by TP Fielden
Guy approached his flatmate with caution. He’d grown to like Rupert, but the idea that he’d been planted in the flat to spy on him – or, at the very least, to watch him – rankled. True, when he arrived back in Britain he possessed secrets from his activities with the Count of Paris and the genial Teddy Dunlop, but did they, now the skies were full of planes, amount to anything much? Why had he been gifted this cuckoo in the nest?
‘Dancing tonight?’ said Rupe, nodding a welcome.
‘What?’
‘The Palais. Rodie sent you the tickets, remember?’
‘Damn! I’d forgotten all about it. Probably not. Look, if . . .’
‘If I were you, I would – she’s a tremendously valuable asset.’
‘She steals the possessions of dead people,’ said Guy crossly. ‘In Tangier they’d cut your hand off for that.’
Rupe lit a cigarette and let the match flutter into the Thames. ‘Be nice to her,’ he said in a low voice. ‘We need her.’
‘I’m not “we”. I don’t have much idea of what you’re up to, but whatever it is it’s not my game, Rupe. I have a palace job, not some cloak-and-dagger role with a nameless government agency. My days are filled coping with the weird errands I’m given without having to consort with criminals who, incidentally, could cost me my job if I was ever found in their company.’
‘That won’t happen,’ said Rupe with conviction. ‘So no need to worry about that. She wants to dance – take her.’
‘You take her if it’s that important.’
‘I’m not her type.’
‘So her type is a washed-up artist with a dicky heart and a sinecure of a job at the Palace? Not too many of those around – maybe she should cast her net a bit wider.’
‘Go on, Guy – she’s lovely. And a wonderful dancer, according to Lem.’
Guy tried his best to mask his irritation. ‘No,’ he said finally, ‘no. No dancing tonight. I want you to come and see my new studio – we can catch a bus or walk, your choice.’
‘Let’s walk. I’ve been sitting all day.’
The pair set off at a brisk pace across Parliament Square and along the Victoria Embankment, both glad of the exercise.
‘Making any progress with Suzy Easthampton?’ asked Rupe.
‘I’d love to know what your interest is in her. Is it the same as mine? That she may’ve had a hand in Ed Brampton’s murder?’
‘Not exactly. She comes under the heading of “foreign”, so “no” is the answer to your question. I’m more of a homebody myself.’
‘So you’re MI5, not MI6.’
‘Some might put it that way. I’m not one for labels personally.’
‘And you were put in our flat to watch me?’
‘It’s not quite like that. More a sort of protection.’
‘Am I in danger, then?’
‘I was asking you about the elusive Lady Easthampton.’ Rupe could deflect a question so easily. ‘But yes, you could be.’
Am I truly in danger, thought Guy, or is he just saying that? And if so – who exactly is the enemy? Do they think I know something I don’t? Are they fearful I might spill the beans about the cock-up in Tangier? Or is it closer to home – the Ed Brampton business? Are they coming after me like they went after him? Are they going to leave me on the floor of my office with a gun by my side that doesn’t belong to me?
Whoever ‘they’ may be?
Guy bit his lip, then reluctantly replied, ‘I went round to her flat.’
‘How on earth did you find that?’
‘First I dug out her husband, Lord Easthampton. He sang like the proverbial.’
‘Good Lord, you are catching on fast!’
‘A ten-pound note always helps. He gave me her address in Mayfair.’ He told the story of the doorman. ‘But I couldn’t get past the brute to knock on her door. And since I don’t have her telephone number, I’ve hit a bit of a brick wall. I don’t really know what to do next.’
‘There’s a way around that,’ said Rupe. They were marching past the brick colossus of Battersea Power Station, the clouds of smoke belching from the twin chimneys casting their shadows across the river.
‘There is?’
‘Your dance partner. Whisper sweetly in her ear at the Palais tonight and – open sesame! Although since it’s such a heavily guarded block I wouldn’t suggest going in yourself, just in case things go wrong. Best leave it to the professionals.’
‘Rodie? For heaven’s sake, Rupe, I’m doing my best to put as much distance between myself and that woman as I can – and here you are, dragging her back. I really can’t . . .’
‘Look,’ said Rupert, coming to a halt and turning to face Guy, ‘if I understand you correctly, you want to meet this Easthampton woman and grill her about Ed Brampton. Do you?’
‘Well, yes. But . . .’
‘There’s a war on. We’re all incredibly busy. If you feel the job’s important, get it done. I say again, Guy, it’s wartime. Certain rules have been suspended.’
‘No.’
They walked on. Soon they turned up from the river into the narrow intimacy of Tite Street.
‘Just up here,’ said Guy, pointing to a row of red-brick studio houses, their tall upper windows blinking at the sky. ‘I heard about this place from a friend.’ He let them both in. ‘I have the studio from lunchtime on – my landlord, Adrian Amberley, only paints in the morning.’
‘Very impressive,’ said Rupert impatiently, looking around and then at his watch. ‘Hadn’t you better be getting a move on? Don’t want to keep Rodie waiting.’
‘A pint in The Surprise first.’
An hour later the taxi dropped him at the roundabout and he joined the throng heading up Hammersmith Road to the Palais. Standing opposite the entrance was a barely recognisable Rodie, dressed far too extravagantly for a wartime hop. She was tapping her foot.
‘Did I keep you waiting? I’m sorry. I had to have a quick drink with Rupe.’
‘You – are – very – late,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘I – don’t – like – to – be – kept – waiting.’
‘Well, there was a bit of confusion. I thought we might . . .’
‘Come on!’ ordered Rodie, stepping into the traffic. ‘Got the tickets?’
‘Oh! I . . .’
‘Thought not. Come this way.’ Grabbing his wrist, she pulled him through the crowds and around a corner to the stage door. With a bright ‘Thanks, Nancy!’ she sailed through, Guy following like a dog on a lead. Behind them, the queue trailed back around the block. It would take an hour for them all to get in.
‘You seem to know all the right people,’ said Guy, cloaking his guilt with a compliment. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘We’re here to dance, sunshine. Let’s dance!’
The band was playing ‘Begin the Beguine’. Rusty from years without practice, Guy was forced to work hard to keep up with his partner, but he finally found the rhythm.
‘This is nice. Haven’t danced for years. You’re good. So am I, apparently.’ He swirled her round.
‘Wait till we get to the tango, mate, then we’ll see how nifty you are.’
‘Tango? I’ll be watching, not joining. My skills don’t go that far.’
‘Don’t sell yourself short. You’re doing all right.’
This is ridiculous, thought Guy. I’m not sure I should be here, and I certainly don’t want to be seen with this woman. How soon can we go?
The great barn-like room echoed with raucous shouts from the crowd, which seemed to be growing bigger by the minute. The band played ‘In the Mood’ twice in a row and still they yelled for more.
‘Never seen anything like this,’ Guy shouted breathlessly. ‘There must be a couple of thousand people here.’
‘Every night is their last,’ replied Rodie, gripping him tighter. ‘They all want one more dance before the ship sinks.’
Guy glanced over her shoulder at the pink faces and elaborate hairstyles. The crush of
dancers, the heat, the noise heightened the atmosphere. It made it hard to focus his thoughts.
‘Look, Rodie, there’s something I want to discuss . . .’
‘Discuss as much as you like – over dinner. Where are you taking me?’
‘Anywhere apart from The Dorchester. Apparently there are too many men there with loose mouths and wobbly chins – might put you off.’
‘You can take me to the fish-and-chip shop in Lisson Grove.’
They found a table near the bar and sat the next one out.
‘You know that job you did so brilliantly in Markham Street?’
‘I put everything back,’ she said defiantly, leaning back and looking at him.
‘No, it was a great job.’
‘I thought it was a waste of time.’
‘Something came out of it. In the end. I was very grateful for what you did.’
‘That’s a change of tune, Mr High-and-Mighty. Every time I see you, you’re giving me a lecture about what’s right and what’s wrong, and somehow it’s always me what’s wrong.’
‘Sorry, I can be a little hasty sometimes. Britain was a very different place when I left eight years ago. Times have changed – I must learn to change with them.’
‘That’s a bit more like it. Oh – listen, they’re playing “Jealousy”. Come on!’
‘Is that a tango? I’ve got a sore foot.’
‘Don’t be such a coward – come on!’
‘No, really I won’t. What I’m trying to do is get you to concentrate. I need you to do another Markham Street job. Did Rupe pay you?’
‘He told me to help myself. But because of you I had to put ’em back. Come on!’
‘No – sit, sit!’ He had to shout as the band ripped through the chorus of the song and the crowd started to shout of their jealousy in unison. ‘Another job. Will you?’
Rodie stuck her face in his.
‘Depends. Do you love me yet?’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘What’s the point in training you up to be a courtier if you can’t make a bit more of an effort?’ said Aggie next morning. There was a crunch of Glasgow granite in her voice. ‘Most people in your position would give their eye teeth to be in Buckingham Palace.’
‘Mm,’ said Guy.
‘Mr Lascelles will be wanting to see you. Not happy with the way things turned out with Queen Mary.’
‘Ah well.’
‘And what have you done about the parrot?’
‘A plan of action is under way,’ said Guy vaguely.
‘And another thing. Topsy wants a . . .’
Guy got up. ‘Just before I go upstairs for a carpeting – two carpetings – may I just ask you some questions about Ed Brampton? Our masters can wait.’
‘Ask away,’ replied Aggie, looking at him sideways. ‘I’ve told you all I know.’
‘What was Ed’s relationship really like with Sir Topham?’
‘Unhappy.’
‘Like me, he was employed to work for Lascelles, but he was doing jobs for Topsy as well.’
‘Yes.’
‘Many jobs? What did they entail?’
‘He was kept busy taking people out for drinks. And . . . other things. Occasionally bringing them to the Palace when there weren’t too many people about, showing them round. You know – like everybody does.’
‘Oh?’ said Guy. ‘I didn’t realise Buckingham Palace was now open to tourists to come and poke their noses around. Did he bring Lady Easthampton here?’
‘How do you know about her?’ Aggie’s expression had frozen.
‘Did he bring her into the Palace?’
‘Look,’ said Aggie, ‘you’re still new here. Sooner or later you’ll get the picture – when the cat’s away, the mice will play. Virtually everyone who works here brings in their friends to take a look around. I don’t know how many backsides have sat on the thrones in the Throne Room or picked up a stick and knighted somebody. Or helped themselves to a nip of something from a decanter. This palace doesn’t exist just for the people at the top, Mr Harford – we all have to get something extra from working here because the conditions are poor, the wages are low, people look down their noses at you, and there’s precious little thanks.’
‘Don’t think I hadn’t noticed.’
‘So people wander in and out – as guests, you understand – and Major Brampton could have brought anyone in. I wouldn’t know.’
‘You know about Lady Easthampton, though.’
‘Let’s change the subject,’ said Aggie, shaking her head as if to clear it. ‘Not only does the Master want to see you, but that man from the Coats Mission has been in, asking questions.’
‘Captain Broadbent? What about?’
‘He asked me what I know about someone called Ruby Carr.’
‘Rodie . . .’ corrected Guy automatically, before stopping himself. Well, the cat’s out of the bag now, they all know about her, why did I think it wouldn’t come out? ‘A friend of a friend,’ he said, trying not to think about their night in the heat and crush of the Hammersmith Palais. ‘Not directly connected with me, you understand.’
‘The captain said you were supposed to be helping him with Ed Brampton’s death. But that you were being . . . awkward. He said she had something to do with it, this Ruby. Who is she, exactly?’
‘Look,’ said Guy, running his hand through his hair, ‘this is getting completely out of hand. As far as Mr Lascelles is concerned, Ed’s death is past history. A sad loss and all that. But meantime this Broadbent, and old man Dighton, seem intent on keeping it alive. What’s it all about?’
‘Mr Harford!’ said Aggie, suddenly aggressive. ‘Why shouldn’t people ask questions when it looks like nobody’s trying very hard to clear up the mess. No questions being asked,’ said Aggie, shaking her head, ‘no questions being answered. And him such a fine fellow.’
‘I never asked,’ said Guy quietly. ‘Did you like him?’ It didn’t seem possible this angular spinster could like anybody.
‘He was . . . difficult,’ said Aggie slowly. ‘That old war wound didn’t improve his temper, and I think all the time he was here he felt he was on borrowed time – Topsy never allowed him to feel at home. Major Ed was never settled and that made him – irascible, is that the word? But underneath he had a heart of gold. More than can be said for that wife of his, I can tell you.’
‘Adelaide? What do you mean? I’ve known her a very long time, you know, and I wouldn’t have said . . .’
Aggie looked at him coldly. ‘Oh, you lot!’ she said contemptuously. ‘You all stick together, you toffs. You’ll never hear a word said against one of your own.’
‘Really, I don’t think . . .’
‘I can tell you this, Mr Harford, she was cold. Cold towards him. I think he only got that silly pash on the Queen because Mrs Brampton shut him out. It wouldn’t surprise me if she didn’t have something to do with his death.’
‘What? What on earth do you mean?’
‘She was on the shelf, you know. Mrs Brampton. Nobody wanted her till Major Brampton did the decent thing and proposed. If it wasn’t for him she’d be a spinster still – no children, no family, a Miss Whatsername doing good deeds and getting in everybody’s way like they all do.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Aggie. She’s a very practical woman – and doing her bit for the war effort.’ He wasn’t sure about this last bit – he hadn’t asked her. ‘True, I hadn’t seen her for a long time, but I can honestly say that she is one of the best . . .’
‘She had the children by him then shut him out. She’d got what she wanted. She hated the fact he only had one leg – he told me that. So I ask you this – if she hated his disability, why marry him?’
‘I think because she felt sorry for him,’ replied Guy quietly.
‘Far from it! She got her society wedding, she had her children, then she left him to go and live in the country. Leaving him to stew on his own in Chelsea. She had a boyfriend, you k
now – no names, no pack drill – and he got to hear about it.’
‘Adelaide? I don’t think so!’ protested Guy.
‘What would you know, Mr Harford? You’ve only been here five minutes! You have no real idea what goes on inside these palace railings. It wouldn’t surprise me if that didn’t have something directly to do with his death.’
‘She’s not the type to . . .’ he responded weakly. ‘And anyway, anyone with children who’s got any sense would get out of London before they found themselves under a pile of bricks – that’s why she left, not to have some hole-in-the-corner affair. No, you’ve got it all wrong!’
‘Have I, Mr Harford?’
‘For heaven’s sake, I’ve known her nearly all my life – I feel certain she could never be unfaithful.’
Did he? How well, actually, did he know the woman who’d been his childhood playmate? He turned to face Aggie, shocked by what she’d implied.
‘This is serious. Are you saying Adelaide Brampton caused her husband to kill himself? If so, you’d better speak up – there are people round here’ – he waved his hand vaguely – ‘who think it’s more complicated than that.’
‘I’ll say this. Everything seemed to be going along on an even keel until she suddenly left for the country. Major Ed said he didn’t know how she could suddenly up sticks without warning. After that, he was a very different man. A tragedy really. A tragedy.’
‘Do I get the feeling that you . . . admired Major Brampton?’
‘None of your business, Mr Harford. I don’t even know why we’re talking like this.’
‘Let me ask you something else then. I’ve been looking for Ed’s diary. I think – since people seem so determined to keep the investigation into his death alive – it may well contain the answer to the mystery. It wasn’t you who took it, was it?’
Aggie reddened. ‘Somebody came into this office without permission. Somebody! When the door was locked! They left . . . evidence.’ Aggie waved her finger at Guy’s desk. ‘All I’ll say is that Major Brampton’s diary was there before that somebody appeared, and it wasn’t there afterwards.’
What on earth could Rodie want with a diary? And why didn’t she tell me when we were spinning round to ‘In the Mood’ or afterwards in that fish-and-chip shop – why didn’t she say she’d pinched it? But rather than pursue this thought, Guy decided to switch tack.