‘Have you looked at the menu?’
‘Not yet.’
Theo summoned one with a lordly gesture and they chose what they would eat. He also ordered a bottle of vin rosé, hoping he wasn’t corrupting a minor or whatever. But she’d been drinking wine last night.
As the waitress moved away, he smiled at Abbie. He’d had plenty of time now to work out his story and he saw no reason why she should not accept it. Before he launched into it, though, he wanted to be sure exactly what she had seen. The less embroidery he had to do, the better.
‘Now to the object of this exercise,’ he began, and she smiled back, though guardedly. ‘Exactly what was it you saw when you were playing detective?’
‘I saw you meet this Christine girl and kiss her, and then she gave you something.’
Damn! ‘And what were you doing in the park?’
‘Taking a break from revision.’
‘Which you seem to do with alarming frequency. I hope your grades won’t suffer.’
‘Don’t change the subject, Theo. Why did you pretend not to know each other?’
Theo launched into his spiel. ‘It’s all rather embarrassing, actually. I met Christine at a party, and we flirted a little, as one does. But unfortunately she took rather a shine to me, and her boyfriend wasn’t pleased. It was all rather a drag.’
He flashed her his most disarming smile, confident she’d sympathize with Christine’s weakness.
‘That’s all?’
‘Dearest Abbie, what more do you want? Her boyfriend was there last night, hence our discretion.’ It had sounded convincing enough in the shower.
‘But if he wasn’t pleased at your flirting, he must have known you’d met.’
A bit too sharp, this one. ‘It was some time ago. We hoped he’d forgotten and didn’t want to risk reminding him.’
‘Then what was it she gave you in the park?’
‘Some letters I’d been silly enough to write her. We thought it better not to leave them lying around.’
‘Couldn’t she just have burned them?’
‘Who has a fire in this weather?’ He shook his head sadly. ‘You know, you’re making me feel as if I’m in the dock.’
The waitress returned with their order, and he was glad of the interruption. It had been trickier than he’d bargained for. However, it seemed that Abbie’d accepted the story, because after a moment she nodded and said, ‘OK.’
‘Satisfied?’
‘Yes. She’s not really your girlfriend, then?’
In that at least he could be truthful. ‘No, of course not. You know me, foot-loose and fancy-free.’
‘Urn,’ she said, and, abandoning her inquisition, turned her attention to the meal.
An hour later, back in the office, Theo knocked on one of the partner’s doors.
‘Complications, I’m afraid, sir.’
The man behind the desk looked up. ‘Come in, Theo. What is it?’
‘You know I’ve been playing along the girl at Darley Smythe?’
‘Of course. That was very interesting information you obtained last week.’
‘Unfortunately, sir, we were spotted.’
‘What?’
Theo said hastily, ‘No, no, it’s nothing to worry about. Just that a young girl I know happened to be in the park and saw our meeting. I think I’ve managed to fob her off, but it would be as well to back off for a bit. Especially since Christine was getting a bit too keen anyway, if you see what I mean.’
The disingenuous comment didn’t fool the man behind the desk. Thought a lot of himself, did young Teal. Well, he was a personable young man, and if his looks opened doors that were usually closed to them, fair enough. In industrial espionage, he thought wryly, you played the cards you were dealt.
‘Very well, Theo, I leave it to your discretion. Keep me posted.’
‘Yes, sir, I will.’ And Theo left his office, closing the door on a sigh of relief.
CHAPTER 13
By lunchtime Claudia could stand it no longer, and, leaving a note for Abbie on the hall table, she drove round to the Teals’ house. Eloise’s car was in the drive, and it was she who opened the door.
‘Claudia, hello! Come in; I’ve just got back myself.’
Claudia silently followed her into the house, rehearsing in her mind what she wanted to say.
‘Have you eaten?’ Eloise was asking, leading the way into the sitting-room.
‘No, I’m – not hungry.’
‘Nor am I; it’s this infernal heat. Let’s have a nice long G & T on the terrace. It’s shaded there at this time of day.’ With practised speed she mixed the drinks and carried them outside, setting them down on a table close to a hammock and a group of garden chairs. Claudia chose the hammock, subconsciously seeking the comforting rhythms of childhood at this moment of crisis.
‘Have you been back to the Gallery this morning?’ Eloise asked, sipping her drink. ‘I meant to pop in, but didn’t get round to it. I should think Harry’s delighted with all those sales last night.’
‘Yes.’ Claudia laid her glass carefully on the table. ‘Eloise, I think I should tell you that I know you and Harry have been lovers ever since we were married.’
‘Oh, my dear,’ Eloise said, ‘I’m so sorry.’ It was as though she’d suffered a bereavement, Claudia thought. And perhaps she had.
‘But we’re not really lovers, you know,’ Eloise went on gently. ‘Just old and close friends who very occasionally go to bed together.’
She made it sound so reasonable, as though Claudia were making a fuss.
‘Does Justin know?’
‘I shouldn’t think so; he’s never mentioned it.’ She paused. ‘Are you proposing to tell him?’
‘I imagine he’ll find out, when I file for divorce.’
Eloise was very still. Her spectacle lenses had darkened in the sunshine, hiding the expression in her eyes. Perhaps it was as well.
‘You intend to?’
‘Are you surprised? Have you no conception of how I feel? My husband and my best friend – it’s one of the oldest clichés. I knew you’d loved each other once, but that was years ago. I trusted, you!’ She heard the self-pity in her voice, but was powerless to suppress it.
‘I’m really very sorry, Claudia. We didn’t intend you to find out.’
‘That I can believe.’
The telephone shrilled in the room behind them and Eloise went to answer it. Claudia heard her say, ‘Oh, it’s you. Claudia’s here.’ And then, ‘Yes, I was out all morning.’
Harry must have tried to phone earlier to warn her. Whatever they now said to each other, she didn’t want to hear it. She stood up quickly and walked down to the lawn. An automatic sprinkler was sweeping the garden in slow, mesmerizing arcs, its fine spray glinting in the sunshine. She seemed to be watching it for a long time before Eloise returned to the terrace. She supposed they’d been planning their course of action.
Since Eloise made no move to come down and join her, Claudia went back up the steps.
‘Harry, I presume.’
‘Yes.’ Eloise sat down and reached for her glass. After a moment she said, ‘We’ve decided to end it.’
‘Why?’
‘We couldn’t go on hurting you.’
‘Very noble, but the gesture comes too late.’
‘Claudia, please don’t do anything rash. At the moment you’re hurt and angry – rightly so, but do think things out carefully before making a decision.’ She added quietly, ‘Harry’s distraught – he doesn’t know what to do.’
Claudia leant back under the canopy, closing her eyes against the brightness. The decision to come here had taken more out of her than she’d realized, and she felt drained. If only she could sleep, and wake to find it was all a nightmare. But almost immediately the sound of the doorbell jerked her eyes open again.
‘For heaven’s sake!’ Eloise exclaimed irritably. ‘What now?’
A ring round the Shillingham hotels revealed where
the Beynauds had spent the night, but unfortunately the birds had flown: quite literally flown, having left for Paris on the early morning flight. It had therefore been too late to alert either British or French Customs, a fact which caused Webb considerable frustration. All he could do was pass their names to Interpol and hope that anything they might have purchased at the Gallery would still be in their possession by the time the necessary warrants came through.
If, of course, they had purchased anything. There was no proof, and Marlow had been quite plausible. Yet surely the abortive approach to the Frenchmen – not to mention Dilys Hayward’s unceremonious removal from the passage – must have some significance.
‘We’ll go and see that manager this evening,’ he told
Jackson as they finished their lunch. ‘At home this time, without Marlow to back him up. If anything shady’s going on, he’ll be the weak link in the chain.’ He pushed back his chair. ‘In the meantime, lad, we’re off to Hatherley. It’s time we met Mrs Eloise Teal and found out what she can tell us about the Gallery.’
He was surprised, when she opened the door to them, at the contrast between her and her sister. Though both were good-looking women, there was little family resemblance between them, Mrs Teal being considerably taller and more striking, despite – or even because of – the enormous spectacles through which she was now regarding them. He had a feeling – no more than a nebulous stirring of the atmosphere – that for some reason she was on edge. In which case, he thought with satisfaction, their visit was well timed.
‘Come through,’ she said resignedly, when he identified himself. They followed her into the hall with its Chinese rugs and porcelain vases and through a luxuriously appointed sitting-room to the terrace outside, where another woman was sitting rocking gently in a hammock.
‘This is Mrs Marlow,’ Eloise said. ‘The police, Claudia.’
Webb registered Ken’s quick glance. Were they about to put the cat among the pigeons? He hoped not, but the stakes were too high not to play such cards as he held. He nodded to Mrs Marlow and something in her manner resurrected his frisson of awareness. She, too, was tense. What had they interrupted here?
‘Sit down, Chief Inspector,’ Eloise said tersely. ‘Can I get you a cold drink?’
‘Thank you, no, we’ve just finished lunch.’ He seated himself on one of the comfortable padded chairs and Jackson did the same. ‘I understand you’re something of an art buff, Mrs Teal? We were at the Gallery this morning.’
‘Oh yes?’
Claudia looked at her quickly. Had Harry mentioned that on the phone?
‘You belong to an art society, don’t you?’
‘That’s right; so does my friend here.’
‘And her husband,’ Webb said.
A pause, then: ‘Yes,’ Eloise acknowledged.
‘I’m interested in art myself; perhaps I should think of joining. What does it involve?’
‘Lectures, visits to cathedrals, that kind of thing.’
‘Do your visits ever take you abroad?’
‘Sometimes, on special tours.’
‘When was your last trip, Mrs Teal?’
She said impatiently, ‘I really don’t see why this should concern you, but we went to Portugal at the beginning of April.’
Claudia spoke for the first time. ‘Why did you go to my husband’s Gallery, Chief Inspector?’
‘We’ve been checking up on some French tourists,’ he improvised, watching her closely. ‘We suspected they were at the Private View last night, but their names weren’t on the guest list.’
‘We often have gate-crashers. Short of posting someone on the door, it’s unavoidable.’
He tried the same ploy he’d used with her husband. ‘What was on display upstairs?’
She looked surprised. ‘Nothing; that room’s not open to the public.’
‘But I understood several people went up there?’
She shook her head. ‘It could only have been to the cloakroom.’
There were three possibilities: first, she knew nothing. Second, there was nothing to know and they were barking up the wrong tree. Third, something was going on, but Marlow had tipped her off.
‘You didn’t go up there yourself last evening, either of you?’
Eloise Teal shook her head and Mrs Marlow said, ‘Of course not.’
‘I also asked your husband about his window-cleaners,’ Webb added with apparent inconsequence. Claudia gazed at him blankly, and he went on, ‘He didn’t seem to know he’d been employing the two young men who were murdered last week.’
‘Really? How awful.’
‘Were you aware of that, Mrs Teal?’ Webb asked casually.
‘I? How should I know who cleans the Gallery windows?’
‘I thought they might have called during one of your visits.’ He held her eyes for a long moment, and it was hers which fell first. In his heart he apologized to the woman on the hammock, who had now ceased her rocking.
‘In fact both of you have a tenuous link with the murders. The victims also cleaned your husband’s premises, Mrs Teal, and of course their bodies were found by your mother’s house.’
Eloise said jerkily, ‘That was coincidence, thank God. My sister had a very worrying few days, after seeing that man.’
‘I realize that. I called on her this morning, too.’
‘You’re having a busy day, Chief Inspector.’
‘Indeed, and it’s not over yet.’ He stood up and moved to the open patio door, surveying the room within. ‘What a beautiful home you have. May I have a quick look at your pictures on my way out?’
She did not reply and he stepped inside. While the Badderleys’ house also had its share of treasures, they had been displayed indiscriminately, piled on every available surface. Here, due care had been taken to give each superb piece sufficient space. Webb moved slowly round the room, studying the exquisite watercolours which lined it and pausing to admire in turn early Broadshire porcelain, crystal, a collection of ivory. He came to a final halt in front of a piece of mosaic mounted on the wall, a two-foot-square representation of Virgin and Child, and felt the hairs in the nape of his neck rise. If this was what he thought it was –
As he bent forward to examine it more closely, he was aware that Mrs Teal and Jackson had followed him into the room.
‘This is magnificent,’ he said without turning. ‘Where did you come across it?’
‘Oh, I keep my eyes open wherever I go.’
‘Any more like this?’
‘No, unfortunately it’s the only one.’
Jackson was standing beside her, alert but uncomprehending. Search warrants, Webb was thinking; they’d need to go over this house and the Marlows’, plus the Gallery and the manager’s home. He could only hope neither Teal nor Miss Tovey was on the Bench this afternoon.
Though he gave no sign of it, a feeling of excitement, of a solution almost in sight, was building up in him. A session with his sketchpad might well clinch it; frequently, unseen links materialized when he was able to commit to paper the people and places that figured in a case.
Meanwhile, his unwilling hostess was waiting to show him to the door, and reluctantly he allowed her to do so.
Jackson could hardly contain his curiosity until they were in the car. ‘What on earth was all that about, Guv? I know you like painting, but going on about societies and visits abroad and all. What were you getting at?’
‘Just a moment, Ken.’ Webb reached for the car phone and dialled Carrington Street, detailing his requirements while Jackson listened in growing bewilderment.
‘We’re going to search that house? The home of a magistrate?’ he asked in awe as Webb rang off. ‘But – why? Did I miss something? Was there evidence of drugs?’
‘No, I reckon we’ve been on the wrong track there. But what’s the second biggest smuggling racket these days, Ken?’
‘Stolen artefacts,’ Jackson said slowly.
‘Right. And worth over a billion doll
ars at the last count.’
‘You really think that’s what they’re up to?’
‘I think it’s what someone's up to, but I’m not sure who. That mosaic on the wall, for instance; I’m willing to bet it was smuggled out of Cyprus, and if I’m right it’s virtually priceless. Which is why we’re going to sit here until the support group arrives to cordon off the house. Can’t have our prime exhibit walking, now can we?’
He pushed back the car seat and stretched out his legs. ‘I was reading about the trade in mosaics the other day; they’re ripped out of churches in northern Cyprus virtually to order. Since they’re both Greek and Christian, the Turks make no attempt to protect them.’
Jackson whistled. ‘And this was what the White twins stumbled on? No wonder they bit the dust.’
‘Yes, but who despatched them, Ken? And have those two women back there any idea of what’s involved? I very much doubt it.’
Jackson sat in silence for some minutes. Then he said, ‘So that’s why you were asking about foreign trips.’
‘Contacts and so on. It’d fit, wouldn’t it?’
‘Then the goods are flown over secretly and offered for sale in that room at the Gallery?’
‘If we’re on the right track. But it seems incredibly dicey to conduct business of that kind while two hundred people are milling about downstairs.’
Monica called round to see George on the way home from work, as arranged. He’d not been into the bank that day, and greeted her looking less formal than usual in an open-neck shirt.
In view of Mrs Latimer’s hostility she had been to the house only a couple of times, but it seemed still to have the aura of the dead woman. The chair in which Monica had last seen her still bore the indentations of her body, and a silk shawl was draped over the arm as though temporarily laid aside. Monica wondered if the house was to become a shrine with everything remaining as the owner had left it – her book on the table, her clothes in the drawer. But surely not; George had been fond of his mother, but he was essentially a realist.
As though reading her thoughts, he said, ‘I haven’t acclimatized myself yet. This is still very much Mother’s house.’
‘Will you stay on here?’ Monica tried to keep her voice neutral.
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