Staging Death

by Judith Cutler

  The waitress was back with a cafetière. Ambrose’s love of fine tea more or less precluded him from drinking it at places like this, somewhere towards the bottom of the food chain.

  ‘There are more. I haven’t seen them. They may be dross. I’ll call them and see if I can go round.’

  ‘You’ll have to warn them that you look different.’

  I’d better warn them I’d have a new set of wheels, too. I could see all this was going to be very difficult. I’d got one group of friends who knew I was alive, if being kicked, rather than kicking; another group believed I was at death’s door. A third group of people – such as the Thorpes – would deserve a halfway decent explanation of my sudden resuscitation. And I’d have to remember which group was which, and act accordingly – and pray the groups wouldn’t at any point overlap. I’d promised Sandra when she phoned to check on me this morning that I wouldn’t explain even to the friends I could confide in the full reason for all my changes. As for Caddie, how could she promote the career of an actress who might not survive? My career must now be over. If it hadn’t been before, of course.

  Of course it was over. That was why I was here.

  For the first time in many years, I would have liked to slope off back to bed, and possibly never re-emerge.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘I was asking if you planned to change your wardrobe to match your new look,’ Ambrose said, with enough asperity to suggest I’d been away with the fairies for some time.

  ‘When I get round to it,’ I said lightly. Actually, I could scarcely wait to pop over to the dress exchange, but I needed a car for that. And some cash. Sandra admitted that they were erring on the side of caution, but they didn’t want me to use my existing credit or debit cards. In this modern sea of plastic, I was suddenly marooned on an old-fashioned island.

  He took my hand. ‘Vee, I’ve not heard that edge to your voice since you were with that bastard, Dale. How can I help? All you have to do is tell me. No strings, I promise.’

  If I’d nearly wept when Toby was kind to me, I was ready to howl now. My lip was trembling when a cheery tune announced that someone’s mobile wanted to take a call. And the bloody owner let it ring and ring.

  ‘I think you’ll find that’s yours, Vee,’ Am said, with maximum forbearance.

  ‘Oh, my God, so it is!’ All I had to do now was work out how to take the call.

  Ambrose jabbed a long index finger at a green button.

  I usually responded with a positive, Vena Burford. Now all I managed was a hesitant yes?

  ‘Are you all right, Vena? Martin Humpage here,’ he added.

  ‘Fine, Martin, thanks. Absolutely fine. It was the new phone’s technology that defeated me. And what my name should be,’ I added dryly.

  He snorted with laughter, but added seriously, ‘You had me worried there. Look, I think we should meet. There are things you need to know and things I need to know. It’s a lovely morning. Do you fancy a stroll round the castle? We could meet by the visitor centre.’

  Now why should a senior officer prefer to meet not just in the open but in as romantic a setting as you’d wish to come across? Common sense told me that he wished to avoid being seen anywhere near the safe house, and that we could talk without fear of being overheard. But there was something about the tone of his voice that made me very glad I hadn’t responded to Am as my basest instincts had briefly suggested.

  ‘I’ll see you in about half an hour, Mr Humpage,’ I said formally. Was that the Cut Call button? Yes, it seemed to be.

  Am’s eyebrows had gone up by at least an inch. ‘Tell!’

  ‘Just the policeman in charge of the case I’ve got involved in. More questions. Am, you’re an angel coming out to cheer me up when I know your shop should have been open half an hour ago. It was what I needed more than anything else. Honestly,’ I lied, as his left eyebrow shot up.

  He put his head on one side. ‘It’s an old friend’s privilege, darling. But I must tell you, I don’t believe a word. What you need is some new clothes, a new set of wheels, plenty of money in your purse – and a damned good time in bed. In whichever order.’

  I got up, kissing him on the cheek. ‘Right as always, darling. In whichever order.’

  Before I headed for the castle, I had to tell the Thorpes the good news. Somehow I made the phone work.

  ‘But we thought you were dead!’ Mr Thorpe declared. ‘It’s Lady Vena,’ he added in a stage whisper.

  ‘Not dead, silly, but in hospital,’ I heard her voice protest.

  ‘I’ll explain when I see you,’ I promised, crossing the fingers of my free hand behind my back. I’d have to think of some explanation, something Martin would approve. ‘I’ve got a new phone number by the way. Have you got something to write on? Here goes.’ I dictated it slowly, twice, and made him repeat it back. ‘Excellent. Now, I’ve got some good news for you. About your picture. The man with the poniard. Let’s just say I think you’ll be able to afford that bungalow.’

  ‘The bungalow? But that’s beyond our means, we’ve decided, haven’t we?’

  ‘It may not be. In fact – look, I’ll be round as soon as I can be. But my car’s out of action at the moment. Oh, and I look a bit different from when you last saw me.’

  ‘I thought you looked very lovely the way you were.’

  ‘Thank you. Now, promise me you won’t – either of you – say anything to anyone about the picture and affording the bungalow. Our secret. OK?’

  A great deal of chuntering at their end seemed to indicate that they agreed.

  ‘I’ll be with you as soon as I can,’ I promised.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Martin Humpage was already in Bray’s car park when I arrived, a few moments late. No more. I tried never to keep people waiting long, but hated hanging around myself.

  He had his back to me while he took a mobile call as I approached. He was looking very chic in a leather blouson jacket and well-cut trousers, which showed to perfection a very neat bum. I’ve always had a thing about neat bums – something to do with all those costume dramas, perhaps. No, don’t ask.

  Since he was obviously preoccupied, my brisk walk slowed to a dawdle, but at last I felt I ought to announce my presence, which I did by circling round to approach him from the front. He looked up, a faint smile softening features that were unwontedly stern.

  I mimed that I was happy to wait, and wandered off in the direction of the entrance, extracting my English Heritage membership card – not such an extravagance as it might sound, since I’d bought life membership in my flusher days.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Martin said impersonally, as if I were one of his underlings. Then his voice changed. ‘Vena, are you really OK?’

  I wanted to turn on him and ask him how he’d feel in my situation; I’d have enjoyed raging at someone. ‘Fine,’ I declared. ‘And how’s Karen?’

  ‘Still critical, but a marginal improvement, they think. And her parents are with her.’

  ‘Boyfriend?’

  ‘No boyfriend as far as I know. No, nor girlfriend, either.’

  Not wanting to push, but hoping to do some good, I said, ‘I have a very good friend who’s a parish priest near here. If I were in Karen’s place, there’s no one I’d rather have drop in. Ginnie Lench.’

  ‘I’ll see someone mentions it to Karen. Have you got her number?’

  ‘It should be on this phone. Oh, bloody technology! Why don’t they make all these things the same?’ I was ready to sling it across the car park.

  ‘Steady on!’

  I took a deep breath. ‘In my experience, Martin, if you’ve had a bit of an upset, you can deal with the big things. It’s the little ones that defeat you.’

  He nodded as if he was making an effort to understand the incomprehensible. ‘Could you use a coffee?’

  ‘I could use a walk in the sun,’ I said firmly. ‘There are things I need to ask you.’

  ‘And things I need to tell you. Unle
ss you’d like to stop off at the shop first and buy a sword and some chain mail?’ He nodded at a couple of kids indulging in a bit of living history.

  ‘Maybe on the way back,’ I said lightly. I wouldn’t scream about my penury till I was out of earshot of other visitors. ‘I haven’t been here for ages. You know how it is, you live half an hour away from a place but never bother going to see it. Now I’m based here in Kenilworth, I shall try and explore properly, especially parts I’ve not had the chance to see before. Fancy not having looked at the Elizabethan garden and aviary! Peering at them from the road’s not quite the same, is it?’

  ‘Not quite. You know they’ve restored the interior of the gatehouse. We could always—?’

  ‘Next time,’ I said, almost offhand. Did I mean that as a simple refusal or as a hint?

  ‘But for now the sun, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  We found a bench in a sheltered spot in the outer bailey, away from the school party that was re-enacting goodness knows what and a swarm of elderly couples apparently taking digital photos in unison. I could see why. The castle was never less than photogenic, and in this light it was positively magical.

  ‘I spent some time on the phone to your brother this morning,’ Martin said at last. ‘I think he now realises how important it is to keep proper records. I threatened him with foisting an undercover officer on him as an admin assistant. I’ve also had all the client files copied – those with enquiries, at least.’

  ‘Data protection,’ I murmured, ironically.

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘You know, I suspect that the couple I really liked – the Turovskys – may not have been staying in a hotel at all,’ I said, surprising myself. ‘Or not the Langham, anyway. All they’d need was a voice at the end of the phone. You might want to trace that number. Or, of course, now you’ve got the photo Heather took, you could show that to the Langham reception staff.’

  He grinned. ‘I’ll do both.’

  ‘But I don’t think you’re here for me to tell you how to do your job.’

  ‘I’m always willing to listen to good ideas. But I just wanted to know how you were getting on.’

  As if he couldn’t have asked Sandra.

  ‘I’m fine. A bit hamstrung because since I can’t use my credit and bank cards—’

  ‘Hamstrung as in stony broke?’

  ‘Exactly. But Sandra said she’d deal with them. And my house and contents insurance and everything.’

  ‘So I should hope. We have a duty of care to you, Vena. Has Sandra explained to you that you’re now officially an informant and that she is your handler?’

  ‘An informant?’ Years of training stopped me actually squeaking, but my voice wasn’t fully under control. ‘You mean a grass? A copper’s nark?’

  ‘You don’t have to be pejorative about it,’ he said mildly. ‘The moment you gave us all that information and put yourself at risk – a risk that became an actuality, when your fridge exploded round poor Karen – you became our responsibility. Financially we shall effectively pay you a wage, and not a bad one.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘As long as you can’t pursue your usual work. If you can carry on with your interior decor work for the Frenshams, and to show people round houses for your brother, that’s great. But your availability for other work – especially on the stage – must be sadly limited, and someone must make sure you don’t suffer because you’ve done your civic duty. And that someone is us. If you see what I mean,’ he added with an engaging grin.

  ‘I can’t believe this…I can’t take it all in.’

  ‘Whatever – within reason – you need, we have to fund it.’

  ‘A car?’ I ventured.

  ‘Not a Rolls, but a decent set of wheels. Though I think a hire car you can change every day is preferable at the moment. And a cycle – the SOCOs found the mangled remains of what looked like quite a nifty machine.’

  ‘And accommodation?’

  ‘You can stay in that flat as long as you need to. Or another place if you actually loathe it. It was only because Aldred House seemed far more secure – and very much nicer – than one of our safe houses that we thought it OK for you to stay there.’

  My brain had a lot to take in, so I made my mouth say, ‘To be honest, I can’t quite grasp what’s going on back at Aldred House – one minute I’m as welcome as the flowers that bloom in the spring—’

  ‘Tra-la!’ he sang, quoting The Mikado.

  ‘The next, I’m about as welcome as Katisha,’ I said, picking up the allusion and running with it. It was better than persisting with questions that made me sound more mercenary than flabbergasted. ‘I’d love to know why. And what Greta and Frederick have to do with it.’

  He stared at his feet and said totally without expression, ‘You’re blaming Greta and Frederick?’

  ‘Ah. You’ve heard the rumours about Toby and me. His wife has heard the same rumours – is that your thinking? I’m sure she has. And I’m sure Toby has told her exactly what I’d tell her. We have been fond of each other for years. Very fond. But no more. Never lovers, ever.’ He said nothing so I added, ‘Whenever I’ve been free, he’s been in a relationship, or vice versa. Much as I’ve sometimes been tempted, I don’t like to add adultery to my catalogue of sins. And if that sounds a bit heavy, a bit moral, then I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.’

  I heard him swallow. ‘I honour you for it. But do you think Ms Rusch would be convinced?’

  ‘She was my bestest friend only an hour before,’ I said in a little-girl voice. ‘Something, someone, seems to have flicked a switch, but not necessarily in her. It was Toby who came to give me the order of the boot.’

  ‘Possibly pushed by her – “she’s your friend, you do the dirty”?’

  ‘I had thought of that.’ I shrugged. ‘Well, as soon as they discover a snag in my plans for their interior decor, I’m sure I shall be summoned back, and all will be forgiven.’ I clicked my fingers, but not to indicate the speed of my return. ‘Ted. Ted Ashcroft. The head of security there. You should definitely talk to him. And see if he even knows that Frederick is on the premises. If he still is, of course. Mind you, he didn’t say anything about him to me and I gave him every opportunity to.’

  He made a note and we lapsed into silence. I raised my face to the sun.

  He seemed content to sit basking beside me. Half of me was delighted; the other half wouldn’t have taken it amiss if he’d been doing some vigorous crime-fighting – crimes against me at least.

  And then his phone rang. Only it wasn’t his, it was mine, wasn’t it? Drat the thing.

  ‘Lady Vena,’ came a familiar voice. ‘It’s about our pictures. I wonder if you might favour us with a visit. Immediately.’

  ‘I told you, Mr Thorpe, my car’s—’

  He cut the call.

  ‘We have to go,’ I said. ‘Now. To Wilmcote. Don’t ask, just run.’

  ‘We don’t have to get there ourselves, like Robin and Batman, Vena. I do have the odd officer at my disposal,’ he said with a wry smile.

  ‘Get a couple of them to Sloe Cottage, then. Fast. But we must get there too. The Thorpes thought they could trust me.’

  I attempted no more explanations till we were in his car and well on the way. I had no breath to spare, the rate we’d run, and I didn’t want to break his concentration. Not while he was manoeuvring between carelessly parked cars and aimless pedestrians. Not while he was giving instructions to someone on the other end of an imperfect radio. But at last – and we were already approaching the A46, the fastest if not the most direct route – he said mildly, ‘Now, would you like to tell me what’s wrong?’

  ‘Once I was on stage with a man having a heart attack. I didn’t realise how ill he was until I heard him speak. The vowels and consonants might have been the ones in the script, but they just didn’t sound anything like normal. So when I heard Mr Thorpe’s voice on the phone, I knew something was wrong, seriously wro
ng.’

  ‘Did I hear someone call you Lady Vena?’

  Why didn’t he just shut up and drive faster? ‘The Thorpes are a lovely old couple whose cottage I’m supposed to be selling. They are a mite confused. But not so confused that they were prepared to sell a valuable painting for £200 to a punter interested in buying their cottage. They asked for my advice, which was to take it down and replace it with an old print. Their painting’s actually worth a hundred times more than what they were offered.’ I paused to let him whistle, which he did, obligingly. ‘It’s currently in the hands of a friend of a friend, who happens to work at Birmingham University’s Barber Institute. So I think it’s pretty safe. What I’m afraid of is that whoever wanted to buy the picture has turned up again and isn’t pleased to find a tatty Victorian print in its place.’

  ‘Isn’t pleased as in…?’

  I tried to unclench my hands. ‘As in they’re two frail old people and I wouldn’t want them to find out the hard way. Martin, what if they get beaten up? It’s all my fault!’ My voice broke. All those years’ training and my voice broke.

  ‘I’ll get an ambulance out there too,’ he said.

  To my horror an ambulance was just pulling away as we arrived, but the blue light wasn’t flashing. An ordinary police car stood abandoned by the front door.

  Inside, there was little sign of anything wrong except a pile of broken china in the living room. Mrs Thorpe was making two bemused young police constables cups of coffee, occasionally breaking off to press biscuits on them.

  ‘Lady – no, it’s Dame Vena, isn’t it? I keep forgetting,’ Mr Thorpe, wandering into the room, greeted me.

  I was ready to weep with relief. ‘Just Vena, please. This is Detective Chief Inspector Humpage.’

  With his smile to die for, Martin flicked his ID, but they totally ignored him.

  ‘And what are you doing out of hospital, my dear? You should be resting,’ Mrs Thorpe declared, bustling out with more cups, still empty.

  ‘I didn’t tell them about the pictures in the attic,’ her husband said. ‘You told me not to and I didn’t. Shall I go and get them?’