The Corpse Wore Red

by Pat Herbert

  “Don’t you? I think you do. I saw you.”

  “You saw me? When did you see me? Doing what?”

  “Don’t act all innocent with me. It was when we were packing up at Margate last month. Everyone had gone to the car, and you were in the kitchen checking we hadn’t left anything behind. Remember?”

  Alice shrugged. “S’pose, if you say so. So what?”

  “Well, poor little pregnant Alice wasn’t allowed to lift things, was she?”

  “So?”

  “Then Danny came into the kitchen, didn’t he?”

  “Did he? I can’t remember.”

  “Well, it wasn’t that long ago.”

  “Spit it out,” Alice snapped.

  “You and he were kissing and cuddling. I saw you!”

  Alice laughed. “You jealous little cat, that was nothing! I must have been a bit upset about things, and he was just being sympathetic.”

  “He didn’t say that to me tonight. Said he thought you were hard done by and, for two pins, he’d shack up with you anytime.”

  Alice laughed again. “He said that, did he? Silly so-and-so.”

  “Look, all the men like you, you’ve always been prettier than me and it’s not the first time you’ve stolen my boyfriends. I’ve never had many, and I don’t mind that much about the others, but I do care about Danny. So you’d better leave him alone, or else.”

  “I think that’s up to Danny, don’t you?”

  “Has he been seeing you behind my back?” May’s look was dark and threatening. Alice almost felt afraid of her.

  “I haven’t seen him since we came back from Margate. Anyway, I hardly know him.” It was the truth.

  “Since when did that stop you?” The implication in that remark wasn’t lost on Alice.

  “Look, I don’t know what Danny’s been saying to you,” she said angrily, “but I haven’t encouraged him and I haven’t seen him since Margate. You can believe it or not. It’s up to you.”

  “Well, you just leave him alone, then,” said May, somewhat deflated by Alice’s denial. She had been prepared to have a full-blown row with her, but, for once, she was being reasonable. And May knew only too well where her friend’s affections lay. She wasn’t interested in Danny, only insofar as to annoy her.

  But she had challenged Danny in the pub earlier that evening about his feelings for Alice. It had been building up inside her for a while, the feeling of jealousy ever since she had come upon him with his arm around her at Margate. He had told her he’d come to surprise her that day, to take her out for a spin along the coast, but she hadn’t believed him. What he had really come for was to see Alice, because he felt sorry for her, more than sorry for her. He loved her. That was what May thought.

  Tonight, seated together in the pub, she had brought the subject up yet again, and he had had enough. He lashed out at her, telling her to stop being jealous and behave herself. Incensed by his outburst, she started accusing him of sleeping with Alice behind her back. Danny had got even angrier and told her that yes, he did like Alice better than her at that moment and, if she didn’t stop her nonsense, he would leave her. At that, she had burst into tears at this, but Danny was too exasperated to care. He turned his back on her and leant on the bar, calling for another beer.

  She had left the pub and jumped on a passing bus, realising she didn’t know where she was going. It was only when she saw the Broadway Theatre that she knew she was in Catford. Not a million miles from where Alice lived.

  So here she was, and all Alice could do was blandly deny any liaison with Danny and treat her almost with contempt. She was now beyond anger. First Danny, now Alice. They both seemed to show her no consideration or respect, and that’s what hurt her the most. She reined in her temper as best she could, and said, “So you say you haven’t ever slept with Danny, then?”

  “No, I never have.”

  May did believe her now, and she began to calm down. Danny was just winding her up, was he? She supposed she had asked for it, but it wouldn’t stop her from having a go at him in the morning and she hoped he had a hangover. She would take great delight in making it much worse.

  Then Alice spoke the words that sealed her fate. “Not that he wouldn’t, given half the chance.”

  May couldn’t remember what she did after Alice said that. A mist seemed to descend and she found herself lashing out.

  ***

  As the mist began to clear, she saw Alice’s body slumped on the floor, blood trickling from her head. She must have knocked her head against the mantelpiece, thought May, her mind a muddle of mixed emotions. How had that happened? Had she hit or pushed her somehow? Whatever happened, she had to check that she was all right. She bent down and touched her face tentatively. She once trained as a nurse, so knew how to check for vital signs. The blood was bad news.

  She tried to feel her pulse and at first she couldn’t feel anything. Then she caught the faintest flutter. It was getting slower as she held her wrist. She dropped it and ran out of the flat, leaving the door wide open. Alice was dying, she had no doubt of that. She had to remove herself from the scene as quickly as she could. There was no time for anything else.

  Running out of the gate, she bumped into an old drunk who stumbled in front of her. She pushed him impatiently out of the way. The silly fool swung round with one leg in the air, like an ungainly ballet dancer, and fell into the road just as a car came around the corner going a little too fast. May didn’t stop to look round. She heard the squeal of breaks as she carried on running up the street.

  13th February 1958: Lewisham

  Matron and Dr Carmichael were all smiles as they came into the side ward where Lucy was sitting with a now fully conscious Stanley House. He was sitting up, unhooked from the machine and sipping a glass of water.

  “You’re a miracle worker, Miss Carter,” said the matron.

  Dr Carmichael laughed. “I knew we could bring him round,” he said. “Just needed a pretty woman to do it, and a very good talker.”

  Lucy blushed with pleasure. It was rare that she was the centre of attention these days. Bringing a patient back from the jaws of death was no mean feat, and she was justly proud. The fact that she reminded Stanley of his late wife was, of course, part of the miracle. If she had looked more like Celia Pargeter, maybe he wouldn’t have bothered to regain consciousness.

  But here he was, a few days later, sitting up and taking notice. He now knew he hadn’t gone to heaven to be reunited with his wife. The woman taking such an interest in him wasn’t his darling Nettie after all, even though she looked like her. But he was pleased to be alive. His new friend was such a nice woman, even if all she ever seemed to talk about was the weather.

  “We’ll soon have you on your feet, Mr House,” said Dr Carmichael happily. “A few routine tests and you can be on your way in a couple of days.”

  “Thank you,” said Stanley. He had been told about his sister’s death and that had made him sad. He had also been told that his nephew had been in to see him every week, but he wasn’t overly impressed by that. “Scheming article just wants my money. I’ve a good mind to leave it all to the cats’ home. That’ll fix him, good and proper.” He gave a little laugh, but had to stop as it turned into a fit of coughing.

  “Now, now, Mr House,” said the matron, “Don’t excite yourself. We don’t want to lose you now that we’ve just got you back with us.”

  “You’ve got to laugh, though, haven’t you?” he said, when he had got his breath back.

  Lucy patted his hand. “Do as matron says, Mr House. Take it easy.”

  “Call me Stan, please.”

  “And you must call me Lucy,” she said.

  “Pretty name,” said Stanley House.

  ***

  When the doctor and matron had left them to attend to other patients, Lucy became grave for a moment. “Mr Hou – I mean, Stan, they told me about your accident. Is it true that you were drunk?”

  “I’m ashamed to say it’s true.
I was very drunk. I’ve not been myself since my wife died.”

  “I’m sure you don’t make a habit of getting drunk, then, Stan?”

  “No.” He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’ve learnt my lesson. At least, as long as I can see you again when I come out of here.”

  “Of course you can,” said Lucy coyly.

  ***

  Walking home, she felt like she was walking on air. It was a cliché, she knew, but that was what it felt like. Stanley House was the new man in her life. So much for Anbolin’s crystal ball, she thought. Man in white, indeed. Then she stopped in her tracks. He was in white! The man was in a white hospital gown when she had first seen him, surrounded by white: white sheets, white pillows. Thank you, Annie, she thought. Thank you very much! She supposed she ought to thank Celia too, even though it went against her grain. But, after all, she would never have thought of being a hospital visitor if it hadn’t been for her.

  ***

  After Lucy had gone, promising to return the next day, Stanley lay back on his pillows, feeling, suddenly, that all was going to be well. Nothing could bring his darling wife back, but he found the prospect of Lucy’s companionship an appealing one. She was so like his Nettie, too. It had been a miracle to find her there by his bedside when he woke up.

  Two shadows suddenly loomed over his bed as he was thinking these thoughts. They morphed into uniformed policemen wearing stern expressions.

  “Hello, Mr House, how are you feeling?” said the taller, slightly younger one.

  “Fine, thank you, officer,” he said, a little intimidated. The policeman still wasn’t smiling.

  “That’s good. The doctor said we could come and talk to you, about your accident. Let me see.…” He consulted his notebook “on the night of July twelfth last year, that would be.”

  “I’ve been in a coma for almost seven months,” said Stan with pride.

  “It’s a miracle, sir, right enough,” said the second policeman. He seemed a little more friendly.

  “Now, sir,” said the first policeman, “we need to take a statement from you about what happened that day. Do you remember how you met with your accident.”

  Stanley’s brow furrowed as he tried to think back to that fateful day. Just what had happened, he wondered. He had been bumped into someone, he remembered that, and he was sheets to the wind. But that was about it. He told the policeman all he could.

  “Can you remember from which direction the person who bumped into you was coming? I mean, did he or she come down the street towards you, or from the side, say, from a group of flats?”

  That taxed Stanley’s brain. Suddenly he remembered. “From the side, definitely. I think I would have been able to take evasive action if I had seen the person coming!” He tried a little laugh. The second policeman smiled.

  “I see, sir. But I understand you were intoxicated. Can we rely on your recollection, especially after so long a time?”

  “Yes, the person came from the side. No question. Is it important? About the direction the person came from, I mean?”

  “It could be.” He did not explain further, and still maintained his serious expression. Stan was beginning to feel uncomfortable, although he couldn’t exactly think why. Why all the questions, he wondered. What did it matter which way the person was coming from? All he knew is where that person ended up. Knocking into him and sending him into the road under a passing car.

  “It’s really a matter of dotting all the i’s and crossing the all the t’s, sir,” said the first policeman. “We have to make as complete a report as possible. The chances of finding the person who caused your accident are very slim on this evidence, of course.”

  “I quite understand,” said Stan. “The man whose car wheels I fell under came to see me yesterday. He was very kind, and couldn’t apologise enough.”

  “That’s nice, sir,” said the second policeman.

  Both men made ready to leave, but the first policeman paused in the process of returning his notebook to his pocket. “One more thing, sir, if you don’t mind. And I know this will probably be impossible for you to answer….”

  “Yes?” said Stanley, a little tired and impatient now.

  “Could you tell how tall the person was? I mean, was the person a normal man’s height or shorter?”

  “I’m sorry, I’ve really no idea. I was drunk, as you know.”

  The policeman gave him a long disapproving look. Stan paused before speaking again. “I’ve told you everything I can remember, officer,” he said with finality.

  “That’s all right,” said the second policeman. “We’ll leave you in peace now. Come on, Keith. We’ve done what we came to do.”

  “Just one more question, Mr House,” said the first policeman doggedly. “Can you remember whether the person who bumped into you was male or female?”

  Stanley furrowed his brow again. “No, officer, I can’t. It all happened so quickly.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said the second policeman, ushering his colleague towards the door. “Glad to see you’re on the mend.”

  ***

  Dr Carmichael returned shortly after the contingent from Her Majesty’s Constabulary had left. “Sorry about that, Mr House,” he said, “but they need to fill in their little forms.”

  “No, it’s fine. They have their job to do,” he said. “They seemed very keen to know whether it was a man or woman who bumped into me.”

  “I don’t see how that’ll help them. It would only cut it down to half the population,” said Carmichael.

  “I don’t think it’s to do with finding the person who knocked me under the car,” said Stan thoughtfully.

  Dr Carmichael didn’t seem to be paying him any attention. He was busy studying his patient’s chart at the end of his bed.

  “I’ve just had a thought,” said Stan suddenly.

  Dr Carmichael sat down beside his bed. “You mustn’t overtax yourself, Mr House. The main thing is for you to concentrate on getting better.”

  “I’m beginning to remember now. The body that bumped into me was soft, you know, female. I’m sure it wasn’t a man’s body. No, it was definitely a woman.”

  “It’s good that you’re getting your memory back, Mr House,” said Dr Carmichael, checking his pulse. It was a bit fast.

  “Shouldn’t I tell the police that I’ve remembered that?”

  “Hmm?” Dr Carmichael replaced the chart. “I’ll send the nurse in to give you your medication.”

  “Shouldn’t I?” Stanley insisted.

  “I don’t think you need bother, Mr House,” said Dr Carmichael. “You don’t need any extra worry at the moment.” His voice and manner were firm.

  “Okay, doctor, whatever you say.” Stanley lay back on the pillow and relaxed.

  After all, what did it matter now? It had been an unfortunate accident, and he really had no one to blame but himself. The woman who had bumped into him should have stopped to see if she could help him; she must have been in an almighty hurry, that’s all.

  13th/14th February 1958: Wandsworth

  Driving back from Stockwell, Bernard voiced Robbie’s thoughts. “I have a horrible feeling about that girl,” he said.

  Robbie swung the wheel dramatically as he took a corner too fast. He found he wasn’t concentrating on his driving, and feared he had taken the bend on just two wheels. His fears were well-founded, as Bernard pointed out to him that cars were built with four for a purpose.

  Robbie apologised. He had been shocked himself at his own recklessness. He must concentrate on his driving, no matter what was going on inside his head. But there was something definitely not right about May. He couldn’t bring himself to believe that she had anything to do with Alice Troy’s death, and he was still convinced that Drake was the killer. But he didn’t really know what to think any more.

  “I think she’s hiding something, but I’m not sure what,” he said, as they turned into Bernard’s road.

  “I she killed Alic
e,” said Bernard with conviction. “That’s what I think.”

  ***

  It was getting on for eight o’clock when Robbie returned to the vicarage that evening. Bernard welcomed him into his eyrie.

  “Not seeing so much of Celia, these days, are you?” he said, handing him his customary glass of the Glenfiddich.

  “Thanks,” said Robbie, seating himself by the fire. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think there’s much mileage left in the relationship, if you can call it that.” Bernard poured his own modest sherry and joined him on the other side of the hearth. They both lit their pipes and the silence was only broken by the sound of their puffing and the constant chiming of the faulty clock on the mantelpiece.

  “You’ve changed your tune a bit, haven’t you? I thought you were going to see what happened after Howard…. you know, when it’s all over,” said Bernard, after a few moments.

  “I don’t see the point in dragging it out. I think I know where to draw a line, and I’m drawing it. She’s had enough free dinners out of me as it is. And as for all the films and theatre plays I’ve paid for, I’m pretty much flat broke. Do you know how much two seats at the opera cost?”

  Bernard opened his mouth to reply, but didn’t get the chance.

  “Shall I tell you something else?” Robbie leaned forward and Bernard leaned towards him, eager to hear what other atrocities she had committed. “I’ve never got past a peck on the lips and the occasional arm around the shoulder. Can you believe that?”

  Bernard could believe it of Miss High-and-Mighty Untouchable Pargeter, although he didn’t say so to his friend. He had never been entirely happy about Robbie’s infatuation with her, although he wondered if somewhere at the back of his mind he was jealous of his attachment. It meant he hadn’t seen as much of Robbie as he would have liked, and that upset him. Beelzebub missed him too, he could tell.

  “So have you said anything to her?”

  “No. I just haven’t called her to make another arrangement. She doesn’t seem bothered, anyway. Too wrapped up in Howard Drake to bother about me. I expect she’ll be in touch when she wants another free meal.” Robbie shrugged and eyed the whisky bottle. Bernard took the hint and replenished his glass. “In fact, she was beginning to bore me, old boy. She didn’t have many topics of conversation, and those she did have were all about her or Drake. Never asked me about what I’d been doing. Not one bit interested.”