Dead Man's Dinner

by Una Gordon

  While Melissa slept and snored soundly, Fiona and Gresham tossed and turned. They went over the whole thing again, occasionally asking each other a question, but mostly just thinking and thinking and feeling they were going round in circles. Derwent had sent six men an invitation to a dinner and at that dinner each man had been given a card presumably with the same message, then the rumour had started that Derwent had died of Aids, but apparently this was untrue, yet Melissa was now hinting that Guy had contracted Aids and Graham Carson was dying of the same thing. What had Derwent been up to? Neither of them could make anything of it and by morning they were no nearer reaching a conclusion.

  In the morning Gresham had an appointment in the city. While he got up and left the flat early, Fiona stayed in bed until about 9 o'clock. Once up, she toyed with some breakfast, then tried to concentrate on writing some letters, but all the time she was listening for sounds coming from the spare room. She opened the door gently once or twice and looked in, but Melissa was sleeping soundly. It was well after midday until there was any sound of movement. Fiona tapped tentatively on the door. When Melissa opened it, she looked in puzzlement at Fiona.

  “Are you all right?” asked Fiona.

  Melissa attempted a smile. “Apart from having a head like a pot and looking like a tramp,” she looked down at her creased blouse and skirt, “I feel absolutely wonderful.”

  “There's a bathrobe behind the door. Why don't you have a shower and slip that on? I'll ask Eileen to press your clothes.”

  Yes, yes, all right.”

  Fiona got the impression that Melissa did not have the energy to argue.

  “Come along to the sitting room once you're ready.” Fiona indicated where it was.

  While she waited, Fiona wondered what she was going to say to Melissa. She didn't want to sound too inquisitive..

  Melissa did not exactly bound into the sitting room, but she came in looking much livelier than she had earlier. She gladly accepted Fiona's offer of coffee and sandwiches. “Tell me all,” she said. “How did I come to be here?”

  “Well.......”

  “Oh, don't bother about being tactful, my dear. I was drunk, drunk as a lord – oh, sorry, I forgot your husband is a lord.” Fiona smiled. “I'm indiscreet when I'm sober, so spill the beans. What awful secrets did I reveal when I was drunk?”

  Quickly Fiona told her where they had met her and they had decided to bring her home with them, then she paused. Whether or not she had a hangover, Melissa might still be pretty perceptive. “Come on, I want to know what I said that shocked you.”

  “I wasn't shocked.” Fiona smiled her gentle smile again. “But you said something about your husband thinking you'd given him Aids.”

  Melissa went strangely quiet. “You also asked,” Fiona continued, “if Gresham had got a card at Derwent's dinner saying I'd been to bed with him.”

  Melissa looked up quickly. “Did he?”

  “Yes,” said Fiona.

  “Wasn't Gresham worried then when the rumours about Derwent having Aids started circulating?”

  “Well he may have been, but I told him about being invited to Derwent's flat and the whole thing was brought out into the open and we realised that even if Derwent had died of Aids there was nothing for us to worry about.”

  “Bloody marvellous. Ruddy, bloody marvellous.” Fiona looked at Melissa enquiringly as she said this. “You must be a couple in a million,” went on Melissa. “You trust each other. You were safe because you trust each other. Guy and I.....we were suspicious of each other. We were both chips off the same block – out for what we could get and I suppose,” she grimaced wryly, “I suppose we got what we deserved.”

  Fiona thought there was no point in revealing that Gresham had had his doubts.

  “Why did Guy think he had Aids if he didn't,” she asked Melissa.

  Melissa sighed. “Fiona, you're straight, you're honest and it would be difficult for you to understand how people like Guy and me lived.” She paused. “We both liked the good life and we weren't too fussy how we go it. Guy got involved in some very shady deals, but always seemed to come out smelling of roses. He didn't mind my sleeping around as long as I profited by it. I suppose I'm no better than a prostitute.” She played with the sash on the bathrobe. Fiona waited for her to continue. “Well, several months before he died, Derwent invited me to his flat. I discussed the invitation with Guy. He knew that Derwent was loaded. He had no idea why Derwent had invited me, but he dared me to go along and seduce him. I went.” She smiled. “I tried every trick in the trade and some, but Derwent just wasn't interested. He just kept trying to feed me cream cakes and chocolate biscuits.” Exactly what happened when I went, thought Fiona. “When I got home, Guy wanted to know if I'd been successful and I was too proud, I suppose, to admit the truth. Guy then wanted to know where the loot was and I made up some story about Derwent saying I'd get it later.”

  She omitted to tell Fiona about stealing the ornament. “When Derwent died, Guy thought there would be something in the will, but all he got was that card, then the rumours started. I tried to tell Guy then that I hadn't slept with Derwent, but he just wouldn't listen. He's always been a hypochondriac and he was sure his number was up. We both went for tests, but he still wasn't convinced when the results were negative. He became obsessed with the idea and I got very impatient with him. Anyway while I was out shopping he took an overdose.” There were no tears, but her eyes already hollow in her face, took on a faraway look.

  “It wasn't your fault,” said Fiona gently.

  “How can you apportion guilt? I lied and I'll pay for that lie for the rest of my life. Everybody thinks I'm tough and maybe I am, but, oh God, I've got to live with my conscience.”

  Fiona desperately tried to think of something to say that didn't sound trite. She decided to stick to practical facts. “You know,” she said,” that Derwent didn't die of Aids, he died of leukaemia.”

  “I didn't suppose that he did die of Aids, but I wonder how that rumour started?”

  “Yes,” replied Fiona, “we've tried to think who would get anything out of starting a rumour like that.”

  “The whole thing is most odd. Derwent liked practical jokes, but what was he or anyone else getting out of this?” Melissa paused, thinking. “I can understand his having a grudge against Guy; they were always competing in various ways, but what would he have against Gresham? What would he have against the other four at the party?”

  The two women looked at each other without inspiration, then Melissa had the bright idea that they should write down the six names of the men at the dinner party and try to work out why Derwent disliked them.

  “OK,” said Fiona as she rose to get pencil and paper. The six names were written down – Gresham Erdington, Guy Pather, Peter Dewey, Gary (they didn't know his second name), Marcus Reeves and Graham Carson.

  “Right,” said Melissa. “We know Derwent hated Guy because they were in some big deals together and Guy often outwitted Derwent. I suppose cheated might be a better way of putting it.” Fiona was surprised at Melissa's honesty, but she said nothing. “Can you think of any reason why he hated Gresham?”

  “Gresham didn't do any business deals with Derwent and if he had he wou.....”

  “Wouldn't have cheated,” Melissa finished for her.

  “I have always thought Derwent was jealous of Gresham being from an aristocratic background.”

  “You may well be right. We'll put that down. The trouble is we don't know most of the others well enough to come to any decision about them,” sighed Melissa. “If they all cheated Derwent in some way where does Gresham fit in? Could he have wiped the floor with him at cards?”

  “I don't think so.” She tried to imagine herself asking Gresham if he'd ever swindled and she just couldn't.

  “Marcus and Derwent owned a gallery together at one time. Perhaps there's some tie up there,” suggested Melissa. “Peter Dewey. That name rings a bell. I'm sure I've heard Guy mention him.�
��

  They got no further trying to fathom out what Derwent had had against the other men on the list. They were still discussing it when the evening paper arrived. Fiona picked it up from behind the door. Melissa noticed she had gone quite pale when she came back into the sitting room.

  “Look at this!” Melissa took the paper. DOUBLE MUDER IN TOOTING was the headline A forty-two year old woman, named Bianca Dewey and her lover, Clive Wood, have been found dead in Wood's flat. The man thought to be helping the police with their enquiries was Peter Dewey, husband of the deceased woman.

  Fiona's heart sank. Guy Pather was dead, Graham Carson was dying and Peter Dewey was accused of murder. All three of them had been at Derwent's dinner party. What was in store for the other three? How did Gresham fit into this picture? There was some kind of dark cloud hanging over them all – a cloud that she believed Derwent was responsible for even although he was dead. Could they prevent any further disasters? But how could they when they didn't know what was going on? God, was Gresham in danger?

  Melissa could see that Fiona was worried and temporarily she forgot her own misery and her heart went out to her. “There must be something we can do if only we think,” she said. “What about that lawyer fellow who was at the dinner? He might know what's going on.”

  Fiona's head had started to throb. “Anything is worth a try.”

  Before Melissa left she and Fiona had made an appointment to see Benjamin Carmichael next day. Fiona did not feel confident about the outcome, but it was better than doing nothing. When Gresham came home that evening he found Fiona in quite a state. He tried to comfort her. He felt that the evil spirit of Derwent was working on them from the grave.

  Next day Fiona realised she had mentioned to Melissa that Graham Carson was dying, but she hadn't told her the whole story and she decided she had to tell her when they met up the following day.

  Melissa grimaced over her coffee. “This thing gets more and more bizarre. Three men at that dinner with the finger of doom on them. And Graham Carson. He's such a stiff, old stick. How on earth did he contract Aids? I can't imagine his wife sleeping around and even if she did I'm sure Derwent was impotent and he didn't have Aids anyway, so it couldn't have been him if she was responsible for the Aids.”

  “Rachel Carson was in Devon for six months. Her mother was dying. Graham was left on his own,” Fiona informed her.

  “Not much surprises me,” mused Melissa, “but I simply cannot imagine Graham Carson with a prostitute.”

  “There are other ways of contracting the disease,” said Fiona.

  “Yes, but how? He's as unlikely to be a drug addict as he is to be picking up prostitutes. An unsterilised needle in a hospital? If he'd gone to hospital, surely his wife would know about it. Perhaps he cut himself then came into contact with someone who was HV positive. After all, lawyers do meet all sorts of people.”

  “I don't think we're ever going to know the answer to where he got it,” stated Fiona. “Of course people contract it in various ways, but he just keeps blaming his wife. Either he genuinely believes he got it from her or he has no intention of revealing the source.”

  Melissa looked at her watch. “We'd better not keep Big Ben waiting.”

  As they walked along to his office, Fiona commented that Melissa seemed to know quite a bit about everybody who had been at the “dead dinner” as they now called it.

  Melissa confided that she had squeezed every ounce of information out of Guy immediately after the dinner and if she didn't know the people personally, she certainly knew plenty about them.

  “But why were you so curious?” asked Fiona.

  “Mmnn. I suppose I had a feeling right from the start – especially after the chocolate biscuit and cream cake tea followed by that strange invitation. I'm a bit like Guy; I like to outsmart people, so I wanted all the details possible, but so far,” she shrugged, “so far Derwent has got me beaten. He was the most spiteful person I've ever met and I still think I'm on the right lines thinking he held some grudge against all these six men, but it's difficult to see what in some cases. Gresham didn't do business with him and young Gary – well, if you saw him! He's like a babe in arms compared to Derwent. I can't see him ever outsmarting Derwent. Graham Carson is so straight down the line that......”

  “Maybe that's it,” interrupted Fiona. “Say these men found Derwent out in some shady deal and confronted him with it or told the police or ruined it in some way for Derwent, then he might......”

  “Yes, it's a long shot, but you could be right.”

  “Gresham said he'd lost touch with Derwent after they'd left university. They were in the same year there and at school, but surely he wouldn't be trying to retaliate for something that happened all these years ago.”

  “You didn't know Derwent. He'd have felt spiteful to his mother for making him suffer at his birth if he'd remembered about it. He gathered grudges the way some people do stamps or coins or something.”

  Fiona thought this whole thing sounded so unlikely, but she didn't say any more. She was sure Gresham had been telling the truth when he said he could think of no reason why Derwent should hate him. She thought he had been jealous because Gresham was a member of the aristocracy which was something he could never attain.

  The two women walked the last few yards to Benjamin Carmichael's office in silence. Once in the office they were ushered after a short wait into Benjamin's room. He was a handsome, distinguished looking man, both women thought. Although well into middle age, his smile revealed a good set of even white teeth which might have owed more to dental care rather than nature.

  “Now then, what a pleasure to have two such charming ladies call on me at the same time. What can I do for you?” His manner was unctuous and Fiona took an immediate dislike to him which would have disappointed him for he liked to think he had a way with women.

  Melissa realised in that first minute that they would get nothing out of him. He had his armour on – his bland, businesslike manner. He would tell them how sorry he was, but he couldn't help them.

  She was, of course, right.

  “Ladies,” he said, holding out his hands, “if only I could help you, I would, but I really know no more than you,” he said in answer to their questions. “My client left instructions and I carried these out to the letter. There is nothing more I can tell you. There is nothing more I know myself.”

  Liar, thought Melissa.

  Benjamin turned to Melissa. “I am so sorry to hear about your husband's death and the unfortunate things that have happened to Mr Dewey and Mr Carson, but could they possibly be connected to Derwent in any way? I'm sure they couldn't.”

  I'm sure they bloody well could, thought Melissa, but she knew it would be a hopeless task trying to press Benjamin for more information.

  Fiona felt that Benjamin's bland words were pouring over her like some kind of anaesthetic, trying to blot out her suspicions.

  As they rose to go, Benjamin was still uttering the age old banalities. “Do come again if you think I can help, but I seem to have been of little assistance. I'm sure you have nothing to worry about, Lady Erdington.”

  Both women had the feeling that he was relieved to see them go.

  “Damn the man,” cursed Melissa, once they were out in the street again. “He knows all right what is going on and he bloody well has no intention of telling us.” Suddenly she turned to Fiona. “There's one more person who might be able to help us. Derwent had a manservant called Homer. According to Guy, what Homer didn't know about Derwent wasn't worth knowing. Let's go there. He might not be as astute as Mr Bloody Ben Carmichael.”

  Melissa and Fiona, having visited Derwent, knew exactly where the flat was and Homer answered their ring on the bell.

  “We want to speak to you,” said Melissa, almost pushing Homer back into the flat. He led them into the sitting room where Melissa quickly explained who they were and what they wanted to know.

  Homer drew himself up to his full height. �
�Of course, madam, I am aware that such a dinner party took place,” he said stiffly. “I am also aware that each of the guests received an envelope, but I have no knowledge of the contents. I supposed that Mr Mollosey had been kind enough to leave them a legacy.”

  Melissa cast her eyes to the ceiling. “Homer, I just do not believe you. Look, this is a matter of life and death. My husband is already dead, another of the guests is dying and another is in prison accused of a serious crime. Come on, we want to know what is going on.”

  “Are you suggesting, madam, that these unfortunate occurrences are in some way connected with Mr Mollosey's dinner party.”

  “Yes, I am!”

  Fiona, was not at all sure this was the best way to tackle Homer and as a stubborn look settled on his face, she became certain that their quest for information from Homer would be as fruitless as had their appeal been to Benjamin Carmichael.

  Melissa tried shouting, she tried bullying, she tried threats, she tried coaxing, she tried bribing, but to no avail. “I can tell you nuthin', madam.”

  They left unconvinced, but unable to see what they could do next. If they went to see Marcus or Gary and asked outright if they knew what Derwent had been up to, they might cause more ripples in the pool than were already there. Fiona had let Melissa have her head up until then. She now advised caution. They should wait and think. She returned home with a heavy heart and the feeling that something dreadful might happen to Gresham.

  Chapter Eight

  Fiona's heart, although heavy, was not as heavy as Peter Dewey's as he sat in his cell, head in hands, cursing the events which had brought him there. He remembered clearly the day Bianca had left the flat and the sense of desolation which had come over him. He'd never got over that. Despite what Bianca had said, he had tried to find her and had eventually done so in a grotty, little flat in Clapham. He'd begged her to return to him, but she was adamant. She'd had enough. The more she refused to change her mind, the more determined Peter had become to get her back. She asked him to stop visiting, but he repeatedly did so, pleading with her sometimes to come home and cursing her at others for having slept with Derwent. Eventually he went one evening and instead of Bianca opening the door, a man stood facing him across the threshold. Peter was amazed. Bianca had got herself a lover. Peter had tried to push his way in, but the other man was younger and stronger. Peter had to slink away with his tail between his legs, but he did not give up visiting. He was warned by the police to stop pestering his wife. She had slept with Derwent and now he was being warned off by the police. Humiliation was quickly followed by resentment and he made up his mind to take his revenge. He planned things carefully. He had first thought of getting a gun, but that would be too easy to trace. He even thought of inviting them for a meal, pretending he had forgiven Bianca, and poisoning them, but they probably wouldn't accept the invitation and how would he get rid of the bodies. With his plan still fermenting in his mind he went round to the flat one evening to find it empty. The birds had flown. It took much careful questioning before he found out they had gone to a flat in Tooting. They were trying to escape him, but they never would.