A Slightly Bitter Taste

by Harry Carmichael

  As he crossed the sitting-room there were little sounds of movement in the kitchen … a cup tinkling in a saucer … a chair creaking … the rustle of a newspaper.

  It was Irene Ford. She was sitting at the table with a teacup in one hand and a folded newspaper in the other.

  When he drummed on the door with the tips of his fingers she looked up, her eyes startled. Then she giggled nervously while she fanned herself with the paper.

  She said, “Oh, dear, you gave me such a fright. I didn’t know anyone was there.”

  Quinn said, “I’m sorry. If I’d thought —”

  “No, it wasn’t your fault … not really. My mind was miles and miles away.”

  In the same colourless voice, she added, “It’s only to be expected … isn’t it? After what’s happened … I mean.”

  “Of course. You must’ve been badly shaken. How are you feeling now?”

  “Oh, a lot better. But it’ll take time for me to get over it. Only natural … when you get a shock like that … don’t you think?”

  There she hunched up her narrow shoulders as though the sunlight was cold. All her movements were nervous and jerky like those of a bird prepared for instant flight.

  Quinn wondered how a man of Ford’s type could ever have married her. She didn’t seem to have a drop of warm blood in her veins.

  … Couldn’t imagine anybody making love to her unless he was desperate. Soon’s hubby starts getting excited, I’ll bet she giggles. And if there’s anything can put a man off at the critical moment, that’s it …

  He said, “Yes, quite natural. I’m surprised to see you up and about so early. I understood that Dr. Bossard had given you something to make you sleep.”

  With a little self-conscious wriggle, Irene Ford said, “Oh, that sort of thing doesn’t have much effect on me. I could take fifty of those pills and —”

  Her mouth stayed open but no sound came out. She had a shrivelled look on her thin, pallid face as she stared up at Quinn miserably.

  At last, she said, “Poor Adele … Terrible when someone young dies like that … unexpectedly, I mean … isn’t it?”

  “Very terrible,” Quinn said.

  She looked here and there, played with her cup, and eventually asked him, “Would you like some coffee … or do you prefer tea? I’m sure you want a hot drink. I always need one in the morning … to wake me up … if you know what I mean.”

  “I’ll have coffee, please, if it’s no trouble.”

  “Oh, no … no trouble at all. There’s some in the pot on the stove.”

  Without making the slightest move, she went on, “You sit down, Mr. Quinn. After all, you’re a guest. Let me get it for you.”

  “No need for that,” Quinn said. “I can help myself … if it’s all right with you.”

  “Yes, of course. Why should I mind?” A look of tired helplessness came into her eyes. “This isn’t my house. I’m not even sure I’ll be welcome here from now on.”

  Quinn poured out a cup of coffee and brought it back to the table. As he sat down, she said, “Maybe I shouldn’t say a thing like that. It sounds awful … but I know you won’t tell Michael … although it’s true … unfortunately.”

  “What makes you think he doesn’t like you?”

  Her face brightened. She said, “Oh, it’s not me. I get on well enough with him. It’s Neil. They seem to rub each other the wrong way. Of course, Michael’s inclined to be — difficult. Doesn’t mean any harm, really, but you’ve got to understand him. And that was Adele’s trouble … although it doesn’t seem right to find fault now that she’s …”

  The rest trailed off into uneasy silence. Quinn asked, “What was Mrs. Parry’s trouble?”

  Irene gave herself a little shake. With her fingers travelling over the surface of the newspaper as though she were reading braille, she said, “I always told her she should have more patience. But she was never very patient with anyone … not even my brother … and he was the easiest man to get on with that you could hope to meet. Anyone who knew him would tell you that.”

  “Weren’t they happy together?”

  With a nervous wriggle, Irene said hurriedly, “Oh, yes, very happy. I don’t think they ever had a wrong word. Of course, I’d say that was mainly because he was so easy-going … and we can’t all be the same, can we?”

  “So they say,” Quinn said. “You think that if Adele had been more patient with Michael she might be alive now?”

  “Well, no one” — Irene wriggled again — “no one can be sure of that … can they? I’m only going by what she told me on the phone … nothing to make me think she meant to poison herself, of course, and I can’t believe it even now …”

  There was another awkward silence until Quinn asked, “What did she tell you on the phone?”

  Very deliberately, Irene linked her thin hands together and hunched forward. In a worried voice, she said, “Well, maybe I shouldn’t say anything … I don’t want to cause trouble … but that’s what upset me most of all last night when I had time to think about it … and it can’t do her any harm now she’s, well, dead … if you know what I mean.”

  Quinn said, “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Ford. The one thing you can be sure of, however, is that nothing you might say will do Mrs. Parry any harm and it could relieve your mind of needless worry. So why keep it to yourself?”

  She drew back a little and looked guilty. She said, “It’s probably not worth repeating. You’ll think I’m just silly for making a fuss over nothing. My husband always says I exaggerate and if he heard —”

  “He won’t,” Quinn said. “Not from me, he won’t. So now — what did Adele say to you on the phone?”

  “It was about her and Michael … and she sounded as if she’d really made up her mind.”

  “What about her and Michael?”

  “She was going to divorce him … or ask him to divorce her. I’m not sure which. But it doesn’t make any difference really … does it?”

  “Depends on the circumstances,” Quinn said. “In this case it might make all the difference in the world. Can’t you remember what she said?”

  “No, I didn’t pay much attention. To me it was the same thing either way. Of course, if I’d known what was going to happen … but you can’t see into the future … even a few hours … can you?”

  She separated her hands and gave another wriggle as though her clothes felt tight. Quinn wondered how any man could put up with her interminable questions, her lack of ordinary common sense.

  He said, “You weren’t to know, Mrs. Ford. So don’t blame yourself. When did you get this phone call from Adele?”

  Her face sharpened in a look of surprise. She said, “I’ve told you. It was only a few hours before — before I got here. She rang me yesterday morning when I was at home.”

  “Just to say that she and Michael were going to be divorced? Why couldn’t she have kept the news until you arrived?”

  “I asked her that and she told me she hadn’t known whether we were coming or not. We hadn’t said definitely when we were here the last time … and, anyway, we might not want to come when we knew she might be going off as soon as she’d talked to Michael.”

  “But it didn’t stop you?”

  Irene hunched up her shoulders. She said, “Oh, no, of course not. You surely don’t think I was going to stay away and let her break up her whole life … just like that … do you?”

  “But if she’d made up her mind —”

  “It was still my duty to give her a good talking to … wasn’t it? I had to make her realise what she was doing. After all, Michael wouldn’t have grounds for divorce unless she did something … something wrong … if you know what I mean.”

  “I can guess,” Quinn said. “But Mrs. Parry wasn’t a child. You couldn’t be responsible for what she did.”

  “No, but people talk. And it isn’t nice … not really. Is it?”

  There was no answer to that, no means of communicati
on. Quinn told himself there was nothing so impenetrable as the barrier of stupidity.

  But one question had to be asked. He said, “Did Mrs. Parry tell you where she was speaking from?”

  Irene looked momentarily lost as though he had interrupted her train of thought. Then she said vaguely, “Oh, yes …”

  As her eyes strayed down to the newspaper again, Quinn said, “This is important, Mrs. Ford. Where was your sister-in-law yesterday morning?”

  “In London. She’d been there all week. She wanted to get away from everybody and everything so she could decide what to do … about Michael. It was only when she’d finally made up her mind that she phoned me from the hotel.”

  Once again, Irene retired within herself. Quinn asked, “Do you know the name of the hotel?”

  “It’s the one where she always stayed when she went up to town — the Cavendish … at least, I think so.”

  “But she didn’t say so?”

  “Well, no. But she never went anywhere else. It was very convenient when she wanted to see her lawyers because their office is just round the corner.”

  “Was that one of the reasons why she was in London — to see her lawyers?”

  With her shoulders hunched up, Irene Ford sat and thought. Then she said, “I don’t know. Adele never mentioned anything about them. She just said she’d gone away for a few days because she wanted time to think … and she felt that I ought to know what she’d decided … since I was the only relation she had, as it were … apart from Michael, of course, and she’d made arrangements about him. So you see —”

  “What had she arranged for Michael?”

  “I don’t know. It wasn’t my place to ask … although I did wonder what she meant.”

  There was no future for Quinn in the realm of things that aroused Irene Ford’s wonder. He asked, “Did Mrs. Parry say when she would be returning home?”

  “Yes, I understood she’d be back before we arrived. That’s why I thought it strange when she wasn’t here. I never dreamed … it was the last thing in the world …”

  Her lips trembled and she made a thin wailing sound in her throat. Then she stood up clumsily, her hands feeling for the corner of the table as though she were blind.

  Without looking at Quinn, she said in a muffled voice, “You’ll have to excuse me … oh dear … oh dear … oh dear …”

  He watched her cross the wide expanse of living-room and go upstairs, her shoulders stooped, her arms wrapped round her middle as though she was in pain. In his mind lingered an impression that he had heard her whimper “… It was wrong. He shouldn’t have done it. I don’t care what she was …”

  Long after she had left him her plaintive voice went on repeating the words again and again inside his head. He could still see the look of desolation on her face as she got up from the table — a look that left him feeling some of the cold she felt when she thought of Adele lying dead in the nursery.

  She was afraid … like Carole was afraid … and Michael, too. When Adele Parry died, fear took her place at Elm Lodge.

  Inspector Elvin was interested. He said, “Thanks for ringing me, Mr. Quinn. What you’ve learned from Mrs. Ford should save us quite a lot of trouble. When I asked you to stay on at the house I knew you’d be a useful chap to have around — most useful. Keep up the good work.”

  “Only if our association isn’t intended to be a one-way affair,” Quinn said.

  “Meaning … ?”

  “You know perfectly well what I mean. Anything I may be able to do will be done strictly on a quid pro quo basis. If I help you I want to be kept informed of progress.”

  The phone hummed distantly while Elvin took time to think. Then he said cautiously, “If it’s to be strictly a quid for a quo, it’ll also have to be strictly unofficial. I’m not supposed to divulge —”

  “And I’m not supposed to be a copper’s nark,” Quinn said. “In case you don’t know it, this isn’t my idea of a holiday.”

  “No? I’d have thought you were doing all right. I wouldn’t mind being a guest at a country house in perfect June weather, all found, and with something to keep my mind gently occupied.”

  “Then your tastes differ from mine. Ever heard the saying: ‘Where every prospect pleases and only man is vile?’ There’s nothing gentle about life at Elm Lodge.”

  Elvin said, “Your misquotation is from a hymn by Bishop Heber and the correct line starts ‘Though ever prospect pleases … ‘ My mother used to sing it.”

  “I never knew that policemen had mothers,” Quinn said. “And let’s not get off the point. Is it a deal?”

  “Providing that your idea of reciprocation doesn’t conflict with my idea of duty — yes, it’s a deal. What do you want to know?”

  There were sounds from upstairs … a door opened and closed … slippers flapped their way along the corridor … another door thumped shut.

  Quinn said, “Nothing — right now. The house is beginning to wake up. You’ll be paying us a visit some time to-day, I suppose?”

  “I’d intended to come out this morning … but in the light of your information I’ll make a quick trip to London, instead, and have a chat with the people at the Cavendish. You don’t happen to know the name of the late Mrs. Parry’s lawyers, do you?”

  “No, but I could find out from her husband. Want me to ask him?”

  The phone went quiet again except for that empty humming sound in the distance. Then Inspector Elvin said, “No, better not. I’ll get hold of it some other way.”

  With a smile in his voice, he added, “We have our methods … as that pompous and overbearing character, Mr. Holmes, was fond of saying.”

  “This seems to be a day for misquotations,” Quinn said. “The phrase he used was: ‘ You know my methods … ‘”

  Elvin said, “Touché. How do you propose to spend your time until I get back from London?”

  “Enjoying the delights of the countryside. When I’ve arranged some breakfast I’m going for a walk.”

  “Don’t go too far. I may want to give you a ring.”

  “Not to worry,” Quinn said. “I won’t get lost.”

  He made some toast and washed it down with the last of the coffee. Then he lit a cigarette. By that time he could hear people talking on the floor above. One of them sounded like Carole.

  What he had said to her the night before had been a mistake. He hadn’t any right to be jealous of Bossard. After all, Dr. Bossard was still her husband — even if they were separated.

  … And that’s your trouble: you are jealous. Why don’t you go and get your own woman instead of casting covetous eyes at another man’s wife? Anybody’d think she was a raving beauty …

  Asking himself questions to which there were no answers wouldn’t help. He’d tried to frighten her with a threat as though nailing his colours to the mast. And that had been mean.

  “Don’t rely on me. I owe you nothing — neither you nor anyone else connected with Adele Parry. Whatever I learn while Fm here I’ll tell the police.”

  Now he realised they’d been foolish words — just an empty threat. In the event he hadn’t told Inspector Elvin that Carole was Dr. Bossard’s wife. It did no good to excuse himself by saying that the information wasn’t relevant, that it had no bearing on the death of Adele Parry. That hadn’t been his real reason.

  … You were just trying to atone for the nasty thoughts you had about her, trying to be a gallant gentleman. Trouble is you don’t know how to be gallant and you’ll never be a gentleman … If I’m any judge there’s not much wrong with that girl. She’s been hurt once and I don’t want to see her hurt again …

  Yet he knew all the time he was blinding himself to reality. He believed in her because he wanted to believe in her.

  Threatening her on the one hand and keeping things from Inspector Elvin on the other was what the Yanks called playing both ends against the middle. And the Yanks always contended there was no future in that.

  Now he’d manoeuvred hi
mself into the middle position and the quicker he got out of it the better. Carole was married. Carole had volunteered the information quite readily. If she hadn’t wanted anyone to know she shouldn’t have told him.

  He stubbed out his cigarette and crossed the living-room and unlocked the front door. One half of his mind was listening to someone on the floor above complaining about the lack of hot water. This time it sounded like Irene Ford’s voice.

  As he went out he was turning to look back and he nearly bumped into Miss Wilkinson. She was dressed in white sandals, tight, pale-blue jeans, and a yellow sweater that emphasised her shapeless bust. Around her hair she wore a chiffon scarf tied in a bow under her chin.

  In exaggerated self-defence she held up both hands and said, “Well, how about that? Almost got knocked over by the sleuth of Fleet Street himself … and I’ll bet you couldn’t say that if you were tiddly. Where are you dashing off to so bright and early — if it’s any of my business?”

  Quinn said, “I was just going for a walk. The others aren’t up yet … or I should say they’re up —”

  “But not down … good.”

  She came closer to look up at him and he could see little yellow flecks in her hazel eyes. She said, “It’s you I want to talk to this beautiful morning — not the others. So would you mind postponing your walk for a few minutes?”

  “Why not come with me? I won’t go far.”

  “That’s the trouble” — she gave him a coy look — “with all the men I meet. They never go far enough … and if you don’t smile at that you’ll embarrass me because I’ll think you don’t think I’m joking.”

  “Then consider that I’m smiling,” Quinn said.

  “If you are, it doesn’t show. But never mind. It’s not the first time my poor attempts at wit have fallen flat.”

  She lowered her voice as she went on, “I don’t want them to see me going off with you. They’ll think I’m telling you something they’re not supposed to hear.”

  “Such as what?”