Murder Post-Dated

by Anne Morice

  So, by and large, an unrewarding evening for all three of us, the only people to gain being the management and staff of Chez Angelina.

  Later that night Andrea made a half-hearted attempt to commit suicide. Whether she had genuinely intended it to succeed is wide open to question, but if so she had soon changed her mind.

  She was spending the night in London, in order to keep an early appointment on Monday with her dressmaker and, within seconds of swallowing the last of three or four dozen seasick pills, had picked up the telephone to call Ellen, who had risen to the occasion with her usual aplomb.

  Nevertheless, I found it astonishing that, in an emergency of this nature, Andrea should have appealed to someone she had only known for a few weeks.

  “Perhaps that was the reason, Tess. Or perhaps she is beginning to look on me as the mother figure her life has always lacked. The fact that I’m younger than she is wouldn’t interfere with that.”

  “And of course you do manage to exude a blend of tranquillity and common sense, which attracts parasites like Andrea. On the other hand, one thing her life has never lacked is a father figure. But he was in the country, presumably?”

  “It wouldn’t have made any difference if he’d been in the house next door. She’s scared stiff he’ll find out. It was about midnight when Jeremy and I got there. She was still conscious and, luckily, she’d done as I told her and unlocked the front door. So he carried her down to the car and we drove to the nearest Casualty. She was pretty dopey by then, but she kept saying over and over again that I must promise not to tell her father.”

  “He’s bound to find out, though, isn’t he? She’ll most likely tell him herself when she’s wrung the last drop from this drama and needs to set up a new one.”

  “Maybe, but I doubt it, somehow. I don’t think it was an act this time.”

  “What happened when you got to the hospital?”

  “We had to hang about for over an hour, which was pretty rough on Jeremy, who has to get up in the morning. Then one of the doctors came out and told us she was going to be okay, but they were keeping her in for the night, so we were able to pack it in and go home.”

  “And what about Marc? Is he not to be told either?”

  “No, although she didn’t warn me about that until this morning, when I went round to the hospital to take her some clothes and a toothbrush and so on. She doesn’t want to see him, either, not yet, anyway. It presents itself as a somewhat dodgy problem, but we think we’ve worked out a scheme to keep him at bay for a few days.”

  “You don’t happen to know why she tried to kill herself, by any chance?”

  “No, she didn’t tell me and I didn’t ask. I thought you might want to, though.”

  “I wouldn’t half mind, but I can’t, at this moment, see how it’s to be done.”

  “Well, here’s what we’re going to do, Tessa. They’re turfing her out of the hospital this afternoon and she’ll be coming to us for a day or two. It was the only thing to do. She’s in no state to be on her own at the flat and she can’t go home to Daddy either, looking as she does. So we’ll take care of that by making sure she rings him up for a chat every evening.”

  “And how about Marc? Did you say you had a plan for him too?”

  “Yes. He was a much worse problem, naturally, but we’ve fudged up a story about how she’s staying with us for a few days because she’s got an infection.”

  “And he’ll be round to call, with the champagne and roses before you can count to ten.”

  “No, he won’t,” Ellen said. “The champagne and roses may arrive, but he won’t be with them. What she has, you see, is a slight temperature and swollen glands and the doctor says it may easily turn out to be mumps. That was Jeremy’s brilliant idea. He rang up Marc and said ‘Listen, old boy, have you ever had the mumps?’ and got the right answer. We’re hoping of course that in a day or two Andrea will have a change of heart and decide to stay alive and get married. Then it’ll turn out not to be mumps, after all, but that’s the situation at present.”

  “And it does seem to cover all eventualities. Congratulations!”

  “I hope you’ll approve of the next bit too. Jeremy and I are supposed to be dining with his parents tonight, but I don’t want to come home and find Andrea’s cleaned us out of aspirin, so he’ll go on his own. I wondered if you’d care to come and have an invalid supper and keep us company? That is, if Robin wouldn’t mind being left out? I don’t envisage it as exactly his sort of evening.”

  “I don’t think he’ll mind at all,” I assured her. “I’m pretty certain he hasn’t had mumps either.”

  In saying that Ellen had covered all eventualities, I had underestimated Gregory Laycock. It was a little after half-past seven and we were sitting in Andrea’s bedroom when the doorbell rang and Ellen went to answer it. She was gone for a full ten minutes, the first part of which I spent trying, without success, to get some response out of the patient. She refused to be drawn on any of the topics I tried on her, finally informing me that she did not feel well enough to talk. It must be said that she did not look at all well, but I did not believe this was the true cause of her distaste for conversation. I had the impression that she was straining both ears to catch some sound from outside the room and this was confirmed when she broke the silence at last by saying, in the tinniest of voices:

  “Who on earth do you suppose would be calling at this time of night?”

  “I really couldn’t tell you.”

  “Perhaps, if you were to open the door, you’d hear something?”

  “Oh, very well,” I said, getting up and doing so. Looking down the passage, I saw that the sitting-room door was the only one of the four within view which was closed.

  “Not a sound,” I reported, re-entering the bedroom and shutting the door behind me.

  “What do you suppose it can mean?”

  “Who knows? Perhaps whoever it was has gone now and Ellen’s in the kitchen knocking up the dinner.”

  “Why don’t you go and see?”

  I was searching for a way out of this when Ellen saved me the trouble.

  “It’s your father,” she told Andrea, who banged her head back against the pillow and closed her eyes. “I don’t want to see him. Tell him to go away.”

  “He refuses to go away.”

  “Tell him I’m not feeling well.”

  “I have told him, several times. He says all the more reason why he should see you and make sure you’re getting proper attention.”

  “How did he know I was here? Did Marc tell him?”

  “Yes, but you can’t blame him for that. It seems that you didn’t put on a very convincing act when you telephoned home this afternoon. Your father smelt a battalion of rats and came hurtling up to London to find out what was going on. When he discovered that you weren’t at the flat and your bedroom was in a shocking mess he became more worried than ever and he got hold of Marc. It was something we hadn’t allowed for, but, since we’re now stuck with it, surely you could give him just a few minutes, Andrea? Then you can tell him you’re feeling better and you’ll be home in a day or two. I’m sure that’s all he wants.”

  “No, it’s not all he wants,” Andrea said, her voice rising to a squeak, “and I won’t see him, I won’t.” Even the resourceful Ellen was nonplussed and she turned to me with a helpless expression.

  “What to do, Tessa?”

  “You and Jeremy could move into an hotel, I suppose. Apart from that, I see no easy solution. Any good my having a go at trying to dislodge him?”

  “Why not? It couldn’t do any harm.”

  “You’d never know with this lot,” I said, “whether it could or it couldn’t, but I’ll do my best.”

  “Andrea sends her love and wishes you to know that she is being well looked after. She is a little tired, though, and not in the mood for visitors. Have you time for a drink before you leave?”

  “I don’t want a drink, thank you, and I have no intention of l
eaving until I have seen my daughter.”

  “Then I shall have one, while we sit out the first couple of hours,” I said, helping myself. “Fortunately, this flat runs to two spare bedrooms. That’s the lovely thing about having a lot of money, I always say. It brings these fringe benefits, as well as the calculable ones. Now, what shall we talk about? Or would you prefer a game of cards? That might pass the time even better.”

  I had decided, the instant I entered the room and saw him sitting stiffly upright, like a martyred saint and wearing the expression of one who had the strength of ten, that ridicule, rather than argument, should be my weapon. So I kept it up for another four or five minutes, by which time I had been rewarded by signs that he was beginning to crack. He still looked noble and aggrieved, but an understandable weariness was creeping in and I estimated that the strength had now shrunk to something nearer to that of six or seven.

  “And how are things at Sowerley?” I asked. “Have you seen Elsa lately? I feel sure you have. You and she must have endless matters to discuss about plans for the wedding. My goodness, what a worry for you both! I daresay you’ll be relieved when it’s over. I know Millie will. She tells me she is not at all looking forward to being a bridesmaid and she . . .”

  Goaded beyond endurance, Gregory raised his hand, in a request for silence, which I was happy to comply with.

  “I realise that you find all this vastly amusing, Mrs. Price . . .”

  “Oh, do call me Tessa!”

  “Tessa, then. You may find it amusing, but I assure you that I do not. The situation is extremely distasteful to me.”

  “Yes, it must be. Not only distasteful, but a shade frustrating, I should imagine?”

  “It is worse than that. I shall go now, but you may tell Ellen that I do not intend to let the matter rest. I shall consult my solicitor in the morning. In my view, this is tantamount to coercion.”

  “It is nothing of the kind and your solicitor will die laughing. Andrea is here at her own wish, staying with friends. She doesn’t happen to want to see you at the moment, but she’s twenty-six and that’s her business.”

  “We shall see,” he replied, gathering up the tattered remnants of his dignity. “Please don’t get up, I can see myself out.”

  Nevertheless, I accompanied him all the way to the front door, less out of courtesy than to ensure that he did not turn in the wrong direction.

  “The coast is now clear,” I announced, returning to the bedroom.

  “Oh, well done! You’re a genius, Tess! And now I can go and do something about the dinner. You stay here and talk to Andrea.”

  “So tell me what it’s all about?” I said, seating myself in the armchair which Ellen had just vacated. “Why did you want to kill yourself and why are you so petrified of your father? Or is the answer the same to both questions?”

  “Why don’t you mind your own business?”

  “It has become my business,” I told her, “after what I have just been through on your behalf. You can’t expect oceans of co-operation without giving a drop or two in return. Still more is it Ellen’s business, since you have chosen to lumber her with your presence and all that it entails. She has too much delicacy to question you herself, so you will have to put up with it from me.”

  “What happens if I refuse to answer?”

  “I’ll tell you exactly what happens. You’ll end up in a worse jam than you’re in already. You can’t spend the rest of your life as a suspected mumps case, any more than you can spend it skulking in this flat. Sooner or later you’ll have to stand up and deal with the problem, so you may as well get into practice by starting on me. You never know, I might even be able to help.”

  “No one can help me,” she moaned, with a despairing and dramatic flop against the pillows.

  Watching her, I said: “And, incidentally, Andrea, there’s one other question I forgot to ask. Why have you been trying to con everyone into believing that you’ve lost your memory? Or is the answer the same there, as well?”

  She came out of her corner again, on her toes, fists flying:

  “What do you mean? How dare you say such a thing? I haven’t been trying to con anyone about anything. I did lose my memory and it hasn’t come back. The doctors say . . .”

  “Oh, don’t give me that all over again, I implore you! You can tell me till you’re blue in the face what the doctors say and I shan’t believe a word of it. It’s a preposterous story and you’d never have got away with it, without expert co-operation, from your father this time. He backed you up, either to save your face, or for reasons of his own and, being a doctor himself, his word carried weight, so most people accepted it. I suppose it was connected with what happened when your house caught fire?”

  It was like taking a rattle from a sleeping baby. She stared at me with an appalled expression, which wasn’t put on this time, and said:

  “You mean, you know about that? Does everyone know?”

  “I don’t know anything, I was hoping you’d tell me. Did you start it yourself, by any chance?”

  “No, of course not. How can you sit there, saying these horrible things? Of course I didn’t start it myself.”

  “How do you know?”

  “How do I . . . I just do, that’s all.”

  “I don’t see how you can be sure. Your memory gap is supposed to start at the point where you were saying goodnight to Marc outside a cinema. After that, you tell us, everything has been wiped out. So how do you know you didn’t go home, empty a gin bottle over your stepmother’s eiderdown and set fire to it?”

  “What gin bottle . . . ? . . . I mean, I couldn’t have. It’s just not the sort of thing I’d ever do.”

  “Admittedly, it’s not the sort of thing many people would enjoy remembering about themselves, so if that’s what you did it’s no wonder you’re going to such lengths to forget it.”

  “I didn’t, I tell you. I didn’t, I didn’t, I know I didn’t. Oh, do leave me alone, can’t you?”

  “Okay, I’ll lay off now, but if I were you I’d give it some thought. You don’t seem to be very happy on the path you’re treading now, so you might do better to face reality, instead of trying to push it out of your mind.”

  I did not add that, if she were to heed this advice, she would know whom to confide in, because I did not believe there was much chance that she would. All the same, my bullying had not been quite in vain, since I had at least proved, to my own satisfaction at any rate, that there had been something fishy about the fire.

  There was also the pleasure of knowing that, to this extent, I had been right and Toby wrong, and when I got home I was tempted to ring him up and tell him so.

  I refrained, however, partly from fear of his pointing out that if it did nothing whatever to exculpate James McGrath, and partly because I needed all my wits and faculties to work out a theory whereby it could be made to do so.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The photographic memory came in handy because there were two Alan Fergusons in the telephone directory, but no Isobel. There were also numerous A’s and I’s and it was only the recollection of the address at the top of her letter to Elsa that guided me to the number I wanted.

  Thanks to my excavations in the loft, I could picture her appearance too, and the voice fitted the personality I had endowed her with; not coy, but definitely uncertain and hard to please.

  All this, naturally, gave me the advantage and when I said that, having just returned from sixteen weeks in Los Angeles and heard the shattering news about her cousin, who had been a friend of mine, and wondered whether I might call on her, she seemed at a loss for a suitable way to refuse.

  “I don’t know, Mrs. . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name.”

  “Price, but my professional name is Theresa Crichton.”

  “Oh, good heavens! I thought your voice was somehow familiar, but I had no idea Rosamund even knew you.”

  “Well, it must be over a year now since we met, but I used to see a lo
t of her when I was staying with my aunt in Sussex.”

  “But how strange that she never mentioned you!”

  “It is rather, because I feel I know an awful lot about you and your two daughters and Alan, your husband, of course. But then, she was a bit like that in some ways, wasn’t she?”

  “Was she? Like what? I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Oh, you know, sort of keeping her life in separate compartments.”

  “Yes, that’s true, I suppose. All the same . . .”

  “I also got the impression that you were a great theatre buff.”

  “That’s certainly true.”

  “It’s mainly what gave me the nerve to ring you up. I’d really awfully like to meet you, if you could put up with me for half an hour.”

  “Well, it’s very kind of you to say so. I don’t know. When would you like to come?”

  “Right now, if I may? I’ve been lunching round the corner from where you live, you see.”

  “Oh well, in that case . . . yes, come and have a cup of tea.”

  The sitting-room was muted and in every way unremarkable, except for its spotlessness. Not the sort of room where one could imagine anyone sprawling about and dropping newspapers on the floor, and there wasn’t an ashtray in sight.

  The owner was cut to the same aseptic pattern. She gave the impression that no single hair was ever out of place, even when she woke up in the morning, one could picture her wiping the sausages before putting them in the frying pan, and her clothes looked as though they were being worn for the first time.