by Anne Morice
“If you say so, Elsa. What’s the next move, then?”
“Well, the first thing, of course, is to consult Tim, when he gets home this evening. Then, if he approves, she’ll telephone the police station tomorrow and make an appointment to see the Superintendent. Naturally, she wants me to go too, to back her up and, having made the first move, I hardly see that I can refuse.”
“Yes, and I’m very sorry to have brought it on you.”
“Well, that’s spilt milk now and we must look at it from a practical point of view. What I want you to tell me is whether you think the Superintendent will take it seriously and, if so, what he’s likely to do about it.”
“I can’t answer either question with any certainty, but at a guess I should say that he’ll have no choice. Even if he privately thought it was a storm in a teacup and that you were just a couple of hysterical women with a grudge against James McGrath, he’d be bound to take it a step or two further.”
“And what will that mean?”
“Still guessing, I’d say that he’ll find some means of getting hold of a genuine specimen of Rosamund’s handwriting and then send the whole lot off to be compared by experts. That could well be the end of it.”
“And if not?”
“You can do your own guessing there, surely?”
“Yes, and I just pray with all my heart that a storm in a teacup is what it will turn out to be. I shan’t know a moment’s peace until I hear.”
“Well, try not to worry too much because there’s a good chance your prayer will be answered and the worst you’ll have to suffer is to go down in police records as a relatively harmless lunatic.”
“Thanks very much, Tessa. You’re a great comfort, I must say.”
I helped Ellen to carry the luggage out to her car, waved goodbye to her as she bucketed along over the Common, then went back indoors again to ask Toby if he would mind being left on his own for an hour or so, as I had an act of penance to perform.
“I daresay the time will swish by like lightning,” he replied, “but please try not to be late for dinner. Mrs. Parkes is making a seafood platter and we are expected to be sitting up in our chairs by eight o’clock sharp.” Seafood platter used to be known as grilled sole, but her vocabulary has changed out of all recognition since she and Parkes went on a package holiday to Florida.
Orchard House had also undergone a sea change since my last visit. In those days, owing to the poverty and fecklessness of the tenants, it had been notable for its shabby and derelict appearance. Now all was newly painted and in good repair and the garden presented an even more dramatic transformation. Gone were the spindly, gnarled old apple trees, the patch of waste ground covered with plantains and buttercups which had passed as a lawn, and the waist-high weeds in what had once been flower beds. In their place were dozens of sturdy saplings, half an acre of newly-laid turf and three or four half-moon shaped beds, ablaze with herbaceous plants and roses.
It should have been a sight to gladden the heart and eye, but there was something spooky about it as well, and it did not take long to pinpoint the reason for this. Between the lawn and the orchard there was roughly a quarter of an acre of land which had evidently been designated as the kitchen garden. It had been marked out into four large, rectangular beds, bordered and separated from each other by brick paths. Spade work was literally still in progress on this section, two of the beds having been dug and spread with compost, the third half completed and the remaining one still in its virgin state. It caused quite a frisson to realise how soon and for what purpose these freshly-dug beds might soon all be dug up again.
I had not yet fully made up my mind to take the plunge and ring the doorbell and had been half hoping that, were I to summon the nerve to do so, there would be no one at home to answer it. There was, though, and he must have spied me from a window because, as I stood hesitating beside the white painted wooden gate, the front door opened and he came out on to the porch and shouted at me to come inside. When I obeyed, he led the way to the kitchen, where, as he explained, he was sloshing through a backlog of washing-up.
“Ran out of powder,” he explained, correctly interpreting my glance at the dishwasher. “My wife’s away, you see, and I’m not very well organised. Domesticity is one of the talents I still have to acquire. We do have a daily, although that’s boasting a bit. She’s more what you’d call a once-a-weekly. Now, what shall I give you by way of a drink?”
Still talking, he fetched glasses from one cupboard, bottles from another and set them out on the table, and the weird part of it was that he never once asked me why I had come, seeming to regard it as the most natural thing in the world that I should have dropped in uninvited.
However, I was determined not to leave him with any illusions for longer than was necessary and, at the first break in the flow, I said:
“I am afraid I bring bad news.”
He did not drop the bottle he was pouring from, nor clatter it against the glass, but for once he was stopped in his tracks and a full half minute went by before he responded. Then, speaking in exactly the same tone as before, he said:
“Well now, and what would someone like you be bringing me bad news about?”
“I think you may be in for some trouble and I felt it was only fair to come and warn you because the horrid truth is that it is I who am responsible.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“You won’t, when you’ve heard,” I assured him and then repeated everything Elsa had told me about Rosamund’s disappearance, as well as everything I had said to her in reply and concluding with her latest telephone call.
He listened to the end, without a single interruption, which was unexpected enough, but there seemed to be no limit to his capacity to spring surprises, for when I had finished speaking he pushed back his chair and stood up, saying:
“There now, you had me so engrossed I forgot all about ice. I am sure your drink would taste better for it?”
“No, please don’t bother, it’s fine as it is. I hope you’re not going to probe too deeply into my motives for advising her as I did,” I went on when he had sat down again. “I’m afraid they’re not so righteous and disinterested as I should like them to be. Something to do with vanity, I suppose. You know, trying to be clever? And when I get carried away on that game I tend to forget that there are human beings involved.”
“It happens to all of us, from time to time.”
“In my own defence, I’d like you to know that I did make some attempt to pull back right at the end and to persuade Elsa that there was no call for her to take any action, but of course it was too late by then. I had sown the wind, as a friend of mine used to say. However, it’s a relief to find that you don’t seem too bothered about it.”
“No, I’m not. In fact, all self-recrimination can now cease because, in a way, I’m grateful to you.”
“Then you must be a most unusual man.”
“You only feel that because I sometimes have a different way of looking at things from most people’s and the difference now is that I am seeing further ahead than you are.”
“And what does that show you?”
“Not having seen the letter, I am unable to say whether it is a forgery or not, but one thing I do know. So long as there’s a single friend of Rosamund’s who believes that it is and so long as she stays away it will go on festering like an ulcer, and you know what will happen then? Some day it will flare up and it will take a major operation to put things right again. The best way to deal with it is for the forces of law and order to take over. If they don’t manage to nip it in the bud, at least they’ll make a tidy job of it.”
“That’s true, I suppose.”
“You may be sure it is, and there’s something more I can tell you to cheer you up. If they do take over, it may even lead to their finding out where Rosamund is and that wouldn’t be bad either. It would solve a few of my own problems, if nothing else. So there we are! All in all, you’ve done me a
good turn, so why don’t we both have another drink to celebrate?”
“I’d like to, but I can’t stop any longer. I have strict orders not to be late for dinner. Also I have to be up and about with a clear head by seven in the morning.”
“Make it another time, then. And thanks for coming!”
“What you could describe as a slippery customer,” Toby remarked, when we had scraped up the last of the seafood platter, and I had brought him up to date with the latest development. “You think he was bluffing?”
“I couldn’t tell you whether he was or not, but, if so, he made a good job of it. He’s either a cartload of monkeys, or just a decent man whose manners don’t happen to recommend themselves to the society he finds himself in.”
“Yes, and why does he find himself in it, I wonder? What does this neighbourhood have to offer that he couldn’t find in Sussex? Could it be that the garden of Orchard House was in such urgent need of a good dig?”
“No, I must say I doubt whether Rosamund lies buried under the new rose bushes. Whatever else, he’s no fool. But please don’t forget, Toby, that when the telephone rings tomorrow it could be Elsa, who’s forgotten that I shall be working. So don’t fail to answer it yourself and take careful note of everything she says. And now I shall go to bed because I’m worn to a shred. My goodness, who would ever imagine that this was supposed to be my day of rest?”
SIX
It was lucky that I should have been hovering in the hall at seven o’clock the next morning and thus able to pick up the telephone on the first ring. Otherwise one can never be sure that conscience wouldn’t have compelled Toby to get out of bed and answer it himself. This would have been a double annoyance for him, since the caller was not Elsa, but Ellen.
“I wanted to catch you before you left,” she explained.
“And you have succeeded, though only just. What’s so urgent?”
“I wondered whether it would be okay to bring Andrea over to Oxford to watch you at work?”
“Yes, I should think so. I’ll fix it with Jean. We’re doing a river scene this morning, so it may have its comical moments, if nothing else. Whose idea was this?”
“Andrea’s. I’d mentioned the film to her on Sunday evening and last night she rang up to ask if there was any chance I’d be able to wangle it. Apparently, she’s mad keen to get into television herself.”
“My God, there seems to be no end to this girl’s flights of fancy. Still, hanging about for three hours, watching them do the same shot fourteen times over, may cure her of that particular ambition.”
“I doubt it, and what she’d really like is for us all to have lunch together, so that she can talk to you about it. I promised to ask you, because it will give you a chance to study her in close-up and see if you agree with me that Marc needs rescuing.”
“Oh, all right, but I hope you warned her that it will only be a canteen lunch and that the dining room is a converted bus. Listen, Ellen, I’ve got to ring off because I can see the car coming. We’ll be in the meadow just below Magdalen Bridge. You can’t miss it.”
She looked even more spectacular at close quarters than from a distance, having been blessed with the striking combination of black hair and violet blue eyes. She had also spent some time highlighting these and other features with almost as much expertly applied make-up as if she had come prepared to spend the day in front of the cameras, instead of several yards behind them. It made me wonder whether she could really be so naive as to imagine that the way to break into television was to catch the eye of the director, who would instantly gallop over to offer her a part in his next production and, in fact, it turned out that she was.
“Ellen tells me that you’d like to work in the business yourself,” I said, when we had loaded our plates with roast lamb, two veg and all the trimmings. “Is it acting or the production side which appeals to you?”
“Oh, acting, although I wouldn’t mind starting off by learning to direct, or something, if you think that would be a good way to do it.”
I could hardly believe my ears. She not only had a tinny, affected little voice, which would have ruled out her chances as soon as she opened her mouth, but a tiny, addled little brain to go with it, if she expected such statements to be taken seriously.
“Have you had any experience?”
“Not a lot. I did a course in modelling a few years ago, so I know how to move well, which I’m told gives you a head start. And I’ve taken some singing lessons.”
“Not quite enough, perhaps?” Ellen suggested, without a smile.
I shook my head, not daring to speak, in case I should break into laughter.
“So what would you advise me to do, Tessa?”
“Well, look,” I said, making an effort to stay calm, “I only have an hour for lunch and I’d need much longer than that to explain why it takes more than looks, and the ability to walk across a room without knocking into anything, to break into television. There are dozens of professional actresses with all that and a lot more besides, who count themselves lucky to get three months’ work in a year. The only honest advice I can give you is to forget it and go for some slightly less over-crowded profession. However, if you’re absolutely bent on going ahead, your only hope is to get some training. If you like, I’ll give you an introduction to the principal of a drama school, who’s an old friend of mine, and ask him to audition you.”
“Oh well, if you say so, I suppose I might as well.”
“I should warn you, however, that old friend notwithstanding, there’s no guarantee that he’ll give you an audition, still less that you’ll get a place in the school, as a result. They have twenty times more applicants than they can accept.”
“Oh, but it’s not as though I’d need a scholarship or anything. I’m sure Daddy would be perfectly willing to cough up the fees.”
“So would countless other daddies with stage-struck daughters. The point is, Andrea, that this man couldn’t care less about your financial assets. It’s talent he’ll be looking for.”
“So, in that case, I stand the same chance as everyone else?”
“Exactly the same chance and it’s tiny. Sorry to sound so discouraging, but that’s the way things are, so I’d give it some thought, if I were you. Now, eat up, both of you, otherwise we shan’t have time for the plums and custard.”
Two hours later, during a break between shots, while the cameras were being set up in new positions, Ellen came tripping up the steps of my mobile dressing-room.
“We’re off now,” she said. “I came to say goodbye and thank you.”
“If you ask me, that friend of yours has been off for years. Her head, I mean.”
“I did warn you.”
“Yes, you did, but I wasn’t expecting her to be a complete half-wit.”
“I must admit that I didn’t realise either she was quite so ignorant and, if you’ll forgive my saying so, Tessa, I think you handled it rather badly.”
“How could anyone be forgiven for saying that? And she’ll have to get her feet down on the ground sooner or later. Someone was going to flatten her one day, so why not me?”
“Because, I think, if you hadn’t argued with her and taken it all so seriously, she’d most likely have forgotten about it in a day or two and moved on to some new fantasy. As it is, she’s really got the bit between her teeth now. She probably thinks you were trying to put her off because you were afraid of the competition. Anyway, it’s now become a challenge and she’s determined to prove you wrong.”
“Oh well, fat lot I care! Let her go ahead and find out how it feels to get the real gilt-edged snub. At least, while it lasts she’ll have less time for Marc, so perhaps we’ve done a good day’s work there.”
“You may not have done yourself any good, though. I’ll try and head her off, but just now she’s all set to take you up on your offer to give her a letter of introduction.”
“Then she shall have it, plus a very special request to my poor old friend to do h
is best for her. Having met her, I think we’ll be better off with an aspiring actress on our hands than an aspiring Mrs. Marc Carrington.”
SEVEN
“Did anyone telephone?” I asked on Wednesday morning.
“Elsa, for one, as you predicted. I told her you’d be able to call her back some time around nine, but I was wrong.”
“Yes, I’m sorry I couldn’t let you know I’d be late, but one of the sound crew has had a baby and he wanted to know if I’d be godmother. So of course I said yes and that led to a session at the pub and, one way and another, it turned into quite a convivial evening.”
“Is that why you decided not to go to work this morning?”
“No, that’s because they’re doing some background shots in one of the quads and I’m not needed. I’m afraid it means you’ll be lumbered with me for an extra day or two next week, if you can stand it, but in the meantime I have the whole day off and I’d better use some of it up by calling Elsa.”
“You won’t be eating into it very deeply. She only wanted you to know that the policeman had kept the letter and had passed the remark that he would be looking into the matter.”
“Oh, I see! Poor Louise must have been very cast down by such a tepid reaction. Who else rang up?”
“Two others, starting with Andrea Laycock.”
“There now! So Ellen was right!”
“She very often is, I find. It is a pity, but perhaps she will grow out of it.”
“Did Andrea leave any message?”
“No, she said she would try again today. I told her there would be no use in her doing so before eight o’clock this evening. Wrong again!”
“Not your fault. Anyone else?”
“Your murderer friend.”
“James McGrath? What did he want?”
“To see you. I told him . . .”
