by Mike Ripley
‘We are here on honeymoon,’ she beamed. ‘Our second honeymoon actually, even though we haven’t been married long.’
‘In my day,’ said Lady Prunella sternly, ‘one honeymoon per marriage was thought excessive. Did I send anything to the wedding?’
‘That is not of consequence, Lady Prunella …’
‘Of course it is. That silly girl Ulla must have forgotten to remind me. Where is the girl?’
The silly girl in question was in fact parking an ancient but spotless blue Panhard saloon in a side street, having stopped at the doors to the casino in order to allow Lady Prunella time to compose herself before joining her for their ritual grand entrance, despite there being no audience to appreciate the spectacle at that time in the morning.
Joseph Fleurey had fully briefed Rupert and Perdita on this daily routine and pointed out that Lady Prunella’s ‘silly girl’ was a forty-year-old Swiss-German with a muscle tone which suggested she was an accomplished downhill skier and a temperament that suggested she might be referred to as an assistant, a secretary or a companion but never – never – a servant. His father, said M. Fleurey, would have referred to Frau Berger as a Sergent-Chef-Major, though the rank no longer existed in the French army; not an officer, but a personage whom those of lower rank called ‘Sir’ and often so did the officers.
The junior Campions had followed Joseph’s advice in choreographing their first encounter with their prey, choosing the one small window of time when it was possible to approach Lady Prunella without Frau Berger peering over her shoulder. They had dressed in smart, casual clothes – she in a yellow knee-length summer frock and he in white shirt and navy blue blazer – as befitted the climate, the setting and a young English couple on holiday, having resisted the temptation to indulge in any of the many dramatic roles they had been rehearsing.
Their ambush, though initially successful, did not secure as long a private audience with Lady Prunella as they might have wished, but luckily the Campions’ bumbling introductions had struck the right note.
‘Ah, here’s Frau Berger now. I don’t know what I’d do without her. Well of course I do, but one has to say these things, doesn’t one?’
Despite very sensible low-heeled shoes, which did nothing to disguise her height, Frau Berger reminded Rupert of the stewardesses he had seen on brash cinema adverts for trans-Atlantic airline companies, dressed as she was in a pink twin-set complete with white gloves and a double strand of fake pearls resting on a granite-firm bosom. She wore her blonde hair piled in a beehive and large, square sunglasses. She carried a white leather bag large enough to conceal a small machine gun and gave off the air of someone who knew how to use one.
‘Here you are at last, Ulla. Where have you been?’
‘Parking the car, Lady Redcar,’ said the taller woman crisply, though her sunglasses were trained firmly on the two interlopers. ‘And who are zeese?’
‘These,’ corrected Lady Prunella, ‘are young people from England and very probably distant relatives of mine. They have been recently married and you seem to have forgotten to remind me to send a wedding gift. I thought you Swiss-Germans were supposed to be efficient.’
Frau Berger did not flinch, merely cocked her head to one side in mild curiosity.
‘If mine is the fault, then I apologise. What was the name, please?’
‘There is no fault on anyone’s part,’ said Rupert with a gentle bow. ‘My name is Rupert Campion and this is my wife Perdita.’
Frau Berger offered a gloved hand to each of them in turn as Lady Prunella looked on as imperiously as a judge.
‘Perdita … that is a Shakespearean name, is it not? The Winter’s Tale, ja? It is one of my favourite comedies. I particularly like the scene with the bear. And your name before marriage was Browning, was it not? Like the poet.’
‘You are correct,’ said Perdita putting on her best head girl smile, ‘but I cannot claim any connection with either Shakespeare or Robert Browning, other than being an admirer of their works. May I ask how you know me?’
‘I do not know you, but I read The Times of London, even though we receive it two days late here, and I remember the announcement of your wedding, because Perdita is not a common name.’
‘If you saw the announcement, why didn’t you bring it to my attention you silly girl?’ Lady Prunella demanded.
‘I had no idea you knew either the Campions or the Brownings. I am not psychic.’
‘What a pity, I was sure I included that in the job description.’
Rupert tightened his stomach muscles to stifle a laugh as Perdita said cheerfully: ‘A psychic would come in awfully handy in a casino.’
‘How right you are, my dear,’ said Lady Prunella, peering over the tops of her spectacles as if realising her presence for the first time, ‘but as we do not have one to hand, I will have to make do, as usual, with a prayer to the Old Bones. Will you join me in a spin of the wheel, my dear?’
‘I most certainly will,’ said Perdita with far too much enthusiasm for Rupert’s liking.
Lady Prunella offered her arm, which Perdita took with alacrity and the four of them progressed like a stately galleon out of the sunshine and into the welcoming cool of the casino.
Telex to: 8955509 SNTIG C
For: Mr Albert Campion
From Rupert
Who the Devil is Austin Bones????
Fifteen
The Man Who Hardly Troubled the Bank at Monte Carlo
It quickly became clear that Lady Prunella Redcar’s daily appointment with the roulette wheel was not a matter of obsessional behaviour or economic necessity. Nor was it any sort of public or social statement, for she indulged her habit almost in private, preferring to play at a time when serious gamblers were still sleeping off their losses from the night before and casual tourists were more interested in selecting a restaurant for lunch. The casino staff of croupiers, waiters and even cleaners still not quite finished with their dusting and polishing were her only audience, should she be in need of an audience, apart from Frau Berger. Whether she won or lost on the roulette, the employees of the casino displayed a professional and unemotional impartiality. So too did Frau Berger, who remained impassive standing at Lady Prunella’s shoulder, her eyes hidden behind her sunglasses even in the dimly-lit casino, clutching the large Redcar handbag to her bosom. When Lady Prunella required chips from the cashier, the handbag would be popped open and she would reach in to extract a gloved fist full of francs. When the handbag was safely closed, the wad of bank notes was pressed into Frau Berger’s hand and she was directed to the cashier’s glass fortress.
Rupert and Perdita, in their roles as young newly-weds whose meeting with Lady Prunella was pure serendipity, were careful to maintain an air of innocence. They entered the casino as part of the Redcar royal progress with expressions of wide-eyed wonder, even though Joseph Fleurey had given them a personal guided tour the previous evening, during which Perdita had found baccarat unfathomable and roulette slightly addictive.
As Rupert positioned himself next to Lady Prunella at the edge of Roulette Table 1, Perdita followed Frau Berger to the cashier’s window and observed her negotiations for some brightly coloured plastic markers in exchange for the French francs she clutched. Perdita estimated that the Swiss woman had bought little more than £10 worth of chips and when it was her turn to stand in front of the Cashier all she said was ‘S’il vous plait’ with a quiet nod which the Cashier answered with a sly wink as he slid the chips towards her without any money changing hands.
The two couples were the only players at Table 1, it being not quite 11.30 a.m. and the duty croupier still with flecks of pastry from his petit déjeuner on his bow tie and the lapels of his black jacket. In fact, they were the only gamblers in the casino; something on which Lady Prunella decided she had to comment.
‘I much prefer to indulge my little passion for roulette without an audience; and even though my visits here have made me what I believe is called a ‘fi
xture’ in this casino, I do so hate being gawked at by people.’
‘I hope we are not intruding, Lady Prunella,’ said Rupert politely.
‘Don’t be foolish. If you’re a Campion you are probably family. Was your mother a Fitton, from Suffolk?’
‘She still is,’ affirmed the dutiful son.
Lady Prunella paused in the middle of forming her chips into equal piles on the edge of the green roulette ‘layout’ cloth.
‘Didn’t I read somewhere that she had to take a job – something in engineering? No, surely I must have dreamt that.’
‘Lady Amanda is actually a well-known aircraft designer and consultant,’ said Perdita, leaping to her mother-in-law’s defence.
‘So she chose a career, did she?’ If Lady Prunella did not actually inject disdain into the word, she used it as if it was unfamiliar and possibly unknown to her. ‘It was always said that the Fittons were unconventional and headstrong, and of course she is much younger than your father who is, I believe, a Victorian, as I am. Girls today seem to want – no, demand – to do everything. What do you do, my dear?’
‘I’m am actress.’
‘Of course you are. Shall we place our bets?’
Lady Prunella reached over the table and carefully placed three circular chips in a neat pile at the bottom of the first column, just under the number 34. Perdita offered her handful of chips to her husband, but Rupert shook his head, deferring to her enthusiasm if not her skill, and offered her the freedom of the table. With a look of deep concentration on her face, a concentration indicated by the tip of her tongue poking through tightly closed lips, Perdita took a single chip and slowly waved it over a large area of the layout before opting to cover the single square occupied by the number 12.
‘Rien ne va plus, mesdames,’ said the croupier in a quietly bored voice which was almost a yawn and spun the wheel, the small white ball rattling loudly in the empty casino.
Perdita’s right hand reached out for Rupert’s left and she grasped it tightly, a gesture which somehow reassured the both of them and reassurance became necessary and their grip tightened jointly as Lady Prunella began to quietly intone what they first thought was a Gregorian chant.
‘Bones … Old Bones … come on, Bones … share the luck …’
Rupert could not help but stare at the old woman standing next to him and was about to ask if she required a glass of water, or a chair, or whatever it was elderly ladies needed when an attack of the vapours – whatever they were – seemed imminent. He then noticed his own concerned reflection in the sunglasses worn by Frau Berger who was staring at him, her face impassive, telepathically defying him to intervene or comment on the strange behaviour of her octogenarian companion.
‘Bones … Old Bones … share the luck …’
The little white ball of chance gave a final death rattle and settled into a slot on the roulette wheel.
‘Dix-huit, rouge, pair,’ announced the croupier.
‘Damn!’ said Perdita.
‘Twist!’ exclaimed Lady Prunella.
The croupier gave a loud sigh, the sort of sigh that middle-aged French waiters with fallen arches specialised in, and extended his rake to sweep in the two losing bets.
Lady Prunella replaced her lost chip with a new one and then added a second to the bottom of the first column.
‘Well, my birthday wasn’t lucky, so I’ll try yours,’ said Perdita, placing a chip on number 20.
‘If you bet on single numbers, you face very long odds,’ advised Rupert.
‘But much bigger winnings,’ said his wife in a voice which brooked no argument.
‘Come on, Old Bones … spread the luck,’ Lady Prunella chanted softly and the wheel spun.
‘Vingt-et-un, rouge, impair,’ intoned the croupier, extending his rake.
‘Blast!’ snapped Perdita.
‘Twist!’ snapped Lady Prunella.
‘Oh well done me!’ laughed Rupert, scooping up the two chips the croupier had shovelled his way.
‘What did you do for that?’ asked his wife, narrowing her eyes.
‘I played it safe, darling. You bet on a red number, so I bet on black. The odds are only Evens, but by doing the opposite of you I felt I turned them in my favour.’
Perdita’s nostrils flared and she turned back to the layout, placing a small tower of chips on red 18, saying firmly: ‘Shall we see how lucky our wedding anniversary is then?’
Lady Prunella, seemingly oblivious to the marital discord taking place at her side, piled four chips at the base of the first column and began her quiet mantra as the croupier spun the wheel again.
‘This time Bones … spread the wealth, Old Bones …’
As the white ball rattled its death rattle and Lady Prunella chanted, the croupier’s face – had anyone around the table been looking at it – showed emotion for the first time and the emotion was one of great relief.
‘Trente-et-un, noir, impair.’
‘Damn and blast!’ snarled Perdita.
‘Yippee!’ shouted Rupert, although he shouted very quietly.
‘Good Old Bones!’ exclaimed Lady Prunella.
The croupier’s rake flashed, dragging Perdita’s chips away and then delivering one to Rupert and eight to Lady Prunella.
‘What just happened?’ Perdita asked her husband.
‘You bet on a red number so I bet on black. Lady P. did a column bet and 31 Black is in the first column. I won at Evens, she won at odds of 2:1. You lost.’
‘Don’t take it too badly, my dear,’ Lady Prunella comforted her. ‘Roulette is a cruel game of chance and to win, one needs a guardian angel looking over one’s shoulder.’
The junior Campions automatically looked towards Frau Berger who seemed an unlikely candidate for the role of angel.
‘Oh, I don’t mean Ulla,’ Lady Prunella snorted. ‘My guardian angel really is an angel, a wonderful man called Austin, who I just know is looking down and smiling on me.’
There was a slight religious pause broken by the croupier coughing discreetly and asking the ladies and the gentleman if they would care to place their bets.
‘Come on, Old Bones, onward and upward!’ Lady Prunella said gleefully clapping her hands twice before placing a single chip on the layout, this time at the foot of the middle column and mouthing ‘Old Bones, good Old Bones’.
Perdita gritted her teeth and place a chip on Black 13. Rupert slid a chip quietly on to the Red quadrant.
‘Quatorze, rouge et pair.’
‘Good Old Bones!’ chirped Lady Prunella.
‘Dammit! I was only one away!’ moaned Perdita.
Rupert said nothing.
With two more spins of the wheel, Perdita was out of chips and sulkily refused to accept charity from Rupert’s modest winnings. Lady Prunella stayed on the middle column, shouting ‘Twist’ when she lost and thanking ‘Old Bones’ whenever she won. She moved on to the third column and lost three spins in a row, despite demanding to ‘Twist!’ twice. After the third spin, as the croupier raked away her stake, Lady Prunella slapped the table and said loudly: ‘Stick!’
Frau Berger, taking her cue, swept up Lady Prunella’s remaining chips and made a beeline for the Cashier, giving just enough time for the eagle-eyed Perdita to estimate that the Redcar coffers, unlike the Campions’, were in small profit for that morning’s work.
‘Are you staying long in Monte?’ Lady Prunella asked, tugging her gloves tighter.
‘A few days only,’ answered Rupert, collecting the few chips his cautious gambling had won.
‘Perhaps we’ll meet again at the tables.’
‘We are not really the gaming type,’ said Rupert and almost bit his tongue for sounding too priggish.
‘Neither am I, but one has certain obligations … debts … to the past, which I know is a terribly unfashionable attitude these days. Still, perhaps you would come and have tea with us?’
Rupert exchanged glances with his wife but before he could formulate an an
swer, Frau Berger had returned to stand at Lady Prunella’s side.
‘You have forgotten, my Lady; the furniture restorers are expected tomorrow and we will be in no position to entertain guests.’
‘Ah yes, Ulla is quite right – she often is. I have some antique furniture you see, just a few pieces I brought with me from Lindsay Carfax. Nothing terribly rare or valuable, except to myself for sentimental reasons; but the climate here does not agree with some of it and sadly the insect life does, so occasionally we have to get professionals in to look after it. It means that we simply cannot cope with visitors, which is a shame. If I do not see you again, do give my regards to your father, if he remembers me. I am almost certain I remember him.’
Rupert did not have to wait long for the answer to the rather cryptic question he had immediately sent to his father in Cambridge by Telex, for M. Joseph Fleurey supplied the answer that afternoon. He and Perdita had lunched at the hotel at M. Bouilleau’s insistence and, M. Bouilleau being French and in command of a brigade of highly trained chefs, luncheon had lasted a good three hours. To recover, the junior Campions had gone in search of sea air and mild exercise and after a strenuous walk and a bout of standing, staring and sighing enviously at the luxury yachts tinkling at their moorings in the harbour, they made their way back to the casino where they asked to see M. Fleurey if he had a few moments to spare.
M. Fleurey did indeed, and they were shown up to his office with its panoramic view of the casino floor below where the afternoon ‘tourist crowd’ were shuffling aimlessly between the tables almost being tempted into a wager, but never quite summoning the courage. When they were seated comfortably, Fleurey asked if they would like a glass of tea, which they both refused rather too quickly, being conditioned by the historic English prejudice that no other nation was capable of producing afternoon tea properly.
‘We have met the Lady Prunella,’ Rupert began, ‘and played her at her own game – or rather one of your games.’
‘I know,’ said Fleurey pointing to the glass-mirror wall, ‘I watched you. Please do not be offended by that but it is my job to observe all our patrons, and in truth I could not resist.’