by Carola Dunn
“All right, Mummy. Jane’s aunt was perfectly beastly to her. It makes me realise Granny wasn’t so bad after all. Have a nice time and give my love to Aunt Lucy.”
Pulling on her gloves, Daisy descended the stairs. She had just reached the hall when the doorbell rang.
“Oh botheration, who can that be? Just see who it is, Elsie,” she added as the parlourmaid appeared, setting her cap straight. “I’ve got to get away.”
Daisy hung back as Elsie opened the door. She saw the figures on the doorstep as silhouettes but she’d recognise the voice that asked for her anywhere.
“Phillip! What … Oh, hello Fenella. How nice to see you, how nice of you to call, but I’m afraid I’m just on my way out and already running late.”
Phillip shot her a desperate look. “Daisy, I—we have to talk to you.”
Fenella seemed ready to burst into tears. But Lucy—Daisy reminded herself—had sounded as desperate as they appeared.
“Honestly, darling, I can’t stop. Can you come back this evening?”
“Will Fletcher be home?”
“Possibly. Probably.”
“Please, Daisy,” cried the woebegone young matron. “I simply must talk to you now or I’ll burst!”
“Then you’ll have to come with me and tell me in the car.”
“I’ll drive you,” offered Phillip, turning towards his new Rolls-Royce sports tourer.
“Phil, it’s a two-seater. That’s mine.” She pointed at her sky-blue Gwynne Eight. “Elsie brought it round—”
“Elsie? Your maid?” The car fanatic was interested.
“Yes, she wanted to learn so I taught her.”
“Did she—”
“Phi-i-illip!” wailed his sister, climbing into the front passenger seat of the Gwynne.
Daisy went to the driver’s side, opened the door, pulled the seat forward, and stood back to let Phillip squeeze into the back seat. He started to protest. Both the women glared at him and he shut up. With considerable wriggling he crammed his long legs into the narrow space. Even slewed sideways, his knees were under his chin.
“You call this a four-seater?” he snorted.
“For a young family,” Daisy defended her beloved car.
“An infantile family! Don’t tell me Fletcher squashes himself in here.”
“He drives it sometimes.”
“With his knees?”
They bickered amiably as Daisy drove round the Circle and down Hampstead Hill. Fenella kept trying to get a word in, and Daisy gathered she wanted to talk about her husband. Why she imagined Daisy had any interest in let alone influence upon Elliot Kerston, Daisy could not fathom. She was happy to encourage Phillip’s chatter.
It wasn’t until she stopped in front of Lucy’s house that the name of Fay Fanshawe emerged from the babble. Her interest in Fenella’s marital difficulties suddenly doubled—or rather, suddenly came into being, as it had been virtually zero before.
“I’m sorry, Fenella, Lady Gerald is expecting me.” She got out and leaned in to suggest, “I do wish you’d have Phil bring you round this evening. Even if Alec’s home, he doesn’t have to sit in. If that’s no good, come for coffee tomorrow morning.”
“But Daisy—”
“Phil, you’d better take my car back to pick up yours, if you think you can steer with your knees. I’ll take a cab home, or the underground.”
“We’ll take a cab,” said Phillip, extricating himself with difficulty. “And I’ll bring her round this evening. You can skip the party, Fen. Come along.”
“But Phil—”
Daisy ascended the steps, leaving them to wrangle it out.
Or so she intended. As Galloway opened the door, she heard footsteps behind her.
“Daisy!”
“Mrs. Fletcher.” The butler bowed, and looked past her. “Mrs.—er—Kerston, I believe.”
“Yes,” said Fenella breathlessly. “I came with Mrs. Fletcher.”
“So I see, madam.”
“Fenella, for pity’s sake—” her brother entreated.
“And Mr. Petrie.” Galloway, omniscient, was manifestly enjoying himself. “Please come in.”
Phillip uttered a last heartfelt plea: “Fenella!”
His sister ignored him and followed Daisy into the hall, with Phillip, scarlet-faced at this blatant disregard of etiquette, close at her heels. Daisy unfortunately caught Galloway’s eye and had to suppress a fit of somewhat hysterical giggles.
With stately tread, the butler showed them up to the drawing room. On the way he murmured discreetly to Daisy, “Her ladyship and Miss Devenish are in her ladyship’s sitting room. I shall inform her of your arrival.”
Obviously, as Daisy had expected, Lucy had intended a private meeting with Daisy and Angela, not a drawing-room tea to which any callers were welcome. On the other hand, if she’d been alone with Angela and Mr. Fisher for a while, she might be ready, even desperate, for an interruption.
As soon as Galloway closed the drawing-room door behind him, Fenella dropped into a chair and burst into tears. Phillip stood over her and scolded, which only made her cry harder.
“Phil, there’s a tantalus over there. Go and get yourself a drink. I’ll make it all right with Lucy. And stay there, or go and look out of the window or something. Anything! But stay away from your sister till she’s calmed down.”
“All right,” Phillip said meekly, and fled.
Daisy thrust a handkerchief into Fenella’s hand. “All right, that’s quite enough, Fenella. You’ll make yourself ill. You’ve only got a minute to tell me what’s wrong before Lucy and her other guest come in. For pity’s sake, pull yourself together and keep it short.”
Fenella sniffed, dabbed at her eyes, and blurted out, “It’s Elliot.”
“So I gathered.” Daisy struggled to sound patient. “What’s he done? And what makes you think I can help you?”
The story was punctuated with sobs, sniffs, and gasps. “You went to see Fay Fanshawe backstage, Daisy, I know you did. And Elliot was watching her and talking about her with that horrid Albert Bagley. I heard them say her name. And then the police came to talk to him—Elliot, not Bagley. Well, perhaps they talked to Bagley too, I wouldn’t know. And Sophie, my maid, said Hibbert—he’s our butler—said he heard that woman’s name mentioned. Between Elliot and the policeman, I mean. And Elliot won’t tell me what the policeman wanted, though he usually tells me everything. So!”
“So you jumped to the conclusion that he’s having an affair with her. I’m sure he’s not. She’s a very respectable young woman who lives at home with her mum and dad. I have it on the best authority. Elliot was watching her because she’s a performer. She’s paid to be watched. Weren’t you watching her, too? As for the horrid Bagley and the policeman, those conversations were about something else altogether. Miss Fanshawe was merely peripheral.”
Fenella’s brow furrowed. “Per-iff…?”
“Unimportant. Irrelevant. Beside the point.”
“Oh.” She giggled. “I was never any good at English. Phil! It’s all right. It was all a mistake.”
“I told you Daisy would sort it all out.”
“So now we can go.”
“Go? Of course we can’t go! Lady Gerald—”
“Yes, Mr. Petrie?” Lucy, at her most languid and sarcastic, stood in the doorway. “You wanted to see me?”
“Oh! No, not at all,” Phillip stuttered. “Dash it, I mean, that is, we just called. My sister and I. In a friendly way, don’t you know.”
“Indeed.” Her raised eyebrows gave the same effect as a dowager’s lorgnette.
“Come off it, darling. You’ve known Phillip for donkey’s years. Why shouldn’t he bring his sister to call?”
“His sister? Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs.… Kerston. I didn’t notice you in that corner there. Good afternoon. May I offer you a cup of tea, since it seems to be the proper hour?”
“Yes … no … that is…” Fenella shot an appealing glance at Da
isy. “Thank you, that would be very nice, Lady Gerald.”
As Lucy stepped into the room, Mr. Fisher peered round her sheer silk ankles and Angela appeared on the threshold behind her.
“I say, Daisy, what luck. Just who I wanted to see. D’you have a moment?”
“Not at present, Angela. Do you know Mrs. Kerston? And this is her brother, Phillip Petrie. The Petries are our neighbours in Worcestershire. Miss Devenish is a cousin of Lucy’s, Fenella.”
“How do you do, Miss Devenish, is that your darling doggie? May I stroke him?”
“He won’t bite you,” Angela said gruffly, “but be very gentle. He’s been mistreated and he’s nervous.”
“Oh, the poor little thing,” Fenella crooned.
Daisy left Angela explaining the facts of canine life to Fenella and turned back to Lucy and Phillip. She was just in time to stop Phillip pouring the stiff drink Lucy requested.
“Darling, should you?”
Lucy glared at her. “The doctor said after eight weeks—”
“I bet he didn’t say you could start drinking cocktails at teatime.”
The gin bottle hovered over the glass.
After a moment, Lucy said, “Oh, all right. Make it a drop of brandy and plenty of soda, Phillip.”
With obvious relief, Phillip complied, saying, “I’m really most frightfully sorry to have barged in like this, Lady Gerald.”
“So you said.”
“Fenella was absolutely determined to talk to Daisy, you see. I couldn’t stop her. Now Daisy’s set her mind at rest, I can take her away.”
Lucy glanced at Angela and Fenella, still fussing over Mr. Fisher. For a moment Daisy thought she was going to invite Phillip to carry out his suggestion. Good manners prevailed by a hairsbreadth—unless it was the realisation that he couldn’t carry off her cousin as well as his sister.
“Do stay to tea,” she invited in far from cordial tones.
Phillip looked uneasy, but providentially Galloway and a maid came in with tea things. Lucy set down her drink and became a gracious hostess. The rest responded like properly brought up guests. For a while, peace reigned. Angela, with an absent frown, munched steadily through an entire plateful of bread and butter, feeding an occasional scrap to Mr. Fisher, who sat in front of her, his eyes never deviating from her face.
The rest made polite conversation. As often happened in Phillip’s presence, they ended up discussing motorcars, though Daisy acquitted him of deliberately steering the others in that direction. At least he avoided the more technical aspects of the subject.
Daisy refused a second cup of tea, feeling she had devoted quite enough time to Lucy’s and Fenella’s problems. She had reckoned without Angela, who roused from her bread-and-butter fuelled reverie as Daisy was about to make her escape.
“Don’t go, Daisy. I want to ask you something.” She looked from Fenella to Phillip, her expression making it absolutely clear that their absence was desired.
Even Phillip, never the swiftest to catch on, realised that it was time to go. Once again he profusely apologised to Lucy. Lucy responded with a languid, dismissive wave.
While Fenella bade her involuntary hostess good-bye, Phillip came over to Daisy. “I spent the evening at my club last night,” he said in a low voice. “Some of the fellows were talking about you-know-who. All right if I drop in this evening? Fletcher may be interested, too, if he’s there.”
“Good for you, Phil. Come about half past nine.”
“Without Fenella. Thanks for setting her mind at rest, by the way.”
“I’m glad I was able to.”
He took Fenella away and Daisy turned to Angela.
“Lucy says Teddy was involved with a Russian girl and you know all about her.” No beating about the bush with Angela.
“I said,” Lucy protested, “I’d heard Teddy was involved with a Russian girl and you might know something about it, Daisy.”
“I do know a bit,” Daisy said cautiously.
“All I want to know is: Did he make her pregnant?”
“Oh! No.”
“Good. I hoped I wasn’t going to have to cope with a squalling brat.” She stood up. “Thanks, Daisy. Thanks for the tea, Lucy. I’m going home tomorrow. Can’t leave the dogs any longer. Come along, Mr. Fisher, old chap.”
Lucy stared after them, shaking her head. “I always thought my aunt and uncle were relatively sane—”
“Pun intended?”
“What? Oh. No. How did they manage to produce two such children as Angela and Teddy?”
“And your parents are dears. How did they manage to produce you? Darling, you were abominable!”
Lucy shrugged. “Self-defence against the invasion. I gave them tea, didn’t I? What on earth possessed you to bring them with you?”
“Fenella hopped into my car before I could stop her, and I didn’t feel like wrestling her out. I could have not come, but you sounded desperate.”
“I was. I was feeling particularly foul when I rang you.”
“Not morning sickness again?”
“Not nausea, no. Just utter exhaustion striking in the middle of the morning. I had to lie down and relax for the facial treatment and that set me right.”
Daisy scrutinised her face. “You have beautiful skin. I can’t see that you need mud masks, apart from an excuse for a lie-down.”
“But if I didn’t have them, I’d need them. You ought to try it. London air is so filthy.” Lucy studied her critically. “Though I must admit you don’t seem to need it. I hadn’t noticed before that your freckles have completely faded away.”
“Yes, thank goodness!”
“Congratulations. Now tell me about the Russian girl. Did she kill dear cousin Teddy?”
“I don’t believe so. She might have if she’d cared about him. She has the temperament, I should think—dark flashing eyes and I heard her rowing passionately with her father. But she told us—Sakari and me—that she didn’t give a hoot for Teddy.”
“Or so she says, darling, so she says!”
TWENTY-ONE
“Remember to try to avoid using my name, Ernie,” said Alec, stopping for a moment to regard the façade of the small shop. With its blinds drawn, it had a secretive look that the unadorned, unrevealing sign did nothing to dispel. Only the OPEN card in the door was remotely welcoming.
DS Piper grinned. “Right, Chief. It wouldn’t do for them to put two and two together and realise Mrs. Fletcher put us on to them. She’s a wonder, is Mrs. Fletcher. Comes up trumps every time.”
“Not quite every time. All right, you go first.”
Gently, slowly, Piper pushed the door open. No more than a soft tink came from the bell intended to announce the arrival of customers. Treading with care, Alec followed him into the dimly lit shop.
After a swift glance around, Piper crossed the room with steps as light as a cat’s, towards the corner where a velvet curtain hung. He leaned over the counter towards it. For a minute he listened intently. Then he shook his head, returned to Alec, and whispered, “They’re talking foreign. Not French; prob’ly Russian.”
Alec turned back to open and close the door vigorously, making the bell jangle.
The curtain stirred. A woman’s hand laden with rings drew it back. She came through and let it drop behind her. “Good evening, messieurs. What may I do for you?”
She turned on an electric light and the shop brightened, though the décor was still on the gloomy side. Alec noted that the light was directed downward at the counter. Enough spilled elsewhere for him to note also that the young woman—about thirty, at a guess—was elegantly dressed, though with a somewhat old-fashioned air. Perhaps it was her abundant dark hair that lent that impression. Her features suggested too much strength of character for conventional prettiness, at least of an English kind.
She could be formidable—in the English sense, not the French—if she felt the need, Alec guessed. He wondered what had attracted Teddy Devenish to her.
Wh
ile he studied her, Ernie had presented his warrant card. “Detective Sergeant Piper, madam. My chief and I would like to ask you a few questions.”
“You are police? You have not the uniforms.”
“Plainclothes branch, madam. You are Miss Zerverev?”
“Zvereva,” she corrected him, “but I do not expect the English to pronounce it properly. What is it that you wish to know?”
“I understand Edward Devenish was a friend of yours?”
“Ed—Ah, Teddy. Yes, Teddy was a customer who became a friend … of sorts. This is the proper expression, I think.”
“‘Of sorts’? Would you care to explain?”
“Teddy came first to shop to have ruby set as tie pin. Was beautiful stone from brooch of his aunt deceased, too large, too beautiful for gentleman. I tell him better several small stones. I am designer. This is my work, yes?”
“So I’ve heard, madam.”
“This is my … my professional judgement. I know what is proper. He is annoyed that I contradict.” She shrugged expressively. “He insisted. I was not pleased. Ruby is ost … ost…”
“Ostentatious?”
“Ostentatious, yes. The English do not like ostentatious. It is not good taste, though this I do not say to Teddy. But you have proverb: The customer is always right. I must earn living, no?”
“Of course, madam,” Ernie said stolidly.
“So, I promised to make very nice design pin to show off big ruby. I tell Teddy come back next day to see sketch. He comes, oh yes, he comes, and he brings flowers, big bouquet carnations. Is apology, he says, for not taking advice. He never listens to advice and never cares for opinion of other people. I discover later, this is truth.”
“You accepted his apology?”
“I cannot refuse. He brings perhaps more work.”
“Did he bring more work?”
“Yes, and he brings friends.” Miss Zvereva frowned. “Not friends. They do not like him, I think, and they do not wish to give work to me. He makes them come, against their wish. I do not know how.”
Alec saw Piper’s ears prick up, metaphorically.
“That’s very interesting, madam. Can you remember the names of any of these people?”
She hesitated. “You will not tell them? Some have give us more work though first they came unhappy. I do not want to spoil this.”
