Murder in Outline

by Anne Morice

  “No, but don’t be too depressed. Convictions are not necessarily less admirable for being misguided or different from our own.”

  “I know that, but it would still mean that he had been deceiving everyone all these years and that’s the horrid part. He would still be a fake.”

  “So it’s deadlock, is it?”

  “Looks like it. No choice but to retire from the fray and admit defeat; and I don’t much care for that either. Specially when you remember that poor Hattie was only seventeen and all she’d done was tell the truth, in her own peculiar fashion.”

  “Never mind,” Robin said. “I’m sure something else will soon turn up to divert your mind from all this. You might even land that part in the serial your agent has been angling for. In the meantime, I’ll take you out to dinner, somewhere very posh, and you can quiz the waiter about the ingredients of all the sauces and forget your troubles for one evening.”

  Perhaps this lighthearted dismissal of the problem was all the spur I needed, for, paradoxically, the next morning found me just as keen as ever to dig out the truth and, before I had even begun to consider ways and means, an opening of sorts presented itself.

  I was looking down the end page of my diary, which is reserved for ex-directory telephone numbers, when my eye was caught by the last entry of all, which was Belinda Jameson’s. Tina had given it to me before I left Gillsford and had also explained that after the bankruptcy and death of her husband Mrs. Jameson had become so sickened by all the people who rang up claiming to be journalists or creditors that when she moved to new and cheaper premises she had not had the number listed.

  So, after I had done a little work on my agent, which consisted of coercing her into doing a little extra-mural work for me, I rang Mrs. Jameson’s number. She answered herself and, having told me that Belinda had gone out for an hour or two, suggested I should leave a message.

  So I identified myself and explained about having been a judge at the drama competition, adding that I had some information which Belinda might find useful, but that since I would prefer to obtain her own approval before passing it on, would like to call on her right away.

  I think I must have begun to sound dangerously like a journalist or creditor by this time, because she became evasive, saying that she was sorry, but . . . oh well . . . yes, she supposed it would be all right, but the place was in an awful mess and she had to go out herself fairly soon. I promised not to take up more than ten minutes of her time and rang off before she could change her mind.

  (2)

  The place certainly was in an awful mess, although Mrs. Jameson could hardly be blamed for that. It was a small maisonette above a greengrocer’s shop off the Edgware Road, cramped and shabby, with a strong smell of cabbage permeating every corner, which was probably endemic during the summer, when windows were open; but the worst mess of all had been created by Belinda’s recent homecoming. Her trunk, half unpacked and with clothes, records and books spilling out of it, half filled the tiny hall, nearly all the remaining space being cluttered up by half a dozen carrier bags, so crammed with miscellaneous objects that some had literally burst at the seams.

  It reminded me so vividly of my own arrival home at the end of my last term at Waterside and of the less than ecstatic expression on my mother’s face when her beloved, with all her possessions, had been restored to her for the foreseeable future.

  “You must be a very indulgent parent,” I remarked, as we threaded our way through this mountainous rag-bag to the tiny sitting room. “My mother would have had several fits if I’d gone gallivanting off and left her with this lot to cope with.”

  Visualising her in my mind, as one does with people one has spoken to, but never met, I had created a picture of a rather faded middle-aged woman, prematurely aged by life’s blows and buffets, but in no way at all did Mrs. Jameson measure up to this pathetic image. She was rather bold-looking, with extremely well-cut platinum-coloured hair and, even allowing for the feet that she had had half an hour to prepare herself, her clothes and make-up were of a startlingly high order. She also looked years younger than I had expected and I put her down as good-natured and rather stupid, a verdict which was not amended by a glance at the title on the paperback novel which lay open and face downward on the arm of a chair.

  “It’s not Belinda I blame, it’s that old Mrs. Patterson,” she said. “When you think of the fuss there used to be about their luggage at the beginning of term, all those lists of things to take back, half of them unnecessary and never worn, and then three months later they come back in this state. Disgusting, really.”

  “They’re a bit upset there at present,” I told her. “They’ve had some trouble, as you’ve probably gathered.”

  “Yes, I know, that’s why they came home early. One of the girls committed suicide, didn’t she? Not very nice, is it? I’m beginning to think it’s not altogether a bad thing Lindy won’t be going back there.”

  “The Coroner gave it as death by misadventure.”

  “Oh, I know. I saw that in the paper this morning, but Lindy said it was just eyewash. All the girls knew she’d done it purposely and they weren’t all that surprised either. Would you care for some tea, by the way? I never touch the stuff myself, but I can soon rustle up some, if you’d like it?”

  “No, thanks awfully. I’m interested to hear you say they weren’t surprised. I only met her once or twice, but she struck me as a very cheerful type.”

  “Really? Well, Lindy says she never could make out what she was doing at Waterside at all. She couldn’t act and she couldn’t sing or dance and her parents didn’t seem to bother themselves much about her, so she must have felt a bit of a misfit, poor thing. Not like my old Lindy. She was always very popular and she walked off with all the prizes.”

  “Yes, I know, I’ve been meaning to congratulate you. She’s very gifted.”

  “Thanks. It’s nice to hear that, specially from a pro. And she’s not gallivanting, by the way, she’s gone after a job. Which reminds me: if you’ve something to tell me which you don’t want her to hear, perhaps we ought to get started? She could be back any time now.”

  “Strangely enough, a job is exactly what I’ve come about.”

  “There now! I had a feeling it might be something of the kind.”

  “That was why it was essential to see you as soon as possible. They’re auditioning at Her Majesty’s tomorrow for a big new American musical. It opens with the original Broadway cast, so it’s only for understudies, unfortunately, but if it runs they’ll change the cast and there are several juvenile parts, so it might lead to something really good.”

  “Well, it’s certainly kind of you to go to all this trouble, but the thing is, you see . . .”

  “I’ve done a bit more than that,” I said, all eagerness to get the full Lady Bountiful story out before her daughter returned. “I’ve made a deal with my agent and she’s perfectly willing to give Belinda a letter of introduction, on my recommendation. She wouldn’t expect commission, or anything like that.”

  “Well, as I say, it’s very kind of you, and I know she’ll be grateful and all that, but . . .”

  It was dawning on me that this was not quite the rapturous reception I had been anticipating and I said less confidently:

  “Of course, if this interview she’s gone for now is going to lead to something better . . . ?”

  “Goodness, no, it’s nothing like that at all. She just wants to raise some cash, you see, and all the big stores start their summer sales next week. They don’t all come on at the same time though, so if you’re lucky you can move from one to another and be in work for the whole month.”

  I was appalled to hear this, for a friend of mine had once worked as a sales assistant during the peak Christmas period and she had told me that after three days of it she was near to collapse. I began to realise how justified Madam and Co. were in their opposition to Connie and why they had become so despairing under her rule.

  “Forgive m
y saying so, Mrs. Jameson, but wouldn’t it be a good idea for her at least to have a shot at this audition? It would be much more in her line than working in a shop and, if she did get taken on, the salary would be better too. There’s always the remote chance that it might flop, but she’d still be getting experience and, with any luck, it could run for months, or even years.”

  “Yes, well, that’s the snag, you see.”

  “Oh, is it? Why?”

  “Please don’t think I’m carping because I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but if she did get a part in this musical, they wouldn’t want her to drop out after six or seven weeks, would they? I mean, there wouldn’t be any chance that they’d engage her on that basis?”

  “No chance at all. The initial contract would most likely be for a minimum of six months.”

  “Yes, well, that’s what you’d call the snag. You see, what Lindy’s got in mind is five or six weeks’ holiday job. She doesn’t care what it is, so long as she can raise some cash and so long as it’s temporary.”

  “And then what?” I asked, thoroughly bemused. “And then she’s going to try for one of these music and drama schools. This Madam person has so dinned it into her that she needs at least another year’s training that she’s dead set on the idea now. That’s why she needs the extra money; for the fees.”

  I was so shocked by this revelation that I barely paused to consider my words:

  “But that’s awful, Mrs. Jameson, really awful! I mean, I do realise that things have been rather hard for you both lately. Well, when one spends three or four days at Waterside, as I just have, one can’t avoid picking up stray bits of news and gossip, but I really had no idea the situation was as bad as that.”

  “No need to be upset about it, my dear. We manage all right, on the whole. I’ve got a fairly decent part-time job and a small income of my own I managed to save from the wreck. We’ll be able to rub along until Lindy starts earning. It’s just these extras that we can’t stretch to.”

  “I’m not quite with you,” I said, this being an understatement. “You seem to be saying that things haven’t got any worse for you and yet at the same time it’s necessary for her to slog away like this to earn some money. I realise it’s none of my business, but I shouldn’t have thought that the expenses of a London school, when she’ll be living at home, would be anything like the fees you’ve been paying up till now. They would probably barely cover the Waterside extras.”

  “You’re right,” Mrs. Jameson said, getting up from her chair and moving to the window. “They wouldn’t be anything at all like I’ve been paying up to now.”

  Matters were becoming more mystifying by the minute, for she then proceeded to behave in a most peculiar fashion. First she leant out of the window, turning her head to left and right and then, evidently satisfied with her panoramic view of the street, went into the hall and stumbled through the clutter to the front door. I saw her open it and stand listening intently for a few seconds, before closing it again, returning to her chair and sitting down.

  “Sorry about that,” she explained, “but I had to make sure Lindy wasn’t on her way in. It wouldn’t do for her to overhear this. She’s terribly sensitive on the subject, poor kid. It’s not that she minds being hard up. In fact, sometimes I think she gets quite a kick out of it. You know, winning through and coming out on top, in spite of it. And she doesn’t mind accepting all those nice presents from the other girls either. She sees that as all in the line of friendship and she’s sometimes able to give them little things in return, which makes it all right. What she can’t stand, has a real old phobia about, is anything she sees as charity.”

  “What do you mean by charity?” I asked. “Surely she wouldn’t class my small offer in that category?”

  “Oh, good heavens no, my dear. I wasn’t referring to you. It was about the school fees. You see, for the last three years, ever since my husband died, I haven’t paid a single penny; not for the fees nor the extras either.”

  “Oh, I see,” I said untruthfully. “There was some kind of charitable trust who . . .”

  “No, there wasn’t; not unless you’d call Mrs. Bland a charitable trust, which could be one way of looking at it, I suppose. Doling it out to the starving orphans on her own terms, sort of thing. No, to be fair, she’s been very good, in her way. When my husband died I told her I couldn’t afford to keep Lindy on there any more and she wrote back saying there was no reason why the child should suffer for something that wasn’t her fault and she’d be willing to waive the fees until I was back on my feet.”

  “That wasn’t bad!”

  “No, you’re right. In fact, at the time I was over the moon. She even said she’d had such good reports of Lindy’s work that she knew she’d turn out to be a credit to the school, so I mustn’t think the debt was all on my side. I thought that was really good of her. I’d have walked barefoot across the Sahara at that point, if she’d asked me to.”

  “But since then?”

  “I’ve learnt that there are other ways of paying besides money. It turned into charity, after all, and she seemed to think it gave her the right to dictate to me on every subject under the sun. I was giving Lindy too much pocket money; some of her clothes were unsuitable; she oughtn’t to wear all that make-up. On and on, you name it! And it didn’t stop there either. She started interfering in things right outside her sphere. Only a week or two back I got this long screed saying I ought to give more supervision to Lindy during the holidays, that she knew it was hard for me, having to go out to work and so on, but I must try and exert more control. Damn cheek, really, and I felt like telling her to go to hell and mind her own business.”

  “But you didn’t?”

  “No, when I’d cooled off a bit, I could see that Lindy would be the one to suffer, although I might just as well have, as it’s turned out. Soon afterwards I got another letter, saying her accountants were making her cut down expenses and Lindy would have to go. Not quite as bald as that, but it’s what it amounted to and it’s left me in a right old fix. Personally, I agree with you, I think she’d do far better to go to this audition and at least find out how she compares with the other girls, but she’s had it so drummed into her during this last year how important it is to go on and finish her training that I’m afraid we’re stuck with it for the time being.”

  “I’d be the last to try and talk her out of it, if that’s what she’s set on,” I said, getting up, “but here’s my telephone number, in case she changes her mind.”

  “Thanks a lot and I honestly do appreciate what you’ve tried to do. That’s why I felt I owed it to you to let you in on the whole story, so you wouldn’t think us ungrateful. It’s funny about Lindy, you know; how people always do seem to rally round and lend a helping hand. She’s bound to land on her feet, however high she jumps.” She accompanied me to the front door, but closed it behind me as soon as we had said goodbye and I had the feeling that she was deep in her armchair and her book again before I was back among the apples and tomatoes. I had been resigned to walking at least as far as the main road before finding a taxi, but in fact one drew up at the kerb as promptly as though it had been waiting in the wings. A girl got out and put two carrier bags down on the pavement while she paid the driver. She then turned and smiled briefly at me, before gathering up her load and walking away.

  I did not believe it to be a smile of recognition and, although it was the second time we had come face to face, I might not have recognised her either, in any other surroundings. She had been so shy and demure, in her blue and white print dress, on that first occasion, bobbing her curtsey and murmuring her thanks with downcast eyes, as I handed her the silver cup. In the five days which had elapsed she seemed to have aged by as many years and she looked so confident, so light-footed and so happy that she might have been Pippa passing.

  I drove back to Beacon Square, feeling curiously uneasy and apprehensive.

  TWENTY

  (1)

  “If it’
s any consolation to you,” Robin said at dinner that evening, “Dexter isn’t altogether satisfied with the verdict either. Not that he’s ever been known to be completely satisfied about anything, one should add.”

  “How do you know he isn’t?”

  “He came to see me this afternoon. It was his day off. You wouldn’t have thought so by the way he was spending it.”

  “What doesn’t he like about the verdict?”

  “He can’t entirely accept the feasibility of swallowing sodium nitrate by mistake. If she’d been working in a lab, for instance, something of the kind could conceivably have occurred, but advanced science doesn’t figure very prominently on the Waterside curriculum.”

  “Does that mean that he now veers to the suicide theory?”

  “I gather not, since there hasn’t been a shred of evidence that she ever threatened such a thing or was in any way neurotic.”

  “Apart from Vera’s, of course.”

  “Which, as you’ll recall, he was not privileged to hear.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “No, and I doubt if it would have made much difference. Probably Vera would now deny every word of it and, if she didn’t, Dexter would discount most of what she said. He is inclined to distrust emotional women. You, on the other hand . . .”

  “Me?”

  “He seems to have been rather impressed by your evidence. He put you down as an observant and reliable witness.”

  “Good! Is he going to take it any further?”

  “No, it’s out of his hands now and he lacks the authority, in every sense, to press for a reopening of the case.”

  “So why did he come to see you?”

  “Oh, that wasn’t the only topic we discussed. We touched on a number of unrelated matters too, but I got the impression that he wanted to get this one off his chest before it was finally buried.”