De Silva studied the young couple without a great deal of interest, but he had to admit that his wife was right: Mrs Wynne-Talbot was a stunner. Tall and slender as a birch sapling, she had hair like spun gold, regular features that would not have been out of place on a Greek statue and delphinium-blue eyes. Her husband was equally striking but in a more robust way with dark-brown, wavy hair, a strong jaw and an athletic build.
Archie Clutterbuck noticed them and beckoned.
‘Ah, my love,’ whispered de Silva. ‘Here’s your chance to meet this famous couple.’
‘Oh dear, I wish I’d worn something smarter, and whatever shall we say to them?’
‘You look extremely smart. And as for what to say to them, there’s never a gap in the conversation with Florence Clutterbuck around.’
Jane giggled. ‘That’s very true.’
‘Splendid afternoon, eh?’ Archie Clutterbuck boomed genially as the de Silvas joined the little group that had formed around a fine chestnut filly. ‘Mrs de Silva! A pleasure to see you.’ He turned to the Petries. ‘Do you remember Inspector de Silva and his wife?’
‘Of course we do,’ Lady Caroline said with a smile. ‘We often tell people about your triumph in the Renshaw case, Inspector. I hope life has been a little more restful for you recently. But I forget my manners - may I present my nephew, Ralph Wynne-Talbot, and his wife, Helen?’
Helen of Troy, how apt, thought de Silva. He hoped she would stop at being a beauty, and not go on to cause a catastrophe.
They shook hands and exchanged polite murmurings; Helen Wynne-Talbot gave them a fleeting smile. Although she was tall for a woman, her hand was small and delicate and felt as insubstantial as a feather in de Silva’s. In contrast, her husband’s grip was firm and his smile all-encompassing. To de Silva’s way of thinking, however, the charm was just a little too practised.
Jane stroked the chestnut’s neck and the filly snorted and nuzzled her hand.
‘You’re fond of horses, Mrs de Silva?’ asked William Petrie.
‘Yes, when I was a governess in England, one of the families I worked for were keen riders and had a large stable.’
‘We hope this one’s in with a chance today. Our trainer tells us she’s been performing very well over the gallops. But racing’s a funny old game, so I don’t suggest you put the family fortune on her.’
Jane smiled. ‘Perhaps just a little flutter.’
‘Do you have many horses running today, sir?’ de Silva asked.
‘Only two. Kashmir in the second to last race and this one, Carolina Moon.’ He touched Lady Caroline’s arm. ‘A tribute to my dear wife and a favourite song of ours.’
‘And a delightful one, I must say,’ said Florence Clutterbuck. De Silva smiled to himself. Florence probably thought she had been left out of the conversation for quite long enough.
A voice boomed over the loudspeaker calling the horses to the starting post. Carolina Moon tossed her head and showed the whites of her eyes. Her groom, a small wiry man, brought her under control and the jockey mounted. As he gathered the reins and made ready to go, they all wished him luck.
The de Silvas said their goodbyes and walked over to one of the bookies. After a brief deliberation, they put a few rupees on Carolina Moon to win then went to find a space at the rails near the finishing post.
It took several minutes for the stewards to marshal the seething mass of horses into some kind of order, then the starter fired his pistol and they were off. The track had softened a little with the rain but the horses’ hooves still thundered over the cropped turf as their jockeys crouched low in the saddles, urging them on. Slowly, the field separated into two groups, the leaders ten, then twenty yards ahead of the rest.
‘See how her jockey’s holding Petrie’s filly back in fourth place,’ said de Silva. ‘He’ll let the front runners set the pace then come through to win in the last few furlongs.’
Jane squeezed his arm. ‘You’re very knowledgeable all of a sudden. I hope that’s right.’
‘Of course it is. Haven’t we had a tip from the horse’s mouth?’
‘With reservations, dear.’ Jane raised an eyebrow.
The noise from the crowd increased as the horses streamed like a multi-coloured river around the final bend and into the home straight. ‘What did I tell you? She’s moving up!’ He struck the rail with his race card.
‘I hope the jockey hasn’t left it too late.’
The horses bunched so that it was hard to see who was ahead, then by inches Carolina Moon took the lead. In a few moments, she was clear and streaking towards the finishing line. A roar went up as she passed the post.
‘What a magnificent performance!’ De Silva beamed.
‘The Petries will be pleased. I hope we see them to congratulate them. And how nice to have such an exciting result when Lady Caroline’s nephew and his wife are with them.’
‘We’d better go and collect our winnings.’
‘Oh yes, we mustn’t forget those.’
‘And after that, let’s go to one of the refreshment tents and celebrate. I’m beginning to feel a little peckish.’
Jane laughed. ‘Alright, I suppose it is a special occasion.’
As they left the bookies, they met Archie Clutterbuck who had also been collecting his winnings. ‘Don’t tell my wife,’ he begged. ‘Florence doesn’t really approve of gambling. I left her with the Petries and told her I needed to speak to someone on official matters for a few minutes.’
They walked back together to where he had left Florence with the Petries and congratulated them on the win.
‘Yes, all very gratifying,’ William Petrie said when he had thanked them. ‘I hope Kashmir continues our run of luck. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we must go and congratulate our people.’
Florence lowered her voice conspiratorially as the Petries and the Wynne-Talbots walked away. ‘What a charming couple the Petries are and the nephew will be an ornament to the aristocracy, I’m sure. But the wife!’ Florence rolled her eyes. ‘She’s a funny little thing. Nothing to say for herself at all. I can’t imagine how she’ll manage as chatelaine of a great house like Axford Court. When she becomes Countess of Axford, she’ll be expected to take her place in London society and take the lead in the county too, when the family’s in residence. It will be essential for her to stamp her authority on her staff.’
When he wanted some light relief from his usual reading matter of the English classics, de Silva enjoyed the stories of P G Wodehouse. A vision of Wodehouse’s creation, the stately butler, Jeeves, floated into his mind. Florence Clutterbuck had a point. As Jane would say, one would need to get up very early in the morning to stay ahead of Jeeves.
Archie Clutterbuck frowned. ‘That’s enough, my dear. Given time, I’m sure Mrs Wynne-Talbot will grow used to her duties and discharge them well.’
Florence harrumphed and shot him an icy look. ‘I only meant that one can’t underestimate what hard work it is fulfilling one’s social duties. I can vouch for that myself. The last few days have been so busy with arrangements for tomorrow’s dinner.’
‘And I’m sure it will be a great success,’ her husband added quickly. ‘Now, would you ladies like a glass of something? I saw Pimm’s on offer in one of the tents.’
‘That would be lovely,’ said Jane with a smile. Reluctantly, De Silva relinquished his hopes of that cashew and pea curry.
They headed for one of the tents and found a table. Clutterbuck ordered a jug of Pimm’s. For a while, they chatted over their drinks then he stood up.
‘If the ladies will excuse me, I think I’ll go outside for a smoke. Join me, de Silva?’
‘Certainly.’ He wondered whether there was anything particular Clutterbuck wanted to talk about or whether this was just one of the informal chats he liked to engineer to keep abreast of things in Nuala.
They left Jane to listen to Florence on the subject of the following night’s plans and to commiserate over all the work involved and we
nt outside to find a quiet corner. Clutterbuck produced a monogrammed gold cigarette case and offered one to de Silva.
‘No thank you, sir.’
‘Ah, forgot. You’re not a smoker, are you? Good of you to keep me company then.’
‘A pleasure, sir. I’m glad of some fresh air.’
‘Anything to report?’ asked Clutterbuck when he had exhaled the first puff.
‘Nothing important, sir. There’s been the usual petty pilfering in the bazaar and a few disputes between stallholders but in general things are quiet.’
‘Good, good. Glad to hear it.’
He looked around before recommencing in a lower tone. ‘I must admit, I agree with my wife about our visitor, Mrs Wynne-Talbot. But it’s not a subject to air in public. You never know who might be listening and heaven forbid such talk got back to the Petries. It would be bound to cause offence. I hear Lady Caroline’s a great fan of her nephew.’
‘The lady certainly does seem very reserved but as you say she’ll probably grow into her role.’
‘She’s a looker there’s no doubt. One sees why Wynne-Talbot was attracted to her. Petrie’s asked me to organise a hunting party up at Horton Plains. We’ve a few others coming along. A chap from Romania called Count Ranescu, and his wife among them.’
De Silva attempted not to look blank. He had no idea where Romania was and made a mental note to ask Jane. She was bound to know and she would probably know the names of its capital city, its mountains and its major rivers too. Geography was a subject she had particularly enjoyed teaching her pupils in her days as a governess.
Clutterbuck lowered his voice. ‘Romania fought on our side in the Great War and it’s still one of our allies, but the Foreign Office chaps are worried that Germany’s taking too much of an interest in the place. It has substantial oil reserves and an expanding arms industry. The Powers that Be want to keep an eye on developments and when they heard that Ranescu was coming to Ceylon for a spot of hunting, Petrie was told to play host and cultivate him. Apparently he’s got his finger in a lot of pies.’
He tapped the ash from his cigarette onto the ground. ‘Our other guest’s a fellow called Aubrey. He approached me not long ago asking if there was a party he could tag along with. He’s on leave from his regiment in Calcutta. Came here to see a bit of Ceylon before he goes back to England. Petrie had no objection so I told him he could join us. He seems to have done a lot of hunting in India so he should be a decent shot.’
He paused and looked at de Silva shrewdly. ‘Not a hunting man, are you?’
‘Not really.’
De Silva refrained from adding how distasteful he found the habit of slaughtering game in the name of sport. It was an unpleasant fact of life and the British administration was unlikely to abandon its lucrative system of selling hunting licences in the foreseeable future.
‘To tell you the truth,’ replied Clutterbuck, ‘I’m not as fond of it as I used to be. These days I’d be satisfied with shooting for the pot – duck, snipe, that kind of thing. But I expect our visitors will be after bigger trophies.’
He dropped his cigarette end on the grass and ground it out under his heel. ‘Right, time to return to the ladies.’
De Silva excused himself to pay a call of nature and was on his way back when he noticed Ralph and Helen Wynne-Talbot walking in his direction. They were alone, deep in conversation, and some instinct made him slip into the shadow of a nearby tree to avoid meeting them. His curiosity was piqued.
The Wynne-Talbots stopped when they were close to where he stood. Although he was unable to make out what they were saying, he had the impression that their exchange wasn’t amicable. Ralph Wynne-Talbot’s head was very close to his wife’s and he seemed impatient, speaking rapidly, emphasising his words with jabs of his finger. Helen Wynne-Talbot’s delphinium-blue eyes were red-rimmed and her lovely face pale as if she had been crying. Suddenly, her husband grabbed her by the wrist. She turned her face from him and tried to pull away but he held on for a few more moments before he let her go. De Silva felt sorry for her.
He waited until they had passed on, then returned to the others, mulling over what he’d seen. He wondered what had been the cause of the problem. Whatever it was, it seemed that, in spite of their glamour, the Wynne-Talbots were not a happy couple. He considered whether he ought to mention what he’d seen to Archie Clutterbuck then decided against it. The state of the Wynne-Talbots’ marriage was no one else’s business.
Chapter 3
Torches blazed on either side of the drive leading to the Residence, illuminating its white-pillared portico. Guests were already mounting the wide steps to the grand entrance doors to be greeted by servants in white and gold livery set off by scarlet turbans.
‘Goodness,’ Jane whispered, gathering up the skirt of her dress as she put her foot on the lowest step. ‘Florence has surpassed herself. By the look of things, this is going to be a splendid evening.’
De Silva resisted the urge to tug at his bow tie. With such a crowd, it was bound to be hot inside and, since he’d come to Nuala, he’d grown used to living in a cooler temperature than he had been accustomed to in Colombo. He fiddled with his cufflinks instead. Formal English clothing was very unsuitable in the heat; he envied Jane her cool silk.
The scent of jasmine and roses met them in the entrance hall. A receiving line that consisted of the Clutterbucks, the Petries and the Wynne-Talbots had to be negotiated before they reached the drawing room where servants awaited them with flutes of champagne on silver trays. They each accepted a glass and moved further into the room.
De Silva had never seen the Residence’s drawing room before and he drew a sharp breath in admiration. It rose to the height of two storeys and was painted a pale shade of blue, the colour set off by the gleaming white marble of the pilasters that punctuated the walls at regular intervals. The intricate details of the decorative plasterwork frieze that ran round the room a few feet below the ceiling were highlighted with gilding. More gilding graced the enormous mirror that surmounted a large and magnificent fireplace with a marble surround. The furniture was antique and the rugs on the parquet floor looked to be made of the finest Kashmiri silk. He suspected that Archie Clutterbuck’s faithful Labrador, Darcy, would be banned from entering such an elegant room. It didn’t really look like his owner’s natural habitat either. The assistant government agent was more of an outdoors man.
A couple they were acquainted with came over to greet them; they’d been talking for a few moments when de Silva heard a vaguely familiar voice behind him.
‘Good evening, Inspector!’
He turned to see the local doctor, David Hebden.
‘Good evening to you too, sir.’
Hebden gestured to the room. ‘A marvellous place for a gathering like this, eh? I’ve not seen it before.’
‘Nor have I. Yes, it is magnificent.’
He smiled; he was glad of the opportunity to chat to the doctor on a social occasion. Hebden had been in Nuala for even less time than he had and their paths didn’t often cross. He hadn’t felt they’d got off to a very good start with the Renshaw business the previous year. In case they had to work together again, it would be good to defuse any resentment on Hebden’s part.
‘I expect our hostess is pleased we have fine weather this evening,’ Hebden went on. ‘No muddy shoes on her immaculate rugs.’
De Silva nodded. Where would the British be without the weather to talk about?
‘The weather was excellent for the races too, I hear. Unfortunately I was called away to see a patient up at one of the plantations and was unable to attend. Are you keeping busy, Inspector?’
‘Not too busy, I’m glad to say.’
‘The good people of Nuala are behaving themselves then. Excellent. Let’s hope it stays that way.’
The receiving line had dispersed and the Clutterbucks and their companions were mingling with the guests. Hebden surveyed the room. ‘I see a few of my patients are here. No
doubt they’ll all ignore my strictures on overindulging in food and alcohol this evening. I understand the Residence kitchen lays on a good spread and Archie Clutterbuck has an excellent cellar.’
‘I don’t expect one night’s indulgence will prove fatal.’
Hebden chuckled. ‘Hopefully, you’re right. I don’t want to lose them too fast. I have to make a living.’
‘Quite.’
Lowering his voice, Hebden glanced at the Wynne-Talbots. ‘So what do you make of our honoured guests?’
‘I’ve only met them briefly. She’s much quieter than her husband but both seem very charming.’
A hesitant expression came over Hebden’s face, as if he was about to betray a confidence, then it disappeared as swiftly as it had come. ‘The few Australians I’ve met haven’t been backward in coming forward. Wynne-Talbot’s English, of course, but apparently he’s lived there for many years and he seems to share that characteristic. He has a great future ahead of him where I’m sure it will stand him in good stead.’
He glanced once again at the group gathered around the Wynne-Talbots. ‘He certainly has a marked effect on the ladies. I suppose you’d call him a handsome chap.’
‘How does it go? The glass of fashion… the observed of all observers?’
‘Hamlet? I wouldn’t have put you down for an aficionado of William Shakespeare, de Silva.’
‘Ah yes, my wife has me reading all kinds of authors, and she sometimes drags me along to our hostess’s soirées. We were treated to readings from the plays of Shakespeare last month.’
‘One of the many advantages of marriage, I’m sure – having someone to broaden one’s horizons.’ Hebden smiled ruefully. ‘I fear I’m still looking for the right girl.’
‘I’m sure we can find her for you in Nuala, Doctor Hebden.’ Smiling, Jane had joined them.
Dark Clouds Over Nuala Page 2