There was a knock on the door and Mr Martin appeared. ‘They’re ready for you, Mrs Robinson.’
Eve took a deep breath and stood up. ‘Thank you, Ena. Will you be in court this afternoon?’
‘Yes, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to see you later as I must get back to the office, but…’ Ena took a business card from her purse and pressed it into Eve’s hand, ‘if you ever need anything, telephone me. Good luck and stay strong.’
Eve put her arms around Ena and held her tightly. Mr Martin cleared his throat and Eve broke away. She looked at Ena’s card. ‘Thank you.’
As the clerk led Eve out of the waiting room, Ena said again, ‘Don’t forget, be strong.’
‘I will,’ Eve replied.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ena listened to the harsh and often unfair cross-examination of Eve Robinson for two hours and not once did Eve lose her nerve. The defence lawyer did his best to twist her words, but she repeated what she had said without once losing her composure.
Ena felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see Mr Martin backing towards the door, beckoning her. She didn’t want to leave, but she knew something important must have happened. She left her seat, and because she was sitting on the end of the row at the back of the public gallery, she didn’t disturb anyone. Crouching, she made her way out of the door.
‘Mrs Green, there has been a telephone call for you from a man who said he is an associate of yours. A Mr Mallory?’
‘Yes, he’s my colleague.’
‘Taking telephone messages is most irregular and fetching someone out of court—’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Martin. My associate wouldn’t have asked you to fetch me unless it was urgent.’
Mr Martin didn’t look happy at being used as a messenger. ‘He said there has been a development in the case he is working on, and you must go back to the office at once.’
Ena put her hand up to her mouth and inhaled sharply. ‘Thank you. It is of paramount importance.’ She thanked Sir John’s clerk again, ran down the stairs, out of the building and she hailed the first cab that came along Old Bailey.
Ena spotted Artie walking towards Long Acre as the black cab she was in turned into Mercer Street. She tapped on the glass pane separating the driver from the passengers. ‘Would you drop me here, please?’
As the cab pulled into the kerb, Artie ran to the driver’s window, gave him a pound note, shouted ‘keep the change,’ and pulled Ena from the back seat.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ Ena asked as Artie hustled her into Café Romano.
‘Mrs Hardy’s in the office.’
‘Why?’
‘She called in and… I asked her to clean the windows.’
‘You what?’
The waiter came to take their order. ‘Two coffees,’ Artie said without asking Ena what she wanted.
‘Cleaning the windows was the only thing I could think of to keep her there until you got back. She was telling me how she’d spring cleaned her own house and threatened the boys not to make a mess. She’s even made new curtains and matching cushion covers, like the ones in the magazine in the waiting room, she said.’
‘Artie, you didn’t have me called out of the Old Bailey to tell me about Doreen Hardy’s curtains. So, what is it?’
‘It’s her old man, Arnold. He gets out of Wandsworth nick in a day or two, and the bastard isn’t going home to Doreen and the boys.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Arnold did have a visitor yesterday and she signed the visitor’s book as Mrs Hardy. Not Doreen Hardy, but Mrs M Hardy, as in Maisie. As you know, I went to the Duke of Wellington Hotel to see if any of the marked notes had been spent in the bar.’
‘And had there been?’
‘No, but when I was leaving, I saw a woman who looked familiar. At first, I thought I knew her. I didn’t, but I had seen her before.’
‘At the prison?’
‘How did you know?’
‘A lucky guess. Maisie works at the Duke of Wellington and her surname is Hardy. She was married to Arnold’s younger brother.’
‘Was?’
‘Doreen told me Maisie’s a widow. Go on.’
‘Well, I was sure it was Maisie Hardy that I’d seen waiting to go into the prison yesterday, so when I left the hotel I drove over to Wandsworth and asked to speak to the officer on visitor duty the day before. After the third degree as to why I wanted to see him, they sent for him. It cost us another fiver but it was worth it. The guard said Arnold is playing his missus for a fool, that he’d been bragging to the other lags that she’d saved a good amount of money while he’d been inside.’
‘Damn, Doreen must have told him.’
‘He wasn’t talking about Doreen, he was talking about Maisie. Maisie told Arnold she’d saved money for them to start a new life in Margate. Apparently, Arnold thought that was very funny. He said he’d have her money, but he didn’t want her, and would be buggering off and starting again on his own once her money had run out. The guard said Hardy’s wife was a regular visitor and that the only time she hadn’t been to see him was when Arnold’s first wife came asking him for money for her kids.’
‘First wife? The lying swine. Doreen’s his only wife.’ Ena looked questioningly at Artie, ‘Isn’t she?’ He lifted his shoulders, as if to say he didn’t know. ‘And as for asking that waste of time for money, I don’t believe him. Doreen has always worked. She’s had to because he’s spent most of their married life in jail.’
The waiter brought the coffee and Ena took a sip. ‘Did you say anything to Doreen?’
‘She knew I’d been to the hotel, so I told her there hadn’t been any marked notes in the till. She looked crestfallen so I said, “not this week”.’
Ena sipped her coffee. ‘She’s going to be more than crestfallen when she finds out her sister-in-law, who she thinks is doing her job to keep it open for her, is doing it to save money so she can run away with her husband.’ Ena finished her coffee. ‘Come on, let’s go to the office. We’ll sit Doreen down and talk to her together.’
‘Doreen isn’t here,’ Artie said, unlocking the office door and looking around. ‘And her coat’s gone.’
‘She’s left a note on your desk.’ Ena went to Artie’s desk and picked it up. ‘“I had to leave. I’m picking Maisie’s little ones up from school. I’ll see you and Mrs Green on Friday.”’
Ena blew out her cheeks. ‘A reprieve,’ she said. ‘The worst part of this job is having to give people bad news.’ Ena put down Doreen’s note. ‘I’ll go if you don’t mind, Artie. I want a long hot soak before Henry gets home. We’re meeting Priscilla and her husband, Charles. for dinner, tonight.’
‘The two people you met at the gallery on preview night?’
‘The very same. And, before you say it, no it isn’t a conflict of interest. I know Priscilla is a magpie, but it isn’t her or her lovely old husband stealing works of art. Besides, tonight is a social occasion. Strictly no shop talk.’ Ena grabbed her jacket. ‘Tomorrow I’ll fill you in with what happened at the Old Bailey, and what Eve Robinson said. See you in the morning. Okay if I take the car?’
Artie pulled a disappointed face. ‘Course it is, it’s your car. I’ll write up the Hardy case before I leave,’ he said, taking the car keys from his desk and throwing them to Ena. ‘Enjoy tonight.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ena heard a noise. She turned off the hot water tap and listened. It was the front door. Henry had come home early. ‘I’m about to have a bath, darling,’ she shouted.
Henry poked his head around the bathroom door. ‘Want your back scrubbing?’
Ena laughed. ‘Is there time?’
‘There’s always time,’ he said, undoing the belt of her bathrobe. Pushing the robe from her shoulders, he kissed the small of her neck and then her breasts. As the robe fell the floor, he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.
‘Henry, don’t go to sleep,’ Ena said when they had made love.
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Henry opened his eyes and reached for his cigarettes and lighter from the bedside cabinet, ‘Want one?’
‘No, I’d better get up and have a bath while the water’s still hot.’ Henry lit a cigarette, passed it to Ena and she took a drag. Exhaling, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. ‘There’s a couple of sandwiches in the kitchen. You need to eat something before we go out.’
‘What about you?’
‘I ate when I got home.’ She looked at Henry. ‘I would take little persuading to come back to bed which,’ she said, cutting him off as he began to speak, ‘is why I am going to have my bath.’ At the door, she looked back at Henry and blew him a kiss.
‘I love you, Mrs Green,’ Henry said.
‘Not as much as I love you, Mr Green,’ Ena replied, leaving the bedroom.
Glowing from having made love, Ena added bubble bath to the warm bathwater and stepped in.
She heard Henry close the bedroom door and walk along the passage. ‘Save the water for me,’ he called as he drew level with the bathroom.
Ena laughed. The new immersion heater would have heated the water up again during the half-hour they had been making love. Ena relaxed back in the bath and, keeping her hair clear of the water, slid down until the bubbles covered her body.
For the last couple of years Ena and Henry’s marriage had been, not exactly on the rocks, but rocky. Owing to the nature of their previous work in the intelligence services there had been too many secrets between them. But now she had left the Home Office and worked for herself, and Henry had left MI5 and worked at GCHQ, they saw more of each other. Henry occasionally had meetings in Cambridge – and sometimes stayed over – but he was now based in an ordinary-looking building in Palmer Street, St. James’s Park. Although his work was classified and he wasn’t able to talk about it, there were no conflicts of interests between his job and hers and no secrets between them as man and wife. Henry’s work at GCHQ was more like the work he did at Bletchley Park in the war. He rarely spoke about his work and Ena didn’t ask. She did, however, talk to him about hers. Tonight his experience as an artist was going to be a great help.
‘Do I look alright in this, Henry?’ Ena asked when they were both dressed.
‘You’d look better out of it.’
She bowled the bath towel he’d left on the dressing table stool at him. ‘Be serious. Is this dress good enough for dinner at The Savoy?’
‘Yes, it’s beautiful. You are beautiful.’
‘You’re not so bad yourself,’ Ena said, straightening Henry’s tie and giving him a peck on the cheek. She laughed and rubbed lipstick from where she had kissed him. ‘Nice colour, but it looks better on me,’ she said, dancing out of the sitting room and into the bedroom to collect her wrap and evening bag.
A car’s horn hooted, and Henry switched off the sitting room light.
There was very little traffic south of the river and Ena and Henry arrived at The Savoy early. Henry paid the fare and followed Ena into the foyer. ‘The cocktail lounge?’ she asked the doorman.
‘Across the foyer and right past reception, Madam. You can’t miss it.’
The doorman touched his cap as Henry passed him and a moment later they were being greeted by Priscilla and Charles.
Priscilla was wearing a black below the knee cocktail dress that might have been in Vogue magazine, except for the size. She threw her arms around Ena. At the same time, Henry and Charles shook hands.
‘Our table is booked for eight, we have time for a drink before we go into the restaurant. What would you like, Ena?’ Charles asked.
‘Dry Martinis,’ Priscilla said before Ena had time to reply. ‘And make them very dry, darling.’ Priscilla giggled and linking her arm through Ena’s, steered her into the swish cocktail bar of The Savoy.
When they were seated with their drinks, Priscilla chatted animatedly. She pointed to the diamond necklace that Charles had bought her earlier that day and giggling, said that her husband had neglected her piteously while pulling off a large business deal and the necklace was because he felt guilty.
Charles looked embarrassed. ‘I’m sure Ena and Henry don’t want to hear how I neglect you, my love.’
Priscilla laughed and said, ‘The truth is, Ena, my darling husband spoils me. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such a generous, kind, loving man.’ She put her hand on top of her husband’s. Looking into his eyes she said, ‘Whatever it was, I’m glad I did it.’ A perfectly round pink blush coloured Charles’ cheeks as he lifted Priscilla’s hand and kissed it. Priscilla suddenly stood up. ‘Ena and I are going to powder our noses before we eat.’ Slightly taken aback, but trying not to show it, Ena got to her feet. ‘I want to show you the gilt mirrors. And you must smell the divine soaps. Won’t be long,’ she called to the men, leading the way across the cocktail bar and through a door that said Ladies Powder Room. It was an oblong room, brightly lit with floor to ceiling mirrors, dressing tables on three walls with chairs under them. A door in the wall opposite led to toilets and hand basins – and more mirrors. While they washed their hands, Priscilla said, ‘Try this.’ She passed Ena a round lilac coloured soap. ‘Mmmm… I love lavender. Oh,’ she exclaimed, ‘this is new.’ She sniffed a cream soap. ‘Lovely.’ She reached across two basins, took two lavender scented soaps and a cream one – all three still in their packaging – and dropped them into her handbag.
Having seen Priscilla steal a brooch that was worth hundreds of pounds, Ena wasn’t surprised that she took soap home from The Savoy. She washed her hands in lavender scented soap and dried them on a soft white towel. When she had finished, she went into the powder room. Priscilla was spraying perfume on her wrists.
‘Chanel No 5,’ she said, ‘put out your arms.’ Ena did and Priscilla sprayed far too much perfume on her wrists.
She put the small square glass bottle into her handbag. ‘They don’t have Chanel in the restaurant’s toilet,’ she giggled, ‘and we don’t want to use another fragrance, do we? How’s my hair?’ she asked, catching sight of herself in the mirror.
‘Perfect,’ Ena said, winding a stray curl around her finger that had been set free when she took off her wrap.
Humming a lively tune, Priscilla sashayed across the room to the door. She turned back and looked at Ena. ‘Your hair looks lovely. Come on, I’m starving.’
‘There’s an anniversary ball next week. On August the sixth, it will be seventy years since Richard D’Oyly Carte built The Savoy. He didn’t build it personally of course, he had it built with the profits from his Gilbert and Sullivan opera productions.’ Priscilla laughed. ‘It was either cheap to build, or D’Oyly Carte put on an awful lot of shows. You will come, won’t you?’
‘I doubt there’ll be any seats left in the restaurant on that night.’
‘Charles has already booked. It isn’t only D’Oyly Carte we’re celebrating. It’s Charles’ birthday that day.’
‘We’ll see,’ Ena said.
When the women arrived back at the table, Charles stood up and pulled out Priscilla’s chair. Ena was too quick for Henry and was already seated by the time he stood up.
‘I don’t need a menu,’ Priscilla said, ‘I know what I’m having. The chef is French, Ena. I recommend steak de filet with champignons and pomme puree, and stuffed squid to start.’
‘That sounds good. I’ll have the steak, too,’ Henry said, ‘and to start…’ he looked down the list of hors d’oeuvres, ‘salmon rillettes.’
‘And,’ Ena said, ‘I shall have chicken liver pate followed by sole meunière with green beans and pomme puree.’
No sooner had the party put down their menus than a waiter collected them and bowed to Charles who gave him everyone’s order, adding fish soup and a pork chop with asparagus for himself. As the waiter left, Charles lifted his right hand and a wine waiter brought over two bottles of wine.
‘Henry and I took the liberty of ordering the wine while you were powdering your nose, darling,’ he said t
o Priscilla. Charles thanked the waiter, who poured a small quantity of red wine into a glass and handed it to him. He breathed in the wine’s aroma before tasting it. ‘Thank you,’ he said again. The waiter put down the red wine and took a bottle of white from a wine bucket. ‘Ena, as you’re having fish, would you like to taste the white wine?’
Ena knew nothing about wines, other than she liked the taste of most wines that she had tried, and passed the buck. ‘I’m having pate to start. Henry is having salmon. Darling, why don’t you taste the white wine?’
Henry did and declared that it was crisp and dry, but not sharp. ‘Just right.’
The food was delicious. The wine, Henry and Ena agreed, although neither were connoisseurs, was the best they’d tasted but what made the evening was the vibrant, often cheeky, anecdotes told by their hostess. Priscilla was fun and Charles was an interesting man who, like Henry, could speak on any subject. Ena was sure Priscilla exaggerated to make the tales she told funnier, but that was part of her charm. Ena liked her. She liked her sense of humour and the fact that she didn’t take herself seriously, which most women with wealthy husbands did. Priscilla was fun and entertaining throughout the meal.
Over brandy and coffee, Priscilla said, ‘We must do this again. What about next week on The Savoy’s seventieth anniversary? We have a table booked, don’t we, darling?’
Charles looked from Ena to Henry and back to Priscilla. ‘I am sorry, my dear, it’s a table for two. It was the only table they had left. If I’d known…’
‘Then Ena and I shall go out to lunch. I shall take you to Chez Maurice. Ena, when would be best for you?’
‘I have client meetings the rest of this week and early next week.’ She needed to go to The Willows Nursing Home before meeting George. If her suspicions were correct, she would expose the killer of George’s father. On the other hand, she wanted to learn more about the gallery owner and her American sponsor. ‘Wednesday would be good for me.’
Old Cases New Colours (A Dudley Green Investigation) (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 9) Page 11
