A Fatal Night

by Faith Martin

  ‘Fine.’ She made her decision and stepped back, allowing Phyllis to pass by her and stand in the hallway. ‘Wait here a minute,’ Juliet demanded rudely, heading into the drawing room whilst Phyllis calmly pulled off her gloves and unwrapped the scarf from around her neck.

  *

  It amused Phyllis to look around the anteroom. It was here that Terry had finally dragged her for their last private tête-à-tête, all but hauling her out of the party by physical force. It was also here, just in front of the grandfather clock, that he’d stuck his face so close to hers, his expression contorted by anger and hate, and hissed at her to go before she ruined everything. He’d looked so furious that she couldn’t help but kiss him hard and passionately. She’d known it would only enrage him further, knowing that he was helpless and in no position to either retaliate or make a scene.

  After that contemptuous gesture, he’d literally man-handled her out the door, promising that they’d talk money later.

  Yet another in a long line of promises that he’d broken, she mused grimly.

  *

  In the drawing room, Juliet saw at a glance that Jasper was lounging by the wireless listening to a pop programme, whilst her mother sat at her favourite table, playing a complicated game of solitaire. Mucking about with cards was one of Millie’s favourite pastimes, but Juliet couldn’t see the appeal herself.

  ‘Mumsy, there’s an odd woman here to see you,’ she said, but she was watching her brother as she spoke. At this provocative statement, she saw his head shoot up and swivel around to look at her and she grimaced a warning at him.

  Slowly, he reached out and turned off the radio, watching her with a puzzled and questioning frown tugging at his brows.

  ‘What do you mean – an odd woman?’ Millie asked. Tonight she was wearing a long, warm woollen gown in various shades of purples and pinks. It had cost a good deal of money, and looked like it had. On her feet were high-heeled mule-slippers – with layers of pink feathers – that tapped annoyingly on any wooden flooring whenever she moved.

  ‘Juliet, I really do wish you would speak properly. What’s her name, darling?’ her mother admonished lightly.

  ‘I’ve no idea – she was very careful not to give it,’ Juliet drawled. ‘But I recognise her. She was the gate-crasher at the party.’ It was how they all described that event now – as the party. The Vander family could hold as many celebrations in the coming years as it liked, but New Year’s Eve 1962 was always going to be the party.

  Again, Juliet was watching her twin rather than her mother. So intent was she on sending him a silent warning that all was not well, that she missed entirely the way Millie went pale as milk and swallowed hard.

  ‘Well, then, ask her to come in,’ Millie said, a little faintly. ‘Goodness gracious, she must think we have the manners of Neanderthals!’ She forced a light laugh.

  Millie rose from behind the table, her knees feeling unsteady, and walked to the mirror hanging over the fireplace, quickly checking that her red locks were perfectly arranged and her make-up still adequate. Her heart rate was climbing and she forced herself to take long, slow breaths.

  She needed to be calm and clear-headed right now. If she could just take control of things, and turn this meeting into another inconvenient social occasion, everything would be all right, she reassured herself.

  ‘Fine,’ Juliet said sarcastically, leaving and returning a moment later with Phyllis.

  ‘Mrs Vander, thank you so much for seeing me,’ Phyllis said at once, going towards her quarry and holding out her hand, leaving the other woman no other option than to take it. ‘I have debated long and hard about whether or not I should come, but given the … er … circumstances, with Terry I mean …’ She allowed a small shrug to lift her shoulders and spread out her hands in the universal gesture of helplessness. ‘I thought it best that I should.’

  Jasper moved forward at that point, and Phyllis’s eyes flickered towards him with renewed annoyance. Damn it, both brats were in attendance! She needed Millicent Vander feeling undermined, uneasy and upset – and thus vulnerable to pressure. The bolstering presence of two members of her family was not something Phyllis could tolerate.

  ‘I think it best if we talk in private,’ Phyllis said, lowering her voice, and looking Millicent firmly in the eye.

  Millicent blinked once, her mind flashing back to the last time she’d seen Terry with this woman. And their emotionally charged embrace in the hall outside. This woman kissing Terry so hard …

  With the memory of that betrayal, back came the same rushing tide of emotions that she’d felt back then; that moment of stunning shock, quickly followed by despair, jealousy, hurt pride and finally a wave of anger so strong it had almost seemed to lift her off her feet.

  It had been enough to send her scurrying back into the gaiety and noise of the packed living room before she had to watch a moment more of it. She’d never felt humiliation like it before in her life, and it had been both shocking and all-consuming.

  As she had done then, she now firmly squashed her feelings into a tight hard ball and hid them firmly behind a smiling face and a hardening heart.

  ‘Very well, Mrs, er …?’

  But Phyllis was far too wily for that. Instead she stepped forward and indicated a chair. ‘Do you mind if I sit?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Millicent responded with instant and instinctive good manners. No matter what the circumstances, it wouldn’t do to be inhospitable. She could almost hear her nanny’s voice in the back of her head lecturing on the responsibilities befitting the mistress in her own home. ‘Children, why don’t you run along and let … my guest and myself have a little chat.’

  ‘We’re not ten years old, Mother,’ Jasper snorted, annoyed. He eyed the newcomer with a mixture of hostility and admiration. She was, after all, very good-looking and his interest was fully aroused.

  ‘Oh come on, Jasper, let’s leave them to it,’ Juliet said, shooting daggers at him. Her twin opened his mouth to argue, then caught the quick, furtive shake of Juliet’s head and sighed. He was used to paying attention to Juliet at times like this. His sister was rarely wrong when it came to judging her own sex.

  ‘Fine. As if I want to listen to gossip anyway,’ he drawled, going for rude sophistication and, shoving his hands deeply in his trouser pockets, slouched out of the room behind his twin.

  But Juliet turned instantly they were out in the hall. Putting a finger to her lips to quieten him, she reached for the door handle and made a great show of shutting it firmly. But she didn’t remove her hand from the handle and after a few moments, very carefully began to lower it, then nudge the door open, just an inch.

  It wasn’t much, but it was enough. As children they’d often eavesdropped on the grown-ups’ conversations, (you learned all sorts of eye-opening things that way) and it didn’t take Jasper but a second to catch on. Just as when they were little, Juliet dropped to one knee, turned her face to one side and stuck her ear to the gap. Jasper, standing over her and upright, did likewise, his own ear pressed against a spot higher up on the doorframe.

  Neither attempted to whisper to each other, knowing that was a sure way of getting caught. Instead they just listened intently, saving any discussions for later, when they were alone in one or the other’s bedroom.

  Chapter 25

  ‘I’m sorry, but I really don’t recall your name.’ Millicent opened the proceedings, and reached down to the coffee table that separated her from her unexpected guest, groping for the table lighter and an ornately engraved solid silver box. ‘Cigarette?’ she offered, opening the trinket, which would have paid Phyllis’s bills for a number of years.

  Phyllis coolly accepted one and allowed it to be lit. In the past, she’d once used the end of a lighted cigarette to inflict a burn on someone, giving her the chance to run for it, and thus getting her out of a potentially tricky jam. She didn’t expect to have to resort to anything so uncouth this time, but having the cigarette gave her someth
ing to do with her hands. For in spite of being confident of having the upper hand, she was not totally without nerves.

  ‘You can call me Irene,’ Phyllis said. It was, in fact, her second name, but she’d never liked it and only used it on occasions when she preferred to remain elusive.

  ‘And what can I do for you, Irene?’ Millie asked, perching carefully in the armchair facing her. Like her daughter before her, she sensed a threat here, and like her daughter, she wanted to know more.

  Although she’d had what most people would have called an easy life, Millie had always known how to fight her corner to get what she wanted. True, this had usually involved using her looks to manipulate the men in her life. But she’d also been to a posh public girls’ school where she’d learned tricks from her fellow pupils that would make sewer rats hesitate – along with proper deportment and French, of course.

  And if there was one thing life’s experiences had taught her, it was this. Knowledge was power. And knowing your enemy could be especially useful.

  Phyllis, watching the other woman closely, saw the moment the cat-green eyes hardened and realised, with a droop of her spirits, that she might not have things her own way as much – or as easily – as she’d previously hoped. Oh well, she thought, with a wry twist of her lips. Very few things in life that are worthwhile come easy.

  ‘It’s about Terry,’ Phyllis began mildly.

  Millicent slowly nodded. ‘Of course it is,’ she agreed just as mildly.

  ‘He was mine,’ Phyllis said conversationally, drawing casually on her cigarette and idly watching the smoke ascend to the ceiling as she blew it out.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Millie asked, genuinely startled.

  ‘Mine,’ Phyllis reiterated mildly, still regarding the glowing end of her cigarette with calm contemplation. ‘You should have kept your hands off him,’ she added.

  ‘I think you’re confused,’ Millie said, her voice just as calm as that of the woman seated opposite her. ‘I never had my hands “on” him, I assure you.’

  Phyllis gave a sudden bark of laughter. ‘That’s not what he told me. And from what I’ve been hearing on the grapevine, that’s not what your friends think either. You were to all intents and purposes practically engaged already.’

  Millie’s eyes flickered. ‘I have no idea what Terry may or may not have said to you,’ she responded mildly. ‘And you really shouldn’t listen to gossip either. He was a friend of mine, that’s all. He could be … unreliable at times – or rather I should say that he had an odd sense of humour. I think you’ll find that he was simply pulling your leg, you know, if he intimated there was anything serious going on between us.’

  Cool green eyes met and held dark amused brown eyes. Both women smiled.

  ‘Oh yes, he was very unreliable, I agree with you there,’ Phyllis concurred. She let the moment hang portentously for just the right amount of time, and then added deliberately, ‘As both a husband and a father.’

  Outside, in the hall, Juliet felt her twin’s hand fall to her shoulder and squeeze hard in reaction.

  Inside the drawing room, Millie froze for a moment, then slowly leaned back in her chair. She’d gone distinctly pale, which was hardly surprising. She felt, in fact, rather sick, and a little punch drunk.

  But she knew better than to allow it to show – or to acknowledge it.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she forced herself to say mildly. ‘But, clearly, I didn’t know Terry that well. I had no idea that he was a divorced man. I’m so sorry for your loss,’ she added politely. ‘I’m a widow myself, so I know how it feels to lose a loved one.’

  Phyllis’s eyes flashed. She was certainly a cool one, this rich society matron. And whilst one part of her admired the other woman’s backbone – respected it, even – another part of her knew that it simply wouldn’t do.

  ‘Yes. I know,’ Phyllis said. ‘A very respectable widow,’ she allowed a light but distinct emphasis to fall on the world ‘respectable’.

  Millie felt her heartbeat rise as the nature of the threat now became all too clear.

  So that was the name of the game, she thought wearily.

  Blackmail.

  She sighed and elegantly cast one leg over the other. ‘It must have been a shock to you to hear about your ex-husband’s death,’ Millie said casually. ‘He never told me he’d invited you to the party,’ she added sweetly, ‘otherwise I’d have introduced myself.’

  A little reminder to this upstart that she’d been an uninvited guest at the party – both figuratively and literally – would do no harm, Millie thought grimly. Now that the preliminary skirmishes were out of the way, and the real fighting had begun, Millie felt a welcome coldness and alert calm settle over her. It wasn’t a new sensation to her – she’d felt it before, during other significant and stressful moments in her life. And it was always welcome. Though she liked to think that she lived her life paying homage to her heart, she would always rely on her head when it came to survival.

  ‘Oh, he didn’t invite me,’ Phyllis was forced to admit, but gave a small throwaway laugh to show she felt no shame about it. ‘In fact, he was most put out to see me there,’ she confided silkily, her voice almost purring now that she was gleefully anticipating the bombshell that she was about to explode. ‘And by the way,’ she added, watching Millicent like a cat at a mouse hole, ‘who said he was my ex-husband?’

  For a moment, Millie didn’t seem to understand what Phyllis had just said. And then her eyes widened in stupefied understanding – the enormity of it hit her like a hurricane.

  ‘Yes,’ Phyllis said, almost gently, watching the devastation she’d caused. ‘All that time that he was romancing you, sweet talking you, promising you the world, telling you that you were the love of his life and all the rest of it – he was a married man. And a father to our lovely Vicky.’ Phyllis reached out and stabbed her cigarette out viciously in a large green agate ashtray.

  ‘He walked out on us when Vicky was barely three,’ she informed Millie in flat, harsh tones that did nothing to hide her bitterness. ‘Just vanished – poof – left us in the lurch one fine day, with no financial support, nothing.’ Phyllis shook her head. ‘I had no idea where he was, or how long he’d be gone, or if he’d ever come back. He didn’t by the way,’ she added with a grating laugh. ‘The bastard had no intention of saddling himself with a wife and child for the rest of his life. If it hadn’t been for my parents, Vicky and I, we’d probably have … well … That’s neither here nor there, as far as you’re concerned, is it?’ she added flatly, mimicking Millicent Vander’s frozen pose by leaning back in her chair and crossing one leg elegantly over the other.

  It was a nasty replication, designed to hurt and undermine the older woman in her own home, but it went largely unnoticed. Mainly because Millie was, at that moment, incapable of speech – let alone capable of appreciating the insult.

  Sensing the extent of her opponent’s sudden vulnerability, Phyllis wasted no time in going for the coup de grâce. ‘He really was a stinker,’ she informed Millie, her voice almost sad. ‘He had no morals at all. You know,’ she added mildly, ‘I really wouldn’t have put it past him to have actually gone ahead and married you, knowing it would be bigamous. I really wouldn’t.’

  Again she sighed elaborately. ‘He was just a con man really. Came from dirt too – I hope you didn’t let that middle-class accent of his fool you. But he did scrub up well, didn’t he? You had to give him that,’ she mused.

  ‘Yet, I do so wonder what all your friends will think when they find out,’ she added softly. ‘Don’t you?’

  Chapter 26

  The moment Trudy walked into the office bright and early the next morning, she knew she was in trouble. The oldest PC at the station, Walter Swinburne, shot her a sympathetic look and gave a quick shake of his head in warning. In a matter of seconds, the door to DI Jennings’s office was jerked open, and the man himself stood in the doorway, glowering at her.

  She heard
Rodney Broadbent snicker from somewhere near his desk, and her heart fell to her boots.

  ‘Loveday, in here!’ the inspector barked.

  Trudy swallowed hard and, on legs that felt a little leaden, followed her superior officer into his lair, and shut the door firmly behind her. Whenever the inspector failed to use a person’s rank when bellowing at them, referring to them only by their surname, they knew they were well and truly in the doghouse.

  As expected, he went straight to his desk, sat down in his chair and reached for a piece of paper that, it wasn’t hard to guess, contained the results of the toxicology reports.

  ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ he bellowed. ‘And why am I only finding out about it now?’

  ‘Sir,’ Trudy said stiffly, standing at attention in front of his desk. ‘Dr Ryder informed me only yesterday,’ she explained earnestly, ‘that he’d asked a friend of his in pathology to expedite a report on Mr Parker’s blood toxicology. When he handed that to me, I came to your office the moment I had it, but you were out. I left it on your desk. I tried again late last night to inform you of it, but again your office was empty.’

  Jennings fumed in silence for a moment. He and she both knew that he’d barely been in the office. The ongoing staff shortages meant that he’d had – unusually – to take on much more of the hands-on stuff himself than normal, leaving him little time for doing admin at the station. But just because he had no real comeback to her reasonable explanation, didn’t mean she was anywhere near off the hook.

  ‘Can’t you keep the old vulture under control?’ he snapped. Even as he said it, though, he realised the unfairness of the question.

  WPC Loveday was just a slip of a girl. Why should she be able to keep the old sod in line when chief constables, mayors, and for all he knew, the president of the local branch of the WI couldn’t do so either? (And that woman, so it was rumoured, was such a dragon that she was known to literally breathe fire.)