“No, I won’t keep you a minute, Temple. As a matter of fact I only dropped in because – well – I’d like you and Mrs Temple to come down to my place for the weekend. Mrs Portland, Moira and George Kelly are coming down. We’d like you and Mrs Temple to join us.”
“Well, I don’t know.” Temple had been taken by surprise. He somehow felt that Greene’s sudden friendliness was not sincere. “This weekend happens to be rather awkward. You see, we-er-we did think of… ”
“It’s awfully difficult to think of excuses, isn’t it?” Greene’s smile was polite. “Especially on the spur of the moment.”
“It’s not that, but – “ Temple abandoned all pretence at diplomacy and asked bluntly, “Mr Greene, why are you inviting my wife and me for the weekend? Let’s face it, we’re not exactly friends – are we – barely acquaintances?”
“Shall I be frank, Temple?” Greene said, unruffled.
“I should prefer it.”
“The very first time I met you, down at Southampton, I said to myself, now there’s a man I would really like to get to know. An intellectual but at the same time a man of action. It’s a combination I’ve always admired, Mr Temple.”
“I thought we were going to be frank with each other.”
“What do you mean!” asked Greene, all innocence.
“The first time you met me you thought I was a confounded nuisance. So far as you were concerned I was an unmitigated bore pushing my nose into an affair which didn’t concern me.”
“Was that the impression I gave you?”
“I’m afraid it was.”
Greene gave a wry laugh and scratched the side of his nose. Then he shrugged, resigning himself to tell the real reason for his visit.
“Well, if you must know, I particularly want Moira Portland to come down to my house this weekend. We’ve quite a lot of family business to discuss and without Moira the whole thing would be quite pointless.”
“Yes, you told me that last night, you said she wouldn’t accept your invitation unless you included the boyfriend.”
“Moira telephoned me this morning, she said we could expect her on one condition.”
“What was that?”
“That you and Mrs Temple were invited.”
“But why on earth should Moira Portland insist that my wife and I spend the weekend with you? We barely know the girl. As a matter of fact my wife doesn’t know her, she didn’t even meet her last night at the Manila.”
“Moira’s a strange girl. A very determined one too. If you don’t accept the invitation I doubt very much if I shall see her.”
Greene turned his head at the sound of a key in the door. Charlie came in, weighed down with carrier bags. He was wearing a battered old mackintosh and had a transparent plastic cowl over his head to keep the rain off his bald patch. He did not see the two men in the hall till he had extracted his key and closed the door.
“Oh!” with a little start. “Beg pardon, Mr Temple, I didn’t know …”
Greene watched in amazement while the apparition crossed the hall and disappeared into the kitchen.
“I’m sorry, Greene,” Temple said “Both my wife and I have other plans.”
“Well – “ Greene sighed. “I thought I’d give it a try.”
“Why does Miss Portland want us anyway?” Temple asked, curious.
“I asked her that. She said that if you came down for the weekend she’d feel quite sure that nothing unfortunate would happen.”
“Nothing unfortunate?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? Moira’s under the impression that her life’s in danger. Apparently she’s been under that impression for weeks now. It’s almost a joke at the office.”
“Do you think her life’s in danger?”
“Why, of course not!” Greene laughed, scoffing at the idea. “Why should it be?”
Temple had been watching him, not only his face but his body language. With a complete change of mood he suddenly asked. “Where is your place, Greene?”
“It’s just outside Leatherhead. Quite a nice little place. As a matter of fact I’ve got about a hundred acres.”
“It does sound a nice little place,” Temple agreed dryly.
“Temple, I’m sorry to have issued this invitation in such an unorthodox manner, but the fact of the matter is I am in rather a hole.” Greene was rotating his hat in his hands. “I’ve got to please Mrs Portland and at the same time keep on friendly terms with Moira. It’s not easy.”
“I’m quite sure it isn’t. And how does George Kelly fit into the picture?”
“Well, as you know, Kelly was Portland’s secretary. He now appears to have taken on the job of financial adviser to Mrs Portland. In short, he’s making a damn nuisance of himself.”
Temple laughed. “It does sound a jolly little house- party.”
“It certainly could do with an up-lift, if that’s what you mean.”
“What do they call your place?”
“It’s called ‘Brown Acres’. It’s just off the main road the other side of Leatherhead.” Greene paused, beginning to realise the reason for these questions. “Why?”
“You can expect us on Saturday. We’ll be there in time for lunch.”
“Well, that’s damned sporting of you, Temple! I appreciate it.” The tension and worry had gone out of Greene’s face. “What made you change your mind?”
Temple smiled. “Well, the first time I saw you at Southampton, Mr Greene, I said to myself - now, there’s a man I would really like to get to know …”
‘Brown Acres’ was an important enough property to be marked on the large-scale Ordnance Survey map. With Steve doing the map-reading the Temples had no problem in finding it. The digital clock was just coming up to twelve forty-five when Paul turned the Jaguar in through a pair of fine wrought-iron gates. The house stood in the middle of its hundred acres of parkland. The approach was through an avenue lined with beech trees, which curved round a lake and then climbed the hill on which it stood. It was a fine, well-proportioned Georgian residence with a porticoed entrance and a terrace overlooking the lawns on the southern side. Two cars already stood on the broad sweep of gravel below the triple row of windows, one row being elegant dormers protruding from the roof. Temple was glad he had chosen the Jaguar in preference to Steve’s Mazda coupe. The XJS which had been photographed from as many angles as Marilyn Monroe rubbed shoulders more easily with the Mercedes SLR and the Porsche 924 already parked beside the manicured edge of the lawn.
Hubert Greene must have heard the crunch of wheels on gravel, for he had come out of the house before they had time to undo their seat-belts and step out. He was followed by a small, dark man in a white coat. Greene himself was in country gentleman’s gear – brown corduroys, an open-necked shirt, cashmere cardigan and buckskin shoes.
“Hello, Temple! Welcome to ‘Brown Acres’!”
“I’m afraid we’re a little on the late side, Greene.” Temple apologised, stretching his shoulders back. “We didn’t leave Town till after eleven.”
“Nonsense! You’re in perfect time!” Greene said warmly. He beamed at Steve. “Delighted to see you, Mrs Temple. Leave your things in the car, Temple, my man will take care of them.”
“Oh, thank you. My word, it’s a nice place you’ve got here.”
Temple turned to admire the view, which was enhanced by the house’s position on a hill. With its lake and vistas through clumps of trees ‘Brown Acres’ had the flavour of a Capability Brown creation.
“I think you’ll like it,” Greene said, with assumed modesty.
He led the way up the three stone steps. Temple had given ‘my man’ the car keys and he was opening the boot.
“Have all the guests arrived?”
“Yes, they’re all here, including Moira. I’m glad to say she’s behaving herself for a change.”
Steve had paused to admire the view to southward. “What a lovely terrace!”
“Do you like it?” Pleased, Greene stopped to share the en
joyment with her. “The lake adds a lot to the view. There’s a local superstition that it’s bottomless but we haven’t tried to prove it!”
“I think it’s heavenly!”
“I’m quite proud of ‘Brown Acres’, Mrs Temple. Be a pleasure to show you round. Would you like to go to your rooms straight away or would you care for a drink first?”
Greene was a much more confident and relaxed person on his own territory and friendly to the point of effusiveness. Making the decision for them, he gave a broad grin and took Steve by the arm. “Come along, let’s join the others on the terrace. I am sure you’re both dying for a drink.”
The terrace was reached through a large drawing-room to the right of the hall. The windows were tall and walking through it Steve could see across the terrace to the lawn, trees and sky beyond.
Three people were already out there, sitting on white upholstered garden chairs round a white metal table. The raucous voice of George Kelly drifted through the french windows.
“Why, you’re crazy, Stella! How can you say Americans haven’t got a sense of humour? Would you say Thurber hadn’t got a sense of humour? Or George Kaufman? Or Bob Hope? Now, you take the Marx Brothers …”
“No, darling, you take the Marx brothers!” said a woman. Steve recognised the voice of Stella Portland. The trio laughed at her dry comment.
“Are you still lecturing, George?” Hubert chided Portland’s erstwhile secretary.
Kelly twisted round to make some rejoinder. “Stella’s just had the nerve to tell us that …” He stopped at the sight of Steve.
“Why, hello, Mrs Temple!” He rose from his chair. “How are you?”
“Good morning, Mr Kelly,” said Steve, her voice as cool as her smile.
“Good morning, Kelly!” Temple’s cordial greeting broke a moment of possible tension. “How are you?”
“I’m fine.” Kelly gestured towards Mrs Portland, who had turned in her chair to smile at the newcomers. “I guess you know Stella.”
“Yes, of course.”
Hubert Greene came forward to relieve Kelly of the introductions.
“I don’t think you’ve met my wife, have you, Temple? Darling, this is Mr and Mrs Temple.”
The young woman who rose from her chair in a lithe movement was in her late twenties. She wore a deceptively simple white dress which emphasised her dark hair and sun-tanned skin. She had long, shapely legs and an excellent figure.
“Hello, Mrs Temple, delighted to meet you. It’s awfully nice of you both to join us for the weekend.” Her voice was low and musical with a quality which Temple labelled in his mind as sultry.
“It’s awfully nice of you to ask us,” Steve echoed, taking the proffered hand.
“We’ve been looking forward to it,” said Temple.
“Do sit down, Mrs Temple.” Mrs Greene pulled up an extra chair. Steve sat down, crossed her legs, and looked up to meet Temple’s eye. “What would you like to drink?”
“May I have a dry Martini?”
“Yes, of course. Mr Temple?”
Temple had heard the question but he did not answer. It was as if he were listening for something, perhaps the screech of a water-hen on the lake. Then he collected himself. “A… scotch – with water, no ice.”
“A man after my own heart,” Hubert Greene approved.
“Isn’t it a heavenly view, darling?” said Steve, grasping at conversational straws. She could see that it was going to be a sticky weekend.
“Do you like it?” Mrs Greene had sat down again, arranging her full skirt over her knees.
“Oh, I think it’s wonderful, Mrs Greene.”
Hubert’s wife leant forward to touch Steve’s arm in a friendly gesture. “Oh, please – not Mrs Greene.”
“For some obscure reason my wife dislikes being called Mrs Greene.” Busy at the drinks trolley, Hubert spoke over his shoulder with just a slight touch of sarcasm. “I’ve never discovered why.”
“Darling, don’t be silly!”
“But it’s true, my dear!”
“Nonsense! None of my friends call me Mrs Greene, you know that! It’s always Eileen.”
4
Hubert Greene Entertains
There was an awkward silence while Hubert Greene poured out the drinks, making quite sure he knew exactly what Paul and Steve wanted. George Kelly ostentatiously held his glass upside down but Hubert ignored the hint. It was Stella who broke the ice.
“Did you have a pleasant journey, Mrs Temple?”
“If you overlook the fact that we were stuck in a traffic jam for twenty minutes outside Kingston, we had a very pleasant journey.”
In the polite laughter that greeted her remark Steve turned to Kelly. “I suppose all this is quite new to you, Mr Kelly?”
“What do you mean - the scotch?” Kelly asked, deliberately misunderstanding her.
“No, I mean the countryside.”
“Yeah. Kind of takes a bit of getting used to. I like it though.” He waved a hand at the parkland. A man and a woman had just come into sight at the bottom of the banded lawn, walking arm in arm. “I like all this green stuff.”
Temple asked, “Is this the first time you’ve been over here?”
“Yeah. I nearly came over with the Cody Boys in ‘74 but I changed my mind at the last moment. Wish I hadn’t now, it might have been fun.”
“Who are the Cody boys?” Eileen had not heard this one before.
“It was a circus outfit. And boy did we travel! We toured every state in the Union.”
“Don’t tell me you were the bare-backed rider, George.” Eileen said, still ribbing him.
“Well, I wasn’t the bearded lady.” This time Kelly did raise a laugh. “I was a sort of general factotum. Chief handyman. I started the outfit with a knife-throwing act - and boy was it corny!”
“You mean – you used to throw knives!” Steve exclaimed, looking with disbelief at the unsteady Kelly.
“That’s right. You know the sort of thing, you’ve seen it thousands of times. A gal stands up against a door in her scanties and some phoney-looking character throws a lot of knives at her.” Rather expertly Kelly mimed the act of throwing knives. “If it’s a good act the knives just miss, if they don’t - well - you’re pretty soon out of business.”
“Was that what happened to your act, Mr Kelly?”
“Yeah, Mrs Temple. We folded. I was no good. I couldn’t get near the gal – I was too darned scared. One night I missed the gal, the door and every goddam thing!” Kelly stared with real sadness into his empty glass. “I just wasn’t cut out for show business.”
“What were you cut out for, George?” Hubert asked maliciously.
“Why, didn’t you know?” Kelly accepted the cue gratefully. “I’m a financial wizard.”
Now that they were nearer, Temple recognised the couple coming up the steps as Moira Portland and the gregarious Chris Boyer. They unlinked arms as they came onto the terrace. Moira was fresh-faced and more subdued than she had been in the Manila Club but still obviously besotted by her fiancé.
“Hello, Moira!” Hubert said in a tone of mock surprise. “Where have you been?”
“We’ve been for a walk. Any objections, Hubert?”
“No, of course not, but I wanted you to meet Mr and Mrs Temple.”
“We’ve met.” Moira’s expression was non-commital. “We met at the Manila.”
“I don’t think you’ve met my wife, Miss Portland,” Temple corrected her.
Moira made no move to shake hands. She stayed close to Chris Boyer. “Hello, there.”
“Hello there!” Steve responded, true as an echo.
“Mrs Temple,” Eileen interposed swiftly. “May I introduce Mr Boyer – Chris to us.”
“Oh, we’re old friends, aren’t we, Mrs Temple?” said Boyer, smiling.
“Well, it’s nice of you to say so. After the way I quizzed you the other night I’m surprised we’re even on speaking terms!”
“Oh, Chris is used
to that sort of thing,” said Moira lovingly. “I’m the world’s worst nagger, aren’t I, sweetie?”
“Positively the world’s worst!” Boyer agreed.
“You are rotten, Chris!” said Moira, angry at not being contradicted.
“Come along, Mrs Temple.” Eileen rose from her chair, “Let me show you to your room.”
“Would you like a drink, Moira?” Hubert was asking.
“Yes, I’ll have a vodka and Dubonnet.”
“What about you, Boyer?”
“Have you a gin and dry Martini?”
Kelly was holding out his glass as Paul and Steve followed Eileen through the french windows. “Have I your permission to have another scotch, Stella?”
“No, George. I think you’ve had quite enough for one morning.”
“Oh, go on. Let the poor fellow have a drink,” said Hubert, laughing. “It won’t do him any harm. You won’t start throwing knives at us, will you, George?”
“Not if you’re nice to me I won’t.”
Eileen Greene led Temple and Steve through the spacious hall and up a broad, curving staircase to the first floor. They followed her along a creaking corridor to the south bedroom. It was evidently the best guest bedroom, with its own bathroom en-suite. The windows looked out over the front of the house towards the lake.
Steve was surprised by the furniture and decoration. It did not seem to be Hubert Greene’s style at all. Many of the pieces were antiques and the pictures, curtains and carpets had that used and slightly time-weathered elegance that you find in English stately homes.
Their suitcases had been put on the beds but not unpacked.
“I think you’ll be comfortable, Mrs Temple. If there’s anything you’d like just let me know.”
“It’s a lovely room, isn’t it, Paul?”
“Delightful. I was just admiring the view. You seem to be able to see for miles.”
Eileen walked to the window to gaze affectionately at the vista.
“Yes, I remember when I was a little girl we used to climb onto the roof and stay there for hours on end. We used to have picnics up there in the summer.” She turned, smiling nostalgically. “On a clear day you could see right across the country.”
Paul Temple and the Madison Case Page 8