Mydworth Mysteries--London Calling!

by Matthew Costello

“I suppose so. Yes. Why? Do you think you can help me?”

  Kat looked at Harry. She reached across the table, put her hand on Aubrey’s sleeve.

  “I don’t know – yet. I can’t promise anything. Sir Harry and I will have to talk. But first you need to go back to the office. Then, when we know what we’re going to do, we’ll telephone you. Okay?”

  Kat saw a flicker of hope in Aubrey’s eyes. She didn’t want to raise that hope too high, but the more she thought things through, the more she thought she could see a way out of this abyss.

  A way to free Lizzie, destroy Grosvenor.

  Maybe even get Aubrey’s money back – and save his career.

  15. It’s All in the Timing

  Harry sat with Aubrey Spence in the American Bar of the Savoy Hotel, sipping his gin and tonic and keeping an eye on the entrance, reflected in the glitzy Art Deco mirror behind the bar.

  He checked his watch – six-thirty.

  Half an hour to go, a table for three in the Savoy Grill Room already booked. (After having to pull a few strings at such short notice, “For you, Sir Harry, of course.”)

  He and Aubrey had arrived early, in case Grosvenor should feel an urge to try some kind of recce.

  That’s what Harry would have done, had he been expecting to walk away from a meeting five hundred pounds richer – in cash.

  In fact, he would have placed at least a couple of heavies in strategic positions, in case the meeting went to pot.

  But so far, nothing to report.

  The Head Waiter (who remembered him from years back) had completely understood when Harry requested that his name not be uttered by any of the staff.

  This plan – this whole, wonderful, daring plan, as devised by Lady Mortimer herself – depended on Cedric Grosvenor believing that Harry was simply a work colleague of Aubrey’s, here to give moral support and witness the transaction.

  No suspicion of him actually being undercover.

  Grosvenor had Spence so cowed, it was unlikely he’d suspect him of doing anything other than follow their rules.

  Harry looked at the man who sat next to him nursing a scotch, eyes anxiously flitting at each new arrival.

  “Chin up, Aubrey,” said Harry. “Hearts of oak, stiff upper, you know the drill…”

  Aubrey took a miniscule sip of his scotch and nodded nervously.

  “I-I can’t remember a word of what I’m supposed to say,” he said.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that,” said Harry cheerfully. “I’ll say it if you don’t. Improvisation, hmm?”

  “And what if he wants to inspect the money?” said Aubrey, nodding to the briefcase at his feet. “I mean – really inspect it.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, we’ll deal with that when it happens,” said Harry. “If it happens.”

  Then he smiled at the barman. “Top-up please, Ralph, when you have a moment.”

  “Certainly, Mr… Smith,” said Ralph. “Right away.”

  Harry smiled. The service at the Savoy – as ever – at its most impeccable.

  And always discreet for the right people.

  *

  Kat sat with Alfie in the front seat of his truck, watching the front door of the smart Grosvenor residence.

  With no make-up, wearing overalls and one of Alfie’s brown workmen’s coats, and a flat cap pulled down to her eyebrows, Kat guessed that she made the perfect young apprentice.

  She checked her watch. If Grosvenor had taken the bait – Aubrey’s telephoned offer of one final big payment, paid in person to the owner of the photographs – surely he had to be leaving now to get to the Savoy in time for the handover?

  But she didn’t need to worry.

  “There he is,” said Alfie.

  Kat watched as the imposing black door opened and Grosvenor emerged with Charlie Leet.

  The two of them went down the steps to where the big sedan was parked. And, as Grosvenor climbed in the back, Leet got in the driving seat and started up the engine.

  Kat waited until the sedan had pulled away and disappeared in the direction of the Strand. Then, with a quick nod to Alfie, she climbed out of the truck and went round to the back doors.

  Alfie opened them, reached in and slid out a couple of cases of champagne. She took one of the cases, he took the other.

  And they crossed the road to the servants’ entrance of Grosvenor’s house.

  Down the stone steps to the door Kat had come through last night.

  Alfie pulled on a small bell that hung by the door and they waited. No answer.

  She looked at Alfie. “Empty house – I hope.”

  Then she put down her case, took out the key that she’d stolen, slipped it in the lock, and opened the door.

  *

  Inside – darkness, and silence. If she was right, the day staff had gone home, and whatever evening staff Grosvenor used for his soirees hadn’t arrived yet.

  If I’m right, she thought. And if not…

  “Alfie – if I’m not out in half an hour,” she said, picking up her case of wine and adding it to his, “you’ll—”

  “Come right up for yer? No fear about that. And good luck,” said Alfie, tipping his cap to her and heading back up the stairs with his heavy load.

  Kat watched him disappear, then she shut the door, and headed deeper into the house.

  *

  Harry leaned back against the velvet of the banquette, took a sip of what – not surprisingly – was a truly excellent Pomerol, and surveyed the famed Savoy Grill Room.

  Although still early, the place was filling up. From here – his chosen table in the corner – he had the perfect field of vision.

  He smiled encouragingly at Aubrey, who sat opposite, fiddling with his napkin.

  “Not long now, Aubrey,” he said. “Just stay steady.”

  Aubrey blinked, wiped his sweaty brow with his handkerchief.

  Then Harry saw Grosvenor, arriving at the entrance area. Kat’s description of the man was detailed – it had to be him.

  He watched as the maître d’ led Grosvenor over to Harry’s table.

  Harry quickly built a first impression: Grosvenor was overweight and portly, but his dress suit looked expensive, and perfectly tailored for his girth. He’d arrived alone – so his man was probably outside in the car.

  And Harry noticed no goons taking places at the Grill’s doors.

  Grosvenor was all alone.

  He carried no attaché case – so whatever deal he’d been expecting to make this evening with Spence, it clearly didn’t involve handing over any photographs.

  For a second, as Grosvenor approached the table, Harry could see a flicker of surprise on the man’s face as he realised there were three of them dining together, not two – but that surprise was slickly concealed.

  “Mr Spence?” said Grosvenor, holding out his hand, as Aubrey and Harry stood to greet him.

  “I’m Spence,” said Aubrey, not taking the proffered handshake.

  “Smith,” said Harry genially, gripping Grosvenor’s hand firmly.

  “Smith?” said Grosvenor, his lip curling with a smile, as the three of them sat down at the table. “I wasn’t expecting to dine à trois.”

  “Here to give my friend Aubrey some, well, moral support,” said Harry.

  “Of course. Very good. Mr Smith.”

  Harry noted that Grosvenor hadn’t revealed his name – and clearly didn’t intend to.

  “Excellent choice of venue,” said Grosvenor. “Very civilised.”

  “No reason why this little, arrangement, cannot be conducted in a gentlemanly fashion,” said Harry. “That’s what Aubrey here said, right?”

  Harry looked at the wobbly Spence who – all nerves now – could only manage a quick nod.

  “Exactly,” said Grosvenor, unravelling his napkin from its silver holder and placing it on his lap. “My attitude entirely.”

  Then Harry saw him look to Aubrey then back again.

  “But before we commence – what I am sur
e shall be a most delightful repast – may I just ask you to confirm that you do indeed have the wherewithal to complete our little transaction?”

  Harry saw Aubrey look alarmed – and nodded to the briefcase that stood under the table by Aubrey’s feet.

  He watched as Aubrey lifted it up, opened it nervously, for Grosvenor to peer in.

  Harry knew the contents: rolls of paper carefully wrapped in five-pound notes.

  Same old trick, he thought. Always works.

  “Jolly good,” said Grosvenor, leaning back in his seat, and taking the menu from the waiter who had just appeared at his side. “How’s the lobster tonight?”

  *

  Kat pressed her ear against the cold steel of the Mosler safe, and gently rotated the dial, listening for the tumblers to click.

  Getting up the stairs and into the office had been a piece of cake. No sign of anyone in the house – though she’d been careful not to make a sound.

  The only fly in the ointment had been the absence of the scrap of paper with the combination on it. Grosvenor clearly kept it tight.

  But so far, the classic safe was behaving itself.

  Years ago, when she’d first signed up to government service, she’d been taught to work safes just like this one. In fact, her first success in the field had been a Mosler, deep within the Turkish embassy.

  Kinda like these old brutes, she thought, as the final number clicked into place and she heard the tumblers fall.

  “Gotcha,” she whispered to herself, this whole escapade going sweetly to plan.

  Then she reached across for the lever and with both hands turned it. Slowly the heavy door pulled open and she could see inside.

  The safe was crammed. On one shelf – stacks of banknotes. Hundreds – maybe even thousands of pounds.

  And on a shelf below – photographs. Plenty of them. She picked them up and leafed through them. Compromising pictures – of all kinds, featuring the dancers – and a variety of different men.

  Some of whom, she recognised. Famous people from public life, from both sides of the Atlantic.

  And certainly not the kind of snaps you’d take on holiday – or show your mom, she thought.

  Or your wife.

  She took out a folded canvas bag from the deep pocket of her workman’s coat, and started to fill it with the money and the photos.

  Which was when she heard a sound from right behind her.

  “Well, well, well,” came a man’s voice. “If it ain’t the Yankee dancer from the club.”

  Kat turned to see Oliver Pleasance, standing in the doorway.

  “Now – you’d better put those things back in the safe, pretty lady,” said Pleasance. “Or Oliver here is going to have to teach you a little lesson. Naughty, naughty.”

  Kat stood up, put the bag on the floor and smiled sweetly.

  “A lesson? From you, Mr Pleasance?” she said. “Oh, I can’t wait.”

  And as Pleasance grinned and lurched forward, Kat was already figuring out what punishment she was going to give him for his part in this nasty little operation.

  16. Game Over

  Harry watched Cedric Grosvenor take a final mouthful of crème brûlée, then push the plate to one side, tip the last of the 1920 Chateau d’Yquem into his glass and swallow it.

  “Very decent,” said Grosvenor, wiping his ample lips with his napkin. “Very decent indeed.”

  Harry smiled and nodded. He glanced down at his watch.

  Eight thirty, he thought. Kat should have been here by now. Unless something has gone wrong…

  “And so – to business, yes?” said Grosvenor.

  Harry nodded. Nudged Aubrey, who nodded too. Grosvenor sat back, hands clasped on his bulging stomach.

  “If I recall rightly from the message relayed to me earlier today, you – Mr Spence – have proposed one final payment to me of five hundred pounds cash, in return for which I hand over to you all evidence of your daughter’s unfortunate… fall from grace, which – I can assure you – is currently in my possession. Correct?”

  Spence cleared his throat. “Correct.”

  “As the man says… correct,” said Harry, smiling, all bonhomie, even as his eyes flicked to the Grill Room entrance, but catching no sign of Kat.

  “An interesting proposal,” said Grosvenor. “But sadly, I’m afraid one that woefully underestimates the value of those items.”

  “What?” said Aubrey, sounding genuinely alarmed.

  “You see – such photographs command a premium fee on the open market, Mr Spence. You must understand, your daughter is not only a very talented and attractive young woman, but with such an important, respected father? Well, I am sure you understand. These pictures… so very valuable.” He cleared his throat and leaned close. “And – in the wrong hands – so very dangerous.”

  “Gosh. So are you saying that you would like more money?” said Harry bluntly. “That it?”

  “Like? No. Require.”

  “And what about the photographs? I assume you haven’t brought them?”

  “In here?” said Grosvenor as if the notion were outlandish. “To the Savoy Grill Room? Of course not. They’re with my driver, outside.”

  “Really, Mr Grosvenor?” came Kat’s voice from the side of the table.

  Harry looked round – surprised – to see Kat, in long black evening gown, hair perfect, pearl earrings, diamond necklace and sparkling smile to match.

  Looking a million bucks, thought Harry, using her own expression.

  He watched as Kat drifted around the table slowly, walking past Aubrey and then Grosvenor, to stand by Harry’s side. He felt her hand on his shoulder.

  “I find what you just said there about the photographs very hard to believe,” continued Kat.

  “I beg your pardon, madam – I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure,” said Grosvenor, standing up and looking confused at the sudden development.

  “To recapitulate, Grosvenor, you were saying,” said Harry, “that the photographs are with your driver?”

  “That’s right,” he said nervously, clearly aware that the game had shifted. Then to Kat: “But, madam – you appear to be suggesting they are not?”

  “Oh, I’m only going by what the helpful Mr Pleasance told me, earlier this evening,” said Kat.

  “What?”

  “Apparently you laughed at the notion you would ever part with the photos. And suggested there were plenty more to be had where they came from.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” said Grosvenor. “Where did you meet Pleasance? Where is he?”

  “Oh, he’s rather ‘tied up’ right now I’m afraid,” said Kat. “And – poor thing – he’s suffering from an awfully bruised jaw. Bad fall, you know? Or something.”

  Grosvenor hurled his napkin onto the table.

  “What the hell is going on here?” he said, through gritted teeth. “I demand to know!”

  Harry saw nearby tables looking over.

  Kat reached down to a bag by her feet, lifted a stack of folders and dropped them on the table.

  “I’ll tell you what’s going on Mister Grosvenor,” she said. “You, sir, are being turned over.”

  Harry saw Grosvenor step back in shock as he clearly recognised the folders from his safe.

  “You can’t… But these are from my private—”

  “Very observant! They are indeed,” said Harry, walking round the table to stand right in front of Grosvenor. “So, now, you listen to me. What you are doing – this racket – stops now. All of it. The club. You will close that, of course. The photographs. The parties. The girls. All gone. Or we take all of this to the police.”

  “And the only reason we’re not getting the authorities involved now,” said Kat, scooping up the folders, “is to protect the identity of those girls you’ve hurt – and continue to exploit.”

  Harry saw Grosvenor’s eyes bulging, fit to burst, his face puce, his breathing fast.

  Around them, the whole
of the Savoy Grill had gone deathly quiet. Though few of the other diners would have heard the details of the conversation, it was clear that here… something momentous was going on.

  Harry turned to Spence – looking ever more rattled – and nodded at him to get up. Then he called the waiter who hurried over.

  “Delightful dinner, Charles – as ever,” he said. “Mr Grosvenor’s paying, of course. So kind.”

  He looked across at Kat – a triumphant warrior queen in his eyes.

  “Shall we?” he said.

  “Oh – one last thing,” said Kat, stepping over to Grosvenor. “I have a message from some mutual friends, who I just collected from an address in Lexington Street and who are all delighted to know they’ll never have to go to one of your parties again.”

  Uh-oh, thought Harry, seeing the way Kat had shifted her feet slightly. I think I know what’s coming…

  “Message?” said Grosvenor, looking confused. “What message?”

  “This one.”

  To the amazement of the other hundred or so diners of the Savoy Grill Room, Kat Reilly – aka, Lady Mortimer of the Dower House, Mydworth, Sussex – swung a perfect right hook full into Cedric Grosvenor’s chin…

  And Harry watched as the man dropped like a dead weight to the polished floor.

  17. Royal Box

  Kat leaned on the velvet edge of the best box in the Gaiety Theatre and watched as the audience hurried to their seats, just minutes now till curtain up.

  So totally thrilling to be here now, her first London musical, Harry at her side, and her new and amazing friend Max Schultz being the most wonderful, generous, amazing host.

  Generous – not just in providing this box and bottles of champagne – but in getting young Lizzie Spence an audition.

  Which she aced, and then promptly got a part in the “London Follies” itself!

  She turned. “A toast,” she said, “to you, Max, and to my darling husband for being clever enough to make you his – and now my – good friend!”

  “Enchanté,” said Max clinking his glass with hers. “But really it is you we should toast, not just for gracing us with your presence here – but also for squashing that nasty, miserable cockroach Grosvenor. That – was something rather spectacular. You are my new hero, Kat Reilly!”