‘You won’t find any in here.’
Amiss thought of squirming out of the door and investigating upstairs. By hurling herself against the door and scratching it vigorously, the cat indicated a similar intention. Amiss considered the problem. It seemed to come down to a choice between bolting now and incurring dishonour, risking being clawed to death or sacrificing some item of his wardrobe. He took out a coin, ‘Heads the blazer goes; tails the shirt.’ When heads came up he said, ‘The hell with that.’ He took it off, unbuttoned and removed Pooley’s fine cotton shirt and with a swift movement threw it over the cat. Before the cat had time to regroup or he had time to panic, he had it in the basket and had slammed the lid shut.
‘Bravo, bravo, Bob. I don’t know how I’d have managed without you.’
‘Oh, it was nothing. The only difficulty now is that I haven’t got a shirt. Is there likely to be anything upstairs?’
Rich shuddered. ‘No, dear boy. Don’t even think of it. Put on your blazer and we’ll get a taxi to my place and sort things out. Perhaps you might let me cook you some supper?’
‘Delighted.’ And Amiss donned his blazer and went inside to crouch in front of the electric fire.
Chapter 13
‘I know what you’re thinking, dear boy.’
Amiss raised an enquiring eyebrow.
‘That this flat is worth about ten of poor Ned’s.’
Just as Amiss was about to deny indignantly that his mind ran along such materialistic lines he recalled that it was supposed to. He was finding it increasingly hard to remember that he was supposed to be an unprincipled, money-grabbing shit.
‘Oh, yah. Well, it did cross my mind as a matter of fact. Seemed a bit strange. Him being the owner and all. You obviously had a good slice of the action, eh?’
‘It wouldn’t have mattered how much money Ned had. He’d always have lived the same way. And I’m the same. Even when I’d nothing I lived nicely.’
Amiss had no difficulty in believing that. Although Rich’s Kensington flat spelled serious money, it also spelled taste. Here was a man who would have scoured jumble sales for unconsidered but beautiful trifles.
‘How long did you know him?’
Rich finished chopping the ingredients for the piperade. ‘I’ll tell you in a moment. First, are you sure you’re comfortable? That shirt’s not too tight?’
‘No, it’s fine.’
‘It’s too bad about yours. It was so lovely. Where did you get it? Not in this country, I’ll wager.’
‘Oh, the mater bought it on the Continent, I think.’ Amiss was beginning to feel quite fond of his putative mother. ‘She’s always bringing me back stuff.’
‘She sounds very nice. I’d like to meet her some time.’
Amiss hoped Rich was just being polite. He viewed with dismay the prospect of having to borrow Pooley’s mother along with his clothes.
‘You were saying about meeting Ned…’
‘It was in Athens five years ago—at the Acropolis, would you believe? I was a courier at the time and I had about a dozen American women to look after; he was on his own. He was wearing shorts, I remember. Grey shorts and an ordinary white shirt with a big orange stain on the sleeve. Oh, yes, and grey socks and open-toed sandals. He looked so ridiculous that I made some joke about him being a possible husband for one of them and everyone went into fits of giggles.’ Rich put down the knife, pulled out a handkerchief, dabbed his eyes and blew his nose. When he had recovered he washed his hands thoroughly and returned to the vegetables.
‘He heard us and turned round and beamed. You know that disarming smile he had. It made me feel so ashamed that I started a conversation. He was really interesting and helpful and had such infectious enthusiasm that even the most philistine of the ladies took in some of what he was saying about Athens. I was delighted with him. You can’t imagine how bored I was that summer. I’d really had my bellyful of trudging round hot places smarming up to people and getting only a pittance for it. Especially after a winter of doing the same on the ski slopes.’ He took four eggs from the refrigerator and began to beat them dreamily.
‘So we arranged to take a constitutional the following morning at the time when my punters were upstairs slapping stuff on their faces and trying on for each other whatever they’d bought the day before.’
He went through the tears, handkerchief and hand-washing routine again. ‘And then we fell in love.’
Amiss was slightly taken aback by a revelation of such intimacy so early in the evening. He took another sip of wine and tried to look like part of the furniture.
‘Oh, I don’t mean sexually,’ said Rich, beginning to cook the vegetables. ‘Well yes, I do a bit, I suppose. Mostly on Ned’s side. But he had always been celibate, and I wasn’t much bothered so there wasn’t much to it. Really, though I used to oblige both sexes when I was younger, I could always take it or leave it.’ A particularly vigorous stir splashed some liquid on to his apron and, tutting to himself, he removed it and washed out the stain under the cold tap.
‘Would you like some more?’ The shock of the cold water seemed to have brought Amiss’s existence back to Rich’s attention. ‘Shall we finish the Chablis or would you prefer to move on to red now?’
‘I’ll stick with the Chablis for the moment, thanks.’ Amiss reflected that the cost of the wine he had consumed that day would probably keep a family of four for a week. ‘It’s utterly delicious.’
‘One of my great extravagances, dear boy. Acquired a palate early on; in fact I worked as a wine waiter for a time. But it was only in the last few years I could afford to indulge it—thanks to Ned.’
Rich returned to his vegetables. ‘Where was I?’
‘Er, in love.’
‘Oh, yes.’ He turned and looked squarely at Amiss. ‘You’re sure I’m not boring you?’
‘Not in the least.’
‘Helps to get it off my chest.’ He returned to his stirring.
‘I suppose we were both lonely people who were getting afraid of growing old on our own. I loved Ned because he was kind and cared about more important things than money. Funny that, with me being a bit too keen on it. He loved me because I was lively and confident and fun to be with. Yet it was timid old Ned who first suggested we might set up together.’ Rich tasted a spoonful of the vegetable mixture and placed the spoon in the dishwasher. ‘He invited me to come to London and take a job at his school. “Make a teacher of you in no time, no time, dear Rich. You’re a natural. And you don’t have to worry about finding anywhere to live. I’ve got lots of room and you’d be more than welcome to share with me.”’
Amiss could not help laughing. ‘It must have been like The Odd Couple on an heroic scale.’
‘You may well laugh. When I saw his house I nearly cried. I terribly didn’t want to hurt him, but what could I do? I didn’t get a wink of sleep that night; I was convinced I’d catch fleas.’ He poured the eggs into the mixture in the pan and stirred more vigorously. ‘Just about ready, Bob. If you’d light the candle and turn out the main light. And pour out the Bordeaux, if you’d be so good. You’ll find it over there breathing.’
‘So what happened next?’ asked Amiss, as he took his first forkful of piperade. ‘My goodness. This is wonderful.’
‘Glad you like it, old boy. Next? Well, I suppose what happened next was that I took over. I looked at the school—which was pretty dilapidated, I might add—and I had a bit of a think. Then I told Ned there was only one way we were going to have a future together. We could be friends and business partners but on my terms.’
‘Which were?’
‘I’d kip down temporarily in the most habitable room in the school. We’d get a bank loan to do it up and go up-market. Of course he had to stay as principal—MA Oxon. Always looks good. He agreed to everything. Bit wistful about living apart, but didn’t complain. Poor old Ned. He never complained. As long as I was happy he was happy.’
‘He didn’t have any reservations about t
he BPs, then?’
‘Bless you, he barely noticed them. I didn’t encourage much contact between them, though of course I couldn’t keep him away all the time.’
‘So he never wanted to teach them?’
‘Not really. I told him they were too sophisticated for him and he accepted that unquestioningly. The prefabs kept him out of mischief. “Well, of course you know best, dear Rich.” That’s what he always used to say.’
‘And you prospered?’
‘Didn’t we just!’ Rich fell silent and Amiss, reluctant to force the pace, applied himself single-mindedly to his food. When Rich spoke again it was to ask mundane questions about how Amiss liked the job. In his replies Amiss talked generalities, being well aware that Rich was paying almost no attention. When coffee was offered, Amiss sensed that he might be outstaying his welcome. ‘Thanks very much, Rich, but if it’s all right with you, I’ll be off.’
Rich’s relief was almost tangible. ‘Well, if you must, old bean. I will say I could do with a bit of shut-eye. But I’m most terribly grateful. You were a hero. Oh, and thanks as well for listening so sympathetically.’
‘Not at all. Delighted.’ Amiss drained his last precious mouthful of Château-Margaux. ‘I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, won’t I?’
‘Oh, yes. The show must go on and all that.’
‘I hope Plutarch settles in.’ Amiss looked through the open door into Rich’s bedroom and caught the now familiar unwinking angry glare. The cat had finished shredding Pooley’s shirt and was now mauling Rich’s duvet. Amiss made a face at her and withdrew.
***
‘You know what I’m hoping for, Ellis.’
‘Tell me.’
‘That Ned and Wally both had straightforward accidents. I don’t want to find out that Rich is a murderer.’
‘You’re very sentimental really, aren’t you?’
‘Incorrigibly. I like to believe in true love, and I decline to believe that anyone who didn’t love Ned would take on that unspeakable cat.’
‘I’m afraid that for the moment everyone has to be presumed guilty until proved innocent. So carry on snooping.’
Amiss sighed and took another gulp of black coffee. ‘Oh, all right. When do we speak next?’
‘Well, with luck I’ll have the PM result unofficially by this afternoon. I’ll ring you at work, shall I?’
‘Please. Ask whoever answers to call me out of class.’
‘And who shall I pretend to be?’
‘My tailor, of course. Who else?’
Chapter 14
The nightmare commenced at eleven, just at the moment when Amiss and Gavs were supposed to avert a human log jam round the coffee machine by shepherding their groups back to the classrooms. Amiss, idly chatting to Gunther, was on his way to the stairs when Jenn called.
‘Someone here to see you from the police.’
Amiss’s mind filled with sensations of fear and guilt. ‘Me? Surely there’s some mistake.’
‘No mistake,’ said the WPC as she entered the room. ‘You’re Mr Amiss, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
Amiss realised unhappily that neither colleagues nor punters showed any signs of leaving him in privacy for his interview.
‘And you live at Lothair Mansions near Victoria?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, I’m afraid you’ve been burgled.’
Amiss felt an overwhelming sense of relief. His loved ones were alive; he hadn’t been unmasked. ‘Oh, really. Is that all? Well thanks very much for coming along to tell me about it.’
Several of the bystanders looked bewildered, feeling that roars of pain and outrage would be a more suitable reaction. Even the WPC seemed slightly nettled. ‘I’m afraid it’s rather serious, Mr Amiss. Whoever it was threw paint all over your clothes. I’m afraid they’re ruined.’
Poor old Pooley, thought Amiss. Plutarch had certainly set a trend. He wondered vaguely how the problem of ownership could be sorted out with the insurance companies. ‘Well, thanks again. No doubt you’ll want me to come down to the station tomorrow morning.’
‘No, Mr Amiss. I want you on your knees…NOW!’ She pulled off her cap, and began rapidly to remove her tunic. Oh, no, prayed Amiss. Don’t let this be happening to me. Not a Stripagram.
He stood motionless as her clothes continued to come off and the students clapped and cheered. By now they had been joined by the other two groups: every eye in the room was riveted on Amiss and his tormentor.
‘Come on, Bob, don’t be a spoilsport.’ By now she was down to her underwear and was pointing to an envelope tucked into her garter. ‘On your knees, Bobby boy. Fetch it with your teeth, there’s a good Bobby.’
By now Amiss knew there was no escape. He had to do this or jack in his job. Fuck it, he thought. Give the punters what they want. He sank to his knees as gracefully as he could, leaned forward, and to tumultuous applause plucked the envelope from her garter with his teeth.
‘Good boy. Stay. Now gimme.’ He pushed his head towards her to proffer his trophy. ‘OK, Bobby. That was very good. Come on, everyone. Give him a clap.’
This time the clapping was interspersed with cheers. Amiss could distinguish the raucous ‘Hoorays’ from Ahmed. ‘Now up you get and I’ll read you your poem.’ This was a more difficult manoeuvre, but through grim determination Amiss managed it with only the slightest tremor. He stood beside her grinning gamely.
‘Wait everybody. Where’s the champagne?’
On cue, Jenn produced three magnums of champagne from beneath the table. She, Gavs and Cath opened them to more clapping; the students grabbed glasses from the big cupboard and the staff ran around filling them up.
‘OK. Is everybody ready?’
‘Yes.’
‘Let’s hear it more loudly. Are you ready?’
‘Yes,’ they shouted.
‘Then I’ll begin.’ She pulled Amiss’s arm around her waist; he made a valiant effort to look as if he were having a wonderful time. It was not that there was anything wrong with the girl; indeed she was very pretty. It was just that his idea of fun was not feeling up near-naked women in public while clad in a light-weight woollen suit of Ellis Pooley’s.
‘Hi there, Bob,
You ain’t no slob.
You’re pretty cute,
For a new recruit.
Come on teacher,
Don’t be a preacher.
Get off your ass
And lift that glass.’
Glasses were thrust into their hands and the girl raised hers and cried, ‘Happy Birthday!’
‘Happy Birthday!’ shouted the onlookers. Unclear about what he was expected to do next, Amiss kissed her with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Led by Gavs, the audience broke into a ragged version of ‘Happy Birthday to You’, Amiss bowed his thanks and the show was over. People began to chat amongst themselves.
Amiss politely helped the girl on with her tunic and faded away as Ahmed came oiling up to her. He imagined she could look after herself. He joined Cath at the window. ‘You did well,’ she said, ‘it must have been hell.’
‘It was.’
‘I’m grateful no one’s tried anything like that on me. I’ve no idea what they do for women, but I’m sure I wouldn’t like it.’
‘I’m sure you wouldn’t. I believe they have Tarzanagrams.’
‘But it could have been much worse. We had one here once in leather and a whip who required the birthday boy to take off his trousers so she could pin his poem to his underpants.’
‘Oh, God. What’s the acme of these things. A Screwagram?’
‘I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Anyway, look, Cath. This isn’t my birthday. That was weeks ago.’
She looked puzzled. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Me neither. I’ll find out,’ and he called Fabrice over to join them.
‘Is this a present from the group?’
‘Yes. The idea it come from Ahmed. He very very much w
ish to see one of these girls.’
‘But what made him think it was my birthday?’
‘No, no. That is joke. At lunch yesterday you have said you are Gemini. Now we are in Gemini. Ahmed says that is enough cause. It is as the Queen and her birthday. This is your official birthday.’
‘I see. Well, it’s very kind of you all; I very much appreciate it.’ Amiss gritted his teeth and set off to thank his group individually.
He was given another present at lunchtime. This too had been Ahmed’s brainwave, and had been bought by him the day before, after he had left them in the gallery. It was a cigarette-pack holder made of blue leather with ‘Bob’ stamped on it in gold; in a slot at the back was a matching lighter. As Rachel pointed out later, he was lucky to have escaped the matching handbag.
***
‘Phone call for Bob!’ Jenn’s shout carried through the building. It was four forty-five.
‘Shall we stop now? Take the last fifteen minutes off as a holiday in honour of my birthday.’
Much laughter.
‘I’ll see you all on Monday. Have a nice weekend.’
‘You also.’
‘And thanks again for the presents.’
More laughter.
Amiss ran down to the office phone. ‘Ellis?’
‘His blood alcohol level was a hundred and twenty, a level at which you’re supposed to be five times more likely to have an accident.’
‘Shit!’
‘So if you’re right about his never drinking, someone must have spiked his fruit juice at the party.’
‘Fuck!’
‘Of course, we don’t know officially that he didn’t drink. That will have to emerge from routine inquiries next week. So it’s not a murder case yet.’
‘Bugger!’
‘Obviously we can’t talk now.’
‘Well, there’s tomorrow evening.’
‘I’m awfully sorry, Robert, but I’m going to have to cry off. There’s a massive peace demo so it’s all hands on deck. I’ve been press-ganged into work for the whole weekend. I’ve no idea if I’ll have any time off except for sleep.’
The English School of Murder Page 8
