The opportunity could not be disregarded to examine the scene of the supposed crime which I had undertaken to investigate. Going through the door at the far end of the drawing-room from that which led to the bedroom, I found myself at the foot of a wooden stairway. I ascended; but the door to the roof terrace was locked, and there was no key to be found in its immediate vicinity. Disappointed, I descended again. The door at the foot of the staircase opened without resistance into a room furnished as an office: a person trained in accountancy and having leisure to peruse the contents of the filing cabinets would perhaps have learned much of Rupert’s business dealings; but to me the room disclosed no secrets.
I returned to the drawing-room. A glance through the archway on my left persuaded me that the kitchen area held nothing of interest to the investigator. I went out on to the balcony: below me, beyond the road and the now deserted towpath, the Thames wound peacefully under the Victorian ironwork of Barnes railway bridge, the afternoon sunlight dancing on its mud-colored surface; on the other side of the river the willow trees at the edge of Duke’s Meadows dipped low into the water. The prospect was a most agreeable one; and it occurred to me, after a little reflection, that it was also conclusive of my investigation.
I heard Selena’s quick, light footsteps in the drawing-room behind me. Having reached, it seemed, the final stages of the complex process of making Julia ready for departure, she was inquiring whether Julia might have brought a coat with her: and whether she happened, if so, to know where she might have put it. From the direction of the bathroom came the answer, a little muffled, that there might well have been a coat, a sort of beige sort of raincoat, and it might very possibly be found in one of the cupboards in the entrance lobby. Rummaging sounds ensued.
“Selena,” I called, “tell Julia to come out here and look at the view from the balcony—it will have a soothing effect on her. You and Ragwort will also find it of interest.”
“Julia’s still dressing,” answered Selena, amid sounds of further rummaging. “And Ragwort’s tidying the bedroom, and I’m looking for Julia’s raincoat. We don’t have time to stand about looking at views.”
“I ask but a moment,” I said. “And you will not regret it.” At last they all three joined me on the balcony—Julia washed, dressed, brushed and combed, Ragwort modestly complacent at the tidiness of the bedroom and Selena a little dusty but triumphant in her search for the beige raincoat. I invited them to stand at the corner of the balcony from which they would have the best view downstream—that is to say, towards Chiswick—and asked them what they could see.
“The river?” said Julia, with a helpful and intelligent expression, as if anxious to know if this was the right answer.
“Part of the river,” said Selena. “About as far as the top of Corney Reach.”
“Remarkably little of the river, really,” said Ragwort. “In fact, the view downstream is rather poor—I can’t imagine why you think it’s interesting.”
“You will remember,” I said, “that it was from here—”
A key turned in the lock of the front door.
Why this sound should have caused us to shrink back into the corners of the balcony as if to escape detection in some criminal act, I cannot now readily explain, for Selena had been satisfied that we were committing none. To have entered premises by manipulating the lock with a plastic credit card perhaps has some curious psychological effect, making one think that one’s presence may be unwelcome.
There followed sounds of the putting down of luggage, and of voices. I recognized the tones of deferential gallantry in which I had previously heard Rupert address his mother-in-law. They had evidently returned together from Corfu; and Jocasta had broken her journey home to Belgrave Place in order to be provided with certain papers relating to Rupert’s company. (Knowing and cynical glances were exchanged by my companions on the balcony.) We heard her decline offers of refreshment.
The papers, it appeared, were in the little room furnished as an office. We suffered a moment of anxiety while Rupert went in search of them, for Jocasta employed the time in drawing back the heavy hessian curtains; but she did not look out on to the balcony, and our presence remained undetected.
“Here we are, Mama-in-law,” said Rupert. “Capital Statement and Profit and Loss Account for Galloway Opportunities Limited. All duly audited, of course. If there’s anything that isn’t clear, just give me a ring.”
“I’m sure there’ll be no need. I’m only taking them because you insisted on it, Rupert—it’s really quite unnecessary. Mother and I have complete confidence in your judgment.”
“I know you have, bless you,” said Rupert, with great warmth and sincerity. “That’s exactly why I don’t want anyone to be able to say that I’ve talked you into something without explaining what’s involved. What I want to make absolutely clear is that I’m not saying this is to your mother’s advantage in purely financial terms. It might even mean a reduction in income—the whole thing’s geared to capital growth. It’s for Millie’s sake I want to do it.”
“My dear Rupert, you surely know by now that Mother’s only too delighted to help Millie in any way she can.”
“Well, I do know that, of course.” Rupert seemed now almost overcome by an intensity of emotion which it would have been unmanly to express. “Your mother’s been wonderful, simply wonderful—there’s no other word for it. If it hadn’t been for her generosity—well, I don’t mind admitting it, there’s no way I could have given Millie the sort of upbringing she was entitled to. I’m not a rich man, you know, Mama-in-law—not by comparison with the sort of fortune Millie’s going to inherit. But I do have a little bit of a flair for investment, and when I became one of the trustees I hoped I’d be able to use it for Millie’s benefit. Like any father, I suppose—wanting to feel I’ve done something for my little girl. But everything I suggest gets blocked by Tancred—all this rigmarole about the Trustee Investments Act and God knows what. I don’t mind telling you, Mama-in-law, I’ve come pretty close to losing my temper sometimes.”
“Tancred’s an imbecile, I’ve always said so. One would not, of course, like one’s solicitor to be too clever to be respectable; but Tancred goes too far to the other extreme.”
“Well, he’s certainly no fireball when it comes to investment. I sometimes think he’d like the whole fund still to be in Consols.”
“My dear Rupert, I do see how frustrating it must have been. But there’s no difficulty, is there, now that Millie’s of age? Tancred has to do what she and Mother ask him to.”
To this Rupert made no immediate answer, but instead renewed the offer of alcoholic refreshment—evidently as a polite preliminary to pouring a drink for himself. When he spoke again, his remarks had no apparent connection with the previous topic.
“Mama-in-law, may I have a word with you about Millie? I’m—well, I’m just a bit worried about her. To be absolutely candid, I wish she weren’t quite so thick with Dolly’s kids—I sometimes feel they count for more with her than I do. As if they were her family and I was just—well, some kind of distant relative.”
“Nonsense, Rupert. Millie’s devoted to you. She’s very close to the twins, naturally—they practically grew up together. And Dolly’s house in Corfu is like a second home to her.”
“Don’t I know it, don’t I just know it?” Whatever doubts I had previously had of Rupert’s sincerity, I now thought his bitterness entirely genuine. “And what sort of home is it? The whole household revolving round that prize charlatan Dolly’s got herself married to, like some kind of little plastic god. Lucian and Lucinda sitting round pretending to be writers and artists and not doing a damn thing except lie in the sun and drink retsina. Lucian dressing like a hippy and Lucinda dressing like a tart—not just dressing like one, either, from some other things I’ve heard.”
“Really, Rupert—”
“Well, I’ve heard remarks made when she goes into bars in Casiope that I wouldn’t like anyone to make about Millie,
that’s all. What that girl needs is a good spanking, if you ask me. And Dolly, of course, is the last person in the world to have any idea of imposing discipline. I’m not blaming her—it’s up to a father to impose discipline. Well, you can’t see Demetriou doing anything to keep the twins in order, can you? Even if he really were their father and not just a stepfather. No, it’s George Fairfax I blame. The twins are his children, after all—you’d think he’d take a bit of interest in the way they’re brought up.”
“He was anxious, I think, not to embarrass Dolly by interfering with her life after her marriage to Constantine—he’s very fond of her. Men do get fond of Dolly, you know.” She spoke without jealousy, but rather with a proprietorial pride in her sister’s attractiveness.
“No, really, Mama-in-law, it’s one thing being civilized about the divorce and so on, and another leaving his children to be brought up with no supervision and no discipline and running wild all over the place. And don’t think I’m saying this behind George’s back—I’ve said as much to his face. I don’t see all that much of him—he’s out of my league financially, and I’m the first to admit it—but when I do see him I speak my mind. I’ve even written to him. I happened to hear last summer that Lucian had got mixed up with an even more unsavory crew than usual, and I thought George ought to know about it. But he didn’t even bother to reply.”
“I had no idea,” said Jocasta, “that you felt so strongly.”
“I haven’t seen much of the twins since they left school, and I thought the adult world might have knocked a bit of sense into them. But they’re worse than ever. No standards, no manners, no respect for authority, no respect for anything. They lounge about making silly private jokes and giggling over nothing, not doing a hand’s turn of work, and sponging on Millie whenever they get the chance. They make me sick, and that’s a fact.” Rupert paused. “Sorry, I suppose I shouldn’t be talking like this—they are family, after all.”
“You did say,” said Jocasta, “that you wanted to talk about Millie.”
“Yes,” said Rupert. “Yes, that’s right.” He still seemed to have difficulty in coming to whatever might be the point. There was a further clinking of ice and hissing of soda.
“I had thought,” said Jocasta, “that you and Millie were getting along particularly well together during the past fortnight.” Her words provoked a melancholy sigh.
“So did I, Mama-in-law, so did I. Thought she quite enjoyed having her old dad about to squire her to restaurants and the casino and that sort of thing. Yes, I’ll admit it, I had the idea I’d got a pretty good relationship with my daughter. Until yesterday.” Another heavy sigh. “Shows how wrong you can be.”
“My dear Rupert, you astonish me. I thought that yesterday was delightful.”
“Well, it didn’t start too well from my point of view. The original idea, you remember, was for me to help Camilla sail the boat down to Gouvia and meet the rest of you in town for dinner. Then Dolly’s kids decide at the last moment that they want to come along for the ride, so bang goes my idea of having Millie to myself for the day. Still, they were off as soon as we’d moored at Gouvia—scared they might have to help with tidying the boat up, I expect. That’s when I remembered that Millie hadn’t signed that letter yet—you know, the one to Tancred about changing the investments. So I suggested perhaps she might like to sign it right away and let me bring it back to London with me. And do you know what she said? She said she’d have to think about it. That hurt, Mama-in-law, it hurt.”
Further cynical glances were exchanged on the balcony. “Really, Rupert, if that’s all that’s worrying you, I think you’re making far too much of it. She naturally wouldn’t want you to think her the sort of girl who signs things of that kind without thinking about them.”
“I’m her father, Mama-in-law—it’s pretty wounding to find she doesn’t trust me. Or doesn’t trust my judgment.”
“My dear Rupert, I’m quite sure that’s not at all what she meant.”
“Wasn’t it? You haven’t heard the whole story yet. I told her, of course, that she was entitled to think it over if she wanted to. Tried to make a joke of it—said I hoped she didn’t think her old dad would try to pull a fast one on her. To which she said no, of course not, but fifty thousand pounds was a lot of money and she didn’t want to do anything silly; she’d gathered that the business of the company was dealing in commodity futures, and she’d heard it could be a rather risky market. So I said I was very pleased to see her taking an interest in financial affairs and asked where she’d got her information. And do you know who she’d been talking to?”
“My dear Rupert, I have no idea.”
“That know-all little pansy Leonidas, if you please. Has an economics lesson once a week at his so-called public school, reads the Financial Times on Wednesdays and Saturdays and sets up as an expert on the Stock Market. The twins are bad enough, God knows, but at least they’re good British stock. But when I find that slimy, slithering little half-caste Levantine trying to turn my own daughter against me—well, I’m sorry, Mama-in-law, but I could wring the little pipsqueak’s neck for him.”
It was at this point that Julia sneezed. The pollen count was high, and the poor creature is susceptible to it.
“Rupert,” said Jocasta, “what was that noise outside?” Rupert stepped out on to the balcony. His mouth, when he perceived our presence, fell open under its drooping mustache; his watery blue gaze, as it passed from one to another of us, held much of surprise and little of delight. He seemed about to speak. With a smile of infinite complicity and infinite reassurance, Selena raised her forefinger to her lips and gently shook her head: it was a gesture, as I understood it, designed to suggest that our presence on Rupert’s balcony was in some way connected with aspects of his private life of which he might prefer his mother-in-law to remain unaware. After a moment of perplexity and hesitation, Rupert understood it in a similar sense: he withdrew from the balcony.
“It’s nothing, Mama-in-law—something on the towpath—my cleaning woman must have left the windows open.”
CHAPTER 10
Properly regarded,” said Selena, as she settled in the driving-seat of her motor vehicle and prepared to drive us back to Lincoln’s Inn, “that all passed off rather well. I don’t say that Rupert was entirely satisfied with our explanation for being on his balcony; but at least he accepted it without the rather searching cross-examination to which we might have been subjected by Jocasta, had she still been present when we offered it.”
“We were obliged,” said Ragwort, “to tell a quite extraordinary number of lies.”
“My dear Ragwort,” said Selena, “whatever can you mean? We said that Julia had been invited to Rupert’s flat for a drink by his friend Rowena: that was true. We said that we had come to collect her and take her back to Lincoln’s Inn: that was true. We said that we were in some haste and must leave at once: that was entirely true. How can you possibly suggest that we told any lies?”
She elected not to cross the river by the bridge at Chiswick but to remain on the south side of it until we reached Hammersmith—a distance which she covered with such rapidity as to move me to remark diffidently on the possible existence of a speed limit.
“In normal circumstances,” said Selena, “I would be quite willing to oblige you by dawdling along at any speed you found comfortable—say five miles an hour or so. You will perhaps recall, however, that I am hoping to catch a plane to Athens this evening, with a view to sailing round the Ionian Islands. The crew—namely Sebastian—has been instructed to report promptly for duty at 17:00 local time—or, as you landsmen would say, five o’clock this afternoon. To arrive late might seriously impair the authority of the skipper—namely mine—for the duration of the voyage.”
I perceived in her manner the blithe insouciance of a woman who had cast aside the responsibilities of practice at the Chancery Bar: it was as if she already breathed the salt Ionian air and her hand rested not on the steering-wheel of
her car but on the tiller of some graceful sailing craft, cutting swiftly through the blue water. Knowing that in such a mood there could be no reasoning with her, I adopted the policy previously mentioned of keeping my eyes closed.
“I’m very sorry,” said Julia. “I’m afraid it’s my fault. I’ll explain to Sebastian, if we’re late, that it’s due to my embroiling you in a criminal investigation.”
I had not told them, I now realized, that our investigation was concluded, and that no crime had been committed. I thought it prudent to delay this disclosure until Selena had completed her negotiation of the streams of traffic moving rapidly round Hammersmith roundabout.
“We have been told,” I said, “that Rupert’s insult to Constantine Demetriou—that is to say, the Greek gigolo remark which resulted in Dolly being called down from the roof terrace—was uttered at the moment when the boats first came into view from the balcony. Between then and the moment at which Deirdre is known to have fallen we have supposed that a resolute person would have had time to ascend unobserved to the roof terrace and make a murderous attack on Deirdre.”
“The timing,” said Selena, “seemed fine but not impossible.”
“Quite so, if we had been right in assuming that the boats would have come into view when they passed Chiswick Steps. But the fact is that it is quite impossible from Rupert’s balcony to see anything like so far as that. The front of the building is at a slight angle to the river bank: the view upstream is admirable, but downstream, as Ragwort rightly remarked, it is very poor—one can see no farther than three or four hundred yards below Barnes Bridge. That is about a quarter of the distance to Chiswick Steps—the Boat Race crews would take, I suppose, no more than a minute to cover it. Which leaves, you see, no time at all for any attack on Deirdre. No one could have gone up to the roof before she fell without meeting Dolly on the way down from it. Indeed—”
The Shortest Way to Hades Page 12