‘Really, Norwood,’ he said sharply. ‘I don’t –’
‘Oh, God, don’t call me Norwood like that. I need my friends, Theo, got to have my friends. Don’t call me Norwood as though I wasn’t a friend. Oliver. Call me Oliver. Let old Oliver give you a drink. Whisky’s yours, isn’t it? Yes, whisky –’
He went behind the bar, busying himself with bottles, and sourly Theo watched him.
‘I can’t stay long,’ he said as curtly as he could and Oliver nodded. ‘I know, Theo. Busy man. Got all these pop stars to look after. But spare me a minute or two, eh? All on my own, now, you know. All on my own –’ And he sniffed, a small shuddering sound, as his hands did expert things with whisky and ice and ginger ale. He mixed Theo’s drink exactly the way he liked it, and pushed it at him over the little bar counter with a winning smile, or what tried to be one, but which made his pouched cheeks look more disagreeable than ever.
He poured tonic water and bitters for himself, with some ostentation, but Theo ignored that. He had had enough boring talk in the past about Oliver and his problems with alcohol and the rest of it.
‘Where’s Maggy?’ Oliver said and now his voice seemed sharper, and he looked up at Theo with a new brightness in his eyes. ‘Not with you?’
‘No. She’s gone to the Haymarket,’ Theo said, unthinkingly and then was furious with himself. What the hell business was it of Oliver’s where she’d gone?
Oliver sighed softly, an oddly satisfied little sound, and bent his head to his drink.
‘To the safe deposit?’ he said softly. ‘I thought as much.’
‘What do you know about the safe deposit?’ Theo said sharply. ‘It’s none of your affair.’
‘Of course it isn’t, Theo ol’ man. Of course it isn’t. But I’m Dolly’s friend – I mean, I was Dolly’s friend –’ Abruptly his eyes filmed over and his sodden grief-stricken look came back, and Theo felt disgust again. Bloody man! Posing lump of –
‘So I know what’s what, don’t I?’ The grief disappeared as fast as it had come, and again Oliver was looking at him with those sharp eyes gleaming between the pouches of his lids. ‘She used to go there once a year, Dolly did, when she was well, poor darling. I used to take her and sit and have coffee over the road, and there she’d be for a couple of hours, sometimes, to come back all – ah well, that was a long time ago. Hadn’t managed it this past two years, the poor lamb. It was her legs, you see. They got so swollen she couldn’t put her feet to the floor, and there she’d sit, up there in her room, and wouldn’t let anyone but me and Ida do a thing for her. Commode, the lot –’
‘Shut up,’ Theo said savagely, and finished his drink in one gulp. ‘I’m not interested in your reminiscences. Have a bit of decency, man, for Christ’s sake –’
‘Decency? And you in the record business?’ Oliver tittered, a thin sound that seemed to ring among the bottles on the shelves behind him. ‘I should cocoa! And what about the way you’re hanging round here? What’s decent in that? Thought you’d left Maggy? There’s nothing here for you any more, is there? Or is there? Making up your lovers’ tiffs then? Going to marry the heiress, then?’
‘I’m going,’ Theo said. ‘You make me sick, you – you –’
‘Poof’s the word you’re looking for, darling,’ Oliver said, and grinned. ‘But sick or not, I dare say you’ll be back, eh? You’re not the sort to make strange, not now that Dolly’s dead and there’s this place to sort out.’
But Theo had gone, pushing past the receptionist with a muttered apology for making her spill some of her flower water, and Oliver stood there behind the bar for another moment or two, and then meticulously washed Theo’s glass and his own, and wiped the bar surface, whistling softly between his teeth.
Ida was still sitting at the table in the inner office when he came in, and he stood leaning against the door jamb, staring at her.
‘She’s gone to the safe deposit,’ he said abruptly after a moment.
‘I know.’
‘So now what?’
‘How should I know? I’m not psychic, for God’s sake. There’s a lot I don’t know. Any more than you do.’
‘More than I do, for all that. But I’ll find out, don’t you fret. I’ll find out. What will she find out?’
‘I told you. I’m not psychic.’
‘Yes, you bloody are,’ Oliver said, and his voice was vicious suddenly. ‘But you don’t fancy me as a mate, do you? You’re a fool, you know that? Because you’d do better with me than against me. You may know a lot, but we were very close these past few years, Dolly and me, and you’re a fool if you forget it.’
‘I won’t forget it,’ Ida said, and got to her feet. ‘And don’t you forget I’ve been around a lot longer than you have. A lot longer. Now get out of my way. I’ve got work to do.’
‘Yes,’ Oliver said, and now he sounded abstracted. ‘Yes, I know you have. Me, though, I got time on my hands. I think maybe I’ll take a train ride. Eh? Down to the Haymarket.’
‘And what good will that do you?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Might bump into an old friend – have a drink. You know?’
‘Oh, go to hell,’ Ida said contemptuously, and picked up the tea tray. ‘You bore me, you with all your posing –’
‘– and tricks. Yes. I know. See you, Ida. Don’t work too hard, will you?’ And he went away towards the street doors, whistling again. He looked younger suddenly.
The man across the street watched him go, and sourly sucked his back tooth; he’d have to get the damned thing filled some time, the hell it was giving him, but when? These bloody people leaping in and out of the place but never any sign of the girl herself; how the hell was he supposed to get the information they wanted if the bloody girl never came? He contemplated the injustice of his situation gloomily and shifted the weight on his feet.
Oliver reached the end of the street, and looked back with a curiously furtive movement before disappearing round the corner, and on a sudden impulse, the man moved after him. There was no point in staying here, really. The Cordery bloke had gone, the Guthrie woman never budged out at this time of the day – you could set your watch by that one – and maybe Norwood was going to the girl? They’d been close enough once, he’d found that out, and now the mother was dead maybe they were getting together again. He picked and teased at his thoughts as he turned the corner, and saw Oliver disappear into the underground station. This was going to be an easy tail, and he had nothing to lose by it, and maybe he’d get something to tell them tonight – He looked at his watch. Four o’clock. If he phoned them at six tonight that’d be one o’clock their time, wouldn’t it? British summer time. He calculated, trying to count the hours backwards as he bought a 15p ticket from the machine and followed Olivyer down to the east-bound platform. Maybe he’d better leave it till around nine tonight. That way he’d be sure to gety ’em. And there’d be trouble if he didn’t. They’d been very nasty the last time he’d called and hadn’t had enough information for them.
This time, somehow, he’d have to get something.
2
The lift whispered its way down to the basement and the air was cool, and she relaxed. It had been disagreeably hot up in the street, humid and heavy, but the air-conditioning in here was good, even if it smelled a bit phony, pretending to be scented with spring flowers. But it was better than diesel fumes.
Fool, she thought, discussing the weather with yourself! Why not think honestly about what you’re here for? Why not face up to it? You’ve still got time to turn round and walk out, and tell them they can do what they like. Plenty of time. No one’s exactly forcing you to open the bloody box, are they?
The lift stopped and the doors sighed open and he was there leaning against the opposite wall and as he saw her he straightened up, became every inch the Family Solicitor, his face taking on an expression of polite and controlled commiseration. Poor Lady, having to deal with a Bereavement; it was as though he had said it aloud, and the moment of good
will she’d felt at first sight of him shrivelled and died.
‘Don’t stand there looking at me like a sick cow, man, for God’s sake,’ she said. ‘I’m not exactly heartbroken, you know, and you might as well get used to the fact. I’m not about to pretend anything –’
At once Ian Friese’s expression changed, and he became every inch the Business-like Solicitor. ‘Of course. I’ve got everything ready. Shall we go in?’
‘Just a minute.’ She leaned against the wall beside him, staring at him. There was still time. Time to press the lift button, go back up to the hot street and forget all about it, about Dolly, her box, her will. ‘Just a minute. I want to be sure I’ve got the facts clear. Okay?’
‘Of course. But we have been through it all. I did explain –’
‘I know you did. But me, I’m thick – put it down to me being thick. Tell me again. Simply. No fancy legal language. Can’t be doing with that. Just simply.’
He folded his hands over his brief-case and looked solemnly at her, and she wanted to giggle. This man had seen too many movies when he was a kid. He changed poses so often it was ridiculous. Now he was being avuncular and protective towards a Poor Little Rich Girl –
‘Your mother’s will was quite clear, Miss Dundas. The hotel, the Westpark, is to be yours entirely, under certain conditions. First, that you pay off the mortgages with which it is at present heavily encumbered, and that you do so with means that will be made available to you via the contents of your mother’s safe deposit box. And secondly, that you employ Ida Guthrie for as long as she chooses to be employed as manager and housekeeper, at her present salary plus a bonus on turnover.’
‘And if I refuse to employ Miss Guthrie –’
‘Then the estate reverts to her entirely,’ Friese said smoothly, and then smiled. ‘It’s an interesting will, isn’t it? I told your mother at the time she made it that I thought so. It is a very – kind way to ensure the well-being of an old employee. Very kind.’
‘You reckon?’ Maggy said. ‘What about my feelings in the matter?’
‘Well, I can understand that you’d probably rather employ your own staff, of course, but after all, Miss Guthrie was part of the business for a very long time as I understand it. Long before your mother – ah – consulted me. Right from the beginning.’
‘Yes. Right from the beginning. She’s always been there –’
All my life, Maggy thought, staring bleakly at the self-satisfied face in front of her. She was always there, in the way, interfering. Getting between her and me, spoiling things –
She blinked, and then frowned. So what if Ida had come between Dolly and herself? What did that matter? She hated Dolly, didn’t she? So why should she care about Ida and Dolly?
But she cared. She cared too much, and now she said abruptly. ‘There’s no way out of that? Either I take Ida on, or she takes the lot?’
‘That’s the size of it,’ Friese said, and smiled again. ‘Shall we go along, then? Time’s getting on, you know, and I have a great deal to do back at my office.’
He turned and went to a little door along the heavily carpeted corridor, and for a moment Maggy hesitated, still leaning against the wall. Still time to press the lift button, still time to cut and run.
And let Ida get it all. I don’t want it, I really don’t want it, but I want Ida to have it even less. She took enough from me, being Dolly’s friend, being always there. She took enough – I shan’t let her have this as well, I shan’t. And anyway, who do you think you’re fooling? The Westpark – it’s got to be worth a lot. Quite a lot. And though I don’t need much more than I’m making, there are things I could do, work I could try –
‘What’s the market value of the place?’ she said abruptly, staring at Friese and he let his lips curve into a smile, knowing and a little sneering.
‘How much?’ she said sharply, refusing to let his opinion of her matter. ‘You should know.’
‘At present? Well, there’s a bit of a slump in hotel property at the moment – the developers, you know how it is – but unencumbered, well – say two hundred and fifty thousand. Give or take a hundred or two.’
‘Two hundred –’ A quarter of a million. Ye Gods. A quarter of a million. Pounds.
Someone came out of the little door, hurried along the corridor and pressed the lift button, and at once the doors opened and he stepped in and the doors closed again, and the lift went whispering away upwards and she straightened. It was as though her last chance to back out had been lost, the lift taking away with it her final opportunity of choice. She would do it. She’d take on the hotel and Ida with it and the safe deposit box. There was nothing else she could do. She’d be mad to do anything else.
Beyond the little door there was a narrow cubby hole of an office, with a counter and another door beside it. Friese was talking to the woman behind the counter, papers in front of them, and the woman looked up at her sharply as she came in and then at Friese.
‘I see. And this is the death certificate? Yes. And the proof of Miss Dundas’s identity – yes, I see. And this was arranged, you say, with – ah, yes, here’s the release. Well, yes, that seems to be in order – Miss Dundas, I’ll need your signature.’
Now she had decided there was to be no more hesitation, Maggy moved forwards briskly and signed the form that was put in front of her, calm and relaxed. She felt Friese hovering at her shoulder as the woman behind the counter pushed a bell and the other door opened from inside.
‘This way, please, madam.’ A man in black clothes, not precisely a uniform but giving him an air of police-like authority, stood just inside the door, which she could see was a very thick and heavy one, and she stepped forward.
‘Ah, Miss Dundas –’ Friese put a hand on her arm, and she looked at it and then up at his face. No posing now; he looked eager and curious and she felt her own curiosity sharpen.
‘Er – shall I wait for you? No doubt there’ll be matters you will want to discuss, items to be – um – elucidated –’
‘I thought you were in a hurry to get back to your office?’
‘Well, yes of course, I’m busy, very busy. Always am, you know. But of course I’m at your disposal, at any time. Glad to wait if you need me –’
She smiled slowly, staring at him. ‘Mr Friese, do you know what’s in this box?’
He dropped his hand, took a step backwards. ‘Know? Of course not! A safe deposit box, you know, is a very – a very private matter! Of course I don’t know! Your mother put all her business affairs in my hands, naturally, but I didn’t pry. Wouldn’t dream of asking her – but she said that the means to settle the heavy debts on the hotel were here, you see, so I thought –’
‘You thought there’s some sort of treasure in there, and you’re dying to know what it is! Is that it?’ She spoke loudly and clearly, very aware of the fascinated stare of the woman behind the counter and the man in the doorway, even more aware of Friese’s discomfiture.
‘Not at all, not at all!’ He was stiff now, very proper, and folded his hands over the handle of his brief-case again and nodded frostily at her. ‘Merely offering my professional services, as it is my duty to do. However, I am sure you will come to my office when you are ready. Good afternoon, Miss Dundas.’
‘Good afternoon, Mr Friese,’ she said and smiled sweetly. ‘Thank you so much for your – interest.’ And she stood and waited until he had gone, bustling out into the corridor, leaving the door to swing closed behind him. And then, and only then, she followed the uniformed man through the other, heavier door.
It was odd, inside. Heavy carpets, still, an air of opulence still, and the spring-flower-scented air-conditioning still, but there was a heaviness, a brooding suffocating sense of weight pressing down on her, and she felt uneasiness creep into her. There was another door on the far side of the one she had come through, a great heavy safe door that looked two to three feet thick, and she glanced up at the ceiling, almost expecting to see bars there. It stared back
down at her, white and plain, but she felt she could almost see the huge building above it, pressing down, felt that the walls on each side of her were as thick as that safe door, and it was a horrible feeling. Like being on an underground train when it stopped between the Embankment and Waterloo; knowing the river was above, feeling all the weight of water pressing down –
She shivered and pulled her jacket a little closer about her, and the uniformed man nodded at her and said, ‘Tis cold, ain’t it? I tells ’em, all the time I tells ’em they keeps it too cold dahn ’ere, but there, they don’t listen. Says it’s got to be cool for the good o’ the combination on the safe and the boxes and that, but I reckon they just don’t know what it’s like to be down ’ere all the time. What’s your number, please, miss?’
‘Number?’
He pointed to her hand, and she looked down at the key she was holding. The woman had put it there after she had signed – she remembered now, and stared at it. A small ordinary key with a number engraved on it.
‘Ah – B.11 – is that it? B.11?’
‘That’s it, miss. This way, miss.’
The room inside the heavy safe door was lined with square-fronted boxes, each with a letter and number engraved on it, and the sense of oppression increased. She had seen a morgue once, a long time ago, when George had died. A long time ago. That had been lined with drawers like this, big heavy drawers each big enough for a body. These were small drawers, though, and she had a brief vision of each one holding a tiny gnome of a corpse, and wanted to giggle.
‘Ere y’are, miss. B.11. This way, miss.’
Portentously carrying the box under his arm, the man led the way to yet another door and opened it, switching on a light, and led her in. No bigger than a lavatory, a blank-walled place with a shelf along one side and nothing else. He put the box down on the shelf, and nodded affably at her. ‘There y’are, miss. Just you ring the bell as soon as you’re ready –’ He pointed to the bell push beside the door and then he was gone, closing it behind him, and for a horrible moment she panicked, almost banged on the door to be let out; but took a deep breath and closed her eyes and waited for the feeling to ebb away. And it did.
Reprise Page 2
