The Woman Who Was Not There

by Jennie Melville

  Rewley said, so quietly that she had to strain to hear him, ‘I wonder if you’re getting the implications?’

  Charmian said: ‘You mean that someone is out to get the house from Fanny … to frighten her away?’

  ‘You’re still not getting it all.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Whoever, sex and number unknown, may be out to get Fanny.’

  Chapter Two

  Friday

  Although Fanny relied on Charmian in what she called grandly ‘my legal matters’, she had a group of intimates with whom she shared emotional problems. These were three ladies roughly the same age as Fanny herself, with varying backgrounds. Ethel and Paulina Avon, sisters-in-law as well as friends, shared a small house in Windsor, while Dorie Devon, a retired actress, had a flat nearby. Ethel and Paulina supplemented small pensions by working as a high-quality housekeeping team. Dorie still did some radio work, as well as reading for audio books. When work was short and she felt impoverished, she joined Ethel and Paulina in household cleaning, where she specialized in refreshing (her word) carpets and curtains.

  Of all four friends, only Paulina had married, but between them the group had a wide range of sexual experience, a subject on which they had few, if any, inhibitions. Dorie always denied any lesbian leanings but the verdict among the group was that ‘if pushed, she wouldn’t say no’. And, as Paulina sagely commented, when on tour and all the men were the ‘other way’, who could blame her?

  To their liberated views, Fanny had been just another businesswoman, albeit in a rather specialized field. ‘But a field that was often the only one open to women historically,’ said Paulina, the intellectual of the group.

  It’s a battle, they agreed, but one they were well equipped to fight. None of them was rich, and only Fanny had inherited anything, but they enjoyed life.

  Another thing they had in common was that they took a great and varied interest in drink. Starting with tea and working upwards. Drink gave release, they had long since decided, and if they didn’t deserve release and relief at their age, then when would they? Drugs of any sort except aspirin, however, were out. If you couldn’t sleep you took a drink of tea or gin or whisky or whatever you had handy and stayed awake: it could be a pleasure.

  They met each day but at no set time and no regular place. Fanny would drop in on Ethel and Paulina or those two would call on Fanny, and Dorie would hear it on the wind and call in too.

  Today they were in Dorie’s flat because she was decorating her bathroom with pale pink paper with golden stars on it. She didn’t want help, she preferred to do it all herself, but she did like conversation while she worked.

  She had laid in a bottle of nice white wine, not too sweet, and got to work. Ethel and Paulina had arrived, but Fanny had not yet turned up.

  ‘Help yourself to wine, and pour me a glass … Thanks,’ she said from the top of her ladder. ‘Now, what do we do about this business of Fan’s … Damn these stars, I can’t get them level.’ She wobbled backwards dangerously as she stared at the wall.

  ‘I don’t think they’re meant to be level. More casual, like.’ Ethel steadied the ladder. ‘Like the sky.’

  ‘I prefer them regular,’ said Dorie. ‘I’m worried about Fanny, there’s a problem there. I mean, what is it she’s saying about this house? She can’t really believe those figures are moving around on their own.’

  ‘Think she does,’ said Paulina. ‘Sounds like it to me. Mad, of course, couldn’t happen.’ Paulina was always very down to earth.

  ‘Fan is not dotty.’ Ethel was firm. ‘ I won’t have it. Not a word of it. She’s as sane as you and me. Saner, probably. With the life she’s led she would have gone mad long ago if it was in her. No, if she says she thinks those dollies move, then they do.’

  ‘Have you seen them, by the way?’ Dorie stepped down from the ladder.

  ‘No, not me.’

  ‘Nor me,’ said Paulina, ‘but she did promise me a visit. I’m quite keen, actually.’

  ‘You would be.’ Dorie poured herself some more wine. ‘You’ve always been the adventurous one.’

  ‘Hark who’s talking.’

  ‘Fan doesn’t take possession yet,’ said Ethel. ‘She has to wait for probate on the will.’

  ‘She’s got a key, though, and she took that Charmian Daniels round.’

  There was silence in the room. They did not know what to make of Charmian, a policewoman, after all. Kind, they had heard, clever. Married into the gentry. It was a perplexing picture.

  ‘I went to take a look myself,’ said Ethel, suddenly.

  The other two rounded on her. ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes. What’s more, I’ve been again. Twice. And I’ll tell you this, I don’t know if the dolly girls move, but if they do one of them cleaned the windows.’ She had their attention and she knew it. ‘The first time … couldn’t see a thing, dirty, dusty windows. But the next time, I could see in. Not a lot but enough to see a kind of dining room with a figure seated in it.’

  ‘Moving?’

  ‘Not moving, Dorie, dead still.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

  Ethel ignored this; she was well known to like her little secrets, ‘And when I went again, yesterday, as it happens, blow me if the windows were even cleaner. I could see through the glass panel in the door, which I couldn’t before. Or not much.’

  ‘What could you see?’ asked Dorie. ‘ Bet there wasn’t much to see.’

  Ethel had to admit it. ‘Just the staircase.’ She had noticed the carpet. ‘Turkish runner down the stairs, a nice bit, good stuff in its day.’

  ‘Long past now, I should think,’ said Dorie.

  ‘Dusty, yes, but you could bring it up … Tell you what …’ she paused.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ said Dorie; she was the performer, no need for Ethel to ham it up.

  ‘Big looking-glass at the top of the stairs … mirrors all over the house in a place like that …’

  Dorie rolled her eyes, ‘Get on with it, we all know you saw Death in the House of Ill Fame at the old Odeon when you were ten.’

  ‘I thought I did see movement in the mirror … just a flash. I don’t know. Could be imagination.’

  Her friends looked at each other: it was believed that Ethel had no imagination.

  ‘Your eyesight isn’t so good,’ suggested Paulina.

  Ethel nodded. ‘That must have been it.’

  Her easy acceptance of her short sight, something she usually fiercely denied (‘I can see as well as any of you’), naturally at once convinced the others that she had indeed seen something move.

  Mice? No, too small. A rat? A cat might have got in, cats could get in anywhere.

  There was one other possibility: better to face it straight on. ‘Had you had much to drink, love?’ said Paulina bluntly.

  ‘I will not deny it, I had had a small sherry.’

  ‘One small sherry wouldn’t make you see things,’ said Paulina. ‘Not you, Ethel, you’ve got a stronger head than most.’

  They looked at each other and there was a moment of silence. A wordless consensus was arrived at.

  Dorie summed up: ‘We’ll have to leave it open.’ She grinned at her friends. They were enjoying every minute of it. She pushed the ladder further into the bathroom, so that she could join her friends by the fire.

  ‘Let’s open another bottle,’ she said joyfully, ‘and I picked up some smoked salmon sandwiches from my grocer to eat with it.’

  Her grocer was a grand emporium in Piccadilly which she used only when in funds, but she had done a TV advertisement this month and was rich. Relatively speaking. Well, richer than the month before, she explained, which money also accounted for the excellent quality of the wine she was opening.

  ‘Let’s mull it all over.’

  Dorie’s sitting room was small but cosy. She liked warmth and flowers and soft bright colours on the furniture and floor; she had chosen an apricot pink and had managed to match her l
ipstick and nail varnish to it.

  Ethel and Paulina came from a more spartan house in which oak furniture and dark curtains made strong notes, but when you were in it with them it felt homely and used. Also, they were better cooks than Dorie or Fanny (who could not cook at all, her life had never been domestic), so it was a comfortable gathering when the quartet met in the Avons’ house in Mountbatten Road. Fanny’s establishment was the least comfortable of all, just a couple of rented rooms, but these were so full of the interesting mementoes of her life that there was never a dull moment there. She had a good nose for wine, too.

  Dorie looked round. ‘Where’s Fanny? She’s usually here before this.’

  ‘Yes, she’s not a late one,’ said Ethel. ‘ First to come and last to go, as a rule. Habit, I suppose.’

  ‘Perhaps the dolly girl has got her.’ Paulina was half flippant, half serious. Into the silence that followed her remark, she said: ‘Well, we haven’t been taking it seriously, have we? There might be a threat to Fan, there. You know, something hidden, dark.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I can feel it, I think, I sense it.’

  ‘Oh, shut up, you,’ said Ethel. ‘You’re no more psychic than I am.’

  ‘You’re one to talk, you that saw things …’

  ‘A thing, a movement, maybe I saw it and maybe I didn’t.’

  Dorie went to the window to stare down at the street. A lamp illuminated a stretch of pavement but there was no sign of Fanny. The street was empty.

  She turned to Ethel. ‘Do you think she’s gone to your place? Or the club? She might have forgotten. She’s been vague lately.’

  ‘No.’ Ethel was clear about it. ‘Saw her in Marks … we spoke, she knew it was here, she said so. Besides, we’re not far away, not much of a walk, and she’s a great walker. If she didn’t get an answer, then she’d come on round.’

  ‘So she would,’ Dorie nodded.

  ‘She trusts too much in her friend, Charmian Daniels,’ said Ethel, suddenly. ‘She told me over the frozen fish counter. I say friend, a dangerous friend, I would call her … Keep well clear of the police in any shape or form, I say. Still, it shows that Fanny is worried.’

  ‘We know that already,’ said Dorie, ‘and we’re worried too, or what is all this about?’

  Paulina had her own point to make. ‘I met Charmian Daniels myself, Lady Kent she is really. Cleaned her house. Pretty little house, bit neglected, nice furniture, though, and a dear little cat. I liked that cat. You were there, Ethel.’

  ‘I remember,’ said Ethel.

  ‘Did Fanny say what her police friend thought about Waxy House?’

  ‘She was interested but she didn’t say much. Not a lot of help, Fanny thought.’

  Paulina found her voice again. ‘Charmian Daniels is a good-looking woman, dresses well.’

  ‘Oh, you’re obsessed with looks,’ said Ethel; there were occasions when she found her sister-in-law irritating. ‘Stick to the subject: we’re worried about Fanny. And where is she?’

  Dorie got up; she had heard a noise. She went to the window again. ‘There’s a taxi stopping …’

  The others joined her at the window. ‘That’s Fanny getting out,’ said Ethel, surprise in her voice.

  They never took cabs; years of living economically had left their trace. You only took a cab if you were ill. Otherwise it was the bus or you walked. It was true that Dorie occasionally took a taxi when working, but that counted as justified expenditure.

  ‘There’s something wrong,’ said Dorie in a decided voice. She went towards the front door and the others followed her. She opened it and they waited as Fanny laboured up the stairs. They could hear her slow steps.

  She came up the last flight of stairs, and saw them. She held out her hand as if she needed help. Then she staggered, sinking down on the stair.

  Dorie hurried forward, put her arms round Fanny and helped her into the flat, as the other two clustered around, leaning forward, making anxious noises. Fanny was pale, her hair untidy. She leaned against Dorie, looking at the other two.

  They saw the horror in her eyes.

  Dorie brought some brandy, Paulina went to make some tea, and Ethel pushed Fanny into an armchair.

  ‘Don’t talk till you feel better. No, don’t talk, just wait.’

  But Fanny did talk.

  With her hand gripping her glass of brandy, she let the words come ripping out as if she couldn’t stop them.

  ‘I went to look at the house. I’ve been going often, once or twice I’ve gone in, other times I just look in the window … You can see through now. Been cleaned to frighten me.’

  ‘I know,’ said Ethel. It seemed likely to her. Nasty.

  Fanny took no notice. ‘I usually go around six in the evening, the time I walk the dog.’

  ‘You haven’t got a dog.’

  ‘Be quiet, Ethel,’ said Dorie. She steadied Fanny’s hand, which was shaking, spilling the brandy on to her skirt. ‘Let Fanny get on with it.’

  ‘I did have a dog, you know I did, and so it got to be the time I took a walk. I was regular. It’s my house but I don’t have possession yet until the will is proved … Possession,’ she said, her voice husky. ‘She’s got possession, she’s the one in possession.’

  Dorie put her arm round Fanny. ‘What are you talking about, Fanny?’

  ‘I was looking through the glass in the door. I saw her walking down the stairs …’

  ‘Who, Fanny? Who did you see?’

  Fanny drank some brandy. The colour was returning to her cheeks. ‘The woman from the top-floor bedroom. I knew she moved. I saw her coming down the stairs.’

  She let them all see her face. ‘She was wearing her nightgown … transparent chiffon. Diaphanous, they called it. Lucille, she was the court dressmaker, used to sell nightgowns in what she called her Rose Room then. When she, the doll, was made, that is … I knew she could walk. She came down the stairs towards me.’

  ‘Did you see her walk? Someone behind pushing, surely?’

  ‘Not move, but she stood there, another second and she would have come down the stairs.’

  Dorie and the other two exchanged looks. ‘So what did you do, Fanny?’ she asked gently.

  Fanny leaned back against the chair. ‘I think I fainted, people always say that, don’t they? But it was how it was. I blacked out, I suppose. The next thing I remember is crouching on the doorstep. I dragged myself to my feet, I couldn’t walk at first, then I got to the end of the street … There’s a cab rank round the corner.’

  ‘Right, Fanny, right.’ Dorie kept her voice soft, Nurse Dorie, she thought. ‘Drink up the brandy. Ethel, pour us all a cup of tea. I know I could do with one.’

  They drank the tea in silence, but it was a silence with questions hanging in the air.

  What had Fanny seen?

  Could she truly have seen anyone, anything?

  ‘I know what we ought to do,’ said Ethel. ‘ We ought to go round to Waxy House now, this minute, and see what’s what.’ She looked at Fanny. ‘What about it?’

  Fanny shuddered. ‘I couldn’t bear to.’

  Dorie weighed in with her comment. ‘Yes, you’re right, it’s what we should do. One of two things: the other is to call in Charmian Daniels.’

  Fanny looked at the teapot. ‘Can I have a cup of tea now? I think I’ll feel better after a cuppa.’

  ‘Of course, love. Pauly, will you pour?’ Dorie moved away to get the sandwiches; tension always made her hungry, and Ethel was always hungry. How she kept so slim was a mystery. A fashion plate she was not, and Dorie always wished she could take her in hand, but no one, not even a close friend, pushed things with Ethel.

  ‘I can’t decide what to do just yet,’ said Fanny. ‘Let me sleep on it.’

  ‘Want to stay with us?’ Paulina handed over the first cup of tea.

  ‘Thank you. Can I see how I feel later?’

  They played bridge for the rest of the evening. Not one of them played it well but they enjoyed it. As card pl
ayers, they had started with whist and graduated to bridge under the tuition of Dorie, who said it was a handy game to fill in the time when you were filming.

  At the end of the evening, Fanny said: ‘I’ll be all right in my place tonight. I’m not alone there, after all, and they’re good people. I’ll speak to Charmian Daniels tomorrow. I’ll telephone, I expect, or leave a message. She’s a good sort, and she was interested, so she’ll answer. I’ll see what she says. I trust her.’

  ‘You can,’ said Ethel. A woman who is good to her cat is a good woman.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,’ said Dorie, ‘but I know what you mean. All right, Fanny, let’s leave it like that.’

  Paulina gave a little shrug. ‘I agree with Ethel,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we all three go and have a look at Waxy House ourselves tonight.’

  ‘No, I couldn’t. I’m never going into that house again,’ said Fanny.

  ‘You may have to,’ pointed out Dorie. ‘You’ll own it.’

  ‘I’ll sell it. I always meant to as soon as I knew. I’ve already been into Jenkins and Jones in Paradise Street and spoken about it. They can handle it. Anyway, probate takes about six months. I’m not going to think about it until then.’

  But she knew she was. The sight of that figure coming down the stairs, breasts outlined under the soft silk, would never leave her. The face, too, gleaming and pale.

  Dorie, more sensitive than she sometimes appeared, put her arms round Fanny’s thin shoulders. ‘Come on, lady of the night.’

  ‘In retirement,’ said Fanny, sniffing back a tear. She was both touched by her friend’s kindness and frightened for herself, but she could not resist the joke.

  ‘In retirement, of course. I’m never going to retire myself and neither will Ethel and Paulina. We three will walk you home.’