‘No. I’m not on duty. Monday is quite soon enough to tackle Mr Tagore, and I haven’t anything to say to Renshaw’s wife.’
Jane pursed her lips. ‘Very well,’ she said stiffly. ‘I just thought it might be a good opportunity.’
A twinge of contrition for his grumpiness came over him. It must be envy of the delightful aromas of coriander, cumin, chilli and ginger that were floating across from the Ceylonese family party. Their servants were busy unpacking dozens of tin boxes and pails of food and heating it on a collection of primus stoves they had set up. With a sigh, he selected another egg sandwich.
‘Anyway,’ he mumbled through a mouthful. ‘I know you too well. You’re just curious to find out how they know each other and it’s really none of our business.’
Jane laughed. ‘I suppose that’s true. But seriously, I’m certain her husband wouldn’t like it.’
They had finished the sandwiches when a fruit seller came past. De Silva stopped him and bought slices of fresh pineapple and mango chunks seasoned with chilli and lime. He popped a large chunk of mango in his mouth and savoured it. A dribble of saffron juice ran down his chin. Jane handed him a napkin. ‘Mop your chin, dear.’
Once the fruit was finished, he stood up. ‘Well, are you ready to go for this row?’
‘If you are, dear.’
She glanced in the direction of the kiosk. ‘Ah, Mr Tagore seems to have gone, but you’ll have to find something to say to Mrs Renshaw after all. She and her son are coming this way. Maybe we shouldn’t mention we’ve already seen them. She might think it unfriendly of me not to have gone over to say hello before. What a pity. It will have to be a mystery how she knows Ravindra Tagore.’
She beamed. ‘Why, Mrs Renshaw! What a nice surprise, and this must be your little boy. Have you been swimming, my dear? I hope it wasn’t too cold?’
Madeleine Renshaw’s fair hair was neat, but she raised a hand to brush an imaginary strand back from her face. As he greeted her, de Silva noticed that the hand trembled and a flush reddened her slim neck. ‘Mrs de Silva… Inspector. What a pleasure to see you.’
I don’t believe that for a moment, de Silva thought.
‘Are you just in town for the day?’ Jane asked.
‘Charles and Hamish and I are staying at the Crown tonight. Charles has some business here today and we plan to come to the cricket tomorrow.’
Jane smiled at Hamish who was hanging back. ‘My husband tells me you have a very clever bird,’ she said.
Hamish nodded shyly. ‘He’s called Jacko. He can say forty words already and I’m going to teach him lots more.’
‘How wonderful. I hope I can meet him one day.’
‘I wanted a dog but Mamma said I couldn’t have one, but now I think Jacko’s better.’
‘I’m afraid my husband dislikes dogs,’ said Madeleine.
There was a pause. ‘Well, it was very nice to see you,’ she said awkwardly.
‘Likewise. I expect we’ll meet again at the cricket tomorrow.’ Jane lowered her voice. ‘We have high hopes of Shanti’s sergeant. We call him Nuala’s secret weapon.’
‘There,’ Jane whispered as Madeleine Renshaw and her son walked away. ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it? She’s a perfectly pleasant woman. I feel sorry for her with that husband of hers.’
They packed away the remains of the picnic and de Silva stowed the hamper in the Morris’s trunk. Down on the lakeshore, he paid the boatman for an hour’s hire and he and Jane were soon out on the water. Rowing was harder work than it looked, he thought, as he pulled on the oars, trying to dip them in the water without splashing. Jane sat back on the cushioned seat opposite him, holding her blue parasol over her head for shade.
‘This is really very pleasant,’ she said with a smile.
‘Good. I’m glad you’re enjoying it.’
A gaggle of pygmy geese landed nearby and honked around in a circle, their heads bobbing. ‘Hoping for bread, I expect,’ Jane said. ‘What pretty little birds they are with that black and white plumage and their bright eyes.’
‘I’m afraid they’re out of luck.’
They lapsed into silence and de Silva’s thoughts drifted back to Madeleine Renshaw. If it had been Tagore she was talking with, did she know about his feud with her husband? Surely if she did, she would avoid the fellow? Or perhaps if she knew Tagore from her old life, she might have some idea she could influence him to drop his complaint?
He looked at the sun. Their hour must be almost up.
‘Shall we start back?’ asked Jane.
‘I suppose we should.’
‘I’d like to stop at St George’s on the way home if you don’t mind. I want to see the kneelers that have been completed. We needn’t stay long.’
‘Very well.’
**
The church was cool inside; the dark wood of the beamed roof gleamed richly against the white of the walls. In the apse, the late afternoon sun made the stained-glass windows glow with intensity, but the recessed windows flanking the nave were glazed with plain glass letting in plenty of light.
De Silva sat in one of the pews while Jane walked around studying the new kneelers and occasionally holding one up for him to admire.
When he had proposed to her and she accepted, he had soon realised that she would be deeply disappointed if their marriage was not recognised by her church and he came to the conclusion that it would not be impossible to accommodate his Buddhist philosophy with Christianity. He had never discussed this view outright with the vicar who conducted the service of blessing after the civil ceremony, but the man had the air of being someone who understood that the human spirit need not, necessarily, be confined by one creed. Man is capable of worshipping in many ways.
In any case, he had come to find his visits to this church very soothing. He enjoyed singing the hymns and the vicar kept his sermons short. However, he still preferred the profusion of flowers in the Buddhist temple; the stiff arrangements favoured by Florence Clutterbuck and her entourage weren’t quite the same. He also loved the aromas that intoxicated the senses and the tom-toms that set your blood racing, so he continued to go to the temple when he felt the need. He was pleased that, on occasion, Jane came with him.
The entrance door to the church creaked and he turned to see a wedge of lemon light fall across the floor. To his surprise, the man who came in was Ravindra Tagore. He seemed preoccupied and, at first, gave no sign of realising that he wasn’t alone.
A circular metal stand for candles stood under one of the aisle windows. Tagore went over to it, put some money in the box underneath, and took a candle. He touched the wick to one that was already alight and put his candle in one of the sconces. For a few moments, he stood with his head bowed.
De Silva was tempted to wait and see if he would leave afterwards. If so, he could avoid having to acknowledge him, but as Tagore finished his moment of silent contemplation, Jane noticed him. ‘Why, Mr Tagore,’ she said warmly. ‘Do you remember me? I was governess to the Macfarlane family in Colombo at one time. You used to visit their home quite often.’
De Silva edged to the end of his pew, hoping she wouldn’t engage Tagore in conversation for too long. Briefly, he looked confused then his face cleared. ‘Miss Hart! Of course I remember you. Is your home in Nuala now?’
‘Yes, my husband and I have lived here for some time.’
‘Ah, I had no idea you were married. My felicitations.’
‘Thank you. So what brings you to our little town, Mr Tagore?’
‘My mother’s death. My father died many years ago and I was their only child, so it is my duty to settle her affairs.’
‘I’m so sorry. It’s always a sad business when a parent dies.’
He nodded. ‘But she was very frail in the last few years. Life had become a burden she no longer relished.’
‘Is she buried in the churchyard here?’
‘Yes. She was a Christian as was my father. I do not have their faith,’ he added.
>
‘Yet you light a candle for your mother. I’m sure that would have made her happy.’
He shrugged. ‘I hope so. I’m afraid I wasn’t always the most attentive of sons.’ There was a pause. ‘Well,’ he resumed, ‘it’s a pleasure to see you again, but if you’ll excuse me…’
‘Of course, I’m sure you have a great deal to do. I was on the point of leaving myself.’
‘May I escort you somewhere?’
‘Thank you, but there’s no need. My husband is with me.’ She gestured to the pew where de Silva sat and Tagore stiffened. Wishing that Jane had not embroiled him in this meeting, de Silva stood up. He might as well be civil to the man. Snubbing him was likely to make him harder to deal with.
He extended a hand. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Tagore. I telephoned your hotel this morning and they told me you were out. I left a message saying I would be back at the police station on Monday if you wished to speak to me.’
Tagore flushed slightly. ‘That won’t be necessary now, Inspector. I return to Colombo in the morning. As you indicated, the matter we discussed needs to be dealt with in the proper manner. I feel I’ve done my part by reporting it to you. From henceforward, I’m content to rely on your judgement.’
De Silva frowned. This was a turn up for the book, as the British said. What had happened to the zealous young firebrand who confronted him yesterday?
‘Oh, what a pity you have to go,’ said Jane, breaking the silence. ‘We have our annual cricket match against Hatton tomorrow. Surely you can be spared for another day. There must be a lot of people who would like to see you before you leave.’
Tagore shook his head. ‘Apart from yourself, Mrs de Silva, I have no friends in Nuala. I visited infrequently when my mother was alive and then only to spend time with her.’
‘He looks troubled,’ Jane said as the door of the church closed after Tagore. ‘Don’t you think it’s odd he didn’t mention knowing Madeleine Renshaw? And he doesn’t appear to be much bothered about Gooptu anymore. That’s a real change of tune since yesterday, isn’t it?’
De Silva wasn’t sure what to think. This was an unexpected development; strange too when Tagore had, so recently, seemed passionate about the matter. And now he, de Silva, was saddled with this application for a warrant and the prospect of explaining himself to the assistant government agent. Had he been right about Madeleine Renshaw’s intervention? If so, she was a wilier creature than he’d thought.
He took his wife’s arm. ‘Odd, I agree, but don’t start reading too much into it, my dear. It won’t stop me pursuing the investigation either. Now, if you’ve finished here, shall we go home?’
Chapter 8
Saturday dawned clear and bright. As de Silva waited in the garden for Jane to come out, he breathed in the perfume of the rambling rose that smothered the trellis separating the garden from the driveway.
‘Here I am.’ Jane smiled as she twirled to show off her new dress – a navy silk with white polka dots. A navy picture hat with a matching trim and wrist-length white gloves completed the outfit.
He kissed her cheek. ‘You look very charming.’
‘Thank you, dear. You look very smart too.’
When he wasn’t in uniform, de Silva often wore Ceylonese dress for comfort but today he had chosen western-style clothes – cream trousers, a lightweight navy blazer and a white shirt. He offered her his arm. ‘Shall we go?’
Jane tied a scarf around her hat; the Morris purred down the drive and headed in the direction of the cricket ground.
A lot of people had already arrived and the refreshment tents and stalls were busy. They moved through the crowd for a while, pausing to greet friends and acquaintances, then Jane pinched his sleeve. ‘Here come the Clutterbucks.’
De Silva chuckled. ‘You must think of something nice to say to Florence.’
‘So must you.’
Florence Clutterbuck sailed towards them; her ample figure was encased in a flowery dress topped off by a hat in a shade of fuchsia pink that fought with her flushed cheeks. ‘Good morning,’ she fluted. ‘Such a beautiful day, isn’t it?’
De Silva smiled. ‘Indeed it is, ma’am. And even better if we win the match.’
‘Absolutely.’ Archie Clutterbuck joined them. He too looked hot in a linen suit and Panama hat. De Silva recognised the MCC tie. Clutterbuck bowed to Jane. ‘What a pleasure to see you, Mrs de Silva.’
They talked for a few moments then de Silva found that Clutterbuck had contrived to edge him out of earshot of the ladies. ‘Any progress with the Renshaw business?’ he asked quietly.
De Silva took a deep breath. This was a conversation he would rather not have today. He would eventually have to disclose that Tagore had backed off, but that left him in a tricky situation. Clutterbuck might well use that as a reason for turning down his application for a warrant. He’d need to explain as diplomatically as possible why he still wanted one and if the conversation went wrong, he’d rather it happened in private. He temporised.
‘Some progress, sir, but if you have no objection, I’d rather give you a full report on Monday.’
‘Certainly. Not a subject to discuss with the ladies around, eh? But no cause for serious concern, I hope?’
‘I trust not, sir.’
Clutterbuck glanced at his wife. ‘Good man,’ he muttered and turned to her as she and Jane joined them again.
‘Your wife and I have been talking about books, Inspector,’ she said. ‘Are you fond of detective novels too?’
‘I like to read, ma’am, but Jane is the expert on them. I prefer the classics.’
‘Ah, Miss Austen, Mr Dickens and so forth. Of course one read them all at school.’
‘Never been much of a reader myself,’ the assistant government agent remarked jovially. ‘Wisden and The Field more in my line.’
The Clutterbucks moved on to talk to someone else and Jane giggled. ‘Florence Clutterbuck never likes to be outdone.’
‘I didn’t mean it that way.’
‘I know that, but she didn’t.’
She shaded her eyes. ‘Look, there’s Sergeant Prasanna. We must go and say hello and wish him luck. The poor fellow looks anxious.’
Indeed he does, de Silva thought. Dressed ready to play in his cricket whites, the sergeant looked like nothing so much as a tethered deer that has just sighted a hungry leopard. A moment later, a bevy of middle-aged ladies dressed in splendid saris engulfed him.
‘Good afternoon, Inspector, sir. Good afternoon, Mrs de Silva.’
Turning, de Silva saw Constable Nadar, also dressed in cricket whites, with his wife and baby son. Nadar introduced them then nodded in the direction of his colleague. ‘Sergeant Prasanna has many aunties,’ he said with a grin.
De Silva chuckled. ‘Perhaps you ought to rescue him. I expect you’ll both be needed soon at the pavilion.’
Nadar nodded.
‘Do stay and talk to us, my dear,’ said Jane to his wife as he hurried away. She stroked the baby’s cheek, ‘What a dear little boy. I hope he’s good?’
The girl smiled shyly. ‘He cries a little, but not too much.’
‘Is your husband looking forward to the match?’
‘I think so, ma’am, but he is afraid he will let the side down. He is not so good at cricket as Sergeant Prasanna.’
‘Never mind that. The important thing is to take part.’
‘I hope so, ma’am.’
They chatted for a few minutes then Mrs Nadar took the baby and went to join her family.
The Clutterbucks had invited the de Silvas to join their party for lunch and it would have been impolite to refuse although it wasn’t the company de Silva would have chosen under the circumstances. Neither did he relish the prospect of another meal of British food. Dubiously, he studied the slices of ham and gelatinous pork pie on his plate. Tied up to his master’s chair leg, Darcy the Labrador licked his lips and snuffed the air. De Silva wondered if there was some way he could convey the contents of his pl
ate to the dog without being noticed. Clearly, Darcy would enjoy them far more than he was going to.
He heard a scraping of chairs and realised that the assistant government agent and the other men at the table were standing to greet someone. Hastily, he jumped up and saw that it was Madeleine Renshaw with Hamish beside her.
‘Is your husband here?’ Florence Clutterbuck asked when greetings had been exchanged. ‘You must both come and join us.’ She beckoned to one of the attendants who had served the meal and were now hovering to receive further orders. ‘Fetch more chairs.’
‘Please don’t trouble,’ Madeleine Renshaw said – awkwardly de Silva thought. ‘I’m not sure where my husband has got to. Hamish and I were just going to look for him.’
De Silva glanced at Hamish who was crouching on the floor petting Darcy. The dog seemed to be enjoying the attention, rolling onto his back with a happy groan for his stomach to be scratched. ‘Fond of dogs, eh, lad?’ Archie Clutterbuck asked genially.
Hamish nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’ He looked at his mother. ‘May I stay and play with him?’
‘Do let him, Mrs Renshaw,’ Florence said kindly. ‘Why don’t you sit down too?’ She fanned herself. ‘It’s very hot to be rushing around. I’ll send one of the servants to look for your husband and tell him where you are.’
‘Thank you, but I’d like to walk about for a while. But if Hamish won’t be a nuisance, it would be very kind if he could stay.’
‘No trouble at all. The cricket will be starting soon and he can sit with us until you come back. He might like to take Darcy for a little walk before then.’
Hamish beamed.
As he watched Madeleine Renshaw walk away, de Silva wondered why she was so reluctant to be saved a walk in the midday heat.
The servants brought out dishes of wobbly pink blancmange decorated with glacé cherries and slivers of angelica. To de Silva’s taste buds, the pudding was as bland as the rest of the meal but at least it was sweet.
The Inspector de Silva Mysteries Page 6