‘A nursing home?’ he repeated. ‘Which was where? ‘ he asked urgently.
‘I’m not sure,’ she replied, her uncertainty returning.
Desmond bit his lip in frustration, knowing from bitter experience that showing any impatience would only fluster her and result in an even longer delay in getting at anything useful.
‘Try and think, Bella; it could be imp... useful,’ he amended quickly downgrading its significance to avoid pressuring her.
‘It was one of the seaside resorts, I remember that much,’ she muttered, her broad, round face creased with concentration. ‘That’s why Mother went to visit; she fancied a day or two away,’ she added.
‘The seaside?’ he asked in surprise. Situated as Beldon was, any seaside resort was a considerable distance away. ‘Why the seaside? It’d be the devil to get to from here!’
‘That was the whole point. No one liked her, or she them, so putting her as far away as possible suited everyone,’ the lady’s niece replied matter of factly. ‘That’s why Mother only went the once; she said having to see Aunt Lizzie spoiled things for her.’
‘Bella, think. It could be vital for the police.’
‘The police?’ she asked, her alarm showing clearly.
Blast! Desmond kicked himself. So much for keeping her from getting stressed! The last thing she’d want, after her and Peter’s recent experiences, was to get involved with them again. ‘Tell you what, I’ll mention it to Mum and maybe she could help, so you’d not need to see the police. What do you think?’ he improvised hurriedly.
‘Yes, a good idea! Eleanor will know what to do,’ she replied, nodding her head, her faith in his mother as strong now, at nearly fifty, as it had been for the more than forty years previously.
Chapter 17
The two police officers rose courteously and looked with interest as the tall, elegant woman swept in and, after giving her surroundings a look of extreme distaste, took a seat in the small interview room. They’d been surprised when she’d brushed aside their suggestion they interview her at her home, offering instead to come to the station. They were also surprised at how like her mother she looked. It was like meeting Marian DeLancy in middle age, Bulmer thought. The surprisingly youthful looking woman now sitting opposite them had the same height, the same dark colouring and the same theatricality in her voice and gestures.
They knew she’d married a younger son of the nobility, was formally styled the Honourable Mrs Rupert Carradine and lived in a small manor house fifteen miles outside Estwich. Both had unconsciously expected some variation of the tweedy, country look, but instead, she was dressed in a fashionable, and clearly expensive, black skirt and matching jacket, with a blood-red blouse and red, high-heeled shoes, providing a dramatic contrast. Around her neck she had a matching black silk scarf, worn with the casual, throwaway elegance not achieved without considerable time spent in front of a mirror. Her hair, a rich raven black belying her age, was worn, in a slightly too youthful style, loose to her shoulders and framed a face remarkably unlined. All in all, she looks like Joan Collins with a bit of class, mused Bulmer.
‘We appreciate your coming in so quickly, Mrs Carradine,’ Calderwood said courteously, as the two men resumed their seats.
‘Not at all, Inspector. One could do little else in the circumstances,’ she replied graciously, in a well-modulated voice that had strong echoes of her mother’s. Looking closely, a slight immobility in her features made Calderwood wonder if her unlined look owed less to nature and somewhat more to Botox.
‘As you know, the old Dolphin has been uncovered and, unfortunately, a body has been found; a body which we believe has been there for some time and which may be linked to your father and Miss Kujenikov’s disappearance in 1965,’ he began.
‘Yes, so I gather. It was a most distasteful business,’ she replied crisply.
‘Why do you choose that word, Mrs Carradine?’ he asked, ‘rather than say “tragic” or “mystifying”? Why “distasteful”?’
‘Because that’s what I found it at the time, Inspector, and continue to feel now.’
‘I may take it that your relationship with your father wasn’t of the warmest?’
‘You certainly may,’ she replied, with a small, cold smile.
‘Was that because of his apparent affair with Miss Kujenikov, or did your feelings pre-date that?’
‘They pre-dated it, by a considerable time!’
‘May I ask why?’
‘My father was not what he seemed; or rather, not what he believe he seemed,’ she amended.
‘An interesting choice of words. Could you explain them?’
‘Certainly. He thought he came across as a debonair, rather rakish fellow, who possessed great charm and was someone who was admired by everyone.’
‘And the reality?’
‘Was that he was a rather sad man, approaching middle age, losing what looks he had and possessing a body that had already reached that middle-age. Behind his back, he was laughed at by most,’ she replied with devastating candour.
‘Besides the distaste you mentioned earlier, what were your other feelings about the affair?’ asked Calderwood, masking his surprise at her brutal frankness.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Were they hate or contempt, say, or anger, or some other word?’
‘Indifference is the word you need, Inspector, total indifference,’ she replied in the same crisp tone and with a careful raising of her eyebrows.
‘Indifference,’ murmured Calderwood thoughtfully. ‘Scarcely the usual feelings of a young girl for her father in the circumstances. Particularly when that affair was with a girl young enough to be his daughter herself,’ he remarked.
‘He was scarcely the usual sort of father,’ she responded drily.
‘I understood that he got on well with all the children of the various parts of the family, is that not correct?’
‘No, it most certainly isn’t. He believed he did and we never enlightened him. We just avoided him as much as we could,’
‘What about relationships with your broader family; were you close to your aunts and uncles, your various cousins?’
‘I felt a degree of affection for them all during my childhood, but little lasted into my adulthood – for any of them,’ she replied, coolly.
‘Fair enough,’ Calderwood nodded. ‘How about Miss Kujenikov? Did you have much to do with her?’
‘No, nothing at all,’ she said dismissively.
‘Isn’t that surprising? You were, after all, only a year or two older, were you not?’
Other than a slight tightening of her lips, she gave no sign of her irritation at being reminded of the age she spent a great deal of time and money attempting to keep at bay. She replied coldly, after the briefest of pauses. ‘There was little point. She was only going to be around for a few weeks, then she’d be gone back to... wherever she came from,’ she added haughtily. ‘Also, my having married the previous year, meant I was a great deal too busy living my own life!’
‘Were you aware, at all, of the developing relationship between your father and Miss Kujenikov?’
‘I could scarcely be otherwise, Inspector, despite not always being around! They were quite blatant about it, quite blatant!’
‘Really? I understood that the openness, to put it no higher, was initially very much on your father’s side and that Miss Kujenikov was, shall we say, less overt?’
‘I don’t know who told you that, Inspector, but believe me, they were both very open about what they were up to and from only days after she arrived! It was incredibly embarrassing!’ she responded tartly.
‘In what ways was this openness, you mention, shown?’
‘The usual ones Inspector – the usual ones! Little glances, private smiles and so on; and then, of course, there were the gifts he started giving her.’
‘Gifts?’
‘Yes. My father started lavishing presents on her. She’d obviously let it be known that that
was part of the price he’d have to pay for things to continue.’
‘What sort of gifts?’
‘Oh, various items of jewellery, expensive ones of course!’
‘How do you know?’ he asked quietly.
‘I’m sorry?’ she asked, obviously taken aback.
‘The glances, the private smiles you mention could, perhaps, be seen by others, but the gifts, I understand, were, at the time, quite private, were they not?’
‘They can’t have been, can they, if I knew about them!’ she retorted after a moment.
‘Indeed. Though I am curious as to how you did know. We understand that Miss Kujenikov was very discreet until almost the very last moment, so she’d hardly be flaunting these tokens, would she?’ he pressed.
‘It’s all so very long ago, Inspector, so I really can’t help you any more about that. I’m sorry,’ she added, in tones which hid her regret well.
‘So the elopement came as no surprise to you, then?’ he asked, moving on.
She paused. ‘Not entirely.’
‘Not entirely?’
She nodded. ‘There’d been other “dalliances” before, but he’d ended them before they threatened the very nice life that he had.’
‘And what was different this time, do you think?’
‘Oh, the girl, obviously. She played a very clever game and won the jackpot; a rather tawdry and shop-worn jackpot, but most definitely the jackpot to a girl like her,’ she responded coldly.
‘A girl like her?’
‘A gold digger. A common little gold digger who, regardless of the consequences to others, saw her chance and took it.’
‘I see,’ murmured Calderwood and then paused and sat quietly looking at her for a moment or two, before continuing. ‘How far did this feeling of indifference you mentioned a moment or two ago, extend?’
‘I’m sorry?’ she asked. ‘I don’t follow you, Inspector,’ she added with ill-concealed annoyance.
‘I was wondering how you felt about losing the theatre; not to mention a great deal of your family’s money,’ he replied.
A flash in her eyes, which unlike her earlier gestures, seemed totally spontaneous, told him he’d hit a nerve, perhaps even broken through what seemed to be the family’s armour of theatricality.
‘The money didn’t matter,’ she said dismissively. ‘There was more than enough left to live on, even had I not been married; as I was, of course...’ She trailed off, the message plain.
‘But the theatre did matter to you?’
‘Yes,’ she replied simply; ‘a great deal. More, perhaps, than to the rest of the family.’
‘The message I’m getting from one or two of your relatives, is, in fact, that the theatre meant little to them,’ he said, his voice neutral.
‘Really? Then they were not telling you the truth,’ she replied coldly. ‘All of us, uncles, aunts, cousins and siblings, all adored The Dolphin.’
‘That, I suppose, leaves me with two questions,’ said Calderwood. ‘The first, of course, is why they would tell me otherwise; the second is why did the loss of the theatre mean, “even more”, were your words, I think, to you than to the others?’
‘I can’t answer for my relatives, Inspector, a slippery lot, we DeLancys! As for myself, though I did feel the loss acutely, it was probably for the best.’
‘In what way?’ he asked, as she paused.
‘Merely that I did have ambitions to go on the stage myself. To appear on The Dolphin’s stage had been my ambition since I was a child,’ she added, giving what seemed her most honest answer so far. Or the least affected, anyway, thought Bulmer. ‘It was, however, as I say, for the best,’ she continued.
‘In what way?’
‘My husband’s family were, still are, extremely conservative, and having an actress and singer in the family, would not have been tolerated,’ she replied.
Calderwood nodded. ‘I think that’s all for now, Mrs Carradine. Again, thanks for coming to the station. Rest assured, once we have something definite to tell the family, we’ll do so,’ he added, rising courteously.
She nodded and rose herself. Calderwood and Bulmer, having appointments outside the station, accompanied her to the door and turned to leave her on the broad steps fronting the Victorian building.
If the four he’d so far met were anything to go by, the whole family should’ve been on the stage themselves, Calderwood thought sardonically, as he and Bulmer moved off to their cars, their jacket collars turned up against the falling rain.
Both men stopped and turned on hearing a familiar voice call out.
‘Estelle? What a surprise, but how lovely to see you!’ Desmond was saying, from under his umbrella, as he was bending down to kiss her. ‘You’re looking lovelier than ever,’ he beamed, picking his words with some care. He still had painful memories of the last time he and Gwilym had seen her. She, though by no means a stupid woman, had accepted his cry of ‘You’re looking younger each time we see you!’ at face value and had actually glowed. Gwilym, who knew his partner considerably better, had given him a sharp kick on the shin.
‘Desmond! Gwilym! Darlings!’ she replied, accepting their air kisses, her manner suddenly warmer, less affected, very much social equal to social equal. Puts Colin and me in our places, Calderwood thought, amused.
After a few more words of greeting and reluctant explanation, she turned and left them, with a look of displeasure at the heavy clouds, her high heels making a staccato beat along the wet pavement.
‘You two know Mrs Carradine, then?’ he queried, as the four men shook hands.
‘Oh yes, we’ve known her for years, though only slightly. Mum knows her more. They’re both on a lot of the same county-level committees,’ Desmond explained. ‘I’m surprised she came to you, rather than have you traipse over to her,’ he went on. ‘I suppose Rupert’s home,’ he mused. ‘I feel sorry for her in some ways,’ he continued, watching her retreating figure.’
‘Sorry?’ queried Calderwood.
‘Yes. She and Rupert, her husband, are not happy. In fact, I’d say they almost loathe each other,’ he explained. ‘A case of mutually unfulfilled expectations,’ he added bluntly. ‘He expected her to bring in more money than she actually did, and she expected to become the next Lady Carradine,’ he continued, in response to Calderwood’s querying look.
‘Really?’ prompted the DI. He was always interested to hear background on any one involved, however indirectly, in a case, and hoped Desmond would supply it.
He needn’t have worried, thought Gwilym, watching with amusement. He’d known the Blaine-Applebys, and their son in particular, for virtually the whole of his life, from even before both he and Desmond had started Infants school on the same day. He’d never got over the irony of how two such people as Desmond’s parents, both very firmly against gossip, had produced a son to whom it was one of life’s greatest pleasures.
‘Yes. She was very young when she married him. Rupert was in his early thirties and his half-brother’s heir. His much older half-brother, who was well into his fifties, in fact,’ continued Desmond. ‘Not only was he childless, he wasn’t even married, so Rupert inheriting seemed a pretty solid certainty. Unfortunately, brother Jonathan upset the apple-cart by going off and getting married to a very much younger woman. Any uncertainty surrounding a change in Rupert and Estelle’s prospects was quickly cleared up, unfortunately for them, by the lady giving birth to two boys in quick succession, one of whom is now the fourth Lord Carradine; the very wealthy Lord Carradine, thanks to the lady’s money,’ Desmond added, for emphasis.
‘It must have been something of a disappointment,’ murmured Calderwood, with some sympathy.
Served the snooty cow right, thought Bulmer, with virtually none.
Chapter 18
‘Anyway, what can we do for you both?’ Calderwood asked.
‘It may be what we can do for you,’ responded Gwilym, ‘or rather, what Desmond can,’ he amended.
‘We
could do with some help at the moment,’ the DI admitted, ruefully.
‘No leads?’
‘Too many, and all fifty years old!’ Calderwood responded wryly.
‘Ah! I may have something which may help. It is, to say the least, more than a little circumstantial, but it is considerably more recent!’ Desmond said cheerfully.
‘Really?’ asked the young police officer, having good reason to trust the instincts of the two men facing him.
‘It may well be nothing,’ Desmond warned; ‘but a friend of mine tells me that her mother, who worked at The Dolphin, at the time Ariana was there, saw Gerald DeLancy in the mid-1990s,’ he went on, enjoying the dawning look of interest on both officers’ faces.
‘We both,’ he went on, indicating Gwilym, ‘knew the mother and she’s nobody’s fool,’ he added, ‘otherwise, we’d probably not bother saying anything.’
‘Good Lord! Where did she see him, or think she saw him?’ Calderwood asked, quickly.
‘Ah, yes. That’s one of the problems – my friend doesn’t quite know where,’ Desmond replied.
‘Doesn’t know where?’ the DI repeated, mystified.
‘No. Though it was at the seaside apparently, if that helps!’ the older man responded with a smile. Taking pity on his friends’ bafflement, he relented and quickly told them of his conversation with Bella.
‘It may be something or, as you say, nothing, but it’s worth following up. It’s considerably more than we have at the moment,’ Calderwood replied, now smiling himself. ‘We’ll have a word with your friend and perhaps she’ll have recalled something else by now,’ he added hopefully.
‘She may or may not,’ commented Desmond, ‘but that’s the other problem. She won’t talk to you.’
‘Why not?’ asked Calderwood, slightly taken aback.
‘She doesn’t like you,’ replied Desmond flatly. ‘Not you personally,’ he hastened to add, ‘but all policemen,’ and went on to explain why. ‘So, as you can see, some of your guys weren’t terribly tactful,’ he ended.
Calderwood nodded in resignation, not being a fan of the forceful, almost brutal, approach of some of his colleagues.
Death of a Dancer Page 8