If it’s them cheeky buggers I’ve been after all day you mean, well, in a manner of speaking.”
“Stop being oracular.” Alec sat down at his desk, on which reposed several discouragingly large piles of papers. “You’ve been at it all day. What have you got to show for it?”
“Have a heart, Chief. I managed to nab eleven likely lads that use the shortcut, and there’s a few more I’ve heard about but didn’t get ahold of. It’s like trying to catch minnows with your bare hands.”
“And?”
Tom grinned. “And one of ‘em saw a veiled lady going in through the Talmadges’ back gate at about one o’clock.”
“A veiled lady? He�
��s sure of the time and place?”
“Sure of the time, within a few minutes either way. He’d just delivered a pair of lamb cutlets and got a wigging because it was too late to cook ’em for lunch. And sure of the place because I took him to the alley and he picked out the right gate. But he couldn’t see her face because of the veil on her hat, and all he can say about her hat and coat and shoes is that they were sort of brown.”
“So near and yet so far,” Alec groaned. “Tall, short, fat, thin?”
“He was in a hurry, being late back to the shop, too. He remembered her because it was unusual to see a lady in the alley and because of her surreptitious behaviour—acting sneaky, he called it. He particularly noticed the veil because it added to the impression of furtiveness.”
“Watch it, Sarge,” said Ernie Piper, coming in, “your fancy vocab’s showing.”
“That’s vocabulary to you, young whippersnapper. Like constabulary.”
“‘When constabulary duty’s to be done, to be done,’” Piper warbled, “‘the policeman’s lot is not a happy one.’”
The divisional sergeant entered behind him.
“Evening, Mackinnon,” Alec greeted him. “You’re very full of yourself, Ernie.”
“It’s the only thing I am full of, Chief. No time for tea, the sergeant and me.”
“You ought to go on the music halls, you ought,” said Tom, reaching for his telephone. “All right if I ring down to the canteen for sandwiches, Chief?”
“Do. Are you starving too?” Alec thought guiltily of his ragoût and jam pudding.
“Not me. I stopped in the canteen before I came up, not that their steak-and-kidney pud’s worth a farthing compared to the wife’s.”
“All right, Ernie, your stomach’s empty, but I hope your brain’s full. What have you got?”
