Chapter 5
Clarissa and Sir Rowland had hardly been gone more than a few minutes when Elgin, the butler, entered the room from the hall, carrying a tray of drinks which he placed on a table. When the door bell rang, he went to the front door. A theatrically handsome, dark-haired man was standing outside.
‘Good evening, sir,’ Elgin greeted him.
‘Good evening. I’ve come to see Mrs Brown,’ the man told him, rather brusquely.
‘Oh yes, sir, do come in,’ said Elgin. Closing the door behind the man, he asked, ‘What name, sir?’
‘Mr Costello.’
‘This way, sir.’ Elgin led the way along the hall. He stood aside to allow the newcomer to enter the drawing-room, and then said, ‘Would you wait here, sir. Madam is at home. I’ll see if I can find her.’ He started to go, then stopped and turned back to the man. ‘Mr Costello, did you say?’
‘That’s right,’ the stranger replied. ‘Oliver Costello.’
‘Very good, sir,’ murmured Elgin as he left the room, closing the door behind him.
Left alone, Oliver Costello looked around the room, walked across to listen first at the library door and next at the hall door, and then approached the desk, bent over it, and looked closely at the drawers. Hearing a sound, he quickly moved away from the desk, and was standing in the centre of the room when Clarissa came in through the French windows.
Costello turned. When he saw who it was, he looked amazed.
It was Clarissa who spoke first. Sounding intensely surprised, she gasped, ‘You?’
‘Clarissa! What are you doing here?’ exclaimed Costello. He sounded equally surprised.
‘That’s a rather silly question, isn’t it?’ Clarissa replied. ‘It’s my house.’
‘This is your house?’ His tone was one of disbelief.
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know,’ said Clarissa, sharply.
Costello stared at her without speaking for a moment or two. Then, adopting a complete change of manner, he observed, ‘What a charming house this is. It used to belong to old what’s-his-name, the antique dealer, didn’t it? I remember he brought me out here once to show me some Louis Quinze chairs.’ He took a cigarette case from his pocket. ‘Cigarette?’ he offered.
‘No, thank you,’ replied Clarissa abruptly. ‘And,’ she added, ‘I think you’d better go. My husband will be home quite soon, and I don’t think he’d be very pleased to see you.’
Costello responded with rather insolent amusement, ‘But I particularly do want to see him. That’s why I’ve come here, really, to discuss suitable arrangements.’
‘Arrangements?’ Clarissa asked, her tone one of puzzlement.
‘Arrangements for Pippa,’ Costello explained. ‘Miranda’s quite agreeable to Pippa’s spending part of the summer holidays with Henry, and perhaps a week at Christmas. ‘But otherwise–’
Clarissa interrupted him sharply. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked. ‘Pippa’s home is here.’
Costello wandered casually over to the table with the drinks on it. ‘But my dear Clarissa,’ he exclaimed, ‘you’re surely aware that the court gave Miranda the custody of the child?’ He picked up a bottle of whisky. ‘May I?’ he asked, and without waiting for a reply poured a drink for himself. ‘The case was undefended, remember?’
Clarissa faced him belligerently. ‘Henry allowed Miranda to divorce him,’ she declared, speaking clearly and concisely, ‘only after it was agreed between them privately that Pippa should live with her father. If Miranda had not agreed to that, Henry would have divorced her.’
Costello gave a laugh which bordered on a sneer. ‘You don’t know Miranda very well, do you?’ he asked. ‘She so often changes her mind.’
Clarissa turned away from him. ‘I don’t believe for one moment,’ she said contemptuously, ‘that Miranda wants that child or even cares twopence about her.’
‘But you’re not a mother, my dear Clarissa,’ was Costello’s impertinent response. ‘You don’t mind my calling you Clarissa, do you?’ he went on, with another unpleasant smile. ‘After all, now that I’m married to Miranda, we’re practically relations-in-law.’
He swallowed his drink in one gulp and put his glass down. ‘Yes, I can assure you,’ he continued, ‘Miranda is now feeling violently maternal. She feels she must have Pippa to live with us for most of the time.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ Clarissa snapped.
‘Please yourself.’ Costello made himself comfortable in the armchair. ‘But there’s no point in your trying to contest it. After all, there was no arrangement in writing, you know.’
‘You’re not going to have Pippa,’ Clarissa told him firmly. ‘The child was a nervous wreck when she came to us. She’s much better now, and she’s happy at school, and that’s the way she’s going to remain.’
‘How will you manage that, my dear?’ Costello sneered. ‘The law is on our side.’
‘What’s behind all this?’ Clarissa asked him, sounding bewildered. ‘You don’t care about Pippa. What do you really want?’ She paused, and then struck her forehead. ‘Oh! What a fool I am. Of course, it’s blackmail.’
Costello was about to reply, when Elgin appeared. ‘I was looking for you, madam,’ the butler told Clarissa. ‘Will it be quite all right for Mrs Elgin and myself to leave now for the evening, madam?’
‘Yes, quite all right, Elgin,’ Clarissa replied.
‘The taxi has come for us,’ the butler explained. ‘Supper is laid all ready in the dining-room.’ He was about to go, but then turned back to Clarissa. ‘Do you want me to shut up in here, madam?’ he asked, keeping an eye on Costello as he spoke.
‘No, I’ll see to it,’ Clarissa assured him. ‘You and Mrs Elgin can go off for the evening now.’
‘Thank you, madam,’ said Elgin. He turned at the hall door to say, ‘Goodnight, madam.’
‘Goodnight, Elgin,’ Clarissa responded.
Costello waited until the butler had closed the door behind him before he spoke again. ‘Blackmail is a very ugly word, Clarissa,’ he pointed out to her somewhat unoriginally. ‘You should take a little more care before you accuse people wrongfully. Now, have I mentioned money at all?’
‘Not yet,’ replied Clarissa. ‘But that’s what you mean, isn’t it?’
Costello shrugged his shoulders and held his hands out in an expressive gesture. ‘It’s true that we’re not very well off,’ he admitted. ‘Miranda has always been very extravagant, as you no doubt know. I think she feels that Henry might be able to reinstate her allowance. After all, he’s a rich man.’
Clarissa went up to Costello and faced him squarely. ‘Now listen,’ she ordered him. ‘I don’t know about Henry, but I do know about myself. You try to get Pippa away from here, and I’ll fight you tooth and nail.’ She paused, then added, ‘And I don’t care what weapons I use.’
Apparently unmoved by her outburst, Costello chuckled, but Clarissa continued, ‘It shouldn’t be difficult to get medical evidence proving Miranda’s a drug addict. I’d even go to Scotland Yard and talk to the Narcotic Squad, and I’d suggest that they kept an eye on you as well.’
Costello gave a start at this. ‘The upright Henry will hardly care for your methods,’ he warned Clarissa.
‘Then Henry will have to lump them,’ she retorted fiercely. ‘It’s the child that matters. I’m not going to have Pippa bullied or frightened.’
At this point, Pippa came into the room. Seeing Costello, she stopped short, looking terrified.
‘Why, hello, Pippa,’ Costello greeted her. ‘How you’ve grown.’
Pippa backed away as he moved towards her. ‘I’ve just come to make some arrangements about you,’ he told her. ‘Your mother is looking forward to having you with her again. She and I are married now, and–’
‘I won’t come,’ Pippa cried hysterically, running to Clarissa for protection. ‘I won’t come. Clarissa, they can’t make me, can they? They wouldn’t–’
‘Don’t worry, Pippa d
arling,’ Clarissa said soothingly, putting her arm around the child. ‘Your home is here with your father and with me, and you’re not leaving it.’
‘But I assure you–’ Costello began, only to be interrupted angrily by Clarissa. ‘Get out of here at once,’ she ordered him.
Mockingly pretending to be afraid of her, Costello put his hands above his head, and backed away.
‘At once!’ Clarissa repeated. She advanced upon him. ‘I won’t have you in my house, do you hear?’
Miss Peake appeared at the French windows, carrying a large garden-fork. ‘Oh, Mrs Hailsham-Brown,’ she began, ‘I–’
‘Miss Peake,’ Clarissa interrupted her. ‘Will you show Mr Costello the way through the garden to the back gate?’
Costello looked at Miss Peake, who lifted her garden-fork as she returned his gaze.
‘Miss–Peake?’ he queried.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ she replied, robustly. ‘I’m the gardener here.’
‘Indeed, yes,’ said Costello. ‘I came here once before, you may remember, to look at some antique furniture.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Miss Peake replied. ‘In Mr Sellon’s time. But you can’t see him today, you know. He’s dead.’
‘No, I didn’t come to see him,’ Costello declared. ‘I came to see–Mrs Brown.’ He gave the name a certain emphasis.
‘Oh, yes? Is that so? Well, now you’ve seen her,’ Miss Peake told him. She seemed to realize that the visitor had outstayed his welcome.
Costello turned to Clarissa. ‘Goodbye, Clarissa,’ he said. ‘You will hear from me, you know.’ He sounded almost menacing.
‘This way,’ Miss Peake showed him, gesturing to the French windows. She followed him out, asking as they went, ‘Do you want the bus, or did you bring your own car?’
‘I left my car round by the stables,’ Costello informed her as they made their way across the garden.
Chapter 6
As soon as Oliver Costello had left with Miss Peake, Pippa burst into tears. ‘He’ll take me away from here,’ she cried, sobbing bitterly as she clung to Clarissa.
‘No, he won’t,’ Clarissa assured her, but Pippa’s only response was to shout, ‘I hate him. I always hated him.’
Fearing that the girl was on the verge of hysteria, Clarissa addressed her sharply, ‘Pippa!’
Pippa backed away from her. ‘I don’t want to go back to my mother, I’d rather die,’ she screamed. ‘I’d much rather die. I’ll kill him.’
‘Pippa!’ Clarissa admonished her.
Pippa now seemed completely uncontrollable. ‘I’ll kill myself,’ she cried. ‘I’ll cut my wrists and bleed to death.’
Clarissa seized her by the shoulders. ‘Pippa, control yourself,’ she ordered the child. ‘It’s all right, I tell you. I’m here.’
‘But I don’t want to go back to Mother, and I hate Oliver,’ Pippa exclaimed desperately. ‘He’s wicked, wicked, wicked.’
‘Yes, dear, I know. I know,’ Clarissa murmured soothingly.
‘But you don’t know.’ Pippa now sounded even more desperate. ‘I didn’t tell you everything before–when I came to live here. I just couldn’t bear to mention it. But it wasn’t only Miranda being so nasty and drunk or something, all the time. One night, when she was out somewhere or other, and Oliver was at home with me–I think he’d been drinking a lot–I don’t know–but–’ She stopped, and for a moment seemed unable to continue. Then, forcing herself to go on, she looked down at the floor and muttered indistinctly, ‘He tried to do things to me.’
Clarissa looked aghast. ‘Pippa, what do you mean?’ she asked. ‘What are you trying to say?’
Pippa looked desperately about her, as though seeking someone else who would say the words for her. ‘He–he tried to kiss me, and when I pushed him away, he grabbed me, and started to tear my dress off. Then he–’ She stopped suddenly, and burst into a fit of sobbing.
‘Oh, my poor darling,’ Clarissa murmured, as she hugged the child to her. ‘Try not to think about it. It’s all over, and nothing like that will ever happen to you again. I’ll make sure that Oliver is punished for that. The disgusting beast. He won’t get away with it.’
Pippa’s mood suddenly changed. Her tone now had a hopeful note, as a new thought apparently came to her. ‘Perhaps he’ll be struck by lightning,’ she wondered aloud.
‘Very likely,’ Clarissa agreed, ‘very likely.’ Her face wore a look of grim determination. ‘Now pull yourself together, Pippa,’ she urged the child. ‘Everything’s quite all right.’ She took a handkerchief from her pocket. ‘Here, blow your nose.’
Pippa did as she was told, and then used the handkerchief to wipe her tears off Clarissa’s dress.
Clarissa managed to summon up a laugh at this. ‘Now, you go upstairs and have your bath,’ she ordered, turning Pippa around to face the hall door. ‘Mind you have a really good wash–your neck is absolutely filthy.’
Pippa seemed to be returning to normal. ‘It always is,’ she replied as she went to the door. But, as she was about to leave, she turned suddenly and ran to Clarissa. ‘You won’t let him take me away, will you?’ she pleaded.
‘Over my dead body,’ Clarissa replied with determination. Then she corrected herself. ‘No–over his dead body. There! Does that satisfy you?’
Pippa nodded, and Clarissa kissed her forehead. ‘Now, run along,’ she ordered.
Pippa gave her stepmother a final hug, and left. Clarissa stood for a moment in thought, and then, noticing that the room had become rather dark, switched on the concealed lighting. She went to the French windows and closed them, then sat on the sofa, staring ahead of her, apparently lost in thought.
Only a minute or two had passed when, hearing the front door of the house slam, she looked expectantly towards the hall door through which, a moment later, her husband Henry Hailsham-Brown entered. He was a quite good-looking man of about forty with a rather expressionless face, wearing horn-rimmed spectacles and carrying a briefcase.
‘Hello, darling,’ Henry greeted his wife, as he switched on the wall-bracket lights and put his briefcase on the armchair.
‘Hello, Henry,’ Clarissa replied. ‘Hasn’t it been an absolutely awful day?’
‘Has it?’ He came across to lean over the back of the sofa and kiss her.
‘I hardly know where to begin,’ she told him. ‘Have a drink first.’
‘Not just now,’ Henry replied, going to the French windows and closing the curtains. ‘Who’s in the house?’
Slightly surprised at the question, Clarissa answered, ‘Nobody. It’s the Elgins’ night off. Black Thursday, you know. We’ll dine on cold ham, chocolate mousse, and the coffee will be really good because I shall make it.’
A questioning ‘Um?’ was Henry’s only response to this.
Struck by his manner, Clarissa asked, ‘Henry, is anything the matter?’
‘Well, yes, in a way,’ he told her.
‘Something wrong?’ she queried. ‘Is it Miranda?’
‘No, no, there’s nothing wrong, really,’ Henry assured her. ‘I should say quite the contrary. Yes, quite the contrary.’
‘Darling,’ said Clarissa, speaking with affection and only a very faint note of ridicule, ‘do I perceive behind that impenetrable Foreign Office façade a certain human excitement?’
Henry wore an air of pleasured anticipation. ‘Well,’ he admitted, ‘it is rather exciting in a way.’ He paused, then added, ‘As it happens, there’s a slight fog in London.’
‘Is that very exciting?’ Clarissa asked.
‘No, no, not the fog, of course.’
‘Well?’ Clarissa urged him.
Henry looked quickly around, as though to assure himself that he could not be overheard, and then went across to the sofa to sit beside Clarissa. ‘You’ll have to keep this to yourself,’ he impressed upon her, his voice very grave.
‘Yes?’ Clarissa prompted him, hopefully.
‘It’s really very secret,’ Henry reiterated. �
��Nobody’s supposed to know. But, actually, you’ll have to know.’
‘Well, come on, tell me,’ she urged him.
Henry looked around again, and then turned to Clarissa. ‘It’s all very hush-hush,’ he insisted. He paused for effect, and then announced, ‘The Soviet Premier, Kalendorff, is flying to London for an important conference with the Prime Minister tomorrow.’
Clarissa was unimpressed. ‘Yes, I know,’ she replied.
Henry looked startled. ‘What do you mean, you know?’ he demanded.
‘I read it in the paper last Sunday,’ Clarissa informed him casually.
‘I can’t think why you want to read these low-class papers,’ Henry expostulated. He sounded really put out. ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘the papers couldn’t possibly know that Kalendorff was coming over. It’s top secret.’
‘My poor sweet,’ Clarissa murmured. Then, in a voice in which compassion was mixed with incredulity, she continued, ‘But top secret? Really! The things you high-ups believe.’
Henry rose and began to stride around the room, looking distinctly worried. ‘Oh dear, there must have been some leak,’ he muttered.
‘I should have thought,’ Clarissa observed tartly, ‘that by now you’d know there always is a leak. In fact I should have thought that you’d all be prepared for it.’
Henry looked somewhat affronted. ‘The news was only released officially tonight,’ he told her. ‘Kalendorff’s plane is due at Heathrow at eight-forty, but actually–’ He leaned over the sofa and looked doubtfully at his wife. ‘Now, Clarissa,’ he asked her very solemnly, ‘can I really trust you to be discreet?’
‘I’m much more discreet than any Sunday newspaper,’ Clarissa protested, swinging her feet off the sofa and sitting up.
Henry sat on an arm of the sofa and leaned towards Clarissa conspiratorially. ‘The conference will be at Whitehall tomorrow,’ he informed her, ‘but it would be a great advantage if a conversation could take place first between Sir John himself and Kalendorff. Now, naturally the reporters are all waiting at Heathrow, and the moment the plane arrives Kalendorff’s movements are more or less public property.’
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