Old Cases New Colours (A Dudley Green Investigation) (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 9)

by Madalyn Morgan

  The receptionist told them they were lucky as there were only two rooms left, saying that today was the funeral of a well-respected local man. Describing the two rooms; one overlooking the main road and one, slightly bigger, overlooking the car park – both had bathrooms, Henry plumped for the bigger of the two rooms that overlooked the car park.

  ‘The right choice,’ Ena said, flopping onto the large double bed. Henry put the bags down by the wardrobe and joined her. Turning over and laying on his side, Henry brought his knees up behind Ena’s knees, put his arm around her and kissed the nape of her neck. She half turned and sighed and his warm lips moved from her neck to her ear.

  ‘There isn’t time if we’re going to have lunch,’ she whispered, hoarsely.

  ‘I know,’ Henry said, unzipping her dress and caressing her.

  Ena turned and faced him. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’

  ‘Yes,’ Henry said, pulling her to him.

  ***

  ‘Ena? Ena?’ Henry called, ‘wake up, darling.’

  Ena moaned softly and smiling, opened her eyes. ‘Oh, my God!’ She sat bolt upright. ‘I fell asleep. Henry, we can’t be late for the funeral.’

  ‘Relax, there’s plenty of time,’ he said, wheeling in a two-tier tea trolley and kicking the door shut behind him. Taking off his shoes, Henry climbed onto the bed, settled into a comfortable sitting position and pulled the trolley as close to the bed as was possible. Ena leaned towards him and craned her neck for him to kiss her.

  ‘I was thinking that after the funeral we could have a drink in the hotel bar and then find a local restaurant. Go out for dinner instead of eating in the hotel. What do you think?’

  Ena, her mouth full of a ham and tomato sandwich, nodded her agreement. When they had finished eating, they drank coffee – and when the pot was empty, Henry leapt from the bed, collected the used crockery and piled it onto the trolley. ‘I’ll put this outside the door.’

  Ena used the bathroom, washed and put on her makeup, giving Henry just enough time to change into his suit before leaving for the synagogue.

  Walking along in the sunshine, Ena put her arm through Henry’s. Still feeling the glow of their lovemaking, she bit her bottom lip and said, ‘Making love on the day of a funeral doesn’t seem right somehow.’

  ‘But it is, Ena. When someone dies, it’s a reminder to the rest of us that we must live life to the full. Life is precious. And you,’ Henry said, stopping and looking into Ena’s eyes, ‘are the most precious thing to me.’

  Ena exhaled slowly and lovingly. ‘I love you, Henry Green.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  The synagogue at Thurston Water was a short walk from the hotel. The Church of St. Saviour was on one side of the small town, the synagogue was on the other. At its heart was the market place where shops and cafés had been built around a cobbled square. An impressive, almost circular, 18th Century town hall stood between a bank and a museum. On the right, as they approached the square, was a florist, bakery and haberdasher. On the left a café, ironmonger and Ye Olde Oak Inn. The spire of St. Saviour could be seen from anywhere in the town. The synagogue couldn’t be seen, nor was it easy to find. Today the church bells rang out in celebration of the life of a Jewish man who had been loved and respected in the town by Christians and Jews alike.

  They were met at the door of the synagogue by a young man who gave Henry a kippah. Henry placed the skullcap on the crown of his head and the young man nodded slowly, once. Inside the synagogue a beautiful gold Menorah displayed seven candles. There were decorative wall coverings; a tapestry of The Star of David, God’s hand representing all the faiths called The Hamsa had been embroidered on another, the third was The Lion of Judah and the last, a tapestry of two square tablets with rounded tops, called, The Tablets of Stone, which Ena knew represented the two tablets on which Moses wrote the Ten Commandments at Mount Sinai. And, on the east wall, the holy ark where behind its beautifully engraved façade the Torah Scrolls were kept.

  Ena wondered if this was a synagogue that didn’t allow men and women to sit together. Some didn’t. Her question was soon answered. She looked around and saw couples with their heads bent in prayer. Suddenly aware that someone was waving, Ena saw Natalie sitting on her own. She nodded to Ena for them to joined her.

  George entered the synagogue with Betsy ahead of a simple pine coffin born by six men who carried her father to his place of worship for the last time. The service started with a eulogy read by the rabbi. Prayers followed and then hymns and psalms. Natalie, being Jewish, was able to participate in the service, while Ena and Henry sat and listened.

  The service took less than an hour. When it had finished, Natalie drove Ena and Henry to the cemetery. Ena felt for George as she watched her father’s plain pine coffin lowered into the ground. The rabbi sang a psalm in Hebrew and then chanted softly with some of the women. When he had finished, George, clinging to Betsy, followed by a dozen or more men and women in their mid to late thirties, left the graveside. Ena and Henry took their cue from Natalie and, without speaking, followed her back to her car.

  Ena had cried in the car, she always cried at funerals. They reminded of her own father’s funeral. Unlike today, it had been bitterly cold. There had been a severe frost, a hoar frost, and the fog and mist hadn’t cleared by the time her father was interred. The ground was hard, and leaving him on his own in the frozen earth was one of the worst things she had ever experienced. She dried her eyes and dabbed her nose with face powder before leaving the car. Feeling emotional but knowing she must neither show it nor express emotion, Ena entered the house without offering her condolences.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ George said, taking in both Ena and Henry. She introduced Betsy to them saying she didn’t know what she’d have done without her. Betsy shook Ena’s hand and then Henry’s, before giving George a caring smile. ‘Nor you, Ena,’ George added. ‘Thank you for all you have done for my father and me.’

  Ena took George’s hands in hers. ‘She wanted so much to tell her how sorry she was, instead she smiled, let go of her hands, and turned to Betsy. ‘I’m sorry it’s under such sad circumstances.’ Ena bit her tongue. ‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ she said, ‘I’ve heard a lot about you from my sister, Margot.’

  Moving out of the way to allow other people to enter the Derby-Bloom house, George, Ena and Henry walked slowly through a long spacious room with floor to ceiling bookcases and out through French windows onto a patio where they were offered wine and a selection of canapés. Taking a glass of wine, but having recently eaten sandwiches at the hotel, Ena politely refused the delicious-looking food. Henry took a square of bread topped with smoked fish and they crossed a tailored lawn to a large marque with an open front.

  A string quartet played sombre music. Ena looked around the small gathering of people who, with the rabbi, had been with George on the front of two rows of people at her father’s grave. Some were seated, some stood by the marque’s entrance, others were outside.

  Ena and Henry turned to see Natalie walking across the lawn to them. She said quietly, ‘The coffin bearers and the people you saw with George at her father’s graveside are some of the students that escaped Germany in the war. Not all of them could be here, so there is going to be a memorial in a year’s time.’

  ‘Mr Derby-Bloom will be remembered for a very long time,’ Ena said, ‘not only by the people he helped escape the Nazis, but by their children and their children’s children.’

  There was a buffet on two tables – one table on the left side of the marque and one on the right. The table on the left had only bowls of boiled eggs and plates of bagels on it.

  ‘It is traditional after a Jewish funeral to offer guests round food like boiled eggs and bagels, which must be prepared and cooked by the family of the deceased,’ Natalie said.

  ‘Did George and Betsy do all the food themselves?’

  ‘Not quite. It’s why I came down yesterday. Because I am Jewish, I was able to help them.�
�� Natalie pointed to the table on the left. ‘Round food, like hard-boiled eggs symbolise the continuity of life. Once the mourners have eaten the symbolic food, they can eat other food. There is some very tasty food on the table over there,’ she said, pointing to the right. ‘A variety of breads and biscuits topped with smoked fish, cheeses and spreads – and hummus. Do you like hummus Henry?’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever tried it.’

  ‘Then you must. I’m sure you will like it.’

  ‘What’s it made of?’ Ena asked.

  ‘Chickpeas. There isn’t much preparation needed. You soak the chickpeas overnight and cook them slowly until they are soft. Then you mix them with tahini.’ Natalie looked at Henry and laughed. ‘I can see by the look on your face Henry that you’ve never had tahini either.’

  ‘I’m a meat and two veg man. Not very adventurous, I’m afraid. So, what is…?’

  ‘Tahini is ground hulled sesame. It’s a large part of the hummus. It’s mashed with chickpeas and garlic and it’s mixed together until it’s a paste. You add lemon juice and salt and pepper to taste. I’m sure you’ll love it. After your boiled egg of course,’ Natalie said, winking at Ena.

  After the first glass of wine on entering the Derby-Bloom residence, which Natalie said wasn’t a Jewish tradition, nor was it against the tradition, they ate food and drank tea.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Unable to eat anything after the delicious food served at the wake, Henry and Ena decided not to go for a meal. They changed into the clothes they had driven down in, and after a drink at the bar, went for a quiet stroll.

  Along the High Street, a quarter of a mile from the hotel was a gated park. ‘It closes at ten,’ Henry said, reading a notice attached to one side of the gate. ‘That gives us plenty of time for a wander around.’

  At the end of an avenue of horse chestnut trees, Ena and Henry stopped to watch a raft of ducks heading for the long reeds on the far side of a pond. They passed an empty bird aviary and then sat beneath a rose bower in the park’s walled garden.

  Ena laid her head on Henry’s shoulder. ‘Balmy,’ she said.

  ‘Who, you or me?’

  Ena giggled. ‘I was referring to the warm night air, but yes, you definitely are and I?’ she said, ‘must be to have married you.’ Henry pulled her to her feet and hand in hand they ran from the walled garden to the path leading back to the north side of the park where they had entered earlier. A beam from a torch shone in the distance.

  ‘Looks like we’ve just made it.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t,’ Ena said, ‘we’re going to be locked in.’

  ‘No, he’s seen us. Hello?’ Henry called, ‘Excuse me?’ As they drew near the north gate a short man dressed in what looked to Ena like a station master’s uniform was looping a thick chain through the two halves of the ornate wrought iron gate. ‘Would you keep the gate open?’

  The man ignored Henry and waited until he and Ena were standing next to the gate before turning the key in a padlock attached to a chain.

  ‘Would you let us out?’ Ena said.

  ‘Gates close at ten!’

  ‘It’s a good job it is only two minutes to, then, isn’t it?’ Ena said looking at her watch.

  ‘Come on, old chap,’ Henry said, in a friendly manner, ‘You saw us running to the gate before you locked it.’

  Ena leaned forward and smiled into the man’s podgy face. ‘Please.’

  Muttering under his breath the officious little man crouched down and with sigh, unlocked the padlock and pulled off the chain. He held the gate open just enough for Ena and Henry to squeeze through in single file.

  ‘I’m glad we didn’t have to go back to the other gate and walk all the way round the park,’ Ena said, yawning. Henry put his arm around her shoulder and she snuggled into him. ‘I’m tired.’

  After undressing, washing and cleaning her teeth, Ena put on her nightdress. By the time Henry had finished in the bathroom she was asleep. Trying not to disturb her, Henry switched off the light and crept into bed. He pulled up the bedclothes, tucked them around Ena’s shoulders and whispered goodnight.

  ‘Night,’ she said sleepily, ‘love you.’

  ***

  As she opened the curtains sunlight filled the room.

  ‘Darling, let’s make an early start.’ Henry turned over and squinted into the bright sunshine. ‘I don’t think I should give George my invoice yet. It’s too soon after the funeral.’

  ‘I thought you’d arranged to see her today?’ Henry said, sleepily.

  ‘No, I told Natalie we wouldn’t be going round. She agreed it would best to leave it for a while. I’ll ring George in a couple of days, ask her how she is and I’ll post the invoice. What do you think?’

  ‘Sounds good to me, darling,’ Henry said, agreeing as he usually did when Ena asked him a question that she didn’t require him to answer – at least not an answer that differed from hers. Henry turned his back on Ena and the morning sun.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, pulling the eiderdown and blankets off him. He clung onto the sheet and buried his face in the pillow groaning. ‘Time for breakfast,’ she sang, ‘aren’t you hungry?’ Ena didn’t give him time to answer that question either. Her mind was elsewhere. ‘If we leave the hotel at nine, we’ll be in London before eleven. I want to know what Artie found out about the security chap at the gallery,’ Ena said, her mouth forming an ‘O’ shape as she applied lipstick. She leaned into the dressing table mirror, pressed her lips together and began combing her hair.

  Henry stumbled out of bed and crossed the room to her. He put his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. ‘Ugh!’ she said, peering at his reflection. ‘You need a shave.’ Henry rubbed the stubble on his chin on her shoulder and she squealed.

  Laughing, he went to the bathroom and Ena, when she had finished her hair, sat on the bed and waited for him. She took the details of the work she’d done investigating Mr Derby-Bloom’s death from her handbag and read through them. Convinced that so soon after the funeral was not the time to present George with an invoice, she put the envelope back in her handbag.

  ‘You go down,’ Henry shouted from the bathroom. ‘Order me coffee – and eggs, bacon and toast. I’ll be with you in five minutes.’

  ‘Don’t be any longer then, I’d really like to get back,’ Ena said, leaving the bedroom. As she walked along the corridor to the stairs leading down to the lobby, she thought about Selwyn Horton and his family. She was itching to know that Artie hadn’t found anything suspicious about Horton while he’d been snooping around the job agencies. It was Bob Smith – if that were his real name – the gallery’s daytime security guard, that Ena suspected of being on Louis Martel’s payroll.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  ‘Ena? Aren’t you coming up to see the flat?’

  ‘Yes, but I need to check in with Artie first.’ Ena could see the disappointment on Henry’s face. ‘I won’t be long, I promise. You go up and I’ll join you in a minute.’

  Henry took out his keys and let himself into number 8a Mercer Street as Ena let herself into the office at No 8.

  ‘You’re back early?’ Artie gave Ena a welcoming smile and looked past her. ‘Who were you talking to?’

  ‘Henry. He’s gone upstairs to see how the work on the flat is coming along, make sure it’s going to be ready for us to move into at the end of the month. I said I’d join him, but first I want to hear how you got on at the security agencies, yesterday.’

  ‘Want a cup of tea? Coffee?’ Artie said, getting to his feet.

  ‘I’d love one, but I promised Henry I wouldn’t be long.’ Ena crossed to his desk. ‘Stop teasing and tell me.’ She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back into a sitting position. ‘What did you find out?’

  Artie sighed loudly. ‘You were right, of course. Selwyn Horton is as clean as the proverbial whistle. Bob Smith, on the other hand, is a very dubious character. One agency,’ Artie consulted his note bo
ok, ‘The West End Agency said they took him off their books because he had a Police record.’

  Ena dragged the chair from the front of Artie’s desk and sat next to him.

  ‘The woman I spoke to said she thought it was a bit unfair. Apparently, Smith got involved with the wrong crowd when he was a kid. Some older boys broke into an old fella’s house and stole some stuff. She didn’t know the details, but said that if he had told the agency when he applied to go on their books, they might have overlooked it because it was a long time ago. Unfortunately for him he didn’t, and when they found out about it they had no choice but to let him go.’

  ‘What about the other agency?’ Ena looked over Artie’s shoulder, ‘Sure Security?’

  ‘Sure Security, who your boy Selwyn Horton is with, was really helpful. I got talking to one of the guys waiting to find out where his next placement was going to be and he said that Smith was a braggart. He said he’d been spouting off about being in the big league now; bragging that he wouldn’t be needing security work after the weekend. He told them he was getting the hell out of London.’ Artie glanced down the page and then looked up at Ena. ‘I won’t go into detail but the gist of it was that he wouldn’t be sitting about waiting to earn peanuts like them anymore because he would soon be earning hundreds of francs every week.’

  ‘Well, well, well, he’s also going to France!’ Ena said.

  ‘Yep! He told them that the first thing he was going to do was visit The Follies Bergere and said he’d send them a post card.’

  ‘Selwyn told DI Powell that Mantel had a long envelope, which, by its description, the inspector thought was probably an airline ticket. He said Mantel locked it in the drawer of Giselle Aubrey’s desk in the office. Did the bloke you spoke to have any proof that what Bob Smith told him was true?’