‘Edward Culworth,’ said Maggie.
‘Mr Edward Culworth,’ said Dr Salt, looking grave and sounding fatuous. ‘They don’t know where he is.’
‘Really – and ought they to? I mean, is there something wrong with him?’ Mr Dews twinkled from Maggie to Alan.
‘No,’ said Alan bluntly. ‘Let’s forget it.’
‘Then do sit down, everybody. At least we can have a quick little drink. Miss Culworth?’ He was now leading them to a table, and by the time they were all sitting down he knew what they wanted to drink. ‘George – a gin and tonic, two Scotches and water – and the usual for me.’ He looked round the table. ‘Campari and vodka. Have you ever tried it?’
‘I could never live up to it,’ said Dr Salt.
‘Now you’re being satirical, Dr Salt. But don’t you like our bar, Miss – er – Culworth?’
‘It’s delightful.’
‘We think so. And you should have seen it when I first took over, three years ago. Like a miners’ canteen. I nearly went out of my tiny mind. Cigarette, anybody? Oh – thank you, George. Well, cheers, dears!’
As they drank, Maggie looked across the table and saw that Alan’s eyes, dark at any time, were now black with resentment and misery. And she still felt small, drab, dull, and she was angry with Dr Salt, disappointed in him too. He should never have brought them here. And, anyhow, he seemed to be behaving like an idiot, as if this Fabrics Club had gone to his head.
‘Well, now, what can I do for you, Dr Salt? Do you want to become a member? We have two doctor members – but they’re connected with the works—’
‘Who are they?’
‘Dr Bennett. You must know him—’
‘Oh – yes. One of Birkden’s bastions. And the other?’
‘A Dr Lemmert. He’s fairly new—’
‘I think I’ve heard the name, Mr Dews.’
‘Now I must tell you – and I know it’s all very tedious and tiresome – that you have to be proposed and seconded by two United Fabrics people on the executive level. But then you must know some of them, Dr Salt.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t, Mr Dews.’ He produced an apologetic little smile. ‘My practice was well below the executive level. However, I don’t want to join the Club. I’m leaving Birkden.’
‘Lucky you! Not that I see much of the place, toiling here the whole time. But how can I help you, then? There must be something.’
‘There is, Mr Dews.’ Dr Salt had now an air of earnest simplicity that set Maggie wondering. ‘It’s a little medical problem I ought to tackle before I leave Birkden. I’m trying to trace a patient of mine – a young girl called Noreen Wilks – and I’m told she used to come here—’
‘Yes, of course. I remember Noreen. Quite a pretty girl, though not very smart, not very bright – rather common, really. But I haven’t seen her for weeks, you know.’
Dr Salt nodded. ‘Nobody seems to have seen her since September 12th, Mr Dews. But on that night, I believe, she came to a party here.’
‘Did she? I can’t remember. There’s so much to-ing and fro-ing here, as you can imagine. But we can soon find out if she did, Dr Salt. You see – party or no party – everybody who isn’t a member must be signed in. It’s our strictest rule, Doctor – absolutely cast-iron. And, of course, little Noreen isn’t a member. So if she was here that night, she’ll be in the Book. And we must look and see, mustn’t we? I hope this isn’t too boring for you, Miss – er – Culworth. Excuse me. George, have you the Book or have I?’
‘It’s here. Coming over.’ The book he brought to the table was about two feet square, rather thin, and bound in limp blue leather.
‘Now here we are – the Sacred Book.’ Dews opened it. ‘What date did you say, Dr Salt?’
‘September 12th.’
‘September 12th – September 12th. This is it – and as you quite rightly said, we had one of our dreadful parties that night. Look – all those impossible names. Customers, of course. Not that the parties really are dreadful – they’re quite good as parties go – but of course it’s a frantic amount of work for poor me. And it’s all a lot of salesmanship really – rather sordid, don’t you think? Well now, I can’t find a trace of little Noreen here. But please do check the list yourself.’
And Dr Salt did, very carefully. ‘No, Mr Dews. Her name’s not here.’
‘Definitely not, is it? I’m so sorry, Doctor. Evidently Noreen hadn’t been invited that night. And you do understand, don’t you, that I’ve nothing whatever to do with all that? I’m simply a kind of slave who has to make sure that the people who are invited – and the members, of course – are provided with sickening amounts of food and drink. But there it is. Noreen wasn’t here. Perhaps she’d already run off with somebody. She always seemed to me rather a flighty little thing—’
There he stopped, because somebody had arrived. She was an impressive smart type, wearing a rather severely cut suit, but of soft fine wool, darkish yellow, and a lighter yellow scarf. And then Maggie remembered her from that afternoon in the shop. This was Jill Frinton.
Mr Dews had jumped up. ‘Jill darling – you’re the very person we want—’
‘Hold it, Donald darling,’ said Miss Frinton, crisp and dry as a biscuit. ‘Do you have a message for me, George?’
‘Yes, Miss Frinton.’ The barman found a note and read from it. ‘Mr Linsdale’s secretary told me on the phone I was to tell you, if you came in, that Mr Linsdale will be ringing you at home tonight from New York.’
‘Thanks, George.’ She came towards their table. ‘Well, Donald darling, why am I the very person you want?’
‘I’ll explain in a moment, darling. But first, let me introduce Dr Salt – Miss Jill Frinton. Oh – I’m so sorry, Miss Culworth. This is—’
‘We’ve met before somewhere, haven’t we?’ said Miss Frinton, cutting in sharply.
‘Yes. In our bookshop at Hemton,’ said Maggie. ‘This is my brother Alan, who also happened to be in the shop that afternoon—’
‘Oh – well – you wouldn’t remember,’ Alan began.
‘Yes, I do.’ She awarded him a dazzling smile. She wouldn’t miss a trick, this one, Maggie told herself. Poor old Alan – now what?
‘You see, Jill darling,’ Dews told her, ‘Dr Salt’s been inquiring about your little Noreen Wilks—’
‘Not mine. I’m not having that.’
‘Do be co-operative, dear. We’re all trying to do our best to help Dr Salt. She was one of your assorted bits and pieces. And Dr Salt says she’s been missing since September 12th, one of our party nights. But she didn’t attend our party that night because her name’s not in the precious Book.’
‘You’ve looked, have you, Dr Salt?’ A sympathetic tone and smile for him.
‘Yes, Miss Frinton. A dead end here, I’m afraid.’ He sounded sad, defeated.
‘Oh – poor man! I’m sorry.’ Did she exchange a brilliant glance with Dews? Anyhow, Maggie could have slapped her.
‘Miss Frinton, I wonder,’ Dr Salt began, with an appealing look, ‘if you’d be kind enough to allow us to call on you later this evening – say, about nine o’clock? I promise not to take up much of your time. It would be a great favour.’
‘If you think I can be of any help, Dr Salt – why of course. I’ll have to be there, anyhow, to take my New York call. Nine o’clock will be splendid. I live at 6 Cadogan Mansions – it’s a big newish block of flats on the Hemton Road. And, anyhow, I’m in the phone book. Nine o’clock, then.’
‘Thank you so much. And thank you for the drink and for being so helpful, Mr Dews. Maggie – Alan – let’s go.’
Dr Salt said nothing to her and Alan until they reached the cars. ‘No talk now, please,’ he said briskly. ‘I want you to dine with me. Usually I cook for myself, but now there isn’t time. We’re not going to eat any of this hotel muck. I know a little place where they do nothing but simple grills, but they do them very well. I hope you’re hungry. Alan – keep close behind, as y
ou did coming here. I’ll drive slowly. It’s not an easy place to find.’
3
He drove back into the town and ended in a short street not far from the centre. The place looked like an ordinary house and not at all like a restaurant, though it had a small sign saying Pete’s Grills. Maggie had a wash and did her face in a bathroom on the first floor. Then she found the men sitting at one of two tables in a small room at the back. The other table was occupied by two fat men and a fat woman, who seemed to be eating, drinking, talking and roaring or screaming with laughter all at the same time. Pete was an oldish man with one arm and one eye and an enormous leathery face, rather like a retired pirate. He seemed to be a friend of Dr Salt’s.
‘What fillet steak I’ve got isn’t worth the money,’ he told them in a curious hoarse whisper, as if he had lost part of his voice as well as an eye and an arm. ‘I’d be robbing you. I’ve a chump chop or two – never without – but if you want to make me happy, as well as yourselves, you’ll ask me for three of my Special Mixed Grills. A green salad and a touch of cheese afterwards – eh?’ Now he concentrated on Maggie. ‘I’ve no licence, young lady – wicked, isn’t it? – but it just happens that last time he was here Dr Salt left a bottle of Burgundy behind – must have clean forgotten it—’
‘Hurry up and open it, Pete, and let it breathe,’ said Dr Salt. ‘And if Maisie’s baked any bread, rush it here with plenty of butter.’
‘Can do,’ Pete whispered. And off he went.
‘Knew him years ago – in Penang,’ said Dr Salt. He seemed to be closing, not opening a subject of talk. He slumped back in his chair and did not seem inclined to say anything else. Perhaps he was thinking about Penang.
Maggie saw that Alan was beginning to wriggle, as he nearly always did when he was feeling embarrassed. ‘What’s the matter, Alan?’
‘I was thinking about that visit of ours to the Club. Surely that was a complete dead loss, wasn’t it?’
‘I don’t know.’ Though, of course, she felt that it had been. ‘And, after all, you saw the Frinton girl again, didn’t you? Come on. I noticed you. Your eyes were sticking out of your head.’
‘No, they weren’t. And, anyhow, she was laughing at us. I’m sorry, Dr Salt, but she was – and so was that pansy manager – Dews.’
‘Then perhaps our visit wasn’t a complete dead loss,’ said Dr Salt mildly. ‘In point of fact, it was highly successful.’
They both stared at him. ‘I must say, I don’t see that,’ said Maggie.
‘You will when I talk to Miss Frinton. We shall make some headway tonight, you’ll see. Ah – Pete – bread and wine – not a bad first course.’ Pete had wheeled in a trolley. Maggie watched him, fascinated; he was quicker with one arm than most waiters were with two. She was hungry and the homemade bread was delicious. She realized that Dr Salt did not want to talk about the Club and Noreen Wilks and their lost father, so she asked him when he had been in Penang, though she couldn’t remember where Penang was. At least, she felt, this would head off Alan, who was in one of his rare awkward moods, probably because he had been made to look foolish in the presence of the dashing, handsome and detestable Frinton girl.
By asking questions throughout the meal (which was good) she was able to keep Dr Salt talking and Alan quiet. She learnt that Dr Salt, immediately after graduating, had served in Burma, and had then lived and worked in the New Territories, Hong Kong, in North Borneo, Penang and Singapore, and that this practice in Birkden, which he had now done with after seven years, was the first he had ever had in England. And at the end of the meal she was still wondering if he was stupid, clever or just odd.
CHAPTER SIX
Jill at Home
1
They had timed it nicely. It was only a minute or two after nine when Jill Frinton smilingly drew them into 6 Cadogan Mansions. She had changed, of course – she would – if only to make Maggie feel shabbier and drearier; and now she was wearing a long, high-necked, Chinese-style housecoat, mostly green but with a faded-red pattern on it, that would probably enslave Alan and blunt Dr Salt’s wits, if he really had any. Maggie was ready to hate her, but had to admit to herself that just as somebody to look at, this was an uncommonly handsome and attractive girl. She was very dark in a brilliant kind of way, and she had the bold but not bony features seen more often in drawings for expensive advertisements than in actual photographs. And – probably all set to make them look silly again – she was quite pleased to see them and, of course, damnably pleased with herself.
Maggie had also to admit that either Jill Frinton or some United Fabrics designer, probably another man she had on a string, knew what to do with a flat. The fairly large sitting room was done in soft yellows and browns with a few sharp accents of vermilion and black. The wages of sin – blast her – had paid off nicely here.
‘Very pleasant indeed,’ said Dr Salt, smiling at her. ‘You have excellent taste, Miss Frinton.’
‘Thank you, kind sir. But do sit down, everybody. Miss Culworth – a drink? Brandy? Whisky?’
‘Do you mind if I don’t?’ said Maggie, sweet and false. ‘I seem to have had so much tonight – and I’m not used to it.’
‘Sometimes I wish I wasn’t. Well – you men – whisky?’
Dr Salt said he would like a little whisky and water. And, of course, poor old Alan, who would have accepted wormwood from those fair hands, would have some too. And also, of course, now he followed her to the drinks table, to fetch and carry, or just to be closer to one of those dazzling smiles. Maggie looked at Dr Salt, rather a lump in a very low chair, and, to her surprise, he winked at her. He really was the oddest man.
‘Yes, it’s a charming room,’ said Dr Salt. This was after the drinks had been poured out and the four of them were sitting down. ‘And I’m very grateful for this chance of a talk. I shan’t be staying very long, by the way.’
‘Neither will I,’ said Maggie. Alan said nothing; no doubt he was ready to stay all night.
‘Then we mustn’t waste any time, must we?’ said Miss Frinton, with one of her smaller smiles. ‘I must warn you, though, Dr Salt, you won’t learn very much more from me than you did from Donald Dews and George, the barman.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Dr Salt, in his amiable sleepy manner. ‘I didn’t do badly out of them.’
‘You surprise me.’
‘Me too,’ said Alan. ‘When do we begin making the headway you mentioned?’
‘No, Alan—’ And Maggie frowned at him.
Miss Frinton looked amused, but said nothing.
‘When you’ve practised medicine as long as I have,’ Dr Salt began, still amiable and sleepy, ‘and among Chinese and Malays and Indians for years, you learn to be observant. And I’m afraid those fellows at the Fabrics Club are a pair of clumsy clots—’
Here he had to stop because Miss Frinton produced a genuine little shriek of laughter. ‘Oh – I’d love our Donald darling to hear you say that. He thinks he’s so clever and subtle.’
‘Well, he isn’t. It was a terrible performance,’ said Dr Salt severely. ‘An insult to anybody’s intelligence. I’m surprised at you two Culworths. Where have you been? A man marches into a club bar. He’s not a member. Nobody has to bother about him. He inquires about a young girl – also not a member, just an occasional guest. Instead of saying, “We don’t know and don’t care. Goodnight,” they serve drinks and produce the Club Book and fall over themselves being helpful. Why?’
‘Yes, of course – when you think about it,’ Maggie began.
‘Well – why?’ Alan cut in, not convinced.
Maggie glanced at Jill Frinton and saw that she was staring speculatively at Dr Salt, the whole look of her quite different now.
‘They were giving a performance, Culworth,’ Dr Salt told him. ‘And it was terrible.’ He looked at Jill Frinton. ‘They must have thought I was half-witted. To begin with, they were very clumsy liars. Now I’ve had to listen to a lot of lying. And I never watch faces. I look
at hands and listen very carefully to the tone and tempo of speech. When they’re deliberately lying, most people can’t maintain a steady tempo. When the big lie comes, either they hurry a little or slow down. There’s a change in tone too, though you may have to listen hard. With the early lies there’s a faint faint note of apology, a distant whine. With the later lies, when they feel they’re getting away with it, there’s a faint faint note of triumph, the impudence begins to show. Dews and his barman were so obvious, I could have yawned in their faces. Now let’s see what really happened tonight in that bar. I’m not boring you, am I, Miss Frinton?’
‘You know damned well you’re not.’
‘You’re beginning to show off, though,’ said Maggie.
‘No doubt I am, Maggie. I’d forgotten how a man has to guard against it, talking to good-looking women. However, you might remember, Maggie, that two hours ago you were beginning to think I was a complete ass. No, no – let’s leave that. Now – what really happened in that bar. As soon as I said who I was, the barman had to take his mind off me for a moment, to remember what he’d been told to do. He had to press a bell with his foot, a bell that rang in Dews’s office to tell him I was there. I didn’t see him press the bell, of course, but I could just hear it ringing in Dews’s office. Dews needed this signal so that he could telephone you, Miss Frinton. When he’d done that, he came into the bar. Now he had to do two things. He had to detain me there until you came. He had also to show me the Club Book and the list of guests for the party on September 12th. I couldn’t find Noreen Wilks there. That proved she hadn’t gone to the Club that night.’
‘Well,’ said Jill Frinton defiantly, ‘what’s wrong with that?’
‘First that he should want to show me the Book at all. Why this rigmarole for somebody who wasn’t even a member? Secondly, I wasn’t being shown the original page. It’s a book on the loose-leaf principle. What I was shown was a new page with Noreen Wilks left out. All the other names were there, of course. It was very well done, but I’d just time to notice that the ink was a little fresher than that on the following page. I already knew they’d started lying. After that performance with the Club Book – following the build-up they’d given to the Club rule about guests having to be signed in – remember? – I was certain Noreen Wilks had gone there that night. That may not interest you, Culworth, but it does me. So I couldn’t agree that the visit to the Club had been a complete dead loss.’
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