The Bee's kiss djs-5

by Barbara Cleverly

  Her eyes flicked to the telephone. ‘Can you get an outside line on that?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘May I?’

  She took a notebook from her bag and leafed through it then picked up the receiver and in a starched voice asked the operator to connect her with a number she read out. A few moments later, Joe was surprised to hear her asking in a breathless, little girl’s voice, ‘Oh, hello? Jenkins? Joanna here. Look, I’ve gone and forgotten where Monty asked me to meet him tonight. Drat! This is a terribly crackly line! Can you hear me? What have you got in his diary? Was it Ciro’s? No?. . Oh, silly me! Yes, of course! Thank you, Jenkins. You are a poppet!’

  Joe had left his desk to stand by Tilly as she made her phone call, alarmed but intrigued by her boldness. He leaned towards the earpiece but was not able to make out the words to which she was responding with wide-eyed mischief.

  She set down the telephone and turned to him. ‘Got it! The Kit-Cat Club tonight at eight.’

  ‘Well, of course! The Kit-Cat! Where else?’ Joe slapped his forehead with the heel of his palm in a stagey way but he couldn’t disguise a spurt of real excitement. ‘We should have guessed. Mathurin’s not known for missing out on something special, is he?’

  ‘Special? What’s special?’

  ‘You’re telling me you hadn’t heard? And you one of the brightest young things about London? There’s to be an appearance every day for a week — this week! — by Paul Whiteman and his band. Shove over Jack Hylton and your creaking orchestra and make way for a touch of American glamour!’

  ‘Paul Whiteman? Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. He’s touring England. They’ve been playing at the Tivoli cinema but just for a short time they’ve been lured away to the Kit-Cat.’

  ‘Ah. Not difficult to guess why,’ said Tilly knowingly. ‘They have very well-placed admirers, the sort who expect cocktails and dancing laid on when they hear their favourite band perform. The Mountbattens and, they say, even the Prince of Wales. . Ooh, sir! Do you think he’ll be there?’

  ‘I should think it very likely. Put your best frock on just in case!’

  Tilly was struck by a depressing thought. ‘There’ll be crowds there. We’ll never get in. And don’t you need to be a member? I think you do, you know.’

  ‘You do and I am. A sort of honorary member. And for the same reason, we’ll get past the doorman however crowded they are.’ He smiled to see her puzzled face. ‘I raided the Kit-Cat soon after it opened. Just routine, to establish our authority, you understand. Gave them a clean sheet. Since when the management is always careful to extend a warm welcome. Oh, don’t worry — I shan’t arrive with cuffs clanking in my back pocket.’

  She smiled back nervously. ‘I say, sir, this is a very surprising side of you. I mean, I didn’t take you for a jazz fiend. Um. . can you dance?’

  Without warning, Joe advanced a step, caught her in a tight embrace and swung her into a showy quickstep around the room, growling the tune of ‘You Took Advantage Of Me’ in her ear. She responded without hesitation, moving with him as nimbly as her heavy uniform would allow. The impromptu dance came to a sudden end as Tilly knocked over the hat-stand by the door, got the giggles, missed her step and crunched down hard on Joe’s foot with her police boot.

  They sat down again, each slightly embarrassed, and Tilly was the first to recover her poise and her breath. ‘I’ll be wearing the lightest of dancing shoes this evening, I promise. I must say, I’m looking forward to it very much but. .’

  ‘You’re concerned that we might be contravening instructions?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Then stop worrying. We’re both off duty.’

  ‘But you were told not to do any more interviews and to wrap up the case, you say. Why are you — excuse me for being so inquisitive, I can’t help it! — pursuing the enquiry?’

  Joe considered the question for a moment. ‘I can’t leave the Dame adrift. I can’t bury her without knowing who put her in her coffin and why. It’s always like that with murder cases. The moment I look into the dead face I’m claimed by it.’

  She was silent, waiting for more, understanding that this was perhaps the first time he’d given words to the thought.

  ‘Like the Ancient Mariner with his wretched albatross, an unavenged corpse hangs around my neck and I go about bothering people until I know the truth. I shan’t be able to cut her loose until I know. It’s not necessary for heads to roll or even for justice to be done (though that would be good) — just as long as someone cares enough to unravel the tangle and say to her memory: “I know what happened. I know who did this.”’

  Tilly nodded. ‘Very well. I’ll help you to bother some more people. Mathurin will be there with his fiancée. At least he’ll start the evening with her. Her name’s Joanna and I know her quite well. Good family. Filthy rich. We came out in the same year. Not a bosom pal but we’re friendly enough to meet casually and share a table perhaps. Then I could lure her to the ladies’ room and leave you to talk man to man with Monty. What about that?’

  ‘Sounds perfect to me!’

  ‘But how will you get him to talk about anything we want to hear? You can’t exactly get out your notebook between numbers and ask his precise whereabouts on the night of his cousin’s murder. He’s not a fool, though people would like to believe he is.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll think of something. Shall I pick you up at eight? Explain to your father, will you? I wouldn’t like him to have any misgivings.’

  ‘I’ll make sure he doesn’t misconstrue the situation, Commander. Or should I call you Joe now we’re walking out?’

  ‘Everything all right, sir?’ enquired Charlie, righting the disturbed furniture as he entered to take away the tea tray. ‘Bit of a racket in here?’

  ‘Perfectly all right. Some of these young women police can be remarkably clumsy. Have you noticed the size of their feet? Don’t seem to know where to put them. No — leave those mugs, will you? Take the rest of the things away but leave the mugs. And here’s a file to go back to its home. Oh, and, officially, I’m out for the rest of the day to anyone except Inspector Cottingham.’

  He reached for the telephone.

  ‘Larry? Look, I’m sorry to bother you again. Tell me — is the department still. . um. . expediting work on the Jagow-Joliffe case? No counter order as yet? Excellent! I’ll be bringing you a little extra.’

  It couldn’t possibly be the same girl, Joe decided, as he sat next to Tilly in the taxi. A short, spangled red dress and matching shoes, a black velvet wrap clutched around her scented shoulders, huge eyes and red mouth and a general air of lively anticipation made him wonder. No, not the same girl. But, whoever she was, they made a handsome pair, he thought, not unaware that he always looked his best in evening dress. He nervously adjusted his white tie.

  The Haymarket was bustling with motor cars and taxis and all seemed to be heading for the Kit-Cat. One hand lightly on his arm, Tilly watched with an assumed lack of interest but with bated breath as Joe presented his credentials at the door and was hurried through with a warm smile and a wink.

  The assault on the senses was overwhelming. Joe stood for a moment, enjoying the loud laughter and bold glances, the whirl of colour against the austere black and white background of the men’s evening dress, the musky hot blend of female sweat overlaid by expensive perfume. And all were moving joyfully to the creamy sounds of a jazz band. They were whisked through the milling guests by a maître d’hôtel who led them out on to the gallery where diners were gathering, drinking cocktails at small tables overlooking the huge dance floor below. The sounds of ‘Whispering’, always the band’s opening number, spiralled up from the stage, lifting Joe’s spirits further. With a rush of pleasure he slipped an arm around Tilly’s slender waist and she raised an excited face to his.

  ‘Oh, Joe! We’re not too late. Isn’t this wonderful!’

  She reached up and kissed his cheek, murmuring, ‘They’
re right next to us.’

  ‘I never like to leave things to chance,’ he murmured back, slipping a folded white banknote into the maître d’hôtel’s discreet hand.

  ‘Un moment, monsieur.’ Their guide spoke to a couple seated at one of the best tables at the edge of the balcony with a good view of the nine-piece band and the dance floor. With many a gesture he was enquiring whether he might impose on them to share their table with two other guests. . so crowded this evening, you understand. .

  Before a refusal could be risked, Tilly had rushed forward with an excited shriek. ‘Joanna! Well, good heavens! Fancy seeing you here! How wonderful! But I hear you’re engaged now?’

  ‘Oh, Tilly! Do come and sit with us and I’ll introduce you. .’

  She seemed all too delighted to have company at her table. Perhaps tête-à-têtes with Monty were beginning to lose their charm?

  Joe had to fight back a laugh to hear the innocent little girl’s voice identical to the one Tilly had used on the telephone. Joanna was a knockout. She was slim and dark-haired like Tilly with a short nose and full, pouting lips. Her green, heavy-lidded eyes moved slowly and speculatively over Joe. He felt uneasy with her appraisal and fought down an urge to run a finger around his collar. With a sudden smile, she released him from scrutiny and began to perform the introductions.

  ‘My fiancé, Sir Montagu Mathurin. .’

  ‘My friend, Commander Sandilands. .’

  Too late, Tilly heard her faux pas. Surprisingly, it was Mathurin who unwittingly rescued the situation. ‘Naval man, eh? Might have guessed! Put your head too close to the boom, hey, what?’ he laughed, looking at Joe’s scarred forehead.

  ‘Sorry, Joe! I shouldn’t have announced your rank just like that.’ She smiled sweetly at the other two. ‘You know what these war heroes are like! They do so hate to be reminded of it.’

  Sir Montagu didn’t appear to Joe to have the slightest knowledge of war heroes or the war. His dissolute good looks were marred by a fleshiness acquired during a life of moneyed indolence. His thick black hair was swept off his forehead and plastered to his scalp with brilliantine. The dark eyes were bright and, set in a less bloated face, would have been handsome.

  ‘Just call me Joe.’

  ‘Monty. How d’ye do? Have some champagne?’

  Joe caught the eye of the maître d’hôtel, who was discreetly lingering in anticipation of his request. ‘Have the waiter bring us another bottle. One of your best, Emil,’ said Joe with largesse, in the knowledge that it would in some mysterious way be charged to the house.

  They settled to an easy and meaningless conversation. After the right interval, Joe politely asked Joanna to dance and Mathurin held out his arm to Tilly, executing, Joe noticed, a surprisingly skilled and energetic black bottom. Joe was amused to see that Tilly was playing her role with mischief and was quite obviously setting out to charm Mathurin.

  Two foxtrots and another bottle of champagne later, Tilly caught Joanna’s eye and, giggling together, they began to make their way towards the powder room. Joe undid a button of his waistcoat and leaned confidentially towards Mathurin. His eyes flicked to the girls who were weaving unsteadily, arm-in-arm, across the floor.

  ‘God! They’re young!’ he said with a sigh. ‘Much too young for a pair of dissolute old hulks like us. Why do we get entangled?’

  ‘Are you mad?’ grinned Monty. ‘No such thing as too young when it comes to fillies, I’d say.’

  ‘Ah yes, of course. Your reputation in that quarter goes before you, old man!’ He gave what he thought was a convincing leer. Mathurin would have been very surprised to learn that Joe’s information had come that afternoon from a disgusted perusal of a file held on him at the Yard.

  At that moment the girls stood aside, wondering whether to curtsy and deciding it would be inappropriate, as a tall and elegant woman passed them, returning from the dance floor. Joe’s eyes fixed on her and trailed her as she swayed past their table in a cloud of Gardenia. He surreptitiously twisted his head, the better to appreciate her lean but sensuous figure in its low-backed, clinging gown of some golden stuff.

  He turned back to Mathurin, face blank, having apparently forgotten what they’d been talking about. Then, recollecting himself, he picked up the thread. ‘As I say. . no rudeness intended, old boy. We all have our preferences. . Man of the world, what? I must say I can’t share your enthusiasms though. I’ve sailed the seven seas, I know seventy ports inside out. Could tell you stories that’d curl even your hair. And, in the end, you know, it’s experience you look for. Experience and maturity.’ He gave a world-weary sigh. ‘No new chapter to be written for me in the ars erotica but at least I can try to avoid going back constantly to page one, chapter one. So irritating these little English girls!’ He’d heard much the same nonsense trotted out by Edgar Troop, drinking companion and brothel-keeper in Simla. ‘Just as well, I suppose you’d say? Wouldn’t do for everyone to go sticking his rod into the same over-fished pool!’

  ‘Look, is all this leading somewhere?’ asked Mathurin, his porcine features gleaming with cunning. ‘This is a nightclub, not a confessional.’

  Joe grinned and leaned towards his target. ‘No fooling you! I see I’d better come clean! As a matter of fact, I do have a confession to make. It was not by chance that we were shown to your table. .’

  Mathurin waved a negligent hand. ‘Thought I saw a folded note join the others in the flunkey’s over-stuffed back pocket,’ he said casually.

  ‘I wanted to meet you. I wanted to ask a favour. It’s a rather delicate business. .’ He hesitated.

  ‘You’re talking to the soul of discretion,’ said Monty, encouragingly. ‘A favour, eh? I often do people favours. You’d be surprised to hear. . but then, as I say — clams are garrulous in comparison with me! But when I do people favours, I find they generally like to repay me.’ His gaze wandered off towards the disappearing girls and, Joe was sure, lingered lasciviously on Tilly. ‘Perhaps you would be in a position to repay me in kind?’ He smirked, happy with his subtlety.

  Joe’s right fist clenched and, for a moment, he balanced the satisfaction of punching it into Mathurin’s face and hearing the snap of breaking cartilage against the distress such a scene would cause to the Kit-Cat, to say nothing of Scotland Yard. He flexed his hand and reached for the champagne bottle. ‘It would always be my intention to make an appropriate repayment,’ he said.

  Mathurin’s interest was caught. ‘Then go ahead, old man. Just ask. But if it’s an introduction to the lovely Countess,’ he indicated the woman in gold, who’d joined a group on the balcony, ‘you can forget it!’ He gave a deprecating bark of laughter. ‘Some mountains even I can’t climb!’

  Joe did not laugh with him. ‘No. I have in mind an introduction it is within your powers to make. I work, as you’ve probably guessed, at the Admiralty and I’ve seen there and admired from a distance a certain lady whom I am rather anxious to get alongside. A lively and popular red-headed lady who, I have it on good authority, is a cousin of yours. .’

  There was a stunned silence.

  ‘Good Lord! Beatrice? You’re saying you’ve been lusting after Beatrice? Oh, good God! How dreadful!’

  ‘Something wrong with that? I had heard. .’

  ‘You can bet there’s something wrong with that, you buffoon! Is this a joke? Where the hell have you been for the last two days?’

  Joe replied stiffly. ‘If it’s any of your business — three floors down under the Admiralty building is where I’ve been, in the cryptography room. Just surfaced this evening in time for a shave and a shower,’ he improvised.

  Mathurin relaxed. ‘Ah. Then you wouldn’t have heard. Prepare yourself for a shock, man.’ He said quietly, ‘Bea got herself murdered. Saturday night. In the Ritz. She’s dead.’

  Joe contorted his face into a series of expressions passing from disbelief through shock to dismay, making matching sounds to accompany the display. Mathurin seemed to be enjoying having such a recept
ive audience and he launched into a sprightly account of the whole evening spent at his old relative’s party.

  ‘. . so I think I must be the last person she spoke to before she left the room on the stroke of midnight to go to her death,’ he said dramatically. ‘She disturbed a burglar in her room is what everybody’s saying because it wasn’t long after that we found ourselves surrounded by swarms of bluebottles. She’d just disappeared when the band started up again. I didn’t do any more dancing — after a quickstep, a foxtrot or two and a rumba, I blew a gasket and Joanna must have found someone else to dance with. Halfway through “Umcha, umcha, da, da, da” someone stopped the band and everyone was told to return to their seats. Officers of the Yard circulated amongst us taking notes. They even grilled the band! Joanna escaped all that — she’d nipped off home before it all got going. “Female problems” she calls it but she only seems to suffer when she’s bored, I notice. Can’t say I blame her. Family party. . not the jolliest scene for a young girl. Finally someone came out with it. Then they let us go. Rum do! One minute she’s sparkling away — I’d have guessed on her way to some assignation or other — few dances later, she’s a gonner!’

  Joe could only mutter incoherent condolences.

  ‘Sorry, old chap — you’ve missed this boat! But, hang on a minute. . if it’s maturity and experience that stokes the old boiler, I’m sure my aunt Cécile. . she’s French, you know. . would. .’

  He droned on and Joe prayed for Tilly’s swift return.

  Half an hour later, and just as the menus were being offered, Tilly was struck by a headache so debilitating it called for an instant return home. Sunk in the seclusion of the back seat of a taxi they looked at each other and laughed with relief.

  ‘Sorry, sir! I couldn’t bear to sit and watch Monty socking back the oysters.’

  ‘Damn it! No ear-nibbling smoochy last dance for me!’ grumbled Joe.

  ‘And we never did manage to hear the band play us out with “Three O’Clock In The Morning”! Do you really mind?’