A Spider in the Cup

by Barbara Cleverly

  “Stay on the Brighton road for half an hour. After we turn off it gets a bit tricky. It’s all bosky beech woods sighing in the breeze and ancient tracks winding between high earth banks. Mysterious, lovely and hellish driving.”

  Kingstone put his foot down and the modest six-cylinder engine did its gallant best to please.

  “COD AND SIX-PENNORTH o’ chips and a glass of lemonade! Blimey! You know how to treat a girl.” Julia Ivanova’s voice held a note of flirtatious challenge but her smile was wide as a child’s with delight at the sight of the steaming plate Armitage was putting in front of her. She sniffed. “And how did you know I liked it with vinegar?”

  “No choice! When Sam’s at the fryer everyone gets vinegar.”

  Julia looked enquiringly at the man directing operations behind the counter in the small fish bar on the corner of Brewer Street. He returned her gaze, his large, sweating, moustached face taking in every detail of her appearance with more than polite scrutiny. Finally, the face broke into a beaming smile of welcome. He winked at her in appreciation. Julia laughed and winked back.

  Armitage relaxed. He’d done the right thing after all. He’d wondered about bringing her here. He’d stayed down below in the vestibule at Claridge’s, re-reading Sandiland’s message—which he’d summarised for Julia: “Don’t wait up!”—while she went to change. “To get the smell of death out of my clothes,” she’d said, “and give my hair a good brushing.”

  She hadn’t kept him waiting long. She’d emerged from the lift wearing something in dark blue silk that he thought he recognised. It clung flatteringly to her slender shape and reached half way down her calves. He’d last seen it at the front of Natalia’s wardrobe, being held up to Sandiland’s inquisitive nose. Sandilands had even clocked the label: VIONNET or some such. French anyway. Must have cost a bomb. Borrowed without the owner’s say-so? None of his business. Perhaps she had blanket permission to help herself to her boss’s possessions? Girls did things like that. Even shared each other’s lipsticks. At least she didn’t smell of that musky scent her boss used. Before the strong chippy atmosphere of frying fat and vinegar hit them, he’d been aware of something flowery and innocent that took him back to kids’ outings in Epping Forest. Bluebells?

  It came back to him with a rush, the moment of intense pleasure he’d had as a child when he’d stuck his head into a bunch of fresh-picked bluebells. Some insect had buzzed out and stung him and he’d cried into his ma’s pinny but that first breath of the forest to a kid whose nose and lungs were coked up with the reek of the city was unforgettable. Prattling away, she sat there, not knowing how she risked assault by a man who longed to grab hold of her and sink his nose into the warm place between her neck and shoulder. Bill straightened his back and fixed on an intelligent smile. He knew what his old dad would have said: “Now wait for the bee, my lad! No pleasure in this life, without you paying for it.”

  He looked at her with appreciation. He noted her animation, the colour in her cheeks, the mischief in her eye and it struck him that he was out on the town with a real head-turner. However she’d come by her outfit, she wore it with the poise of an actress. And all this for the price of a fish supper. He’d also noticed that, when she wanted to, she could move about, for short distances at least, with a grace of carriage that distracted from the weakness of her left leg. He could swear no one had noticed it when she’d entered the café holding tightly to his arm. For all anyone was aware, she might have sprained an ankle skiing at Chamonix. He’d enjoyed the feel of his arm around her slender waist as he’d lowered her into her seat.

  “If that’s Sam—he seems to know you. How come?” she asked.

  “It’s seven years since he saw me last but I’ve not changed much. He used to know me well. I worked here Saturdays when I was a lad.”

  “What! You’re telling me you’re a Londoner?”

  “Born and bred. Over Whitechapel way … Queen Adelaide Court, just off the Mile End Road.”

  He gave her a self-flattering version of his departure from his native shores, touching on the ambition which had driven the able young fellow he had been to seek wider horizons, faster promotion, the rewards of a bigger salary and a police-issue revolver.

  “Ah! I thought there was something going on between you and that policeman—Sandilands.”

  “From way back, Julia. We were recruits together in the trenches. I still think of him as Captain Sandilands. He was a fine young officer in those days. An honour to serve with him.” His eyes shone with patriotic pride.

  “He’s pretty impressive now, I’d say. Assistant Commissioner? London doesn’t seem to have held him back.”

  Armitage glared. He looked about him and changed the subject. “Sam seems to be doing well for himself too. He’s survived the depression and squeezed in four more tables.”

  “Catering for the after-performance theatre crowds? Slumming it in Soho? We’re not even the best-dressed here. The woman at the next table—have you seen her pearls!”

  Armitage peered sideways and, informed by experience, declared, “Imitation. And her bust.”

  “Well, either one’s better than anything I have to display. Some people still have a bob or two in their pockets. And people always have to eat.” Julia turned her full attention to the fish and chips. “Haven’t eaten since breakfast. You’d think the sight of two corpses would put me off food for a week, but not so.”

  When she’d finished, she spent a moment straightening her knife and fork and dabbing her mouth with a lace-edged handkerchief, then said, “That was good. But I do wonder what’s next on the menu for this evening. Back to the hotel for a cup of cocoa? Or something stronger? Are you still on duty?”

  “Sort of!” Armitage grinned and relayed Joe’s last-minute instructions on surveillance to him, not leaving out the champagne. A risky tactic but he knew she was aware he was all kinds of a rogue. A touch of honesty added to the mix might just gain her trust. At the least, it would intrigue.

  Julia appeared satisfyingly incensed. “Are you sure that’s what he told you to do?” She made him repeat Sandilands’ actual words. “Well! Now I’m asking myself why you would turn down the offer of a midnight feast at Claridge’s for a plate of fish and chips. Let me guess. Sandilands suggested—no, told you—though I’m sure he thought it was delicately done—to feel free to help yourself to a dirty weekend with me. Am I getting this right? Cheeky bugger! And you’d do anything to defy him, wouldn’t you? Even though he’s not present to see you sitting here dripping with chip fat. Here, give us your chin …” He presented his anvil of a jaw and she reached across and whisked her hanky over it. “He’s not here but you still know you’ve gone against his lordship’s wishes and, for you, there’s satisfaction in that.”

  He smiled back easily. “Yes, you’re right. Could never stand being told what to do.”

  “Must come hard for someone not born into the officer class?”

  “I make my own class,” he said briefly. “And one day I’ll be giving the orders. But look here, Julia, I didn’t invite the Assistant Commissioner to join us at our table and I wish you’d leave him out of this. He’s ruined enough of my life. I thought you might like to reconnect yourself with your London roots, see a bit of life outside theatres and hotels. Have a friendly chat with a real man for a change—not a la-di-da fancy-pants who’d just talk down to you—a man who thinks you’re a very special and very attractive lady. But above all—I wouldn’t want you to think I’m the kind who’d fall for a suggestion of an indecent nature.”

  “Hang on—isn’t that my line?” She was laughing at his speech. “I hadn’t realised you were such an old sober-sides, William Armiger. How would you know—an indecent suggestion from a good-looking bloke might be just what I’d fancy to round off my day. The Assistant Commissioner might understand me better than you do. I wonder if Sandilands’s date’s having a fun-filled evening. He seemed to be rather eager to get away towards the end, did you notice? As though he�
��d suddenly realised he was running late for something. He kept looking at his watch and clearly wanted to be rid of the lot of us. Is he married?”

  “No idea.”

  “He doesn’t behave like a married man. He’s quite flirty. And very good-looking. There’s a whiff of something exciting about him … something very masculine … Danger? Authority?”

  “That’ll be his Coal Tar soap.”

  “I expect he’s dashed off to a night club with some Admiral’s daughter called Arethusa.”

  Her remark was lightly made but Armitage didn’t quite like to hear the yearning in her voice. “Nothing of the sort! Didn’t you catch on? And I thought you were smart! He has got a date for the evening but his date’s not having much fun, I can tell you! Kingstone! Sandilands has shoved him in the back of his car with a rug over him and driven off for the weekend. We won’t be seeing them back at the hotel until Monday morning. He left me a note at the desk telling me not to worry if they didn’t get back tonight.”

  “Where’ve they gone, Bill?” He was surprised by the concern in her voice.

  “Oh, Brighton would be my guess,” he replied casually.

  “Where does everybody go when they’re in trouble? Loose living, London-on-Sea. You can lose anyone there. Half the inhabitants are on the run. The second half are providing cover for the first.”

  “Isn’t that going to be a teeny bit awkward?”

  “Damned uncomfortable for Sandilands, I should think! Being stuck out there in the back of beyond with a love-lorn lunatic on a hit-list? Rather him than me!”

  “No, I was thinking—Kingstone had no luggage with him. He’s gone off with just what he was standing up in. Evening dress. Not so much as a toothbrush in his pocket.” Her concern was growing.

  “That’s a thought.” Armitage narrowed his eyes and sank into speculation. “A thought that ought to have occurred to me. It does limit their choice of destination a bit.” He froze his face and put on his Mayfair voice: “After all, one simply may not be seen in dress clothes one minute after breakfast time on a Saturday morning on the promenade. Just not done, my dear.”

  Julia shivered. “Don’t talk like that, William. You scare me. Do your American. It suits you. That’s who you are.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said easily. “Come on! Let’s think about this. They’ve gone somewhere there’s a change of clothes available.”

  “I bet he’s taken him home with him? Where is Sandilands’s home?”

  “He had a flat in Chelsea and he’s still there after all these years, he tells me. By the river. Right where they dowsed the body. I’ve got his number.”

  “Garn!” The Cockney expletive rocketed across the table, conveying utter derision in four letters. “Why would he give you his private phone number?”

  Armitage’s hackles had been raised by the playground challenge. “From the last case we worked together,” he said stiffly. “We were in close collaboration in that one all right. Politically sensitive. Top Secret stuff. ‘Ring me any time day or night, Bill …’ Still got his card.” He produced it from his wallet.

  She snatched it from him, raising her eyebrows in surprise and read out: “Flaxman five-two-zero-four, and a Lot’s Road address. That’s right opposite the power station, isn’t it? Not very posh for a man like him. I’d have expected rooms in Piccadilly—Albany perhaps.”

  “He’s not like that. It’s not a good idea to try to predict anything about Sandilands, Julia.”

  Julia smiled, understanding that no one was allowed to criticise or question his boss but Armiger. There was mischief in her eyes as she suggested, “It’d shake him up a bit if you gave him a bell when we get back to the hotel.”

  “Perhaps I will. Offer to drop round with a toothbrush or two.”

  “You can try. But prepare for disappointment—I bet they’re not there. What would they do to pass the time in Chelsea? They’d drive each other nuts, cooped up together.” Then, more soberly: “If they have taken off, William, have you thought—it’s a desperate thing to do. It won’t have been easy to get Kingstone away when he’s still hoping Natalia might come breezing back. Or fearing her body might turn up. Either way—he’d want to be on the spot. It must mean Sandilands thinks he’s in immediate danger from someone close to him. At the hotel? Kingstone had already come to that conclusion—we all heard him say so. Who’s he got in mind? There’s only us. You? Me? Which of us is it, William?”

  Her teasing smile faded and they stared at each other in sudden dismay.

  “Don’t forget Natalia, wherever she is,” Bill offered. “I can’t believe she’s a goner. She wouldn’t let us off the hook that easily. Not her. Now she’s really got it in for him, if I’m to trust the evidence of my ears. The last thing I heard her shriek at him involved doing something unspeakable to his crown jewels. I’d call that dangerous, immediate and very close,” he said to relieve the tension. “But you know them as a couple, Julia. I don’t. They surely don’t carry on like that all the time, do they? Funny sort of love affair, I’d say.”

  “It’s not a sun-lit pool and it wouldn’t suit me either. But it works for them, I suppose. Most of the time.”

  “When were they last together?” Armitage asked, following up the slight uncertainty he detected in her words.

  “Their paths crossed for a couple of days in Vienna at Easter—he was over there for a conference. She was dancing and didn’t have much time to spare for him. For any length of time it would be Paris, last Christmas. She was performing the Nutcracker. It was a bit stormy.”

  Armitage censored the rude comment he was about to make. Her pure profile, so at odds with her own relaxed way of talking, confused and intimidated him. He didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot and spoil their evening.

  “She did the same thing in Paris. Bunked off after a week. Shouting and yelling. She came back after two days, bold as brass, as though nothing had happened and just carried on. She wasn’t there to see the state she’d left him in. Poor bloke. Why, Bill? Why does an intelligent, strong man like Kingstone put up with it?”

  “Do you ever feel tempted to give him a few words of advice, Julia?”

  She looked at him strangely. “Of course. Wouldn’t you? Problem is—I couldn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know. What can you do to help pick up the pieces? I’m in the other camp and in a servile position as well. He’s not going to take much notice of me. I offer such comfort as I can when it’s required. But, really, the only thing that makes him happy is the sight of Natalia coming through the door, hat box on her arm and a smile on her face.”

  “What about all those Americans staying at the hotel? There’s about thirty of them. He must know some of them. Any familiar faces there, Julia?”

  She shook her head. But picked up his point. “Right. You say you used to be a detective? Go on, then, do a bit of detecting. Who’s threatening him? If Sandilands has worked it out, we can. Think—did he get to know anyone on the boat over?”

  Armitage gave her an edited list of the senator’s sea-board connexions, leaving out the chorus girls and reducing it to two economists and one diplomat, adding, “He’s made no attempt to continue the acquaintance since we arrived here. He’s an odd one. Friendly enough but he doesn’t have the glossy charm of a career politician.”

  “That’s one of the reasons I like him. I’d say politics for him is a means to an end, not a goal in itself. It’s a game of power for most men in the countries I’ve visited—and that’s a dozen or more. It’s a chessboard they set up for themselves but one with millions of pawns who’ve never asked to be in the game. I thought Kingstone was different.”

  “He is. Cheer up, Julia. You’re not his maid. You’re not paid to worry about him. What’s it to you if he’s gone off into the blue yonder without a clean pair of underpants? He’ll be all right with Sandilands. Another odd fish who makes his own rules. They’re two for a pair.”

  “Probably sitting down watching a roulette wheel
spinning, brandy glass in one hand, blonde floozy in the other, as we speak,” Julia said with a grimace.

  “You’ve got it! Look, Julia, they’re out of our hair. The night’s young. London’s just warming up. Where shall we go? I’ve still got contacts in this town—I can get us in anywhere, and you’re dressed for anything,” he said with eager confidence. “There’s Ciro’s just off the Haymarket … The Ambassador’s closer, just across Regent’s Street and they’ve got Joe Loss and his Harlem Band tonight. Or if you fancy something more exotic and classy there’s always the Blue Lagoon in Beak Street, all countesses and cocktails. You’ll blend right in! Gargle a bit of that Russian in the back of your throat like you do and they’ll think you’re an émigrée duchess with her gigolo in tow.”

  She was laughing at him and warming to the idea, he could tell, until he made his big mistake.

  “They don’t close until four-thirty in the morning, when they start serving breakfast. They’ve got a good jazz band. What about it? How do you fancy cutting a rug?”

  The careless slang had slipped out before he realised what damage it could do.

  Julia rose to her feet and picked up her bag, resigned and sad. “Now there was I, thinking you’d noticed. I don’t go in for rug-cutting these days. I’ll trouble you to whistle up a taxi for me—they tend not to want to stop for women who look like me. Odd and difficult.” She slipped a half crown onto the table. “There’s my share. I enjoyed the supper. I’m going back to the hotel now for that cocoa and I’ll leave you to do whatever single young men do on a Friday night in London. I’ll be tucked up in my own room when you get back and I don’t expect to be fetched out to look at any more corpses before at least ten o’clock.”

  Armitage flushed with embarrassment and anger. He left the half crown on the table, grabbed Julia by the waist and propelled her to the door. He’d done enough pussy-footing around. This girl was playing with him like a monkey on a stick. He’d take her somewhere quiet and make her answer a few questions. Like, who was she really working for and what was her business with a criminal outfit in Harley Street? That would do for starters.