‘I suppose that could be a problem,’ Patterson said.
Could he go in another ten minutes, he wondered. Or would he be wiser to endure this for another fifteen minutes, just to be on the safe side?
‘That’s why it’s so refreshing to talk to somebody ordinary, like you are, Archie,’ Tamara Simmons said.
‘Do you have any theories of your own about Mr Kirkpatrick’s death?’ Patterson asked.
‘Oh, I don’t want to talk about the murder,’ Tamara Simmons replied. ‘I really don’t.’
You see, Patterson said silently to the empty chair that Blackstone had only recently vacated. You see! I was right! She doesn’t want to talk about the murder at all!
‘Is it wrong to keep a secret, if revealing it would make a lot of people very unhappy?’ Tamara wondered.
‘I suppose that would depend on whether or not keeping the secret would make a lot of other people very unhappy,’ Patterson said, starting to understand what a drowning man must feel like.
‘Keeping it wouldn’t make anyone unhappy.’
‘Then I don’t see what your problem is.’
‘But say that in order to keep the secret, I would have to tell a great many lies. Is that wrong?’
‘I don’t know,’ Patterson said helplessly. ‘I couldn’t possibly judge, unless you were prepared to tell me more about it.’
‘Do you think that anyone will ever love me?’ Tamara Simmons asked plaintively. ‘Do you think that if something bad was about to happen to me — if, say, I was about to be falsely imprisoned — that anyone would love me enough to try and prevent that happening? Or am I too stupid — and too dull — to be loved?’
‘Of course, you’re not too stupid or too dull,’ Patterson said, feeling a sudden — and totally unexpected — burst of sympathy, which somehow caused him to reach across and take her hand. ‘I’m sure someone will love you. After all, someone already has.’
‘Have they?’ Tamara Simmons asked, looking perplexed. ‘Yes! Of course!’
‘Who?’
‘Martin Swinburne, you silly little goose!’ Patterson said. ‘And even if William Kirkpatrick didn’t actually love you, he did at least care enough to fight over you.’
‘Oh yes,’ Tamara Simmons said. ‘I’d forgotten about them.’ She pulled her hand free of his. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Sergeant Patterson, I think that I’d better go now.’
Patterson knew he should feel relieved, but the only emotion he was experiencing at that moment was frustration.
What game was the woman playing? he wondered. He had sat there and patiently listened as she poured out her troubles. He had been sympathetic to her in her moment of self-doubt. And now she had to go!
‘Was it something I said?’ he asked.
‘No,’ Tamara Simmons replied. ‘You’ve been very nice — very understanding.’
‘Then I’m entitled to an explanation for your sudden departure, don’t you think?’
Tamara Simmons hesitated. ‘It wasn’t something you said,’ she told him. ‘It was something I shouldn’t have said.’
* * *
The South American Indians poisoned their arrow heads by simply pressing them down on the backs of the little yellow frogs, and that was what Ellie Carr had done with the flat edge of her knife.
The frog had been distressed by the experience, but not physically harmed. The rat had not fared quite so well. Only a few seconds after Ellie had made the insertion in its neck, it had begun to show signs of panic, and within a minute, it was dead.
‘Now you must admit, this poison is a lot more humane than any you might have used on rats yourself,’ Ellie said to Jed Trent.
‘But is it the same poison as the one that killed William Kirkpatrick?’ Trent asked.
‘I won’t know that until I’ve taken this rat — and several of his little friends — and cut them open, so I can look at their brains.’
Trent shook his head. ‘Whatever you might say, this is no job for a woman,’ he told her.
Ellie laughed. ‘You’re so old-fashioned, Jed,’ she said. ‘You really do believe that a woman’s place is in the home, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I do,’ Trent said seriously. ‘At least, it is when she’s your age, Dr Carr.’
‘But it’s at my age that scientists do their best work.’
‘It’s at your age that women have kids. And you should start planning to do just that — before you get too old.’
‘And to hell with medical research?’
‘And to hell with medical research!’
‘Now that is an interesting idea,’ Ellie said.
‘It is,’ Jed Trent affirmed. ‘And I think you should give it some serious thought.’
‘Let’s see what happens when we poison the second rat, shall we?’ Ellie suggested.
* * *
The pub was called the Maid of Kent. Charlotte Devaraux had chosen it because it wasn’t one of her normal watering holes, but, even so, a number of the customers recognized her the instant she walked through the door, and though none of them approached her, they continued to look at her with deep fascination even after she had sat down.
‘Being recognized wherever you go is the price of fame, I suppose,’ Blackstone said.
‘Yes, fame does have to be paid for,’ Charlotte Devaraux agreed. ‘I’m sorry about my moment of weakness earlier. Breaking down on the street isn’t like me at all.’
‘There’s no need to apologize,’ Blackstone told her. ‘None of us are ever as strong as we sometimes like to think that we are.’
‘I won’t pretend that I burn for Lord Bixendale with a passion which almost consumes me,’ Charlotte said, out of the blue, ‘but I really do care about him, you know.’
‘Now why did you suddenly feel the need to tell me that?’ Blackstone wondered.
‘I’m not sure. Perhaps it’s because I like you, and I’d rather you didn’t despise me in return.’
‘And you think I do?’
‘And I want to make sure that you don’t. There are a great many men in your position who would see me as little more than a whore, you know.’
‘There are a great many men in my position who would see absolutely no distinction at all between you and a whore,’ Blackstone said. ‘But I’m not one of them.’
‘So what elevates me in your eyes?’ Charlotte Devaraux asked, with just a hint of bitterness in her voice.
‘I’ve been thinking about that, ever since I saw you with Bixendale yesterday morning,’ Blackstone admitted. ‘And I’ve come to the conclusion that while, in order to get what we want, we all have to do things we don’t always enjoy, what’s really important is how we go about doing them.’
‘Go on,’ Charlotte Devaraux said.
‘Some people don’t care who they hurt — or what they have to do. But others have taken the decision that’s there a line they simply will not cross — and I think you’re one of those who’s drawn that line.’
‘That’s not really much of a compliment, now is it?’ Charlotte Devaraux said.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that you were fishing for compliments,’ Blackstone countered. ‘But if that’s what you’re after, I’ll do my best to provide you with a few.’
‘You’re right,’ Charlotte Devaraux said. ‘I wasn’t fishing for compliments. I was looking for an honest answer — and that’s what you gave me. Have you ever been in love, Sam?’
Both the question itself, and the use of his Christian name, jolted him, but he answered anyway.
‘Yes, I have. Twice.’
‘And what happened to these two loves of yours?’
‘The first one was a revolutionary. She’d always intended to lay down her life for her cause, but when the time came for her to do so, it took her completely by surprise. Still, at least it was quick.’
‘You’re being very enigmatic,’ Charlotte Devaraux said.
‘Yes, I am, aren’t I?’ Blackstone agreed.
‘Whic
h is as good a way of telling me to mind my own business as any,’ Charlotte Devaraux said. ‘What about your second love?’
‘She was a government agent — though it wasn’t our government she was working for.’
‘And did she die as well?’
‘No, she didn’t. As far as I know, she’s still working for that same government.’
‘So what went wrong between you?’
‘She used me,’ Blackstone said.
‘Used you?’
‘She loved me, but she loved her work more, and so she turned me into a tool for advancing its aims.’ Blackstone took a deep sip of his beer, in an effort to wash away the taste of his sorrow. ‘And what about you?’ he asked. ‘Have you ever been in love?’
‘Once,’ Charlotte said. ‘He was an actor, and, like your first love, he died. Now I don’t think I shall ever love again. I’m not even sure that I want to.’ Her face had grown quite serious as she was speaking, but now she smiled again. ‘Will you escort me home when we’ve finished our drinks?’
‘Of course,’ Blackstone agreed.
‘And what does that mean, exactly?’ Charlotte wondered. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Will you take care of me only to my door, or will you take care of me beyond it?’
‘I rather think that my protection has to come to an end at the door,’ Blackstone said.
Charlotte laughed. ‘Don’t take everything so seriously, Sam,’ she said. ‘You do know just what I mean when I talk about taking care of me beyond the door, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘And you do understand that I’m not offering you a lifetime of love, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I understand that, too.’
‘Never mind love, I’m not even offering you companionship — at least, not beyond one single night. But if companionship for that single night would suit you, then it’s there for the taking.’
Blackstone stood up. ‘Do you happen to know where the nearest phone box is?’ he asked.
‘I think I noticed there was one on the corner.’
‘Then if you’ll excuse me for a short while, there’s a call that I have to make.’
Charlotte Devaraux nodded — perhaps sagely, perhaps sadly. ‘Of course there is,’ she said.
* * *
Ellie Carr had just killed the third of her rats when the phone started to ring. At first, she tried to ignore it, but after a minute or two — when it became perfectly plain that the caller was not about to give up — she grabbed at the phone and said, ‘I think you probably have the wrong number.’
‘It’s me,’ said the voice on the other end of the line.
Ellie sighed. ‘Listen, Sam, I think I may just have found the source of the poison, but it’s far too early for me to be able to give you any definite results, so don’t even bother to ask.’
‘I wasn’t going to ask,’ Blackstone replied. ‘The reason I called you was that I was wondering —’
‘In fact, from the amount of work that I’ve been able to do so far, I can’t even say, with any certainty, that this is even the same poison as the one that killed William Kirkpatrick.’
‘Forget work,’ Blackstone said.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Forget work. Give it a rest for tonight. It’s still a couple of hours until the pubs close. I could meet you outside the hospital, and we could go and have a drink somewhere.’
‘The kind of work that I’m involved in at the moment can’t just be dropped whenever I feel the inclination,’ Ellie said severely.
‘What does that actually mean?’ Blackstone wondered. ‘That you can’t stop? Or that you won’t stop?’
‘A little of both, I suppose,’ Ellie Carr admitted. ‘I think I may be breaking completely new ground here, and it’s very difficult to tear yourself away from something like that.’
‘Is it? Even if I ask you to? Even if I say that I’m feeling low, and would really appreciate your company tonight?’
‘For heaven’s sake, Sam, stop being so difficult,’ Ellie said irritably. ‘If you want company, why don’t you give Archie Patterson a call?’
‘It wouldn’t be the same.’
‘No, since he’s a man and I’m a woman, it would obviously be somewhat different,’ Ellie said, with maddening scientific logic. ‘But Archie can keep you amused tonight, and, once my investigation’s over, I’ll find some way to make it up to you.’
‘You really don’t understand, do you?’ Blackstone asked sadly.
‘Understand what?’ Ellie asked impatiently. ‘I understand that you want the results of my tests. You do still want them, don’t you?’
‘Yes, but —’
‘So I’m doing my level best to get them for you as soon as possible. And I promise you this, Sam — in the morning, you’ll be glad that at least one of us has shown some self-discipline.’
‘Who knows how I’ll feel in the morning?’ Blackstone said. ‘Goodnight, Ellie.’
There was something in his tone which made Ellie Can suddenly start to feel very uneasy.
‘Listen, Sam… ’ she said.
But Blackstone had already hung up.
* * *
Charlotte Devaraux was sitting tranquilly at the table where Blackstone had left her, seemingly oblivious to the several sets of eyes which transfixed her as if she were an exhibit in a museum.
She looked beautiful, Blackstone thought. Hell, she didn’t just look it — she was beautiful.
She gazed up at him. ‘You have all the appearance of a man who’s just heard some bad news,’ she said.
‘Appearances can sometimes be deceptive,’ Blackstone told her. ‘If you’re ready to leave, I’ll take you home now.’
Charlotte Devaraux smiled. ‘Just to my door?’ she asked quizzically. ‘Or beyond it?’
‘Beyond it,’ Blackstone said. ‘Well beyond it.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
It was the telephone, ringing insistently and incessantly, which eventually woke Charlotte Devaraux up.
‘Could you be an angel and answer that for me?’ she pleaded, pulling the two ends of the pillow tightly over her ears. There was no response.
‘You must be awake,’ Charlotte groaned. ‘Nobody could possibly sleep through this.’
Keeping her eyes closed, she reached her arm across to the other side of the bed, in an effort to prod the man lying there into some kind of action — and found nothing to prod but a feather mattress.
He had gone. The ship of passion, which had carried the two of them on their uninhibitedly erotic journey throughout most of the night, was now deserted, save for herself alone.
And still the bloody telephone would not stop ringing.
‘Buggeration!’ she said, climbing out of bed and stumbling into the living room.
She picked up the phone. ‘Sam?’ she said. ‘Is that you, Sam? What time did you leave?’
‘Who’s Sam?’ asked the voice at the other end of the line. ‘Oh, it’s only you, Sebastian,’ Charlotte said disappointedly. ‘What do you want?’
‘I thought you’d like to know that I’ve arranged for you to go up in a balloon,’ Sebastian George said.
‘You’ve done what?’
‘I’ve arranged for a short balloon flight for you.’
‘When?’
‘Today. On Hampstead Heath.’
‘But why?’
‘Because, in case you’ve forgotten, my dear, that’s just what Lady Wilton does in the play.’
Charlotte shook her head, in an effort to clear her mind.
‘It’s a little early in the morning for me, Sebastian,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to explain things more slowly.’ Sebastian George snorted contemptuously.
‘It’s really very simple, Charlotte,’ he said. ‘We need to sell more tickets.’
‘But I thought we were booked up solid.’
‘We are — for this month and the next. But for the month after that, advance sales aren�
��t going half as well as they might. So, unless you intend to kill someone else on stage —’
‘That’s not kind, Sebastian.’
‘— we need to do something else to keep our name in the papers. Hence, the balloon trip.’
‘Did I dream our conversation in my dressing room last night?’ Charlotte asked, wonderingly.
‘No. It was real enough — and unpleasant enough — to remain in both our minds for quite a long time.’
‘And yet, from the way you’re talking, it’s as if it had never happened. You do remember that I said I’ll do all I can to get your father released from the lunatic asylum, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you do appreciate that if he is released, the first thing he’ll want is to take his theatre back?’
‘Of course.’
‘But yet you’re still carrying on your business as if none of that is ever likely to happen?’
‘And who’s to say it will?’ George replied. ‘There’s many a slip twixt the cup and the lip, you know.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The Lunacy Commissioners are not mere marionettes who will meekly dance to his lordship’s tune, you know. They will want to listen to the counter-arguments, which will be put to them by the finest legal brain I can find. I am confident I will prevail, should that prove necessary. But, of course, it won ‘t be necessary.’
‘No?’
‘Absolutely not! To put it plainly, you are convinced Lord Bixendale will listen to your pathetic pleas to intercede on my father’s behalf —’
‘Yes, I am, and then —’
‘— whilst I am equally convinced he’ll be more inclined to take the advice of a man he’s done business with than a woman who’s merely shared his bed whenever he clicked his fingers at her.’
‘You’re so unspeakably arrogant!’ Charlotte said.
‘Besides, however matters are resolved, I care about the future of the company, even if you don’t,’ Sebastian George continued, cuttingly. ‘I want it to go from strength to strength, even if I am no longer at the helm. And do you know why, Charlotte?’
Blackstone and the Stage of Death (The Blackstone Detective series Book 5) Page 19