‘Oh, no!’ Hilda said. ‘I mean, thank you, but – But it’s so late – ’
‘I have a better idea.’ Adèle’s eyes gleamed wickedly. ‘Why don’t we all get into the car and go for a nice drive?’
‘Drive? Now?’ Hilda couldn’t believe the suggestion had been made. ‘Drive where?’
‘Oh, just around.’ Adèle waved one hand in a descriptive circle. ‘No destination – unless we see a likely pub. Just a fun ride.’
‘I don’t think you’ll find a pub still open – ’ Lorinda began.
‘Just ride around? Fun?’ It was obvious that Hilda was shocked to the depths of her thrifty soul. ‘With no destination? Polluting the atmosphere? Destroying the environment? So wasteful … and extravagant.’
‘Not really,’ Adèle said. ‘I think of it as an investment. I do some of my best plotting when I’m riding around aimlessly. It frees my mind to soar.’
‘Then you can’t be paying proper attention to the road.’ Hilda’s gaze flicked to the dented bumper again. Not even a sworn affidavit would convince her that the damage had been done before Adele ever saw the car.
Was she right? When had Adele actually arrived in the country? Was it possible that she had been here for some time? Driving that car? Perhaps she had intended to visit Dorian earlier? Had she arrived in the village, tired and jetlagged – not paying proper attention, as Hilda had pointed out – accidentally hit the child and driven off in a panic? Later, having had time to reflect and feeling herself safe, she might have thought it less suspicious to revert to her original plan and visit Dorian. Then, having got away with it once, when she saw the opportunity of doing away with her rival … Except the result was working against her – but she could not have anticipated that – or even considered it, if she had acted on the spur of the moment. It was all vague and amorphous, but it would be interesting to get a look at Adèle’s passport and see the date stamped for her arrival.
‘Oh, look!’ Hilda, staring about wildly for an escape route, pointed at the edge of the circle of light from the street lamp. ‘Isn’t that your cat? What’s it doing? Has it seen a mouse?’
‘Oh, no!’ Lorinda followed the pointing finger to see the little tortoiseshell creeping out of the shadows, inching forward, her determined gaze fixed on her prey: the newly restored teddy bear she had intended for Lorinda.
‘Oh, but – but – no!’ Lorinda swooped on her delinquent darling. ‘No! No! No!’ Cuddling the cat in her arms, she explained, ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got a little pack rat here. She’s fixated on those tiny teddy bears. That’s why I was here. I was replacing one she’d, er, liberated. But she seems to object.’
‘Oh, bless her,’ Hilda cooed. ‘She wants it back.’
‘I know about cats like that.’ Adele viewed But-Known with a colder eye. ‘One of my friends has one – and no ring or earring is safe.’
‘Exactly. And this shrine isn’t safe, either. I’ll have to say goodnight now and take her home and secure the cat flap.’
‘I’ll walk along with you.’ Hilda seized her chance eagerly. ‘We go in the same direction.’
‘Goodnight.’ Adèle sketched a sardonic wave in their direction, fully aware of Hilda’s relief. ‘And sweet dreams!’
Chapter Eighteen
In the morning, But-Known still was not speaking to her. Had-I was also outraged by the locked cat flap. They ate their breakfast with wounded dignity, then retreated to the sofa for another nap. Not even the ring of the telephone disturbed them, although their ears twitched revealingly.
‘Lorinda, I have come to a decision,’ Gemma announced firmly, quite as though anyone had been disputing her. ‘I simply cannot go on this way. I am going to consult that hypnotist and Cressie Adair is not going to make a – a Saturnalia out of it!’
‘Cressie did get a bit carried away,’ Lorinda agreed. ‘But in view of, um, everything that’s happened, I’m sure she isn’t thinking about a big party any more.’
‘I should think not! It’s quite out of the question! But …’ Gemma hesitated. ‘I … I do feel I’d like some moral support. Now that Opal is … no longer with me.’
‘Of course.’ Lorinda had the uneasy feeling that she knew what was coming next.
‘So, I was hoping …’ Sure enough, it came. ‘A few of my friends. You and Freddie and Macho … I suppose Cressie will have to come, too, since she’s with Macho and she was so enthusiastic about the idea. Then there’ll just be Professor Borley and Betty …’
‘The usual suspects,’ Lorinda murmured, then wished she hadn’t.
‘Exactly.’ Fortunately, it went over Gemma’s head. ‘I’ve never done anything remotely like this before and I do feel I need the support of my friends.’
‘Don’t worry, Freddie and I will rally round.’ Nothing would keep them away. ‘I’m sure Macho and Cressie will, too.’ Nothing would keep Cressie away, either, although keeping her out of the action might be harder.
‘I’d be so grateful. Now that I’ve decided, I want to get it over with as soon as possible. Oh, and I wonder if you’d be kind enough to speak to Cressie for me, dear. You know her better than I do and – ’
‘You want the name of the hypnotist she was planning to call in?’
‘Oh, no, dear, I have a perfectly good one of my own. A charming young man. We did a feature on him in Woman’s Place shortly before I retired. Everyone was expecting great things of him, but he doesn’t seem to have made the breakthrough yet. He’s been entertaining on cruise liners, but I understand he’s resting this season. I have his number in my contacts book and it’s all arranged for tomorrow evening. I hope that isn’t too short notice for everyone, but it is midweek and quiet.’
‘It’s fine with me. And everyone else, so far as I know. But what do you want me to talk to Cressie about?’
‘Oh, yes. I was just going to ask you if you’d mind passing on the invitation to her. And to Macho. Actually, I rang Macho, but Cressie answered and … and I’m afraid I hung up. I don’t really feel strong enough – I mean, she’s very nice … I’m sure … and talented … but …’ Gemma trailed off into an awkward silence.
‘That’s all right,’ Lorinda said soothingly. (As though anyone had to produce an excuse for not wanting to talk to Cressie!) ‘I’ll take care of it.’
‘Oh, thank you so much …’ A flurry of yelps and yaps in the background distracted her. ‘I must go now … they’re … Goodbye.’
The cats were genuinely asleep now and Lorinda left the room quietly, although it was probable that nothing would disturb them for a couple of hours.
She ought to ring Cressie, but didn’t feel able to cope with that just yet. Despite telling Gemma that Cressie had been thinking twice about her party plans, she was not quite sure that this was the case. It might be safer to wait until the last minute before telling Cressie what was planned. That way, she wouldn’t have time to mobilize her media contacts to get down here and turn it into a circus.
That decided, and finding her mind empty of any further ideas for the work in progress, she might as well do something useful and go shopping, rather than sitting in front of a blank screen.
As she left the house by the back door, she thought she saw someone in the upstairs window on the other side of Freddie’s semi-detached. She waved cheerily, but Jack or Karla, whichever one it was, appeared not to have seen her. Or wasn’t in a friendly mood. The figure moved away and the net curtain fell back into place.
‘Be like that then,’ she muttered and went on her way. Presumably the Jackleys would surface eventually, in their own good time, and decide to rejoin the human race. Meanwhile, best leave them to their own devices. They obviously wanted to be left alone.
The library, the baker, the greengrocer, the butcher, the soothing familiar round restored Lorinda’s spirits. Although she still found herself crossing to the other side of the street to avoid walking directly past the shrine. She noticed that she was not the only one to do so. The whole villag
e was finding its presence increasingly unsettling. Oppressive, even. A constant reminder of the unpredictability of life and the sudden tragedy that could engulf people at any moment.
On her return journey, Lorinda noticed a woman standing at the shrine, head bowed and motionless. She was relieved to see that it wasn’t Betty Alvin but, as she watched, Betty came along and stopped there. The other woman gave no sign of being aware of her until Betty stepped forward and gently took her arm. The woman tried to turn away, but Betty did not relax her grip and began speaking softly and intently, handing her a tissue. The woman dabbed at her eyes with it and shook her head. Betty continued to insist until, finally, the woman allowed herself to be led away in the direction of the shops.
A nice cup of tea. Lorinda could almost hear Betty saying it. The English panacea – but this was one ill it could not cure, or even help. Obviously, the mourning woman was the child’s mother. Equally obviously, she and Betty were old friends. That would explain Betty’s interest in the shrine – and her knowledge of the family concerned and the remaining children. It was brave of Betty to attempt to comfort the woman, whose attitude of dejection and desolation was almost too painful to watch.
Gemma was right, Lorinda decided, anything that might help to allay that poor woman’s agony was worth trying. Identifying the killer wouldn’t bring back the child, but it might bring some surcease to the family. And it might even prevent the killer from killing again.
If he – or she – hadn’t already done it again. The spectre of Opal abruptly flitted through her mind. Another accident? Coincidence? There was no shrine to Opal, but she would not be easily forgotten, either. Gemma, too, would feel a lot better if she knew she had done everything possible, however unlikely it might seem.
She had a task of her own, she remembered uneasily. How late could she leave it in the morning to ring Cressie and invite her to Gemma’s little soirée? Or perhaps she could wait until afternoon, she did not have the impression that Cressie was an early riser. At least that could be her excuse –
‘Eeeek!’ The shriek was involuntary, as someone gripped her shoulders from behind and swung her around. ‘Macho! What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Escaping!’ he wheezed. ‘Running away! Getting lost! Sanctuary my lady, I beg you – sanctuary!’
‘Now what?’ She did not need to look at the shocked and horrified expression on his face to know where the trouble lay. ‘What has Cressie done now?’
‘Doing!’ he choked. ‘Doing! She’s doing the sex scenes – a whole stack of them – for the book. And each one is worse than the last! I looked over her shoulder at the screen until I couldn’t stand it any more. And I ran – literally ran!’
‘I see.’ His laboured breath bore witness to the truth of his statement. He looked horrified, overstressed, disbelieving and, possibly, on the verge of a heart attack. ‘Take it easy, it can’t be that bad.’
‘It can – and it is!’ He shook his head and it went on shaking as though it didn’t know when to stop. ‘I hold no brief for Henry VIII, but even he wouldn’t – You don’t know! You just don’t know!’
‘All right, all right,’ she soothed, taking his arm and leading him to her house. ‘Tell me …’
‘She has the Ride of the Valkyries at full volume on the sound system and she’s halfway through a bottle of vodka.’ Macho shuddered, accepting a modest gin and tonic. ‘She says that’s the only way to do it: get blind drunk and write a whole series of sex scenes at the same time – and then slot them into the book whenever the alleged plot can be twisted to accommodate them.’
‘I’ve heard that one before,’ Lorinda nodded. It seemed to be a favoured ploy among some romantic novelists. What would their fans think, could they ever see them? Wild-eyed, reeling over their keyboards and well beyond an age when such behaviour could be considered amusing – or even acceptable.
‘So have I, but I’ve never seen it before.’ Macho shuddered again. ‘It’s not a pretty sight. And the things she’s writing! I couldn’t believe what I was seeing when I read that screen!’
‘Strong stuff?’ Lorinda could believe it She could also believe that Macho hadn’t read any romantic novels lately. They weren’t what they used to be.
‘Porn! Absolute porn! And not just soft porn, either!’ No, he hadn’t read any lately – if, indeed, he ever had. ‘I told her I refused to be associated with such filth – even under a pseudonym. That was when she took a great swig of vodka – straight from the bottle – and told me to go and, um, lose myself.’
‘Never mind …’ She tried to cheer him without betraying her secret amusement. Poor Macho, a scholar and a gentleman – and the last person on earth who should have got involved with a maneater like Cressie. ‘The book will be finished soon and Cressie will move out and back into her old life.’
‘Will she?’ Macho would not be comforted. ‘I wouldn’t bet on it. The longer she stays, the less she seems to want to go out, even just around the village. I think she’s turning into a recluse.’
‘Never!’ Lorinda laughed uproariously, she couldn’t help it. ‘You might become a recluse. Even I might. But not Cressie. She couldn’t stay out of the spotlight long enough. She was even planning to hijack poor Gemma’s session with a hypnotist – and turn it into a big party with all her media contacts down here to film it, remember?’
‘There is that. But that was then and this is now. She changes from day to day.’ Macho rubbed his forehead, the picture of a man to whom women will for ever be a mystery. ‘I don’t know … I just don’t know. I can’t keep up with her moods.’
‘Or her hangovers, it sounds like. Anyway, that solves one little problem I have. If Cressie is locked in mortal combat with her muse and the vodka bottle, she is definitely unavailable and I can’t be blamed for not passing on a message to her.’
‘What message?’ Macho asked uneasily.
‘Gemma is going to have her session with a hypnotist, after all. Tomorrow night. She’d like to have us along for moral support – but she doesn’t want Cressie to know until the last possible minute, so that she doesn’t have time to round up her contacts and turn it into a media circus.’
‘I can’t blame her for that.’ Macho nodded. ‘There shouldn’t be any problem. Cressie won’t surface until well past noon tomorrow – and she won’t be feeling halfway human until late afternoon. I’ll tell her we’re going over to Gemma’s in just enough time for her to spruce herself up. She may be annoyed – ’
‘I don’t really see why she should be. If she’s so keen on the idea, there’s nothing to stop her holding her own party for her friends later. They can regress without Gemma, that’s all.’
‘Hmm, yes.’ A smile tugged at the corners of Macho’s lips. ‘Good point. I’ll put it to her, if I must. She won’t like it, but – ’
‘But there’s a lot you don’t like,’ Lorinda pointed out. If she and the rest of his friends pointed it out often enough, he might eventually get around to doing something about it.
‘There might just be a gleam of hope on the horizon,’ Macho admitted. ‘At least once or twice, she’s muttered something about taking the book to New York herself when it’s finished, doing all the publicity and claiming the pseudonym as her own. She’s welcome to it – I don’t want to be seen to be associated with the whole mess. I’d hate to have anyone think I wrote those ghastly scenes.’
‘What about the money?’ Lorinda asked sharply. ‘She’s not going to claim that, too, is she?’
‘No problem there,’ Macho said. ‘The contract has it all safely tied up. She can’t get at my share although she probably would, if she could.’
‘You’re sure?’ Neither of them had any illusions about Cressie.
‘Positive.’ Lorinda hadn’t known Macho could smile so nastily. ‘If she tries, she’s in for a shock. Like the one she’ll get tomorrow when she discovers that Gemma is going ahead with her hypnotism privately.’
‘I wouldn’t say it’s
very private,’ Lorinda demurred. ‘A lot of us are going to be there.’
‘Compared to what Cressie was planning, it’s practically a tête-à-tête.’ He gave that smile again, a malevolent glint in his eye. ‘No cameras, no hoopla – no reel of film to use for publicity. That’s what Cressie had in mind, you know. She thought she could take the film to New York, too, and use it to get publicity. She didn’t care whether it was screened here or not. She thought it would be just the sort of thing Americans would lap up.’
‘It probably would have been,’ Lorinda agreed. ‘But why? I mean, it doesn’t have anything to do with, um, Anne Boleyn Is Missing! Does it?’
‘That’s not the point. Cressie was going to act as Mistress of Ceremonies at the Regression Party. The publicity – especially if Gemma was able to provide any clues about the hit-and-run – would have launched her new name in a storm of attention. And, I suspect, she was planning to use it as a demonstration tape to audition for one of those presenter jobs that pay so extravagantly.
‘Well …’ His mouth twisted unpleasantly. ‘She’s snookered there. And she isn’t going to be happy when she finds out.’
Chapter Nineteen
‘Lorinda! Freddie!’ Gemma swung the door wide. ‘How kind of you to come.’ She craned her neck to look beyond them. ‘Are Macho and Cressie with you?’
‘No, haven’t seen them all day,’ Freddie said.
‘They’ll be along soon,’ Lorinda assured her anxious hostess. Gemma was really in a state. Her hands were fluttering like butterflies. But – wasn’t there something missing? ‘Where are – ’
‘I’ve shut the dogs in the back hall. They were getting so over-excited. And, since I don’t know exactly what this entails … and they’re so protective – ’
‘It would never do to have them attack the hypnotist,’ Freddie agreed gravely.
‘Exactly. Come and meet him. He’s such a dear boy. It’s a shame he hasn’t had greater success – but his time will come, I’m sure.’ She led them into the living room.
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