The Curious Incident at Claridge's (15 page)

‘I thought you might be a model. You have the look.' Antonia nodded. ‘My daughter-in-law is a former model.' It felt good
not
to have to tell lies all the time, she thought.

‘Bets is wonderful. She is generous to a fault, the sweetest, kindest person who ever lived! She is his twin, but she couldn't be more different from Seymour. Most people say she is a lunatic. I personally think she is a genius.'

‘To either sort morality is meaningless,' murmured Antonia

‘Bets is one of the last true originals. She's got ideas. But she needs money, a lot of money,' Penelope went on ruefully. ‘She is terribly keen on starting a magazine, you see.

She's told me all about it. When she became the editor of
Dazzle
she moved it away from the usual debs-and-dowagers milieu—she embraced instead an edgier, more outré fashion arena. She showed no particular respect for the old Establishment! I was a nobody when she discovered me. She is remarkably broad-minded. She is unlike anyone else in the business. She
deserves
to have her own mag. All she needs is the capital!'

‘She seems have found it now …'

‘As far as I am concerned, she is welcome to the Wallis ring. I don't want that ring. I believe it's cursed. She can keep it. Seymour is dead, so it couldn't matter less. It would solve all her problems. In fact I am glad she took it! It was naughty of her, but I won't read the riot act to her.' Penelope laughed. It was a most attractive laugh.

‘Well, I am glad the mystery has been resolved,' Antonia said brightly.

‘Yes, thank God. I shall phone the Master and tell him to call off the search. I'll tell him—what shall I tell him? I'll make up some story. I'll say—I'll say I've found the ring in the lining of Seymour's coat. How about that?'

‘But, Lady Tradescant, what about the other ring—the replica? Where did
that
disappear?'

‘The replica? Oh, who cares!' Penelope waved her hand dismissively. ‘It cost only a thousand pounds. Perhaps one of the stewards pinched it. Not worth making any fuss about it, really.'

The next moment the door bell rang and she went to answer it.

No servants, Antonia thought. She's got rid of her servants. Coming from a humble background, Penelope didn't believe in the exploitation of the masses? The cynical explanation would be that Lady Tradescant didn't want anyone to know what she got up to in the privacy of her town house. Did she perhaps receive visits—from men?

As though on cue, Penelope reappeared in the company of two pleasant-looking youngish men in well-cut suits.

‘I am so sorry, Miss Rushton. These gentlemen are policemen. They want to talk to me about something rather urgently.'

Antonia rose to her feet. ‘Yes, of course. Will you be all right?'

‘Of course I'll be all right! It's some routine inquiry—isn't it?' Penelope turned to one of the men.

‘I will find my way out.' Antonia walked briskly out of the room.

24

The Adventure of the Audacious Eavesdroppers

Major Payne sat in a deckchair in the garden. He was speaking into the phone. ‘Hope I am not interrupting your tête-à-tête with Lady Tradescant?'

‘You are not. I left a minute ago.'

‘So she agreed to talk to you?'

‘We had coffee together. She was perfectly amiable. She's got an alibi for the fatal morning.'

‘Of which no doubt you are highly suspicious?'

‘I am not, actually. She does seem to have genuinely been “elsewhere”.'

‘That indeed is what “alibi” means … Jesty won't like it … Where was she?'

‘Heathrow Airport. I saw her ticket. She was in a check-in queue when she received the sad news.'

Payne asked her whether she had got to see the ring.

‘No,' said Antonia. ‘The ring has vanished.'

‘The replica—what we believe to be the replica has vanished?'

‘Yes. Apparently it wasn't in Sir Seymour's room when Penelope went to collect his possessions.'

‘It would be interesting to know if Bettina Tradescant was at Mayholme Manor on the morning Sir Seymour died,' Payne said thoughtfully.

‘You think Bettina did it
twice
? You believe she stole the original ring
and
the replica?'

‘It's perfectly possible. Um … It occurs to her that her brother will realize the ring is a replica and that he will guess she is behind it. So she goes and steals the replica, believing one of the stewards will be blamed for it. She reasons that without the replica Sir Seymour can prove nothing that will count against her.'

‘Do you think she might have killed him too?'

‘Well, yes. Say, Sir Seymour catches her red-handed and kicks up a stink. He threatens to call the police. Things get out of hand and she kills him. She is ever so slightly mad. It's definitely worth checking if she was at Mayholme Manor on the fatal morning. What was the cause of death, did Penelope tell you?'

‘Sir Seymour apparently died in his bath. It's difficult to imagine Sir Seymour and his sister having a row and then he goes and takes a bath while she is still there, in his room?'

‘Perhaps she left—and then, after a couple of minutes,
came back
…'

‘Hugh, two policemen came to see Penelope while I was still there.'

‘Really?'

‘Yes—but it had nothing to do with Sir Seymour's death.'

‘How do you know? They couldn't have let you stay on and listen while they interrogated Lady Tradescant.'

‘No, but I managed to hear what they said.'

‘Did you eavesdrop?'

‘Well, I happened to be standing outside the drawing-room door and—'

‘You eavesdropped! In your stately hat! You stooped and listened at the keyhole! I bet you tried to hold your breath? Well, I suppose we've come to a point where, as they say, the gloves are off and Queensberry rules no longer apply … What did the plod want with Penelope?'

‘It's a completely new development. It has nothing to do with Sir Seymour's death, at least I don't see how—' Antonia broke off and Payne heard her speak to someone. The next moment she said, ‘Sorry, Hugh, I'll get back to you later.'

‘Who's that with you?' Payne asked but she had rung off.

Who was the man who had spoken to her? Payne was sure it was a man's voice that had addressed her. He felt vague stirrings of anxiety. No—what could possibly happen to Antonia in the very heart of Mayfair—in broad daylight?

For several moments he sat very still, watching their cat stalk a dove.

He wondered what his next move should be. Another visit to Mayholme Manor seemed to be indicated … He'd need to find out whether Bettina had been there on the morning of her brother's death …
Yes
… Where were his car keys?

This time he didn't so much as glance at the frieze with the bubble and the eerily featureless figure inside it. As he crossed the hall and went up the stairs, Major Payne was struck by the thought that this was a silence more profound and mysterious than the mere absence of noise. He met no one on the way.

He was soon inside the antechamber that led to the Master's study. He was put in mind of a superior dentist's waiting room. William Morris wallpaper. Table lamps. A sofa upholstered in dark red. A bowl containing several exquisite roses. (Viscountess Folkestone?) The door to the Master's study was ajar. He heard the Master's voice raised in dismay.

Payne listened.

‘He
wouldn't
? But you said he would, Robert. Didn't you say he would?'

‘I did say it, but he wouldn't. He gave every indication he was going to play ball. I never imagined he'd dig in his heels like that. I am awfully sorry, Wilfred. Didn't seem that sort of chap at all.'

‘What is it this Lyndhurst is supposed to have found?'

‘Bruises on the right shoulder—black marks. Hardly perceptible to the naked eye, but Lyndhurst thinks they are suspicious. He believes they may be the result of violence. I pointed out that the body of an elderly man could be bruised easily, and in peculiar ways—'

‘What's he suggesting exactly—that someone
drowned
Sir Seymour in his bath? That Sir Seymour was pushed under the water and held there? What a fool. People should endeavour
not
to use their intelligence when they have so little of it.'

‘Lyndhurst appears most anxious to speak to the police.'

Outside the door Payne stood still and inclined his head forward, not daring to breathe. It occurred to him that he was in exactly the kind of situation Antonia had found herself in a little earlier. How odd. We are two parts of a whole, he thought.

‘We can't afford to have the police here. Any whiff of a scandal would cause irreparable damage. It would destroy me. I wouldn't be able to survive the pressure. I am not a strong man, Robert, you know that perfectly well. It would drive me to the brink. It would be the end of
everything
.'

‘Lyndhurst insists there should be a PM followed by an investigation.'

Payne found he was leaning on the polished table that stood outside the study door and now he frowned down at the pile of newspapers and magazines. He noted mechanically that the top paper was two days old.

‘Didn't you try to impress it on that mule that it would not be a frightfully good idea?'

‘I did my best, but he remained adamant. He's dug his heels in.'

‘You couldn't have tried hard enough!'

Payne's eyes remained fixed on the newspaper.
Memorial Service
, he read.
Friends and relatives of Petunia Luscombe-Lunt, who died tragically in the Alps on 12th June—

The name rang a bell. Did he know a Petunia Luscombe-Lunt? Now where …?

‘I agree it was a mistake bringing Lyndhurst in—' Dr Henley broke off. ‘I think there's someone at the door.'

Payne straightened up. His cover had been blown. The blasted newspaper had rustled. Well, time for action. If he was to bluff his way through, he mustn't hesitate for a second. Pushing the door, he sauntered into the Master's study.

‘Good afternoon,' he said. ‘So sorry—I don't suppose this is a frightfully convenient time?'

The Master was sitting at his desk, Dr Henley in one of the large armchairs. The Master's hand was at his throat. He was a peculiar colour.

‘I am afraid it is not,' the Master managed to say. ‘You haven't got an appointment with me, have you?'

‘No. We have met before, actually. You seem to have forgotten, but I was here a few days ago.'

‘Good lord.' The Master's eyes bulged a little. ‘Major Ponsonby, was it?'

‘Payne, actually.'

‘Major Payne. Yes. That is correct. You were writing a new history of Mayholme Manor. Hope you won't think me frightfully rude, but may I suggest you call sometime later? Dr Henley and I happen to be in the middle of an important discussion.'

‘I have a confession to make,' Major Payne said gravely. ‘I am
not
writing a new history of Mayholme Manor. I am not a writer. I am a private investigator.'

There was a moment of paralysed silence. The Master had flushed an alarming shade of carmine. ‘It has nothing to do with poor Sir Seymour, I trust?'

Payne said that it had
everything
to do with poor Sir Seymour. ‘
Not
with his death as such—'

Dr Henley rose to his feet by executing the three or four distinct movements into which the portly gentleman of advanced middle age tends to divide a simple physical effort. ‘I am afraid I must go, Master. Prior engagement.' He produced a silver pocket watch and shook his head. ‘Completely slipped my mind.'

Talk of rats leaving sinking ships, Payne reflected as the door closed.

‘A truly remarkable fellow, Henley. This place would never have been the same without him. I admire him immensely,' the Master said. ‘Such style. Such panache.'

‘I have been employed by Nicholas Tradescant.
Sir
Nicholas Tradescant, as he now is—'

‘Such vigour, such vitality, such intense
joie de vivre
. You should see him in the garden, hacking away at hedges. He does it with a kind of savage grace,' the Master gabbled on. ‘He does it with brutal brio.'

‘Sir Nicholas has asked me to investigate the theft of his father's ring.' Payne wondered if the Master had started feigning madness. Or could he have lost his mind for real?

‘Henley is noted for his easy superiority of manner. Henley belongs to that rare breed of men who can command respectful attention in
any
kind of milieu. Henley would feel equally at home on a battleship, at a cricket test match or at the Savoy Grill. Anyone meeting Henley for the first time might be excused for mistaking him for minor royalty.'

‘Sorry, Master, but would you mind terribly if I asked you a couple of questions?'

25

Playing Happy Families

‘I do apologize. I made you jump. You don't know me. Are you a friend of Penelope's?' It was a good-looking young man with feverish black eyes who had addressed her. He couldn't be more than twenty-one or twenty-two, Antonia thought. His hair was dark and almost shoulder-length. He looked like a cross between Prince Valiant and Rudolf Nureyev, she decided.

The next moment she frowned in a puzzled way. ‘I think we have met before—haven't we? Your face looks familiar.'

‘I think you saw me earlier on, as you walked to the house. I was in my car.' He pointed. ‘You passed by. I have been sitting there the whole morning, watching the house. Who is the man? There is a man with Penelope, isn't there? You must have seen him. He was with her, wasn't he?'

‘What man?'

‘Not at all her type, but he is clearly allowed access. Something I am not. Not any longer.' The young man spoke bitterly. ‘He had dark glasses on but took them off. Brown hair, round eyes, shining upper lip. She opened the door for him—that was earlier on, a couple of minutes before you came. He is there, isn't he? In the house. He hasn't come out yet, so he must still be inside. Didn't you meet him? Didn't she introduce him to you?'

‘No. I didn't meet anyone. Lady Tradescant said she was alone in the house.' That slamming door. There had been somebody there. Antonia was sure of it, though she decided to say nothing about it.

The young man passed his hand over his face. ‘Sorry. You probably think I am mad. I haven't been very well. I want to know what Penelope's doing. So much has been happening. Do you know Penelope well? I haven't seen you before.'

‘No, I don't know her very well,' Antonia said.

‘Who were those two men I saw go into the house ten minutes ago? Did Penelope introduce them to you? Sorry. I don't suppose firing questions at you will endear me to you, will it?'

‘Did you say you were a friend of Lady Tradescant's?'

‘Well, I was
much
more than a friend, but things—things seem to have changed. Not my fault. I've done nothing. I don't know why she turned against me. My name is Victor Levant. I am the son of their housekeeper. The Tradescants' late housekeeper.'

‘You are Mrs Mowbray's son?' Antonia looked at him with interest.

‘Yes. Did you know my mother?'

‘I didn't. But I have—heard about her. I know she—she died. I am sorry.'

‘My mother died last week. That's when things started going wrong. I don't really understand it. There was a terrible accident. Did Penelope mention the accident?'

‘No. I read about it in the paper. I am so sorry.'

‘May I talk to you? My car is over there.
Please.
We could sit inside.' He pointed. His car was some distance down the street. ‘I need to talk to someone. I don't know anybody in England. Only Penelope—and now she's turned against me! You look like a very nice woman. I am sure I can trust you.'

‘You should do nothing of the sort.' Antonia smiled. ‘Appearances can be extremely deceptive.'

‘I've been sitting in my car, watching the house, waiting for Penelope to appear, only she refuses to speak to me. She tells me to go away. I don't know what I've done. I really don't.' The young man's voice shook. ‘Everything was fine and then she—she suddenly changed. Shall we go to my car?'

‘OK, let's go to your car.' Antonia didn't think he was dangerous. She didn't think he was deranged, just very young, very upset, very confused and, clearly, extremely unhappy. He didn't seem to have had much sleep recently, poor boy, judging by his drawn pale face and bloodshot eyes. ‘I am sorry about your mother,' she said after they got inside the car.

‘It was terrible, the way she died, but I hardly knew her. Not at all in fact. As it happens, we were reunited only a couple of months ago.'

‘You have lived abroad of course. Your accent …?'

‘Canadian. I was given away for adoption when I was a baby, you see, so I spent most of my life abroad. Canada. My adoptive parents were very nice people. I don't think my mother—my real mother—was a very nice person. Would you like a cigarette?' He produced a packet. ‘I'll have to smoke, hope you don't mind. Very few people in England smoke, I notice.'

‘No, thank you. You go ahead. I am used to it.' She watched him light a cigarette. ‘My husband smokes. He smokes a pipe and occasionally cigars.'

Vic Levant said, ‘You see, my mother—the one who died—didn't want any children. She gave birth to a number of children, a great number of children, but she gave them all away. She kept producing children and giving them away. She gave us all away. Got a lot of money for us.'

‘Oh dear. Do you know your real father?'

‘No. I don't think I'd have had much to say to him. He was all for it, apparently. It was my mother's idea, but he went along with it. Children for sale. He encouraged my mother to produce as many as she could.' Vic drew on his cigarette. ‘I only came to England last year. My adoptive parents are both dead now. As I said, they were very nice people. I sought my mother out, don't know why.'

Antonia looked at him. ‘Was that how you met Penelope?'

‘Yes … She was at the house that day … That was the best thing that ever happened to me … She was so sweet.' Suddenly his features hardened. ‘She let those two men in. I saw them go in. She's been seeing other men. I saw her talk to a black man. And there was the one she let in. I know I am right to be jealous. I don't know what's happening. I really don't. I thought we were good together, but then it all changed so suddenly. Overnight, literally … I wonder if it's my fault … It happened on the day her husband died … I'm not making much sense, am I? She suddenly said she didn't want to see me any more!'

‘Did she give you any reason?'

‘She said it wasn't safe. She said we mustn't be seen together. She said we mustn't see each other. She said I might get into trouble with the police—because of what happened to her husband. That was nonsense of course—I was nowhere near her husband when he died. She then said she needed time to think. She came up with all sorts of excuses! She said we'd better not see each other till after the funeral at least—I am sure you know her husband died?'

‘I do.'

‘Those two men—you saw them, didn't you? You must have seen them! You were still with her when they went in, weren't you?'

‘I was, yes. I saw them.'

‘Oh—there they are!' Vic pointed. ‘Coming out of the house.'

They watched the two men walk up to a car that had been parked at the other end of the street.

‘Both are dark … She likes dark men. She told me.'

‘Those are policemen, Mr Levant.'

‘Policemen?
' He stared at her. ‘Are you sure?'

‘I am sure.'

‘What did they want from her? They don't think she—that she had anything to do with her husband's death? She couldn't have. She was nowhere near Mayholme Manor that day. She was at Heathrow when she got the call.'

‘You were with her?'

‘Yes! Somebody phoned her from Mayholme Manor and told her Sir Seymour had died. The Master. She'd asked me to see her off. She was on her way to the South of France.'

‘Well, that eliminates both of you from the suspects' list then,' Antonia said lightly.

‘Did the police think it was me who killed Sir Seymour? Was it me they wanted to talk to Penelope about?'

‘No. It's nothing like that. You are being paranoid now. I don't think they know you exist. Besides, no one's suggested yet that Sir Seymour's been killed. You have nothing to fear. Did you say you went to Heathrow only to see her off? You weren't going to the South of France with her then?'

‘No. I wanted to go, but she said no. She said she didn't want people to start gossiping. Anyway, she never went to the South of France. She had to come back. She had to go to Mayholme Manor. Are you sure the police don't suspect Penelope of having something to do with her husband's death?'

‘Positive, Mr Levant. They never mentioned Sir Seymour's death.'

‘What did they want then?' Vic persisted.

Antonia hesitated. ‘Well, they seem to think she had something to do with your mother's death.'