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

by Madalyn Morgan

  ‘Yes. Only one letter.’ Ena sliced it open. ‘It’s from the London Electricity Board.’

  ‘It’s not a bill, is it?’

  ‘No, it’s telling us when they’re coming to read the meter.’ Ena tutted at him. ‘Stop worrying.’

  ‘Alright, I won’t say another word!’ Artie took a swig of his coffee. ‘So, what were you and Henry celebrating last night that was worth a half-bottle of scotch?’

  ‘We weren’t celebrating really. We just had a laugh. While we were sorting out our wardrobe we found some weird and wonderful articles of clothing, an old hat of Henry’s that’s like a deerstalker. He looked silly in it when he bought it, he looked even sillier last night. You know how you get when you start laughing about something and you can’t stop. Until you wear yourself out, everything you do and say seems funny. It was like that last night.

  ‘We eventually stopped laughing and went out for a walk. We popped into the pub for a quick drink, went home and had an early dinner, which made a nice change. Apart from the night of the Derby-Bloom funeral, we’ve been like ships that pass in the night for months. And,’ Ena said, ‘Henry has warmed to the idea of moving to Covent Garden.’

  ‘That’s good, as he’ll be living smack in the middle of it in a couple of weeks.’

  ‘It is, isn’t it?’ Ena crunched up her shoulders and chuckled. ‘In fact, I’d go as far as to say he’s looking forward to moving into the area, and to living in the flat upstairs. I didn’t think he’d come round to living in town. When we first moved to Stockwell, he said it was too busy. And, since we went to La Galerie Unique, he’s been talking about taking up painting again.’

  Artie’s eyes sparkled with surprise.

  ‘Henry was a very good artist before the war, after the war too, for a while.’

  ‘You should hang one of his paintings upstairs when you move in.’ Artie looked at each of the walls in the office. ‘A couple of pieces of artwork wouldn’t go amiss in here.’

  ‘His paintings are at his parent’s place up in Lowarth. I might suggest we bring one or two back the next—’

  The sudden ring of the doorbell stopped Ena mid-sentence.

  Artie got to his feet. ‘I’ll get it.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  ‘Inspector?’ Ena jumped up as Inspector Powell entered the office. ‘It’s good to see you.’ She motioned to him to sit in the chair on the other side of her desk. ‘Drag your chair over here, Artie.’

  When both men were seated, Ena asked Inspector Powell how the arrest of Louis Mantel went on Friday night.

  ‘Did you arrest Bob Smith at the same time?’ Artie asked.

  ‘Sorry to bombard you with questions, but Artie and I are dying to hear about Mantel’s arrest at London Airport.’

  ‘Well, Inspector. Did you arrest him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ Artie and Ena said at the same time.

  ‘Why not?’ Ena asked. ‘Our intelligence pointed to Mantel and Smith leaving from London and flying to Orly airport in Paris.’ Ena looked at Artie. He nodded in agreement. She brought her attention back to the inspector. ‘Did we get it wrong?’

  The inspector shook his head. ‘Your intelligence was spot on.’

  ‘Then what went wrong?’ Ena asked.

  ‘Why didn’t you arrest him?’ Artie said at the same time.

  Inspector Powell leaned back in his chair. He gave Artie a business-like smile. ‘Thanks to you we got to the airport before Bob Smith met up with Mantel and arrested him.’

  Ena saw Artie’s shoulders relax. She was delighted that Artie had given Inspector Powell good intel. Good for Artie and good for the reputation of Dudley Green Associates.

  ‘And he’s singing like a bird,’ the inspector said, ‘which is thanks to you and Mr Mallory.’

  ‘What about Mantel?’ Ena asked.

  ‘He caught the BEA flight to Orly. And, if he was worried that Bob Smith hadn’t turned up, he didn’t show it.’

  ‘So, Mantel got away,’ Ena said, feeling hugely disappointed.

  The inspector looked at Ena for some time without speaking. Then he cleared his throat. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this but as you have played a large part in the investigation – in exposing Mantel and Smith – and I know what I tell you will go no further.’ He looked at Ena and then Artie.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘You have my word, Inspector,’ Artie added.

  ‘Mantel, while a bigger fish than Smith, is a small cog in a very large international wheel. The Met has been working closely with Interpol for two years in order to discover who is behind the thefts of masters and antiquities in England, France, Italy, Germany and other countries on the continent. The headquarters, Interpol thinks, is in Paris, but no one knows where. So, we let Louis Mantel board the BEA flight to Orly and the French Police – and Interpol, who have been working on countering cultural property since 1947 – will let him leave Orly Airport.’

  ‘But they will follow him?’

  ‘Of course. Mantel will be followed wherever he goes until he leads Interpol to bigger fish, and hopefully, those fish will lead to even bigger ones. And every time it will take Interpol a step nearer to finding and breaking up one of the biggest gangs of art thieves and forgers in Europe.

  ***

  Ena closed the door and leant against it. What would she have done without Doreen Hardy’s help? She had said it before when Doreen was in the office on the day the furniture arrived and, in Ena’s absence, had galvanised Artie into action. Between them, they had cleaned the office, the kitchen, the furniture, even the windows. And, Doreen had done it again. Without her help, today Ena would not have had time to make food.

  She mounted the stairs of her new home at No 8a Mercer Street and went into the sitting room. She counted the bottles of wine on the sideboard. Surely eight would be enough. Henry had also bought twenty-four bottles of IPA, which he had stored in the spare bedroom, taking six bottles from the top crate and putting them on the sideboard. There was enough beer Henry had said, but he wasn’t sure if there was enough wine and had gone to buy a couple of bottles from the Seven Dials Inn on Shelton Street.

  Ena levelled the stack of drink mats. She hoped people would use them if they put their drinks down, but she wasn’t going to make a fuss. She felt sure a good polish tomorrow would restore any surfaces in the event of a splash or two of alcohol. She ran her fingers along the dust-free top of the sideboard and secretly hoped her guests would hold onto their drinks and not put them down.

  It was a big room that looked even bigger with the settee and armchairs under the window, Pushing the furniture back against the wall had been Doreen’s idea. She’d said there would be more space, and she was right. She also said it was better for those who wanted to sit down because they wouldn’t have people moving about behind them. Ena had agreed. However, they both thought people would prefer to stand. Ena hoped so, then they would mingle.

  With friends and work colleagues, there would be a dozen guests. Still unsure whether there was enough food, Ena crossed to the dining table and took off the tablecloth that she had covered the buffet with. Between them, she and Doreen had made twenty rounds of sandwiches – ham and tomato, cheese and pickle and tinned salmon and cucumber. In the middle of the sandwiches, Doreen had placed a tomato in the shape of a lily. There were also two dozen finger rolls – ham and mustard, grated cheese and onion, and egg and cress. At each end of the table was a plate of sausage rolls and half a grapefruit. Doreen had cut cheddar cheese into small chunks – added a cocktail onion – and speared them both through with a cocktail stick which she then stuck into the skin of the grapefruits. Ena told her she should go into catering. She laughed and said that was what they did at the hotel when they catered for parties.

  Doreen had insisted Ena get changed for the party while she put the finishing touches to the buffet. She’d placed the silver salt seller, pepper pot, mustard dish and small spoon on a tray with dishes of sliced b
eetroot, gherkins and green olives. The olives were a gift from her friend and neighbour, Mr Bellucci at Café Romano. He wasn’t able to come to the party but said, “The oliva like-a the Italian coffee is-a the fashion. Everybody eats-a the olivas.”

  Ena heard the door to the street open and close. ‘Henry, I’m in here,’ she called, replacing the tablecloth over the food. There weren’t any flies in the flat that she could see, but it had been a warm day and while she had cleaned, she’d opened the windows.

  Henry kissed Ena on the cheek and the wine bottles clinked against each other in the shopping bag she had given him to transport them. He stepped back. ‘Did I tell you how lovely you look in that slinky trouser suit?’

  ‘Yes, before you went for the wine, but there’s no reason why you can’t tell me again.’

  ‘You look lovely, darling,’ With a bottle of wine in each hand, Henry kissed Ena full on the lips. She kissed him back.

  ‘Mmm…’ he sighed, ‘I’d better put these in the refrigerator.’

  ‘You better had,’ Ena agreed.

  Kneeling on the settee, she pushed up the sash window. It was a warm night, an Indian summer sort of night. It had been a long summer with lots of sunny days. During most of them Ena had been rushing from one place to another, juggling one investigation with the other but her hard work, Artie’s too, had paid off. She slid down onto the settee and leaned back. The slightest of breezes came through the open window. The window faced east and the sun flooded the room from sunrise to lunchtime, but in the evenings the room was cooler.

  Ena thought about the last five or six months and smiled. A lot had changed since she and Henry had bought Nos 8 and 8a Mercer Street. A new home and a new job – and both were everything she had hoped they’d be.

  Dudley Green Associates, Private Investigators was at last in the black. No profit yet, but Artie had been paid and so had the bills – this quarter anyway. She hadn’t dared take any wages for herself, but she was sure the agency would soon be in credit. Until then Henry paid for everything they wanted in their new home.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  The doorbell rang. ‘I’ll get it,’ Ena shouted, as Henry came out of the bedroom. She pulled herself off the settee, quickly straightened the cushions and ran onto the landing at the top of the stairs. ‘You’ve scrubbed up well, darling,’ she said. ‘You too look lovely. No time for kissing,’ she remonstrated as Henry turned to her. ‘Go into the sitting room and get the drinks sorted, I’ll go down and open the door,’ she said, running downstairs.

  ‘Artie?’ she said, opening the door. Rupert Highsmith was behind him. She threw her arms around Artie and gave him a hug. ‘Thank you for suggesting I ask Doreen to help me with the food for the party. I’d never have done it without her.’ She took Artie’s jacket. ‘Hello, Rupert, how are you?’ she asked, shaking Rupert Highsmith’s hand. ‘I’m so glad you could come. Let me take your coat.’ She helped Rupert out of his lightweight coat. ‘It’s good to see you.’

  ‘And you, Ena,’ Highsmith said, beaming her a smile.

  The street door to the flat opened into a hall that was about twelve-foot square. Ena left the door ajar and led the way upstairs. ‘Henry’s in the sitting room. He’ll get you both a drink.’ At the top of the stairs, she craned her neck to see Henry standing next to the long sideboard and taking the corks out of bottles of wine. ‘There’s enough food to feed an army on the dining table at the far end of the room. Help yourselves.’

  Rupert Highsmith, head held high, stood to the side of the door to let Artie enter first. Highsmith stood six inches taller than Artie, and Artie wasn’t short by any means. No wonder he thought he was a cut above the rest of humanity. What did her old colleague Sid call him? Mr High-n-Mighty. Ena felt a pang of sadness. She still missed her friend, Sid Parfitt.

  ‘You alright, Ena?’

  ‘Inspector?’ Ena moved towards him to hug him – she was in a hugging mood – but she was still holding Artie’s and Rupert’s coats. She laughed. ‘Take your coat off, stick it on top of these and I’ll take them to the spare room and lay them on the bed. Go through to the sitting room, Henry will get you a drink. Oh,’ she said, stopping the inspector in his tracks, ‘WPC Rhoda Jarvis is coming with her young man. I hope it was alright to invite her?’

  ‘Of course, it was.’ The inspector’s eyes twinkled. ‘I didn’t know she had a young man. She’s a sly one, that WPC of mine.’ He leaned forward and whispered, ‘I’ll let you into a secret, Ena. Jarvis won’t be a WPC for much longer. I’ve recommended her for promotion. She may soon be Detective Constable Jarvis.’

  Ena pulled a surprised but happy face. ‘I’m so pleased.’

  ‘But don’t say anything. It hasn’t been authorised yet.’

  ‘I won’t say anything if you promise not to pull her leg about her young man at work on Monday.’

  ‘Oh, I can’t promise I won’t do that,’ the inspector said, laughing good-heartedly.

  ‘In that case, I might have to tell her about her promotion.’

  ‘Alright. You win,’ the inspector conceded. ‘I’m going to find Henry, I’m in need of a drink.’

  After laying the coats on the spare bed in the unfurnished guest room, Ena joined Henry in the sitting room. He poured her a glass of wine, which after one sip she put down when the door-bell rang.

  ‘Do you want me to get it?’

  ‘Would you?’

  Henry planted a kiss on Ena’s cheek and poured a glass of red wine. ‘Take this to Dan Powell. Won’t be long.’

  When Henry returned it was with half a dozen guests. Among them were her friends Natalie, George and Betsy.

  After excusing herself, Ena left the inspector and ran to greet them. ‘I don’t believe my eyes,’ she said, kissing each of them in turn.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind Betsy and me gate-crashing your house warming party,’ George said.

  ‘Mind? I’m delighted. I wanted to invite you both, but…’

  ‘I know. Natalie telephoned and said you felt that in the circumstances it wouldn’t be appropriate. But it is appropriate.’ George looked at Betsy who, smiling, nodded in agreement. ‘We’re so happy for you and Henry; happy to be here to share and to celebrate your new home.’ George gave Ena a gift. It was the size of a shoebox and very heavy, wrapped in silver paper. ‘For you and Henry, from Betsy and me.’

  ‘George, you shouldn’t have.’

  ‘And this is from me,’ Natalie added, giving Ena a similar box wrapped in the same paper, but square in shape and lighter.

  ‘I told you no house warming presents. I told Natalie not to bring a housewarming present,’ Ena repeated to George and Betsy. ‘We have everything we need.’

  Natalie put her hand to her mouth and snatched a breath. ‘I forgot.’ She looked at George and Betsy who burst into laughter. ‘I promise you won’t already have these gifts.’

  Ena looked at her friend quizzically.

  ‘But if you don’t want it, I’ll give it to Henry…’

  ‘No! There’s no need to go that far.’ Ena eyed the gifts. ‘I’m intrigued,’ she said, feeling the box, hoping for a clue to its contents. She pressed her lips together and gave Henry a sideways glance. ‘I suppose you can open one of them.’ She looked from one to the other of her friends. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’ll open this one.’ Ena chose the biggest. ‘Henry, you open this,’ she said, handing him the smaller box.’

  ‘You open them both, darling, and I’ll get the drinks.’ As Henry asked the three women what they wanted to drink, Ena moved several bottles and glasses to the end of the sideboard and put down the two parcels. Taking the ribbon from the first, she pulled on the overlapping wrapping paper to reveal a white marble mortar and pestle. ‘Henry?’ she called, ‘look at this!’

  ‘It’s beautiful, George, thank you, and thank you, Betsy.’

  ‘That isn’t all,’ Betsy said, ‘there’s something else in the wrapping.’

  Ena looked closer and saw
the corner of white paper. She tugged it to reveal a sheet of thick writing paper with Hummus Recipe written on it in beautiful handwriting. ‘Hummus, Henry, it’s a recipe for hummus.’

  ‘Now open this,’ Natalie said.

  ‘Natalie, you shouldn’t,’ Ena said, tearing the paper off Natalie’s gift. She caught her breath. ‘A silver dish and spoon. It’s beautiful, Natalie.’ Ena felt tears in the corners of her eyes and wiped them away with the back of her hand.

  ‘Can I put them somewhere for you?’

  ‘I’ll take them to our bedroom while Henry finishes getting your drinks.’

  Returning to the sitting room she found WPC Jarvis and her boyfriend in conversation with Inspector Powell, George and Betsy talking to Henry who was nodding in agreement and Natalie had joined Artie and Rupert at the buffet – a plate of food in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. Ena surveyed the room, delighted that her friends were able to share in her and Henry’s happiness. It seemed everyone that she and Henry knew in London was there. She crossed to the sideboard and picked up the wine she’d abandoned earlier, and wished her sisters could have been with her. She swallowed the emotion she felt and raised her glass to them. As she took a drink, she noticed Artie watching her and she said, ‘Cheers!’ He looked unhappy. ‘Are you alright?’ she mouthed.

  Artie said something to Rupert and Natalie, which Ena wasn’t able to lip read, left them and crossed the room to her.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Rupert’s been getting threatening letters.’

  ‘Anonymously?’

  ‘Yes. I know it isn’t professional, what with Rupert and me being … you know, but can I look into it?’

  ‘Of course. And if you need my help you only have to ask.’

  ‘Thank you, Ena.’ Artie grinned at her.

  ‘What is it? Go on, spill the beans.’

  ‘Well, Rupert isn’t a, you know, demonstrative sort of person.’